My cat caught a mouse this morning, for the first time in this apartment. Didn't see the actual catching - only the, shall we say, celebration afterwards. Lexie was throwing around the disgusting little corpse like confetti when I woke up. Must say, I've never seen such a pure display of gleeful viciousness first hand. Ever. She's my good good girl.
Ottawa was nice. The drive wasn’t – god – sometimes people can be so fucking incompetent, and because of the most recent incompetence I missed dinner with my Mummy on her way to England, and that shit is just fucking inexcusable – especially when coupled with the incompetent driver trying to argue that the theory of the Electra complex makes sense.
Yesterday I had my first ride on the back of a motor scooter. I’ve ridden on motorcycles before because Magnum and Luke Duke both had them – Magnum still has one, actually, I think Luke Duke stopped with them when he got into an accident with one close to Nice – but the motor scooter was different. It was extra fun because Blonde Bitch was wearing a pink pastel leather jacket and I was wearing a blue pastel leather jacket, and the birds were singing and it was springtime.
While waiting for my incompetent drive, Blonde Bitch and I scooted down to the new War Museum in Lebreton Flats because there’s an exhibition about propaganda from the two World Wars and the Spanish Civil War there. It was alright, but not alriiiiiight. It was set up like an art exhibition, but I wanted painfully dry substance. Chronologically organized on the secondary criteria of provenance, with long and detailed historical and sociological explanations – you know – that sort of thing. When I’m hungover, as I was without stopping all day yesterday, I want cold, exhaustive, booooooring precision. Especially when it comes to an exploration of propoganda, which is my favourite. Propaganda!