I'm a day late in posting, but the weekend was a blur of activity. On Saturday, we took the babe to his first movie, which he enjoyed because there were prolific amounts of popcorn to be had. The movie itself was irrelevant, but our older son and Mr. C really enjoyed it. After the movie, we went to the worst restaurant in Halifax. We didn't know it was the worst, otherwise we wouldn't have gone there, but we both had good memories of this place from a few decades ago. Obviously the past few decades have not been kind to it. Mr. C and I both went to bed that night expecting to be awoken with food poisoning (which we didn't, thankfully). They have a "Feedback" form on their web site. Do you think I should fill it out? If so, my feedback would go something like this:
The entrance to your establishment smells of urine, my babe's highchair was covered in the filth from former babes, beetles fell from the ceiling above our table (seriously), the waitress could not differentiate between apple juice and milk (which was sour), our bill was incorrectly totalled (not once, but twice, resulting in a 10% discount, so thank you for that...)and my shoes stuck to the floors of the bathroom (which I was afraid to look too closely at). Needless to say, you have some work to do before we return again. Please do not send any coupons as a favour. We will return after you have undergone substantial renovations.
On Father's Day, we took the Great Canadian Railway through the countryside to Truro. Travelling by train in Canada is a big deal; not like Europe, where it is a rather common thing to do. It was the Babe's first trip on a train, and I thought he would explode from the excitement. In the car, asleep on the drive back home again, he was muttering "train...train...TRAIN" in his dreams. Good things always have to come to an end. Why is that, anyway?