Dear Diary (as imagined by the Dominion of Canada)

Lordy, lordy what is a middle-aged Dominion and ex-colony to do? You try and make these visitor/tourists happy. After all, most people won’t even consider coming for a visit unless it’s for the 48 minutes of summer we have each year. So I try and make myself presentable, I cleaned up the attic (if you don’t count “dumpnado”, the simmering unextinguishable garbage dump in the far north that just won’t go out), swept the front steps, and invited all my old friends back (free trade agreements with Korea, Europe and some S. American neighbours — the ones who really make it a party]).

So what do I get?

— A snippy British woman who came with her girlfriend for a visit and wasn’t happy with all the cars she inconceivably encountered within major cities of all places.

— short term guests who come to Alberta for visits from Denmark and China and end up getting attacked by bears and complain that cars don’t come quickly enough to come cart them to medical facilities.

— a smitten Galway lad who encounters one of my own fair daughters on a Ryan Air flight to Dublin and thinks he’s charmed his way into her knickers only to lose contact with her at Passport Control.

So what is it to be world, more cars, less cars or should we just make out in the back seat so we don’t have to play Marco Polo in the Customs Hall?

Best let us know, we middle-aged gals ain’t got much time left until the mosquitoes go into hibernation and we start pulling out the woolen undies.

As they say on Game of Thrones, “Winter is Coming!” And you saw how that turned out for the Starks.

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