A traffic circle in Kemptville

I was on my way to Ottawa Friday night and pulled off the highway at Kemptville to get some gas. To my bewilderment and dismay I spotted a traffic circle at the approaching intersection. The only other one I've seen in Canada is in Dorval, where I grew up. Traffic circles and Québec drivers make for a frightening combination, perhaps explaining my phobia about both of them. I once heard that the difference between a fugue and a canon is that a fugue is difficult to get into and easy to get out of, whereas a canon is easy to get into and difficult to get out of. Or it may be the other way around; I know very little about music. Regardless, traffic circles combine the worst attributes of fugues and canons. They are difficult to get into and difficult to get out of. Few drivers seemed to know what to do at the Kemptville traffic circle. I think the town needs to hook up two loudspeakers and blast a fugue out of one and a canon out of the other, just to add to the confusion.

I often ponder how I should celebrate my landmark birthdays, when I turn 50, 60, 70 and 80 (at age 80 I'm going to stop wearing a seatbelt, start practicing unsafe sex and take up smoking, to ensure I don't make it to 90). Friday night I figured out what to do on my 80th birthday: I'm going to rent a car in Paris and try to navigate the traffic circle around the Arc de Triomphe, whilst eating a pain au chocolat and drinking a bowl of café au lait. It will be a spectacular success or a crashing failure. Memorable either way.

On a completely different note, interest is waning, the weeds are waxing, and I don't know what the moon is up to — perhaps illuminating Amy Winehouse collapsed over Deloney's lap, an idiotic grin on her face and a look of half bliss, half frustration on his. Time for a break. If you see a woman with lumpy hair lurking in your blogs it's probably me. Or maybe it's Jody. Or possibly Deb.

À bientôt mes amis...