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While Adam stays at a hotel with the rest of his hockey team, Gus and I have been bunking at my Mum’s floating house, although “floating”  might not be the best descriptive right now.

Don’t worry, we are still (for the moment) floating, by all definitions of the word, but the swaying pictures and staggering inhabitants residing within these four walls beg for a more accurate word to describe our current state- Bobbing? Bouncing? Oh! Careening!

The entire city is suffering severe windstorms and this little harbour of houses seems to be bearing the brunt of it- jerking against our moorings like things posessed, made into playthings by the force of the ocean’s rhythymic back and forth.

My trusty hound has choosen to protect me from the elements by cramming himself into the tiny area beneath my desk and refusing to emerge, not even for treats.

Not hiding you see, just….keeping an eye on things at ground level.

I have to take a shower, but am procrastinating.  I can barely walk from the kitchen to the living room (a distance of maybe 16 feet) without staggering around like an intoxicated trophy wife at the company picnic, as such I’m not particularly curious to see what adding soap and water to the mix will do. 

So far two ferries to the mainland have been cancelled. We may be extending our stay for another night- trapped!

Even with the wind, the bobbing and staggering, the terrified pooch and (seemingly) endless hockey games, I’d take it. This weekend has been sublime.

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