So, some hours ago I typed and inserted photos for about 40 minutes. And now I discover the whole lot, bar the title, has disappeared into a wormhole in the space time continuum.
We walked through Chinatown, where we saw a plaque to a local writer who set his first novel (The Jade Peony) here when it was published in 1995. He is Wayson Choy and he is one of the leading folk in Canadian literature, so when we passed a 2nd hand bookshop I went in and found a copy. Also met an elderly man who sidled up to me and said, “You know you bear a remarkable resemblance to William Golding, at a certain stage of his life”. In the next few minutes he told me that a famous Canadian modern painter called Ian Wallace was originally born in Shoreham, and he knew this because the two of them had come to Canada from England at about the same time to study at British Columbia University.
All the alleys, even some in upmarket areas have power lines and transformers high on these huge timber arches. Seems strangely out of date.
We made our way towards the Art Gallery, but needed help at one junction. A chap on a bike offered to assist us. He was wearing trainers, a cycle helmet and a three tiered blue net tutu – it must be naked bike ride day. The work of Emily Carr featured in a rather more diverse show, and one of the security people urged us not only to see it, but also to photograph her paintings and drawings because the gallery had never previously allowed her works to be photographed, this is the first time, “so take advantage of it” she said.
So I did.
Several times. Hope to return to Stanley Park and try drawing some trees using her style as a guide.
Back at the hotel we went into Pats Bar at about 6am for a beer and dinner. Met the brewer who told me the recipe for his lager. 1% wheat malt for head retention , 3% Viennese malt for the sweet caramel edge, and the rest is two row pale barley malt, fermented over two weeks. Very pleasing, but I preferred the Old Yale West coast IPA, very like Dark Star APA.
Jazz was played with our dinner, the quartet is called Circle, the pianist is hiding behind the pier. We escaped up to our room as roadies set up for a heavy metal band due on at 10pm. But at midnight we were woken by the fire alarm, and smelt smoke as we walked down the stairs. But it proved to be trivial, and soon we returned to bed, to be lulled to sleep by distant drums and guitar thrashing.
Two firemen reset the alarm. Goodnight all.