Oh boy oh boy oh boy! It’s summertime and the living is easy, just like the song says. August is on the horizon, and what better way to kick off the last full month before the onset of autumn than with a long weekend? All weekends are good. But long weekends are the best weekends of all. They are the Rolls Royce of weekends. And the long weekend that’s coming up at the end of next week could not have come at a better time. I’m sure we could all use a break after a month in which we discovered that the only thing duller than people going on and on about the World Cup was people going on and on about how bored they were with other people going on and on about the World Cup.
Heritage Day is just about here and soon all across this great province of ours Albertans will begin diligently packing their holiday trailers while positively trembling with excitement in anticipation of three days off.
Sunscreen? Check. Marshmallows? Check. Mattresses? Check. Blankets? Check. Microwave? Check? Kitchen sink? Check.
What’s that? You’re not keen on the thought of cramming more than half of your worldly goods and chattels into a large tin can and dragging it a few miles behind a half ton so you can spend a couple of days eating charred wieners while fighting off mosquitoes and the occasional ravening coyote? Gentle reader, you are not alone. Camping looks like fun, but it involves a lot more sweating and grunting in real life then they ever show you on TV.
For me the real joy of a summer weekend does not involve lining up at a dump station for several hours to empty three days worth of poo and pee from my trailer’s holding tank at the end of things; especially when some of that poo and pee probably isn’t even mine. For me the real pleasure of a long weekend is watching everyone else head off to the wilderness and then pretty much having the whole place to myself until the neighbours begin to straggle back, covered in bug bites and missing a shoe, on Monday afternoon. It’s not that I have anything against other people. It’s just that I like them better when they’re not around.
So, three days with the place to yourself. It’s a chance to wander around in your underwear belching and scratching your backside without a care in the world, although I should point out that the Free Press does not actually endorse or encourage either of those activities. But think of the peace and quiet. It’s a little slice of paradise and a fantabulous way to kick off the best month of the year. And it’s coming up in not much more than a week.
Oh August how I love your sultry ways. Come on now, who’s ready for thirty one glorious days of sun fuelled torpor? Me, that’s who. And you are too if there’s any sense about you.
