July 25 Montreal 2
I should have stuck to my original intention and said no.
There I was in Montreal and they said: why don't you learn to kayak and watch the World Fireworks Championships from the St Lawrence River?''
Seemed like a bad idea at the time.
I was the worst skier in the alps on my one forgettable attempt at that particular discipline.
And the worst row (and that's saying something) in Lynne and I's turbulent married life was when we shared a two-man canoe for a trip down the Dordogne in France.
But hey, the other guys were going for it; they said no one ever fell in; and there were OLD people clambering into the kayaks.
We did 30 minutes training then joined a 1,000-kayak procession down river to watch the firworks.
999 kayakers DIDN'T fall in.
The rest you can work out.
Jo (my PR hero) did evreything she could to a. get me dry (futile). b. Make me feel better (even more futile).
I should never have done it.
Next day they said: 'Why don't you come for a jet-boat ride through the rapids.?'
'No.' I explained.
Montreal though! You've just got to go. Great shopping, fantastic restaurants, beautiful people in a joyous amalgam of British, French and North American.
Less than seven hours fly time.
Joie De Vivre was invented here, possibly.
A beautiful girl chinked glasses with me in a bar and insisted I looked her in the eye when I did so, as if I didn't it meant 'seven years bad sex.'
I've been married a long time, I explained. Any sex would be welcome.
Anyone out there been to Montreal? Back me up! It's brilliant.
