hockey schmockey

The men's hockey final is on the radio right now, and though I'm only listening with one ear, I have not turned it off. I do marvel that a game matters so much to my fellow Canucks. We're winning. Yay. In fact, anything that might make Stephen Harper happy makes me miserable. So.

The city of Toronto has never, ever, looked so unbelievably hideous as it does today. This time of year is usually horrible, but now it's almost unbearable, the filthy snow and now the slick ice that makes it hard to walk. And high winds. The path to the bird feeder in the yard is a skating rink and a pond.

We'll get through.

Yesterday, my friend Stella, a wonderfully eccentric artist and performer, did me a huge favour - she read the manuscript and gave me her comments. She had mostly praise, but when she wanted something better, I listened carefully. This is my last chance to rewrite before the deal is sealed. So I'll be working this weekend. And then, please, let's put this book to bed.

I also heard from the fantastic lawyer Kate Henderson that I can use Paul's name and a song in the title of the book, and brief snippets of songs throughout. So:

ALL MY LOVING
Coming of Age
with Paul McCartney
in Paris

That's what we have right now. Soon, soon it can be yours!!

Last night, Sherlock. That Cumberpatch is adorable. Wonderful actor. Two great lines - Sherlock saying, during his priceless best man speech - "Religion is a ludicrous fantasy designed to provide employment for the family idiot." 

And the pretty woman he sits with at the wedding says longingly to him, "I wish you weren't … whatever it is you are."