Wha’s like us

A coffee out the back of a cafe two doors along and then we were off via the NSLC (they also sell cannabis - get your orders in, folks) across country to Pictou where our delightful lodgings had been reserved in advance. Clown that I am. Owned and run by a Scotsman du mauvais genre. Christ, is this man some blowhard. The original owner of the building was a direct descendant of James IV apparently. Aye, of course. Oh, and he’s a certified shark wrangler. And he wore a black kilt for 21 days after our dear old Queen died. Didn’t we all, pal. His wife meanwhile, from Alberta, is looking forward to them breaking away from Canada and becoming the 51st State. Yup. Too much Alberta money going to Nova Scotia. Like the money was hers.
Anyway we had a good time out round the town. Coffee at the sea glass coffee house, and later mussels and fries and a Tatamagouche IPA served up by Goose. Not a goose. Goose, her nickname.
We sneaked back very quietly so that mine host didn’t descend on us with more self-aggrandising tales. Sheesh. Bloody Scots.