In what national holiday on June 24, I listened to a movie with my boyfriend, both our own beer in the basement. It has left people on the plains you get wet-only.
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In what national holiday on 1 July (and I speak here of the Feast of the move, because the other BOAF), patriotism requires, I moved. Without boxes. Without trinkets wrapped in newsprint. Without garment. Without moving truck. Without even changing my set of keys. I moved my stock a good ... um ... 5 meters ... in the room opposite. Both doors open, I took my books from a library to go and sit in the library the other room. Ditto for my computer desk to another. Ditto for the teddy, bed to another. In short, you get the idea: a moving ideal, and relax, because the girl who will occupy my ex-room has not arrived yet, so I take my time and I have two rooms for the price of one.
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In this holiday-slash-provincial city-slash-slash-national-world that is July 3, 2008 (400th anniversary of Quebec city ... you heard?) I worked at the hotel, and having thought long and hard the day before (car or bike? Bottling or rain?), I chose the lesser of two evils, and I have broken my floor for Bike go home at 11am. I take the path that is usually my own, in the pouring rain which I do not see anything, and I find myself trapped. On Grande-Allée, barriers across the street from the sidewalk separating and isolating pedestrian path that will soon take the parade. You see, it's always like this: path reserved for cars, road reserved for pedestrians, but cyclists, nada. Bibi and accidentally find themselves on the road reserved for cars (read: the parade). No way out of the road barriers everywhere. Hundreds of people behind the barriers, waiting for the parade. And me. On the road. Wringing wet. My grumbling coronations most colorful, smiling through my teeth to the public should find that, as a pre-parade, I was hard dirty. Oh joy, what a great humiliation. I have done more than 200 meters below 300 pairs of eyes before hitting a police charity that has passed my bike over the fence to me from shameful growing.
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Today is the feast of nothing, but it is nice and I'm on leave. It's like a party, at the bottom ...
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