I rise at 8:25 like the good boy that I am. And do some more of my writing thing.
We do our best to finish off the drinks we have left. A bit of a bottle of wine and a can of Boneshaker IPA. We just about manage before 11, when we check out.
Our train isn't until 14:23. What to do until then?
"What about having a coffee here?" I say, pointing at Dark Horse.
"OK." The kids agree. That was easy.
I grab some seats while the kids queue up to order. Cafe latte for me, iced coffee for Alexei, can of Bellwoods Isar Pilsner for Andrew. They also sell bottles of wine.
"It must be easy to get a licence here." I remark.
“Civilised, I call it.” Andrew says.
“You’re not wrong there.” I reply.
After a while of hanging around, we get an Uber to the station. It's still 2 hours before our train. But, as we have business-class tickets, we can wait in the lounge.
It's quite grand, as is the rest of the building. Along with the comfy seats, there's free coffee and soft drinks. And apples. It's a relaxing place to wait. And it has nice bogs.
Our carriage is right at the front of the train. Our seats are around a table in almost a little compartment.
While we're still making our way through the Toronto suburbs, the steward comes around with bags of nuts and drinks. I get a gin and tonic, the kids cans of Steam Whistle beer.
"This is very civilised." I say, sipping on my drink. It really is.
The train has WIFI and Alexei finds somewhere that's streaming the World Cup final. It lags badly, freezing every couple of seconds. Alexei tries a few other sites, but none of them are any better. I'm following the game on the Guardian website.
“It doesn't look like we're missing much." I remark. "I predict Spain win with a scrawpy goal in the 85th minute.”
"I don't care as long as Argentina lose." Andrew hasn't forgiven them for the semi-final against England.
The train is chuntering along at a decent whack: mostly over 100 kph, sometimes as high as 150 kph.
"That's about the same as in Holland." Andrew says.
"Yes, but Holland's a much smaller country." I reply.
The game is taking forever, what with the stupid "hydration" (advertising) breaks and the ludicrous half-time show.
"I hope they drop all this bollocks at the next World Cup." I say bitterly.
"Not much chance of that, Dad." Alexei opines pessimistically.
“You’re probably right. If anything, it’s likely to get worse.”
It's announced that we're running 20 minutes late. Oh well. We don't have any plans for the evening.
The steward brings around our meals, which come with a glass of wine. And afterwards there are more drinks: whisky for me, Steam Whistle again for the kids. Amazingly, Andrew eats all his meal.
“I’ll note this down in my diary:’ Andrew ate a whole meal.’” I quip.
“Very funny, Dad. And you don’t have a diary.” Andrew responds.
“My blog is a sort of diary.”
“A very untruthful one, from what I’ve read.”
“True in spirit.”
“But not in actual facts,”
“It’s all a matter of interpretation.”
“And making stuff up.”
“Being flexible in my reporting.”
“Making stuff up.”
“That’s what creative writing is all about.”
“But isn’t your blog supposed to be non-fiction?”
“Not the travel reports.”
“I suppose you’ll be lying about this, too.”
“Coming up with a flexible interpretation of events.”
“Making stuff up.”
“If you insist.”
“Thank you. You’ve finally admitted your lies.”
We arrive in Ottawa 40 minutes late. Impressive for a journey that was only due to take two hours. We jump on the light rail that takes us pretty much directly to our hotel in the city centre.
We quickly check in, then go in search of refreshments. It’s Sunday and getting quite late. Lots of places aren’t open or about to close.
After some wandering around we find a convenience store that sells beer and wine. Which makes the kids happy. Andrew was worried he might have an evening without beer.
On our wandering we spotted two pubs called the Royal Oak. Both open. We go to the nearest one. Which will still be open for a few hours. It’s pretty quiet. Just a couple of people sitting at the bar.
There's quite prominent Fullers branding on the outside. And some posters inside. But no sign of any Fullers beers. Have they really stopped exporting to North America?
I get myself a Mill Street hazy IPA. While the kids go for their Organic Lager.
"Shall we order some food, Dad?" Alexei always has a healthy appetite. Unlike Andrew.
“OK, let's get some starters and sides.”
We kick off with onion rings and poutine. Which are pretty good. After the first round I switch to whisky. I've had enough of hazy IPA.
"All the IPAs seem to be sludgy here in Canada." I say forlornly.
"That's what the kids want nowadays." Andrew replies.
“They could have at least one normal IPA for oldies like me.”
"Any excuse to switch to whisky, eh, Dad." Alexei remarks cynically.
“It’s their fault for an uninspiring beer selection.”
“Not yours for being a pisshead?” Alexei asks.
“Fuck off.”
“That’s always your response when you lose an argument.”
After a couple more rounds and some quesidillas for Alexei, we wend our weary way back to the hotel. Where the kids have a couple of beers and I drink some Ontario wine.
We turn in quite late: 02:30. After arranging to meet in my room at 10:30 tomorrow.
I'm asleep in seconds.
Dark Horse Espresso Bar
416 Front St E,
Toronto, ON M5A 0H8.
https://darkhorseespresso.com/
The Royal Oak - Kent at Slater
180 Kent St,
Ottawa, ON K1P 0B6.
http://royaloakpubs.com/
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