Friday, July 17, 2009


So far this morning I have given blood, picked up dog shit, and tripped over the goalie pads I will be paying 24% interest on until I die, which may be soon after my imminent stroke from having to pull a balled-up sock out of the pool of 7-Up on the TV room floor and shortly thereafter pull the tail end of a crunchy rodent out of the dog's mouth.

Fuck. How's your day been so far.

I must say, waiting at the blood collection centre made me feel quite slim. Most of the health care system leeches in that particular cross section of society were at least 100 pounds overweight.

Needless to say when the receptionist asked me if I had been fasting, I was less than gracious. Fasting? If by fasting you mean sleeping then yes, I have been fasting. Fast asleep. I went on to say, of course looking around your waiting room I would say some of those people look like they could easily knock back a Big Mac while catching 40 winks, no problem. But me, no.

I think she was also in a caffeine withdrawal-enhanced foul mood, because once again she asked me if I had been fasting for at least 8 hours. Counting back it dawned on me that I had a glass (or three) of wine and a bag of fat-free Orville Redenbacher laced with multiple tablespoons of butter (half cup) at about 9:30 last evening. It was 7 am, so quickly doing the math, I figured I was good.

Yes. I have been fasting... bitch.

So, can I tell you how nice it was to have an actual grown-up invite from Innkeeper Suzi Fraser! Suzi invited me to come and stay at her Mecklenburgh Inn in Chester. As a treat! (Please note: not one, but TWO exclamation marks so far in this paragraph, that's how excited I am.) I can only imagine waking up late, in a cheery room with an ocean breeze and the aroma of Suzi's Cordon Bleu breakfast wafting up the stairs. Forget the stroke, I'd die and go to heaven just to roll over and not have Fitzy's rat infested dog breath fogging up my face.

Sadly, I had to decline Suzi's lovely offer as I have two dogs, and a child with filthy socks and a hockey-induced personal hygiene problem, plus daily trips to Centennial Arena where I sit surrounded by crack whores and poverty thinking I should just rent a government-subsidized apartment out there next to the rink, since that is where I spend most of my time anyway.

The lovely, relaxing Mecklenburgh Inn is stumbling distance up the hill from the harbour (and The Rope Loft Tavern) in the Village of Chester and has been around since 1902, which is kind of how I feel.

You should go. Send me a postcard c/o Centennial Arena.

The Mecklenburgh Inn is at 78 Queen Street in the Village of Chester. 1.866.838.4638.