Today's coincidence: Three brightly coloured tour buses from different tour companies, in three different locations downtown -- each one emblazoned with a Union Jack on the front or sides like the misplaced dreams of British ex-patriates living in Oak Bay. Possibly last night they dreamt, inappropriately, of France instead. The air was crisp like chilled white wine and I walked around in between having a chocolate in the ghetto coffee shop and getting on my own bus, bound for Esquimalt.
Alice Hoffman's The Probable Future ticks away as I read it like finely crafted antique clockwork, all the teeth fitting nicely together. At times, the romantic subplots seem to click too easily together, too predictably, although it's a book about premonitions and the effect is almost appropriate. I'm nearing the end.
Last night, romance was in the air as we did our taxes. Also, watched The Devil Wears Prada which has depth in spite of itself and often unaware of itself, but perhaps that's Meryl Streep. Tonight we're going to the ballet to see Dracula performed live.