A Murder of Crows

We found the city's crow population in full song at sunset on Kent Street, behind Holland College. Alfred Hitchcock eat your heart out!

James Mullinger at the Harbourfront

Susan and I took a drive to Summerside on a bitterly cold evening, so cold that my car’s display was fooled into telling me that my tires had no air in them and that my brakes had failed. Oh well, hey-ho, at least the heated seats warmed our posteriors. During a fifty minute trek on roads glittering white with salt, under a near full moon, we debated the winter storm threatened for Sunday. Some say eighteen inches, some say nine. As usual we will suck it and see.

 

A Subway dinner sitting comfortably in our bellies, we found a parking spot and trudged over tire-rutted ice at -17C towards the doors of the Harbourfront Theatre. Our show tonight would be the English comedian, now New Brunswick maritimer, James Mullinger. We entered and Susan skipped ahead, down the aisle to our seats. It’s a lovely five hundred seat auditorium, small enough to have an intimate feel and we settled in, our heads swivelling to check the audience for buffoons. Sure enough there was an ample supply.

 

We were in a delightfully short, four-seat row to the far right of the stage, three from the front. The row ahead was empty leaving us an uninterrupted view. When a dishevelled couple arrived to occupy the two-seat front row we wasted no time in commenting on the woman’s hand knitted dress, reminiscent of a potato sack. The man had seen neither barber nor razor in many months, warranting opinionated shaking of our heads.

 

Patrick Ledwell opened with a twenty minute slot of sharp observational humour on Island customs, mannerisms and speech. He’s a tall confident performer and his insight into Island life really hits the mark.

 

By contrast James Mullinger seemed a tad nervous. His voice is high-pitched and he paces the stage with a shuffling gait, shoulders slightly hunched. His act revolves around his experiences over the past four years since immigrating to New Brunswick from London, England. We both found his narrative included plenty of warm examples where his experiences mirrored my own: leaving family behind, finding numerous differences in culture and language, yet settling into this most friendly and safe, small corner of the world. He used many English expressions and gave me a nice reminder of home. At one point he referred to childhood summer vacations on the beach in Bournemouth! The town of my birth, three thousand miles away!

 

Certainly I have been to plenty of live music concerts and Susan has had her fair share but a stand-up comedian was a first for us both and an evening we thoroughly enjoyed.

Wild Impulse

“Let’s pop in here!” Susan chirped.

 

In she darted and marched right up to an extensive wall display of dildos. I trailed in her wake glancing surreptitiously left and right, waiting for some cheery voice to call, Hey Paul, how’s it going! Yet none came.

We busied ourselves studying the exciting merchandise on offer, murmuring quietly. Susan stooped to study brightly coloured items on the bottom shelf while I scanned the upper reaches. A lady of advanced years sauntered over and began researching right beside me. She appeared particularly taken by some abnormally large stock, tantalizingly just out of reach of her up-stretched arm.

“Would you mind, young man?” she asked. I looked all around me to locate this juvenile she was talking to. “I’m in a hurry,” she beseeched, looking me right in the eye. Even at sixty-one I was probably twenty years her junior. I politely inquired, “Which one?”

She pointed to a huge black phallus standing alone and erect high above us. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Susan’s shoulders shaking with silent mirth. I reached for the requested cock and gripping it firmly I brought it down within her reach.

She gave me a demure smile of thanks, grabbed it with both hands and immediately thumbed a switch which set the thing whirring. I edged away watching her examination from a discreet distance. It seemed this eye-wateringly large member met her exacting requirements and she scuttled off to the checkout.

I raised my eyes at Susan. “Who knew?” I whispered.

After a lengthy perusal of the toys, with much nodding of approval, sage rubbing of chins and the occasional raised eyebrow, we took a nonchalant stroll to the lubricant display where small spritzers in alluringly dark colours stood solemnly in neat rows. Descriptors such as ‘hyperglide’ spoke seductively to our inner animal. Equally enticing was the range of subtle flavours. Caramel caught my eye and we exchanged wordless glances and barely perceptible nods.

Eager to do justice to the visit we took time to admire the inflatable partners who claimed to cater to all tastes and persuasions and promised an ultra-realistic experience, For display purposes these rubber friends were neatly flattened and folded into boxes which you could carry conveniently under one trembling arm. How thoughtful.

Leather lingerie, whips and stilettos; vibrators of every size, shape and colour; paraphernalia whose purpose we could only guess at, though the tapered ends hinted at insertion. Yes, something for everyone here. Well, anyone bold enough to come in and browse!

We checked the coast was clear of acquaintances and carried our one small purchase to the pay desk where we were greeted by a friendly old lady with a blue rinse and pearls. “Oh, caramel!” she bellowed for all to hear. “My favourite!”