Allons-y!

Cat/house-sitter arranged? Check. All the blades in the checked baggage? Not yet (can't be too careful). Cool little flat on the Plateau rented? Oui. Physically and mentally ready for a week of serious food and beer consumption (amongst other pastimes)? Fuck, yeah!

Here're a few shots from previous trips to my spiritual (and eventually physical) home.

The Crank

"I want all my fucking tips back for the last two years, you fucking prick; and I'm never coming back to this fucking place ever," said Shaughan Williams, long-term patron of the lamentably-defunct John Shippey's Brewing Company, upon being told that lighting a cigarette in the bar was the last of many straws that marvelously drunken February night. Fortunately, "ever" meant for a couple of days, and I could continue photographing one of my favourite subjects, and the inspiration of my style.

Diners

I like diners: they're quick, cheap-ish, and usually have interesting photo ops. The Ardmore has a generally spectacular chocolate shake, the eponymous (and magnificently unhealthful) Melt, and excellent fries; Johnny's (with a much more homemade feel overall) has a great club, chickenburger, fish and chips, soups, and fucking great pie (apple, banana- and coconut-cream). And the crew at Johnny's mind my folks pretty closely when they're there.

Yesterday, we went to the Ardmore for brunch. I had steak-and-eggs to go with the my shake, and while they weren't like the pommes frîtes (which, in combination with the blueberry pancakes and a cappuccino and smoothie went a good way toward to solving the odd bout of alcohol poisoning) I used to get at Sebastien's, they were food-ish; and I got this shot.