Allow me to open with two stories that I believe are relevant to what happened last Friday.

Story #1

My dad bought a house on one of the gulf islands a few years ago. The island is lovely and his property is a darn fine piece of land. But the house, well, let’s just say that it was built by a butcher around 30 years ago whose priority was obviously not the longevity of the structure. Nothing against butchers. They just ain’t carpenters. I wouldn’t trust a carpenter to turn a cow carcass into delicious steaks, and I now know not to trust a butcher to build a house.

I went with dad to view the house shortly after he bought it. It was his first time sleeping surrounded by those walls. Those thin, uninsulated, mouse-filled walls.

We lay camped out on the kitchen floor listening to the scritching and scratching of tiny little feet on plywood running up and down and all around, dad trying to pretend that he hadn’t just bought his own private petting zoo. For months and months after that, any noise in the night would jolt him awake screaming Damn you, mousie! Okay, maybe he didn’t scream. But to this day phone calls usually include an update of how many mice were caught in his various rodent-killing schemes.

Story #2

I never think to buy, or apply, bug spray. I was talking to my sister Angie a few months ago, after I’d been nearly eaten to death by mosquitos in Manitoba, and she said Yeah, when the bugs are that bad bug spray doesn’t help at all, and I slapped my forehead and thought bug spray! Of course! Why don’t I have any of that? And then promptly didn’t buy any.

Weeks later when I was leaving the States I popped into a department store to spend up some of my US cash on sundry items. A new tooth brush, shampoo, deodorizers for my van…and I walked by a massive bug spray display. A few isles later I clued into what I’d seen and walked back to grab some.

I came across it crammed in the back of a cupboard about a week ago, vaguely remembered buying it, and strongly remembered all the times since I could have used it. So I placed it in a spot of honor in one of my cup holders.

Day 110 (Friday, Aug 27)

2 am

I was sleeping soundly in my bed in Pistolet Bay National Park. It’s way up at the top of Newfoundland’s Northern peninsula. For the first time since I got to Newfoundland, it was cold and damp and rainy. I was snug and warm, and not happy to be woken up.

By scratching.

That’s got to be outside. Right?

I lay in bed trying to ignore the obvious sound of something trying to get into a chip back in my food cupboard. For those unfamiliar with my van, this cupboard is directly behind the driver seat —  an important visual for later.

I got up, instantly freezing cold, and tried to arm myself. Flashlight for seeing, pot for catching, and if that failed, 1 litre container of engine oil for bashing. I opened the cupboard and! Nothing? Hmm…I sat still for a while and heard nothing. So I turned off the light and went back to bed.

Scratching.

But this time it didn’t sound like it’s in the cupboard. I beamed my flashlight at the driver seat and caught a glimpse of a little brown mouse hanging out on my foot mat. It quickly disappeared, but I couldn’t see where.

It’s possible to climb from the back of the van to the front seat, but not with any sort of grace or style, and certainly not sneakily enough to surprise a mouse. So, grumbling, I exited the van, walked around to the front, and threw the driver door open.

Nothing.

I poked around. There’s a piece of loose carpet that covers some fuses and wires. Is it hiding in there? No. Did it run up into the back and is now cuddled in my bed? Probably. I closed the door and got startled by that damn mouse running along my bumper. How the heck did it get there? Who cares? It’s out! I went back to bed.

Scratching…

I opened my food cupboard and there’s that damn mouse, perching in front of a granola bar munching away, giving me a cheeky look like yeah, I’m eating your peanut butter crunch. Whatcha gonna do about it?

Oh I’ll tell you what I’m going to do! I’m going to cry! TAKE THAT SMELLY STUPID FACE!

You know that old joke they do in films and cartoons where someone is being chased and you see them run into one room and then out of another, and then they peer out of a closet and go back in, only to emerge from a cupboard in another room, etc, etc? Well, what happened next was like one of those scenes. The mouse would be in the cupboard, then disappear, only to reappear on my driver seat, then disappear again, then he’d be in the cupboard again, then slipping under my foot matt…and on….and on.

I sat there there watching the magic act and wishing for some little traps and some of my dad’s rat poison. I was considering taking some cheese and maybe lacing it with something. But what? I now realize how silly it is that I don’t travel with poison. It’s going to the top of my next shopping list.

Then my eyes fell upon my bug spray, sitting nonchalantly in the spare cup holder. That damn mouse was currently taking a nibble off my foot matt. I grabbed the bug spray and doused him good. This sent us both scurrying out of the van at top speed: me out the side door and him using that loose carpet to make his get away. Ah, is that how he travels in and out of the cupboard? Is there an underground passage that leads him straight to my food supply? And then outside? If so, I have a stern letter to write to Volkswagen.

Once the toxic cloud had cleared enough so I could breath I ventured back into the van. I emptied all of my canned goods into a box and sprayed the cupboard too. Then I sat very still, listening.

Nothing.

I finally went back to bed. The next few hours were spent ignoring the lingering sent of bug spray wafting through the air and jumping at every little noise. Mouse? No….MOUSE?? No…. Karma for not being terribly sympathetic to my dad’s plight? Perhaps.

In the morning I awoke to a huge mess. Food all over the floor, pots and pans spread out all willy nilly. Gosh, it looks like someone was trying to catch a mouse in the dark!

Photo Credit

Mouse © Dano @ Flickr. Some rights reserved.

Day 107 — 111 (Tues August 24 — Sat August 28)

I spent four nights camping in and around Gros Morne National Park. It is hands down the beautiful and interesting national park I’ve ever been to in Canada (Arches Park in Utah might compete on an international level mostly because it’s so unique, and also because Angie and I nearly blinded ourselves, twice, while visiting it 10 years ago. But that’s a story for another day…).

I don’t even want to try explaining Gros Morne to you, because it’ll be paragraphs full of unhelpful descriptions including words like “spectacular” and “picturesque” and “breathtaking”, which are all accurate but won’t help you actually visualize what the hell I’m talking about. So instead I’ll share with you my favourite pictures.

Discovery Centre Hike — The discovery centre tells you all about the history of the park, and has a pretty challenging 5km hike up a hill. The view was great, but the best part was that at the top there were bleachers. I’ve never seen that before. Bleachers full of tourists sitting and staring out at the scenery like they’re watching a basketball game or something.

The Tablelands — A geologic anomaly. This part of the park is made up of peridotite, a kind of rock that doesn’t have any of the nutrients needed to sustain plant life. So, as you can see, on one side of the road it’s a plant party, and on the other it’s a barren wasteland. Geology is neat!

Sunset at Green Point Campground. Do you see the evil face? It sort of looked like Tim Curry as the devil in Legend for a while.

Western Brook Pond — A fake fjord carved by glaciers. It’s fake because it’s not filled with salt water. Apparently that’s what makes a fjord a fjord. Not the thousands of years of ice carving intricate designs in the earth’s rocky coating. Oh, no. It’s what it gets filled with afterwards. That hardly seems fair to me. It’s an hour walk into the pond (Newfoundland calls their lakes ponds. How sweet is that?) and then you can take a two hour boat ride down the non-fjord. It was a beautiful sunny day when I did this, which sadly means all my photos are kind of washed out. Need to get me that polarized filter!

Baker Brook Falls — It’s about a 5km walk through a forest and a bog to get to these falls. I started off early enough to get them all to myself. On my way back to the parking lot I passed about 50 people heading off towards them.

Day 104 (Sat, August 21)

1:30 AM

Port Aux Basques

Why, dear god, WHY did I think that booking myself on to the 5:45am ferry from North Sydney to Port Aux Basques, Newfoundland was a good idea? At the time my thoughts were on the arriving bit — getting in at noon seemed smart as I’d have all afternoon to figure myself out. I didn’t give any thought to the whole “departing” bit.

I had to be at the ferry terminal at 4:15am at the latest, but couldn’t arrive until 1:30am at the earliest. Go figure. So I slept in the North Sydney visitor centre parking lot, and had my phone and iPod alarms set for 1:30. I also had my sister and mom on strict instructions to call me at 1:30 (9:30pm their time) as a back-up plan. My thinking was to get to the terminal as soon as I was allowed, and then sleep until boarding.

Newfoundland Welcome Sign

With four alarms in place I promptly didn’t get any sleep and was awake all by myself come 1:30. Once in the ferry line I lay in bed and listened to the trucks continually powering on and off, and the alarm of the car in front of me singing merrily every few minutes.

Once on board (an hour late boarding, which I later found out is actually quite good for this particular route) I curled up in a chair and somehow managed to doze for a few hours, so I wasn’t a total zombie when I got my first view, ever, of The Rock.

I spent the afternoon driving around the south west roads of Newfoundland, ogling the rugged coastline dotted with rickety vinyl-sided houses perched precariously close to cliff edges, and wondering how anyone can get anything done with this relentless WIND.

Day 105 (Sun, August 22)

Lark Harbour

I drove out to Lark Harbour, which had a cute campground with the wonderful name of Blow Me Down, several walking trails, and a little restaurant called Captain Cook’s Eatery or something similar. I sat down at one of the nine tables, of which only three others were occupied and two already had their food. I ordered a cheese burger and small fries.

An hour later I asked my waitress how much longer it would be, and she sighed and stomped off to the kitchen. She returned a few minutes later saying it would be SOON, and they’d been really busy didn’t I know? Um…I beg to differ.

My burger was not a patty, but a loose meat catastrophe, which my waitress tried to over charge me for. And I thought Newfies were supposed to all be wonderful?

Corner Brook

Day 106 (Mon, August 23)

I passed through Corner Brook, which has a pulp mill right down town and the most extensive collection of potholes I’ve ever experienced. I checked my email and there was a message from my lovely friend Tasha saying she had an aunt and uncle in town I could stay with, and I could find the aunt at the library. So to the library I headed and started asking around for an Esther, and a few hours later I was snug in her home enjoying the comforts of a home cooked meal, shower, and BED! Thank you so much to Esther, Allan and Hanna for taking this wayside traveler in!

Day 97 (Sat, August 14th)

PEI Village

I drove North from Charlottetown to Cavendish, an absolutely horrid part of PEI that is just swarming with Anne of Green Gables attractions and Anne-crazy tourists. I kept driving.

Fortunately the west and east bits of PEI aren’t nearly as popular. I spent four days driving slowly along the charming country roads, enjoying the farms and cottages and small harbours lined smartly with fishing boats. Long red beaches with water so warm it feels like pee (to quote my cousin’s boyfriend and host of my Ottawa accommodations, in describing his idea of the perfect swimming temperature) were everywhere. I camped, swam, read, and walked. A lot.

Day 100 (Tues, August 17th)

Let’s take a moment to reflect on this, shall we? I’ve spent 100 days on the road. 100 days of sleeping in my van or in the warm beds of friends and family, and in some cases, strangers. 100 days of summer road tripy goodness. I believe there is only really one thing to say.

WOOT!

Camping at Sunset

Day 102 (Thurs, August 19th)

Pay attention and see if you can count how many stupid/annoying things happened today.

I took the 6:30 am ferry off of PEI. It takes about 75 minutes. On board I had some coffee and ate breakfast, then went to the upper deck and lay down on a bench in the sun. When the ferry made the announcement to return to vehicles I was surprised to see that we were already in dock. I walked directly down to my van to find that not only was the ferry in the process of unloading, but they were unloading my lane, and all the cars behind me were making a wide semi-circle around my abandoned looking vehicle. I waltzed up, got in, and was the last car to drive off.

Now, I didn’t think I’d fallen asleep on my bench, but I either slept through their initial docking announcement, or they sent it out through ESP. Either way….Oops!

I drive off the ferry with the intention of heading to Cape Breton, and immediately end up driving back towards New Brunswick, although it takes me about 20km to notice it.

I stop in Antigonish to do some laundry.  The laundromat doesn’t have a change machine, so I go to several businesses in search of quarters. Back at the washing machine I load in my clothes, and as I turn to leave I can’t find my sunglasses. Are they…yep! Oscillating away with my dirty shirts and underwear.

PEI Beach

Over to a coffee shop to check my email. The internet stops working seconds after I sign on. I go to pay for my coffee and hey! Where’s my wallet?

Balls.

Back to the van. Not there. I figure it’s being laundered, just like my sunglasses would have been if I hadn’t rescued them.

Back to the laundromat, and panic finally sets in when the wallet is not in the washer. I backtrack to all the businesses I tried to bum quarters off of. No luck. But I swear I had it when I left my van. I took everything out of my one bag and put it all in my other bag, and my wallet was there — unless it didn’t make the transfer and is still in that first bag.

Yep, there it is, patiently waiting for me.

I call ICBC to ask about renewing my car insurance, which expires in a few weeks. Before I left on my trip they told me I could easily do this over the phone.

View from PEI Ferry

Well the woman I spoke with had a different opinion. She thought I was very irresponsible for having the gall, THE GALL, to be out of province when my insurance expired. AGAIN! (Yes, when I extended my trip in Ecuador last summer I was in the same position and had to do it over the phone. GASP!) I had to listen through a lecture on responsibility and then pretty much had to beg for her to answer a few simple questions.

In the afternoon I arrived in Sydney, Nova Scotia. I put on my running shoes to go for a walk (I’d been wearing sandals for a few days straight) and immediately started limping. What the? A foot inspection found three separate blisters that had formed into one mega blister pretty much covering the entire surface area of my baby toe. I immediately called both my sisters and my mom to whinge.

PS, thank you mom, Angie and Melissa for humouring me. Especially Melissa, because she made sympathetic noises while at work. If I’d had to listen to me whine about getting blisters from walking on sandy beaches too much, while sitting at my office desk, I’d have hung up on me.

Day 92 (Mon, August 9th)

My cottage beach

After a few weeks of lollygagging around Halifax, I decided I needed to leave immediately or stay forever. Since nothing was leaking out of the bottom of my van, I opted for the former, and hit the road, heading north. Check this out and tell me how lucky I am. An old coworker has a family cottage on the coast of Nova Scotia on a lovely little beach that looks out to the distant sands of PEI. This cottage was not currently spoken for, so I got to spend five days there.

Five days of sunny skies, low tides, and ocean that is actually warm enough to swim in without risking hypothermia. BC friends may have a hard time believing this, but I SWEAR IT’S TRUE! The water had just the faintest whisper of a chill, only enough to be totally refreshing — unlike the arctic currents that terrorize the west coast and threaten to freeze anyone foolhardy enough to dip a toe into its icy swells. I swam out about a kilometre from shore in this blissful salt water haven, and then was bawled out by three grandmas sitting on the shore when I returned, who didn’t believe me that even that far out I could still comfortably touch the bottom and was in no danger of being sucked out to sea, what with their being no waves at all.

My time at the cottage was spent very lazily, with lots of walking on the beach, sitting on the beach, staring at the beach, and thinking about the beach. I also bought some steak and kidney pies at a local butcher, my first ever! Very tasty.

Day 96 (Fri, August 13th)

New Brunswick Welcome Sign

It was hard to say goodbye to my cottage. But considering it wasn’t really, you know, mine, I had to. I decided to sooth my aching heart by seeking out more beaches on PEI. To take the bridge I crossed into New Brunswick, and was able to get the welcome sign that eluded me the first time into the province. So here you go, Bev!

I’ve driven across the Confederation Bridge before, but I didn’t remember it. Now that I’ve seen it again, I have no idea how I can have no memory of my first crossing 12 years ago. It’s 13km, and I spent every one of those marvelling at how freaking cool it is. Especially on a sunny day.

Confederation Bridge

If you’re going to go, you must do it on a sunny day. That’s an order. Because then you get to enjoy the cute coastline of PEI as well.

So, how did I spend my first night on this wonderful island full of beaches and seafood and country drives and fiddle music?

I watched Stallone’s new movie, Expendables.

Why, you ask?

I don’t rightly know, but if I have to I’d guess that it’s because I’m an idiot. An idiot who gets distracted by shiny things and theatre marquees.

I am happy to share with you my first guest post on the wonderful blog, Secret Society of List Addicts. Please visit my list of Five Domestic Guilty Pleasures.

Enjoy!

It has been brought to my attention via my faithful readers (ie, Frank) that I haven’t provided a drink recipe for a few provinces. Oops! Bad blogger! Bad, bad blogger!

In my defence, I breezed through New Brunswick in just over a day and didn’t really do anything there, so I didn’t feel like a credible source for the definitive NB drink. And I’m taking FOREVER in Nova Scotia, so that drink is to come.

But yes, I did forget to do Quebec. And I don’t want New Brunswick to feel left out. Far be it from me to alienate an entire province of faithful readers.

Right?

Hello? Anyone there?

If you’ll be so kind to remember back about a month, my time in Quebec was spent almost entirely in a yoga ashram. Among other things, this meant no alcohol (or caffeine, or onions, or sleeping in). But there was plenty of tasty tea. So Quebec’s drink is my best guess at the mystery tea I consumed every meal for seven days.

Quebec’s Myster-Tea

• Hot Water
• Lots of Mint Leaves
• Orange Slices
• Fennel? (I think that was the other flavour…)
• Let seep until the leaves start to disintegrate
• If you would like to Sarah-ize this feel free to add that ever ready shot of Tequila

The New Brunswick Drive-By

• Order a drink at your local bar
• Get distracted by something shiny, and leave before it arrives
• Promise yourself you’ll go back and pay for it, but never do

Nova Scotia Teaser (Not my real NS drink, but to tide you over for now)

• Drink Keith’s. A lot.

Next post: back to our regular random travel story programming.

Photo Credit

Empty Beer Bottle © C. P. Storm @ Flickr

Emily and her pack

I would like to introduce you to an old friend of mine. Internet, meet Emily. Emily, meet the Internet.

I’ve been told that when introducing people, you should always share an interesting fact about each party. That way they can continue on a conversation — if they wish to — while you slip off to the kitchen to sneak sips from a hidden bottle of gin. Thanks for the tip, mom!

So, Emily, something interesting about Internet…did you know that as the most complicated and sophisticated data archiving system in the world, it’s used primarily to look at porn and lol cats?

And Internet, did you know that Emily has just recently completed a three month walk around the perimeter of Nova Scotia?

That’s right folks. Emily got it in her head that circumnavigating Nova Scotia, by foot, was a swell idea. So to all the people that thought I was nuts for driving across Canada alone, I’d like to present Emily as exhibit A in my defence. If she’s not certifiable, how can I be?

Armed with a red backpack and newish running shoes, Em left Halifax in May and headed south. Over the next three months she walked approximately 40km a day, taking one day off every two weeks. She stayed with friends, walking enthusiasts, and B&Bs, and encouraged anyone and everyone to come out and walk with her. Which I did.

Day 89 (Fri, Aug 6th)

Our Walking Route

Emily’s walking days tended to start around 8am. I had full intentions of getting up at 6am and driving the hour up the coast to meet her at the first departure location. Really, I did.

But then I didn’t.

So, the 10am departure location it was! And thank goodness for that. Considering how freaking sore my hips were at the end of the day, I’m not sure I would have survived the additional two hours of walking.

But I’m skipping ahead.

So, I did make it to the 10am rendezvous at Oyster Pond. And I was thrilled to discover that I got Emily all to myself that day. Being so close to town and all I thought I’d have to share her with other part time walkers such as myself. Together I think we did about 32km, with only a short lunch break. She’s strict! I got to hear all about her travels, including a brief history of the health of her feet. I’ll spare you the details. Let’s just say they do not sound pretty.

The last hour was challenging, what with the previously mentioned hip aches, and also some blisters on my toes that suddenly appeared and wanted to PARTY! We arrived in Musquodoboit Harbour just before 5pm and ate what for me was the most refreshing orange popsicle of my life. Then Emily’s billet for the evening graciously drove me back to my van. Watching the days walk fly by the window in 15 minutes of driving was a little annoying.

I drove back to Tina’s and spent the evening whinging about my sore feet and hips, and wondering how in the hell Emily was able to get up every morning and do that again?

Day 91 (Sun, Aug 8th)

Emily and her entourage returning home

After three months and almost 3,000 kilometres, Emily walked her final day. The Heart and Stroke Foundation threw her a little party in the Halifax commons to welcome her home. We all got free neon green t-shirts that say “Walking Takes Your Places” (when I first read mine I thought it said “Walking Takes you Paces”, which I think is a punnier slogan), and snacks and there was a percussion band and speeches and everything.

Well done, Emily! On behalf of the entire internet I would like to say that we think you are amazing, and have inspired a lot of people in more ways than you will ever know.

And please send our regards to your feet. Hopefully they feel better soon.

Day 76-82 (July 24th-30th)

Do you know what the weirdest part about returning to a city you lived in years ago? Feeling kinda dazed and disoriented, like you’ve just woken up from a long and convoluted dream that may have been really important but you can’t quite remember it. It’s like those Pevensie kids from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. I stumbled through a closet and grew up in a world with talking beavers that’s ruled by an ice queen. And now, years later I’ve somehow been drawn back to my home planet — a child again, with my experiences in Narnia just a faded memory.

Except in my case I didn’t spend the last eight years in a deluded fantasy world, but rather in Victoria. And the significant amount of greys on my head suggest I haven’t reverted to my 22 year old self. DAMN IT!

Still, it does feel like I never left. And when I tell my old theatre friends that I’ve spent a good portion of the last decade in a corporate job working with the internets, they give me a surprised and disbelieving look like I imagine Lucy got when talking about her good friends, the faun Mr. Tumnus, and Aslan, the lion that rose from the dead.

I spent most of the week tracking down and hanging out with old friends. But I’ll spare you the details of all the cups of coffee and pints of beer I drank while catching up on years worth of gossip.

I also had made a plan. It was thus: I would spend a week in Halifax, then leave on Sunday (last Sunday, to be precise) for Newfoundland.

And what happens when we make plans?

Or more specifically, what happens when I make plans?

That’s right. My van breaks.

Two Friday afternoons ago I was walking home (home being the spare room in the apartment of the lovely Tina and Gavin, who kindly took me in for what has turned into an extended period of time…) and I happened to throw a glance towards the van. What’s that I see? Something dripping from the back, all over the concrete?

Balls.

Being the end of the work week, and the start of a long weekend, I had to wait until Wednesday to get it checked out. There is only one mechanic in Halifax that works on the rare beast that is my van, and he is out in the middle of nowhere. I smartly did not have breakfast before I drove out to him, even though I knew full well that I’d be stuck there until he fixed whatever turned out to be wrong. I asked him if there was a coffee shop or something around and he said there was an Irving about a kilometre up the road. Normally I wouldn’t go for a gas station breakfast, but I was desperate. So I started walking. About three kilometres later there was no gas station but a lot of rain. I hung my head in defeat and sloshed back to the garage, where I waited for another hour in a puddle of my own sog.

Turns out the guys that did my oil change in Detroit stripped some plug, which needed to be re-drilled. Thanks, Detroit!

Oh, and apparently I forgot to take pictures for two weeks. But that’s okay, because my words are worth a thousand pictures. Right?

Where I've spent most of the last three months

Whoops. Where has the time gone? Here I thought that I’d be all good and post regularly and then, BAM! Days and days (and DAYS) go by and I give you nothing. You have my deepest apologies, interweb. Apparently I get distracted easily. I’ll try to never let it ha-HEY! WHAT’S THAT SHINY THING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET!?!? I WANTS IT!!!!!

Sorry, what was I saying?

The only thing better than being reunited with old friends is subsequently being pampered by them. I lived in Nova Scotia for two years, and the last time I was back was 2002. That’s a good, long, eight years since I’ve seen most of these people. And I have to say, so far they’ve been treating me like every single one of those approximately 2900 days has been consumed with a wailing misery created by my absence. There have been hot sticky tears, suffocating bear hugs, parades, impromptu street performances, dancing boys, zeppelin rides, words of welcome written in the clouds, strangers swarming me in the streets offering tokens of love and adoration…I LOVE YOU TOO, NOVA SCOTIA!!

Day 71-75 (July 19th-23rd)

Wolfville

My first stop was Wolfville, to visit Other Sarah and Sam. Other Sarah has been living in Japan forever (around 3 years), and was heading back again, so I only had a small window to catch up with her. Favourite Other Sarah memories from eight years ago include bugging her with the nickname Cleany Pants. I can’t quite remember how that came into existence. Something about her doing laundry and us watching and mocking. Yes, we had a LOT of time on our hands.

While we’re on the subject of nicknames, let me tell you mine from days gone by. Due to a funny typo in the local paper, my name went from “Sarah Gignac” to “Sarag Grignac”. That somehow turned into the super villan name “Sarag: Destroyer of Worlds!” That’s right, I’m badass. FEAR ME! LOVE ME!

While in Wolfville I stayed with Sam, who not only gave me MY OWN ROOM (this came after about two weeks straight of van living and sleeping. I could barely remember what to do with the big thing in the middle of the room with the blankets and the pillows), she piled me sky high with new books and made sure I always had a pub to sit in.

Other Sarah and Sam

Favourite Sam memories from eight years ago include her giving me a pirate marionette for christmas and then immediately taking it out of my hands and terrorizing her roommate, André, with it. The look of naked horror in André’s eyes was the best present ever.

Speaking of André, in the last eight years he has apparently turned into a unicorn. Sightings of this rare and mythic beast are so rare, claims to have been in his presence are met with a mixture of awe and disbelief. Fortunately I have photographic evidence of my recent encounter with the André. But I can’t show it to you until it’s been verified by a team of paranormal experts.

To achieve my sighting I tracked the André to his nest, and then sat in his living room very quietly until he emerged from his bedroom and ventured downstairs. Confused and disoriented by my unexpected presence, I was able to trick him into agreeing to come out to lunch with Sam and Other Sarah and I.

Favourite André memories from eight years ago include Sam terrorizing him with a pirate marionette (see above).