Well, yes.
And you do realise that you have failed to add a post since last month? August 31st to be precise.
Yes, but..
It's simply not good enough! Not good enough at all. What have got to say for yourself?
Well, it has been a combination of things, which have erm... combined, combined to make it difficult to write blog postings.
Feeble excuse! More details please.
Well, I'll begin the morning after the night before, you know, the evening at L'ange cornu. I actually woke at 05.00, which somewhat surprised me, since I gad gone for quite a while without sleep. I dozed for a bit and then fell asleep again , waking at about ten thirty.
I'm not sure those are the details your five readers will be waiting for.
Very well. Here goes. The sun was making an effort to break through a covering of grey cloud which hung over the city. It was still very warm and humid as I walked down Ste. Famille, crossed Sherbrooke and headed down Jean-Mance to La Place des Arts. I was heading for breakfast/brunch with great expectations of Eggspectations, a restaurant specialising in, ..... altogether now .... egg dishes. I was looking forward to Eggs Benedictine and a glass of fresh fruit juice. Having ordered the meal with fresh fruit as an add-on, I decided to partake of a large glass of pink grapefruit juice, which arrived first. The first sip of juice was an effective jolt to the system, a bit like applying jump-leads to an engine.
Did you say "sip"? The word sip implies that you imbibed a miniscule amount of grapefruit juice, whereas, if you were to apply your memory more rigorously, you might revise your use of "sip" to "gulp","mouthful" or in the vernacular of your home region, "a big gob-ful".
You are probably correct. The meal was delicious, and very attractively arranged upon the plate:
Next came the poached eggs, sitting on toasted half-muffins all covered in a hollandaise sauce dusted with paprika. They were scruly trumptious, oops, truly scrumptious.
Truly scrumptious? Sounds like something out of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang or some other children's film starring Dick Van Dyke.
I don't care which film it reminds you of, the meal was truly scrumptious. There was no doubting the scrumptiousness of the meal. One cannot dispute the veracity of the degree of scrumptiousness claimed.
Having scoffed the lot, I paid and left Eggspectations fulfilled. By this time it was about 12.30 and I had to rendezvous with Alexandre, Louise and Annie-Pier Charette at 15.00, outside the Honore Beaugrand Metro station. Alexandre was driving us to St.Jerome, where we were to have a meal and see Christian Marc in concert. I decided to would be downright rude to walk past Benelux Brasserie/Bistro without going in for a small beer, and to see if any of my acquaintances from previous visits were there, either as customers or members of staff. There were neither, so I had a swift glass of Yakima, and then left, calling in to a Couche-Tarde store for a large container of water.
Back at the hotel I began to get my necessary supplies ready for the rest of the day. I just need to pop them into my man-bag. Oh dear, I couldn't find it. Not on the sofa. Not on the desk.Not in any drawer. Not in the bathroom. Not in the kitchen. There it was, gone. All I could think of was that I had left it in Eggspectations, or Benelux or Couche-Tarde, so I rapidly retraced my steps, realising that my time was getting shorter and shorter to reach Honore Beaugrand by 15.00. The bag contained a few medical requisites, but in addition a charger for my phone and my tablet computer. I was very worried that anyone who might have taken it could have access to my email etc. First to Eggspectation - nothing, despite a concerted effort by several members of staff, including the young lady who had served me. Next, back up the hill to Benelux: nothing. Lastly to Couche Tard, but no luck there either. A thousand curses, I said.
Or words to that effect.
True. By this time I had to rush back to the hotel, pop my stuff into a plastic shopping bag and rush back down to the Metro station at Place des Arts. I bought a ticket and just missed a train. Tension was mounting, as was my pulse rate. It was almost 14,30, and the journey had been described as taking 30 minutes. It seemed that my trip to Montreal was being dogged by minor disasters. The next Metro train arrived, standing room only, and I boarded it, standing and clinging on to the upright pole to prevent the effects of sudden acceleration and braking upon the human body to take place. On arrival at Honore Beaugrand, the terminus of the Green Line, I rushed up the stairs, choosing the left exit as described by Louise. There was no-one in sight, well, no-one that I knew. I did notice a pretty, red-haired and petite young lady sitting on a bench.
There's a surprise!
No, behave. I knew from a facebook thumbnail image that Annie-Pier, a friend of Alexandre, had red hair, was pretty and petite (from her description by Louise) and that she would be waiting at the same place. I didn't have the nerve to approach her, just in case it was not Annie-Pier. I wandered round the other side of the metro station and waited for a few minutes. I almost didn't recognise Alexandre when he appeared walking towards me - the epitome of cool in his shades. After greeting each other, he began to look around for Annie-Pier. I told him that there was somone fitting her description in the Metro station, and then went to climb in the back of the car where Louise was waiting to greet me. After a few second Alexandre appeared with the pretty, red-haired and petite young lady who was no longer sitting on a bench, and who was indeed Annie-Pier Charette.
We then set off for St.Jerome, the regional capital of the Laurentians, which is situated about an hour's drive from Montreal, in a kind of westerly direction. Traffic was fairly horrendous, even at that time of day. Alexandre showed his not inconsiderable driving skills to pick his way through congested roads. En route we listened to some music from South Shields - two albums, one by Jen Stevens, ("How These Things Begin") the other by Tony Bengsston ("Snake in the Woodpile"), which I had brought for Alexandre. Everyone in the car was very impressed by both.
Eventually we arrived in St.Jerome and found a parking place just 50 metres from Le Tapis Rouge, the venue for the evening's show. Christian Marc Gendron was someone I had not heard of before Louise told me about him and the possibility of getting tickets for his 'souper-spectacle', which provided a meal as well as the show. Prior to leaving England I had checked some videos on YouTube, and was very impressed. Alexandre is part of his entourage, in charge of marketing the merchandise at shows, and so, along with Annie-Pier, he was to join Christian Marc for a meal and pre-show set-up. Louise and I found a nearby terrace where we could have a drink and watch the world go by until the doors of Le Tapis Rouge (The Red Carpet) opened. The venue was on the first floor (2nd floor if you're not in England), above what looked to be a lively music bar.. We were on a table for six, but for the meal it was just Louise and I. Later we would be joined by Alexandre, Annie-Pier and also by Sylvain's parents, M. and Mme. Légaré. The food was good, well-presented and flavoursome and was washed down by a nice glass of Adam's Ale, in other words, water!
After the meal, and just before everyone else arrived, the musicians began to arrive for final checks, and as he passed our table Christian Marc greeted Louise, who has met before. She introduced him to me ..
Should that not be the other way round? " She introduced you to him," sounds better, more modest.
I guess so. Anyway Christian Marc thanked me for coming to the show, and hoped I would enjoy it. I did. Immensely. Entitled "Rock Crooners" the show proved to be something of a musical journey, beginning in the 50s and moving through the decades. It was full of energy, good music and excellent musicianship. Christian Marc is a superb pianist and guitarist, and matches his instrumental talents with extraordinary vocal capabilities. After the interval he performed solo for a while, presenting a musical history of his career interspersed with songs and snippets of songs. Very cleverly done.
Here's a video of an earlier performance:
http://youtu.be/F3MDF0ONRgA
He finished with some original songs, performed in French. Very impressive. I liked them so much that I bought them, or at least I bought his new album from Alexandre after the show. In fact I bought three. One for me and two more to be despatched to Krasnoyarsk and Volgograd, to spread the word about CMG in Russia. Christian Marc kindly autographed the CDs and had a little chat before photographs were taken. Sylvain's parents were clearly very proud grandparents and took photos of Alexandre with CMG (sorry about the abbreviation, but it does save a bit of time and he does use it on his t-shirts) .
I then had my photo taken with CMG, Alexandre and Annie-Pier:
Whilst Alexandre counted the takings from the merchandise stall, and packed away the advertising stands etc, Louise, Annie-Pier and I went downstairs, entering a very loud and lively venue indeed. A guitarist was playing live, with a backing track and a young lady was striding round on the bar counter and tables, belting out rock classics. It was clear that she was in chrge of proceedings, and from time to time dragged others up on to a table top to perform. There was much pelvic thrusting and downing of shots, as well as some pretty good performances, particularly from other members of staff.
I do believe that there was an alien woman dancing here - check the photo above!
Maybe they have to pass auditions to get a job there, at the Vieux Shack, which was partially open to the elements. Fortunately, even late in the evening, it was still very warm. We went outside and waited for a while on the pavement outside, along with a lot of other people who were enjoying the ambience of the evening.
Alexandre then joined and we left le Vieux Shack, still jumping, and St.Jerome for the drive back to Montréal, stopping on the way back for an iced cappucino from a Tim Horton's. It was delicious and very refreshing, and I finished it just as we pulled up outside my hotel. Annie-Pier leapt out, and I crawled out of the back seat. Farewells were said, hugs shared and hands shaken, before I climbed the stairs to the 17th floor. Another wonderful evening of music, shared with friends.
Err, just before you finish, would you care to check the accuracy of the last paragraph?
Seems OK to me.
Really? You, and I quote, "climbed the stairs to the 17th floor"? Really?
Well, I climbed the steps into the lobby, and got the lift/elevator/ascenseur to the 17th floor. Don't you allow a bit of poetic licence?
I won't even allow "climbed the steps".
OK I walked up the steps into the lobby, and took the lift to the 17th floor. Satisfied?
Perfectly. Good night.
