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So the weather finally catches up with us. The risky weather of the day before stays constant or fools me into thinking that it will change when it doesn’t.

Two attempts at a walk in Butter Pot Park – want to head to the tolt where one can see into Conception Bay and Bell Island. The first ends in a downpour as we head down the T.C.H. turning the outing into a ramble up through Portugal Cove/St. Phillips then back into St. John’s when again it looking like it is clearing I try again.

Thinking it is summer forget my sweatshirt – 15C. but park in the mauze and head out on the trail. In previous walks the fog wouldn’t have been a problem as it was what was seen not what was expected to be seen but when the goal is a view and the last part of the journey was on slippery rock in the open, I was debating on whether to carry on.

The sudden downpour decided for me. The outing with an indirect way back into St. John’s – and the rain stopping as soon as we reached the machine 45 minutes later – via Witless Bay Line and Route 10 via Petty Harbour.



What came from the last two days was why I like this plae so much. Carol cannot see it in fact everything that I like she finds stifling. I don’t know if it is some big city small town – here it is the bayman –townie - preference finding the outports too spooky – I feel that the film Deliverance has a lot to answer for having townies fear small spaces.

It is true that you live in a fishbowl here even in St. John’s. Even me in my CFA status constantly run into people that I know. You deal with it or fold. I find it freeing as I seemed to be tolerated more here than dismissed – sort of like the village idiot in English village.

An example here at Hava Java spoke to someone with a Duke Documentary Studies cap on asking if he had been only to find out that he was the radio documentarian that did the Ideas programme on the voyages of St Brendan that Kennedy gave to me the night before – that I had heard on the CBC.

But the more I see how unimpressed Carol is the more I am coming to question my sanity for liking it here – to the point of tearing up at the Ode, and becoming incredibly bitter as my time is less than 24 hours.

Talked about this and while unhappy it was decided that I can stay – well it wasn’t as easy as that there were days of whinging and moodiness but she started it by saying that she was surprised that I was leaving so soon.

That opened the floodgates.

Now that I was staying – I raced down to Peter and Julia’s to see if I could put their son through college by staying in the flat or any of their accommodations.

Nope booked I could stay the coming week but after that homeless. It seemed that I had overpaid more than I thought as Peter had me down until this Wednesday so he tacked on two days and still owes me a bit.

This was a minor problem. I was staying I could focus, I could reach manic levels never before achieved my me, I could finish up.

Midnight happy as a clam, Carol suggests that I cancel the reservation os as not to be charged. Thought that I would wait until I got to the airport in case she wanted to chage her mind. I felt sort of horrible as it seems that one again I am reneging on my household duties, to be happy something that seems more and more alien to United Statemen.

On line I cancel one and try to book a new flight a fortnight later – the difference would be $1500.

Panic.

Try another date – same price.

Panic more as put down the computer and start to pack wondering how I am going to run all this stuff out to Pouch Cove before the 9am flight.

Finally ring and talk to a person who finds me a flight for only the $100 penalty – I had two choices – three weeks away or 10 days – in a fit of misplaced maturity I took the 10 days, thinking that I should maybe have time to prepare for class.

Panic averted, I stay on. Wake up listening to the National Anthem and the Ode to take Carol to the airport.