seen and done a lot since my last post. I’ve travelled to Richmond, Surrey and Vancouver. I’ve gone shopping and tied new ribbons in the Imperiled Forest. But the one image I can’t shake, the one that keeps me up at night, WORRYING, is the fellow I saw a few blocks from our house last weekend. His outfit alone was enough to make the car stall: he had on a pair of those Gold’s Gym type pants (purplish, with pinstripes)that are designed to be alarmingly saggy in all the wrong places. With these he wore a light blue dress shirt, also pinstriped. He had on white sport socks (visible, due to his too-short, pardon-me-I-recently-pooped-my-drawers pants)and tasselled loafers. What really got me however, was not his sartorial splendour. It was his accessory. The man was brandishing, with great enthusiasm, a huge leather bullwhip.
He took a fierce step forward and lashed out — CRACK! — with the bullwhip. The he whirled around — CRACK! — another lash for the invisible enemy.
I was at a stop sign when I saw him and, as a result of my shock and dismay, forgot to keep driving. He turned around and saw me watching him. I froze. He froze. Then I quickly locked my door, told Frank to go hide in the backseat, and drove off as quickly as a 1987 Honda Accord can go.
Nanaimo: sometimes I worry about you. Gary Mason of the Globe and Mail recently wrote a scathing story about Nanaimo. He called the town a dump, which was very unkind of him. All I can say is thank god Gary Mason didn’t catch sight of the dumpy-panted, dress-shirted suburban bullfighter. God only knows what he would have called us then.