We went to Sandbanks and it was closed

Having travelled across southern Ontario, we decided to tack on an extra day to the trip and spend a day on the beach at Sandbanks - hence the stop at Trenton. We checked out of the Motel-6 room and drove down the windy roads towards the provincial park. Silly me.

As we queued up in our cars, we were asked whether we had reservations. For access to a provincial park. 

"No," I said. "We're not camping, we are just here for the morning."
"I'm afraid we are full today," said the young girl, sitting in a booth and perspiring freely in the 36-degree heat. 
"Full?"
"Yes. We are full," she offered.
"So, we can't go in?" I asked.
"We are full," she said.
"The provincial park is full?" I asked again.
"We are full," she said.

Faced with the possibility that this was a higher form of AI with whom (or is that with which) I could converse in this way until the end of time, I decided to leave. We left.

This meant one or two of us were rather miffed - but, in fairness to Mrs. Ottawacker, on whose broad shoulders I like to place much of the blame, who the frig would have thought a provincial park would be full at 10 in the morning?

So we went to Westport instead, having stopped at Picton en route to decide what to do next. Picton was busy, and hot. And the bench on which we decided to sit for an ice cream was seemingly the haunt of the homeless of the region. Not that that would bother me, but the language was a trifle fruity for the ears of a 9-year-old, so we moved on.

Westport was also busy, but we found a quiet place near the lake for another ice cream and then decided to go home along a scenic route. We hadn't seen our cats for a long time - and we were sure they were missing us.