Real fish instead of processed whatever
Blame it on the rigors of vacation, but I stayed up past my bedtime. Six hours past. And in recognition of the years I’ve accumulated, it is tough. Might take me the next week or two to resynchronize my diurnal ticktock. We’ll see. The hotel mattress was very comfortable. We came very close to hitting the checkout time limit.
With enough fresh fruit already stored in the cooler, there was no need to hang around town; off to St. Peter’s for some fish and chips and clam strips. It will be very hard to return to eating the processed and frozen cardboard that is sold with fish pictures once winter returns. Going at lunchtime avoided the lineups.
Up east, anxious to find out what was available at the campground. We’re in the usual section, and the usual neighbours were already on site. A homecoming. Or, a realization that even eleven months and three weeks isn’t long enough to forget the faces and names.
The tent is pitched, and the mattresses are swollen (air). I forgot to load the lantern, so nighttime navigation will be restricted until further notice. A minor glitch.
Supper was just down the road, at Naufrage. I like fishcakes, and the sides of chow and beans are retro but delicious. A large dinner party made things a tad noisy, but it means that when my turn to hoot and holler arrives, I’ll know where to go.
The only thing left to do (before bedtime) is to find the wily wi-fi and get this posted.
