August 20, 2017
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. No toilet flushed, no person vertical making their way down to the french toast that is awaiting. Why cry my dear and gentle readers. Sunday morning, on a dreary day. The usual up and at it time, with not one soul, no one has roused themselves, for even the heart starting, ass kicking, coffee made from scratch. I often while making the brew, and lots of think of the neighboors to the right growing up. Taking a big bite out the grounds and refilling with dry, increases the life of coffee ground, a bit longer. I have myself listened to the newscast three times, waiting. Did not have to bake, as I have enough leftovers, beans, apple cake & the peach dish I mentioned in yesterdays diatribe, and banana bread. The recipe being from my great aunt Eileen.
Waiting was the opertive word, waiting all day for a no show. Finding out that the credit card information was not correct when I finally did go to check it. Thus unable to fill the room. I also marked, in my stupor an incorrect expiry date, using a number long gone. It was the guest who, when I got out of bed, and talked with them, and you guested it, in a pink housecoat, pointed out the errors of my ways.
We are at the point we do not know who is exactly is in the house and what language is their mother tongue. All are Francophile, who speak in accent less English. Turns out the first table is in French as a father explains how the draft works for the professional teams, here scouting. Another guest from the Gaspe, are both working in windmills and there is a hiring going on for 500 people. The other couple from Bratwurst, north of the province arrived, and were bickering in both official languages. The last couple are Italian Canadian never showed for breakfast.
Turn around time, two hours to the next full up with the last guest scheduled to arrive tonight at 11p.m. Eighty percent of success is showing up. Woody Allen Moi and Miss Lp (off narcotics today btw)