Heading up to North Sydney for the ferry across to Channel-Port aux Basques, we grabbed a coffee at Tim Horton's - as you do on a roady. Whilst there we were slyly advised by some joe quaffing Newfies "ask to be screeched in when we get there." I'm happy to partake in most local customs, especially if it involves varying degrees of inebriation. Earlier this year I spent five days in Ireland over St Patrick's Day and sobriety was definitely not on the list of local customs. Nevertheless, having been "gooned" with a couple of other Canadians in the past, I confess to being just a tad wary of getting "screeched in" with a bunch of ever so sociable Newfoundland Newfies.
On the ferry trip over I was once again caught short of a camera when two little ones took to the floor dancing like no one was watching. Except everyone was watching, but the kids couldn't have cared less - and why should they, shaking their bacon like a wet dog fresh from the tide.
But sometimes what kids say rather than what they do is just as entertaining. I overheard this conversation sitting in a restaurant last night:
Mum - "Well you can do it tonight then?"
Son - "Tonight! Tonight! But I did it on Sunday!"
Mum - "Yes darling, but that was three days ago, you should actually shower everyday."
I can relate to this. As a kid, it was not unheard of for me to go to bed with mud encrusted knees after a day's footballing, cover it all up with long PJ's before getting in and sweeping the larger, chunkier pieces out on to the ground in the morning when they'd chipped off. Now I shower twice a day if able, even three times if it's really hot. Boys will be boys.
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