drinking and driving

I just spent a long weekend cruising the vineyards of Niagara with my parents & sister, getting in touch with my white, upper middle-class, British roots. We even accidentally stopped by the Henley regatta site where the well-bred high schools were holding their rowing finals. Nothing says privilege like a Havergal rowing jacket on a future housewife.

It was a nice, nice, weekend. Niagara-on-the-Lake is still striving to be Canada's cutest town. Take my advice though, and don't ever go to a winery for brunch. Since you're obviously not there to buy wine, your food will be prepared with the same attention to detail as the kids menu: pancakes and sausages sweating in buffet table warmers beside the ketchup and hamburgers.

Aside from that, I spent a day and a half in Toronto (where I spent the first 18 years of my life). Did some wading at City Hall with the coolest woman I know, Erika L. And I went for a run in the ravines by my parents' house. I'd forgotten how awesomely secluded they are, and how upscale the surrounding neighbourhoods had become. I got the vibe of a leisure class conspiracy going on. As I ran, total strangers audibly greeted me, probably just because it was 9am on a Friday.

It always strikes me how masculine Toronto strives to be in contrast to Montreal. All those glass towers, all those pithy expressways, all those unadorned square buildings and cement expanses. Like it's demonstrating its importance by its ability to consume space. It's your basic steroidal architecture.