Vers la Bastille

Roused from a very fitful sleep by the sound of a chainsaw. At first I thought Mrs. Ottawacker was snoring again, but no, it was a chainsaw. Bloody typical, City of Ottawa staff are almost impossible to contact and find when you want them, but when it comes to limbing and shredding a tree, they start before 7. Utter, utter arses.

Plenty of long chats with Mrs. Ottawacker about whether I should be returning to work or not. Her prosaic–and somewhat cryptic —answer was “how much do you like living?”