Our Distinguished Guests II

Well, the weather was beautiful, as promised. And I didn't receive a strange business invitation, so that puts the score at Meteorologists 27, Astrologists 32. However, right now the Economists are kicking both of their butts with their "gas prices will continue to rise" strategy. It's gonna be an exciting Pseudoscience Olympics! Clam Harbour Beach was exactly as I remembered it and we had a really nice day picnicking on the bluff and then beaching on the beach. I'll let these pictures show you what I mean.




I still haven't finished that sudoku, by the way. But I did get in the water, unlike those other namby-pamby sand-lyers.

That night we ate at the Five Fisherman, an outrageously overpriced seafood restaurant. The food was good and everything, but the service was none too fancy. We again had a really nice time, though. Ate way too much, too. There was a photo taken but it looks like crap so y'all ain't seein' it.

Next day we attended the final performance of the Royal Nova Scotia International Tattoo. It was an odd collection of stiffly stirring military musical numbers


and weird acrobatics,


with a few syrupy songs belted out in between and some terribly corny "comedy" routines thrown in for good measure. At three and a half hours, it definitely could have stood some cuts. But the acts we had gone expecting to see, i.e. the marching bands, were all very good. My and Ali's favourites were the pipe bands. Here's just a taste of the caco-eupho(n/r)ic drone.




There was supposed to be a softball game on Sunday, and I was hoping Mom and Papa would be able to come and marvel at my underhanded underhand wonderlob, but it rained all day so the field was too wet. Instead, we located their old house and then took a trip out to the always nostalgic Chickenburger, home of the world-famous sandwich that my uncle calls "chicken microwaved until it explodes and then thrown on a wet bun". Ali took two pictures of which, believe it or not, this is the better. I call it Fun Times at the Chickenburger.


Boy, we did a lot of eating with those guys. That night, their last here, was at an Irish pub called The Old Triangle. Once again, you'll have to take my word for it that the other shot was even worse.


There was an old-timey Irish-esque young couple called Bette and Wallet playing, who were excellent. Both multi-instrumentalists. I guess they know Al Tuck, because at one point we suddenly realized they were playing "Family Photo," which he co-wrote with Matthew Grimson in our old apartment on Robie Street years ago. So that was a nice small-world-that-is-Halifax moment for the visitors.

It was really nice having those two around. Saying goodbye was kind of hard. It's too bad my Dad couldn't come down with them. Maybe next time. Now we're back to the usual grind of work and apartment arranging, and figuring out what kind of summer vacation we can set up next.

- Andrew

P.S. I just found out that Syd Barrett, founding member of The Pink Floyd and thinly veiled subject of most of their material after they kicked him out of the band, died today. If I didn't have to go to bed this very minute I would play you Baby Lemonade. Maybe you could track it down yourself. I think he was a fairly tortured soul, so let's hope he's found some peace now.