is to create an illusion of a permanent vacation I dry this blog as a Gothic unbalanced the first day of school school. Though. I could extend those happy days munching nonchalantly in a Wiener possessed by the spirit of Maple Leaf, but I confess that when it comes to worry, I have a slight preference for the Swiss and William that (giant) my spouse.
So no, I'm not part backpacker for a month in Belarus to eat Shnitzel . Neither a jump in Bratislava to see the lunch (molded to perfection in a Lycra bodysuit cream) my brother / cousin / friend to stay in place for a surprisingly cat jump perfectly executed.
In fact, I just spent a holiday with family principessa of Tuscany, the sort of place where anyone Garoche shamelessly for his entire collection of 30 sub Birthday Special in all fountains be sure to come back asap. This is not the buffoonish, Tuscany (or should I say Toxane , as the girl with the pierced tongue to Jean Coutu) is like movie Diane Lane Diane but with many more Antipasto and contorno, dolce and gelati, which would explain the form of Polpetta (aka meatball) I have taken since my return.
I left town in the middle of August, while Montreal-the-festival-always-tipsy crackled with the excitement of a tablet polydentate smokers. And what happens on my return to earth Canaduh? Arian. Arian Pantoute.
Proof that absolutely nothing has happened?
Nathalie Couillard was still on the cover of the press this week. * Sigh *
Cursed back.
