I can’t handle the technology of a Tesla. We just bought a Ford Mustang Mach E electric car. “What are those?” we said gleefully, pointing to the pumps and lines of steaming automobiles whose owners waited their turn to pour $80 down the throats of their thirsty dinosaurs. On our way home after picking up the new electric car from the Ford dealership in downtown Toronto, we waved goodbye to gas stations we passed. “Utterly delightful - five stars!” - Reedsy * part of the now-defunct slogan of the ROM, engraved upon the eastern face.Įnjoy my latest book MARABEL, the origin story of London’s most original nanny, on and Amazon. I went home to await the end of this goddamned pandemic, sitting once again in my front window and wearing the same expression as the Emperor Tiberius. Despite chants of “What do we want? Freedom!” and suggestions of indignities involving members of Parliament, it was a pretty friendly crowd.
#Burly men at sea stuck on title screen free#
But I would prefer to join a vaccinated dinner party feel free to invite me. One Toronto Sun reporter later described the atmosphere as ‘one big street party.’ It’s been speculated that many in the crowd, particularly those with children, were vaccinated, but had joined the protest because they are sick of nearly two years of quarantine and lockdowns. Hundreds of unmasked protestors rubbing elbows around me weren’t belligerent or even particularly angry no one bothered me for wearing a mask. I wandered into the mob, pretending to be the journalist I was a thousand years ago, and took pictures. She doesn’t approve of all this,” said his friend. “Wish you brought Eleanor?” one of them asked the other. Two burly men in their 50s, dressed in plaid and denim, walked nearby looking at busts of Roman Emperors. The day’s protest, with shouting and organized chants, may have been deafening, but inside the Roman era it was absolutely silent. I purchased a ticket for the whale exhibition and wandered around upstairs. It was fairly empty except for a few dozen families accompanied by children holding their fingers in their ears, nervous staff and bored security guards envious of the police outside. I turned right into the Royal Ontario Museum. The intersection at Bloor and Avenue Roads was completely blocked by an 18-wheeler and a big rig in front of a row of concrete barriers.
On Bloor Street it became impossible to hear anything but horns, even next to Koerner Hall, where inside Royal Conservatory graduating students tuned their instruments to play the most important concert of their young lives in front of their beaming parents. Heading south to Bloor I passed vans, cars with flags and rude signs, cargo trucks, flatbed trucks and rent-a-trucks, whose occupants were either joining the fun or having the worst moving day of their lives.
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