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After a thoroughly gasping hot week (or it might have been an eternity – I can’t remember), it finally cooled down a bit this weekend. It was a huge relief after temps as high as (with humidex) 44. For non-metric users, that’s 111F. That’s enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk, I think, and if I’d had any (eggs, that is), I’d have given it a try. Instead, I stayed mostly inside, praying to the gods of air-conditioning and going stark raving mad from cabin fever. Which, if this trend of oven-like temperatures continues for the rest of the summer, might work out, as only mad dogs and Englishmen would go out in this between 11am-7pm and as soon as I figure out what dog I want to be, I’ll be out there with the rest of the crazies.

Anyway, back to the weekend. Thanks to a brisk wind from the north, things cooled way down. It was cool enough for a sweater and so windy that it was impossible to get a stirring picture of the Maple Leaf fluttering majestically in the breeze at our building’s Canada Day BBQ. Instead, it sort of writhed frantically.

There was food, there was talking, there were kids running around, there was dancing. It was an excellent party, hosted by the indefatigable Barb (who has forbidden me to post pictures of her under pain of death, which I’m respecting even though – or maybe because – I have a really excellent one of her threatening me with a very large knife) and supported by her husband Martin (a.k.a. The Celtic Warrior). And then things might have gotten a little out of hand. I had nothing to do with it, I swear. I did not suggest at any time that we engage in anything untoward. Honestly. I just took the pictures.

Towards the end of the (alcohol-free) event, a spontaneous game of “show the flag a good time” sprang up:

I hope Canada’s laws about what you can and cannot do with our national symbol are as laid-back as the rest of the country. Otherwise, I might just have confirmed why CSIS should be watching me.