Moderately early this morning after completion of ablutions and upon connecting to the internet at my desk I received an email from a younger friend who is a renowned chef in “Cabbagetown”, a popular area of downtown Toronto. He abbreviated my previous enquiry about “Any news?” by recounting that he is up each morning between one and two o’clock followed by long hours at the restaurant, then to bed between six and seven in the evening. While he rightfully acknowledged the duress of his enterprise, I could sense his personal commendation; and I was similarly moved to admire his dutiful and functional application (even if I confess a degree of envy of his purposeful occupation).

I surrendered to my comparative lassitude by stopping at the golf club in the Village of Appleton to treat myself to a late morning breakfast prepared by another of our favourite chefs. Though I breakfasted alone it was a pleasing resort as I hid inside the clubhouse from the driving wind and rain, absently observing the autumnal alterations and the infrequent golfers. The central reason for my singular materialization at the club for breakfast was that my partner had remained home in the apartment awaiting the arrival of a technician to examine the smoke alarms.  Last night shortly after midnight the alarm in the bedroom suddenly shrieked for no apparent reason. Thankfully it stopped as quickly as it had begun but nonetheless it constituted a disruption. We immediately sent a notification to the property manager who, prompltly after some back-and-forth communications, resolved to have the technican who had originally installed the devices re-attend the property for examination later today.

The technician arrived mid-afternoon. Judging by his poker-faced demeanour at the apartment door it was instantly evident that he was as displeased as we since this was the second time he had re-attended the apartment and had already replaced other alarms which had performed as sporadically. The technician subsequently advised that he has similarly replaced other devices in other apartments not only in the same building but also in another new development in nearby Arnprior, Ontario. He confirmed the devices are what he considers high quality; and, that there are only two approved manufacturers in Ontario. While he is not compensated for his time to replace the defective units, he reported that the manufacturer unhesitatingly honours its guarantee of replacement. After judiciously examining all the units in the apartment and replacing as required, he left amidst unanimously hopeful proclamations of an auspicious result.

As for the rest of the day, as so often happens (though for some reason – perhaps my inveterate misery – I never anticipate it) the weather changed from damp and blustery to fresh and glorious, piles of white fluffy clouds against an azure sky and dazzling sunshine.

Not unnaturally I straightaway profited by the positive change of weather to direct myself en ville towards the now oft-applauded Halo Car Wash™ in pursuit of yet another purgative campaign. So shamefully unmitigated is my fidelity to car washes that I haven’t any reluctance to achieve the daily absolution whether it were raining or not. It does however mollify my obvious embarrassment (particularly at a highly serviced destination such as Halo Car Wash™) to have the clouds breaking overhead and the sun projecting through. I protracted any clash of temperament (pardon the pun) by first frequenting the vacuums.

But my deliberations directed to improvement were not yet concluded. Apart from the midnight distortion of having accomplished a sitting high jump from bed upon the sounding of the fire alarm I later awoke with unaccustomed pains in my left knee no doubt arising from yesterday’s prolonged (6.76Km) and hillier (read: hard) Outdoor Cycle. Though the extra handful of analgesics I had consumed before going to bed last night had quelled overnight anxiety, fitfulness returned upon awakening. There was no escaping that even sunshine and a car wash were not recovery from such affliction. Accordingly I slavishly undertook another tricycle ride, one which I proposed to limit but which otherwise aligned with the upgraded atmosphere the usual nutrition of guilt.

As habitually I encountered on my late afternoon tricycle people whom I haven’t seen for considerable time (and another whom I only just met). We blathered and guffawed accordingly, seemingly communally spirited by the atmospheric improvement.

The looming Thanksgiving prospect is unfolding propitiously though I have yet to determine how I shall subdue the incalculable attraction of potatoes, gravy and homemade cheesecake.