Much has happened but I have had little time to write a few words to share with you. One very short story will have to suffice for today.
We were having a rainy day picnic in Stanley Park sheltered in one of the park's many large covered spaces. There were but two other couples sharing the space with us - at the opposite from where we sat eating and drinking our beer and wine. The other people were doing the same except they were drinking white wine. They were talking animatedly but we could not hear them above the sound Dope City September rain makes on an uninsulated roof.
"I bet they are fucking Germans," I told Sonja.
She was unconvinced. "Beer you do not know shit. Lots of people drink white wine in the rain."
"No they fucking do not," I said as if it were as predictable as the Canucks not winning the Stanley Cup next spring. Then I got up and went over to see if I was right.
After I finished making nice with the white wine drinking sons of bitches I returned to Sonja.
"Well?" she asked.
"Only Motherfucking Nazis drink white wine in the rain."
1 comment:
Of course, we are used to drinking in the rain here, too. Even quaffing on a Chilean white like some distant wet cousin to a changeling from Brazil.
It is small wonder that Hess chose to ground his Messerschmitt just short of Dungavel House in 1941.
I see from Google that it is now the site of an immigration detention facility used to house those deemed unsuitable for retirement into our hills and gullies. Those abandoned coal seams. There is a joke there to be mined at some later date.
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