Peggy’s Cove, cankles and meat

I woke up this morning with a fuzzy head and no ankles. My legs had swollen so much on the flight they were just sausage shapes from knee to toe. This is possibly good for my feet, otherwise so painfully thin that you can see the tendons. Well, there has to be some positive to extract from this.

My bag hadn’t shown up, but confident that it would take Air Canada some time to find it, I went to the shops and bought a whole bunch of clothes to tide me over until it arrived. The children ran around and gibbered (in particular, Destroyer kept demanding that I lie down and sleep on the “aeroplane” (a blue bench outside a shoe shop)) and after all this nonsense we drove out to Peggy’s Cove.

Peggy’s Cove is (either) a bunch of rocks with a warning sign telling sight-seers they will fall and die unless they take care, or a picturesque lighthouse, or a gift shop selling lobster flavoured potato crisps and creepy wooden fish, or all these things. The children kept rushing off across steep, crevass-ridden rocks, and we gave chase.

This was a pleasant way to spend the afternoon. As we headed back (about 5) La Serpiente tried to go to sleep, and I couldn’t have that, so I kept her awake with videos on my phone, until she wailed that there weren’t any with ladybirds in them (and by extension, I was the worst father ever). Fortunately, we were home five minutes after that and I could drop them off in front of the television, then get half an hour’s sleep and a shower. It was 6pm. My bag was still nowhere to be seen.

Leaving the kids behind, we went to dinner at Edna (apparently not named after Evil Edna from Willo The Wisp, for shame) where I had a 12oz ribeye steak which was the best meat I’ve had all year (and by extension, since 1996) and then went to the Lower Deck to drink beer and listen to a bar band.

My luggage arrived, about 18 hours late, as I discovered when I went home. I’m looking forward to my insurance claim…

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