Thursday 13th - lucky for some (or Day 2 in Montréal)

It's a bit strange, waking up in the dark, in a hotel room, not knowing how long you have slept, and whether you need to get up or try for a few more hours of sleep. At home, my inbuilt clock wakes me first at 05.30, then 06.30, and then ten minutes before my alarm goes off at 07.30. Having finally got to bed sometime after 03.30 GMT+1 (22.30 Montréal time), I wondered whether my internal clock would have adjusted, or whether simple fatigue would have turned it off for a while. I hadn't attempted to set up the digital clock/radio/alarm provided in the room, and it sat lifeless on a shelf adjacent to the bed. I fumbled for my mobile phone, which acts as my main time-keeping device, and opened my eyes just a fraction, to avoid being blinded by the light..

Blinded by the light, ah yes the hook line from a song of the same title by Mannfred Mann (in the non Paul Jones era), a British group from way back in the... was it the seventies? It was the kind of song which really did hook you into singing the chorus, but left you stumbling for words after the “blinded by the light” bit. There may be some who could understand the words, but I, sadly, wasn't among them. It sounded something like: “Blinded by the light, something something like a deucer in a roller in the night.” See what I mean! I'm sure there will be be a video on YouTube, if you want to check it out. There could be a prize for the first person who can present the correct lyrics as a comment to this blog.

Notice, he said 'could be' … hold on a moment. Excuse me, but isn't there a bit of a role reversal here? Aren't you supposed to interject brief comments, to lighten the moment or provide brief explanatory notes, not wander off into some reverie about lyrics of a 30 year-old song?

...as I was saying, I opened my eyes just a fraction to avoid being blinded by light from the screen of my mobile phone, which provides enough lumens to light a small city. It showed the time as 11.00. It took my brain a few seconds to work out what these four digits represented, and since I had not yet changed the time-zone I deduced that I had first awakened at about 05.30 local time.

Amazing thing, the brain, don't you think? I hear that....

Ignoring this latest interjection, I continue. After all I've been writing this blog for half an hour and I'm not even out of bed yet, if you see what I mean. At this rate I'll have to cancel all of Friday's plans and I might just about finish by tomorrow morning.

Ooer, someone got out of bed on the wrong side this morning! Oh no I forgot, you're still in bed, blogwise, [and just for the sake of a bit of real-time information, at 07.40 on Friday 14^th Montréal is either under attack or there's a massive thunderstorm rolling around the city].

Yes, maybe it's the thunderous applause from last night's show just rolling south from L'Assomption. But I digress... and I haven't got time – must be brief and get on with the story of another quite remarkable day.

Brief? Don't you mean briefs, or in your case, more like 'quite longs'?

Sshh! I haven't got to that par yet, and just in case there are small children, dogs or those easily offended reading this, I might not have mentioned it at all!

You're going to have to now, you can't just leave things dangling like that. (“Ooops!”, as Britney sang, “I've done it again”.)

To be brief, and ignoring such a vulgar comment, I arose, blogged and then attended to my ablutions and returned from the bathroom in a state of, shall we say 'not being completely dressed' (a t-shirt and babettes (that's a new québecoix word I learned yesterday, meaning an undergarment worn on the lower part of the body, ok underpants)). In my defence I have to say that hotel rooms are too warm, and the curtains were closed. At this point my netbook 'beeped' and I saw that Iraida was skyping me from Krasnoyarsk, where it was already early evening. I accepted the call and was delighted to see her facing smiling at me. I sat down at the computer...

A wise move, that...

...and without thinking, clicked on video.

Not such a wise move, that....

I am sure that Iraida will at some point read this, and so I must inform her, and you gentle reader(s), that I took advantage of a short break in transmission to put on my trousers! Decency restored to the situation we enjoyed a wonderful conversation, in a strange mix of French, English and a little Russian (the latter mainly being extracts from the lyrics of the Song of the Volga Boatmen and another folk song, Stenka Razin, sung in basso profundo by yours truly.)

Is there no end to this man's talents? Not only can he play the G-scale on a lap-steel guitar, but can also almost sing part of the chorus of Stenka Razin, the tune of which will be familiar to all fans of The Seekers. Who can forget the lovely Judith Durham belting out “The Carnival is Over”?

I reckon that the folk reading this will never have heard of The Seekers, The New Seekers, or the lovely Judith Durham. But there's an interesting activity for them to pursue in quieter moments of internet browsing. Compare and contrast the original version of “Stenka Razin” with 'The Carnival is Over”.

So: an amazing chat with Iraida. A shorter but equally pleasant telephone conversation with Louise, making arrangements for later in the day, and then it was time to find some brunch. Yes it was about 11.00 local time, and not a morsel had passed my lips since the chicken mayo sandwich and extremely small bite-size Kit-Kat, served as some strange evening/early morning snack on the aircraft about an hour before landing.

Ahem! Not strictly true... don't you remember the bag of potato crisps and fruit juice you bought, just after drinking that glass of Alter Novis.

OK, but I was rather hungry. So it was off to La Complexe Desjardins, a huge shopping mall with a food court offering food from all corners of the Earth, apart from England and Russia, and perhaps Australia and South Africa. Come to think of it there wasn't much on offer from South America.., .. or Scandinavia either. I plumped for an Oncle Burger, with frites and a choice of Root Beer or Coca Cola. I chose Coca Cola – to me drinking Root Beer is a bit like drinking antiseptic mouthwash.

I followed up with un café de jour and a couple of chocolate chip cookies (galettes), before making my way back to the hotel, to wait for my friend Sylvain to collect me and to take me to Repentigny, where I was to share a meal with him, Louise and Félix, their younger son.

At this point, in order to build dramatic tension, and to allow your author to have a glass of pineapple juice and a galette au chocolat (he saved one from yesterday) we will pause, and bring you more about Repentigny, L'Assomption and Les Filles de Caleb in a few short hours. Don't go away now, and have a wonderful morning, afternoon, evening! Be safe out there!

Good grief, you sound like a cross between an Indian Call Centre worker and that sergeant from Hill Street Blues. Oh sorry, you're still here. See you later!