Out for a Sunday drive through the Gatineau Park

It was a glorious morning, crisp and cold, and certainly one on which it was better to be outside than in. Sadly, I had a 10am appointment with O, a neighbour who is also an exceptionally talented hairdresser, and whom I had regaled with tales of the various Spanish fiascos. She is of Portuguese/French origin (so I can keep the Iberian theme going) and punctuality is not her forte… besides, she was doing me a big favour, so who was I to grumble? As 10am slowly became 12pm, it dawned on me that she had forgotten (how can anyone forget my hair?) so we thought about making alternative plans. After such a long period of being cooped up, I thought I might venture out, accompanied by my family, and see what life on the other side of the river might have offer. Big mistake.
 
Not sure whether I was just much less well than I thought I was, or whether part of my condition includes photosensitivity, but after 15 minutes driving, my eyes were hurting and my head spinning, and I felt like throwing up. Sadly, this all happened while we were driving through Gatineau Park on the way to the Mackenzie King Estate. As the roads were all a little too narrow and windy to enable an easy stop, I had to keep on going until we hit a nicer spot.
 
In the end, it all passed. Mrs Ottawacker took over the wheel, took me into the SAQ (Quebec liquor store) and purchased some Pastis, which is my go-to remedy for nausea of all types. It helped.
 
While gently napping in the chair, my personal hairstylist knocked at the door (4pm) to see how she could help and ascertain what could be done about my current state of aff-hairs. She made all the usual barbed remarks (“I like your current style, it gives the illusion that you have a lot of hair” and “Your hair is pretty white – most people go grey first” and “You know it isn’t going to be easy, don’t you?”) and then promised to set up an appointment at the salon for Wednesday: (“There’s no way I am doing this at home”).
 
Thoroughly dejected, I had a plate of Ottawacker Jr/Mrs Ottawacker’s excellent lasagne – and then went to bed in the basement at 8:30pm, feeling abjectly crap.