You'll have gathered by now, if you have been following Salut!'s Covid-19 Diaries series - jottings from. Toronto, Madrid and London with at least one other location planned - that Bill Taylor's contributions from Canada have been hugely entertaining. His photographs, always his own, are quirky, arty or atmospheric. His work speaks for itself.
With so little else to do, I'll start a row. Almost all I touch when editing Bill's notes is punctuation and -ize verb endings. Bill started out as English. Perhaps he can now offer a convincing explanation for the apparently illogical device, when a sentence ends with a quoted word or phrase, of placing the full stop before the closing quotation marks. The same usage is found when the phrase or word precedes a comma in mid-sentence.
I am not pointing out an error since Bill is writing on the other side of the Atlantic, though this website is published in the UK so I do change his punctuation. The usage in question is merely a preference and one, unlike the -ize for -ise and removing the "u" from words ending our, that Canadians share with the other North Americans. Over to Salut!'s star contributor for a "robust defence". Those final two words did not need to be quoted at all but I did so to illustrate British English style ...
Sunday, Bloody Sunday notes from the trenches:
“So,” Lesley greets me as I marshal my pre-breakfast pills, “what’s the first thing you’re gonna do when this over?”
For once, I’m at a loss for words. And it’s not just caffeine-and-Weetabix deprivation.
She starts talking about how she’ll be having lunch with someone right away and dinner with someone else “and then the next day...”.
Meanwhile, I’m still trying to wrap my head around the concept of “over”.
I suppose I should get onto it, although it seems considerably too soon, and perhaps way too big a temptation of fate, to be making plans. Might be hard to get restaurant reservations for a while, too.
My trainer sent me a new list of things to do. It’s even worse than his previous workout. I admire without understanding his stubborn optimism. Can he really believe that I’m improving?
The hardest part about going down to the basement to exercise is going down to the basement to exercise. This crisis confirms what I’ve always known – I’m not a self-starter and, like a mule, I respond better to being driven than led. The carrot is all very well but the stick is more effective.
On the other hand (I haven’t actually stepped on the scales; I hate it when they groan) I think I might’ve shed a little weight. That’s what my belt notches are hinting at, anyway.
Not sure why, but I’ve pretty much stopped snacking lately. Cause and effect. Who knew?
If the rain stops by noon, as indicated by the Weather Network, the backyard furniture is coming out of the garage. And if the temperature really does hit 20, then maybe we’ll not only barbecue but eat outside. And yell over the fence at our neighbours, who I suspect will be doing the same. In March. Pretty cool, eh? (Or possibly pretty chilly.)
My sister’s emails from the UK are datelined “Cellblock H”. She’s not taking kindly to staying indoors. It’s playing havoc with her errands of mercy to the halt and the lame among her friends and acquaintances.
She’s worried, too, that Jehovah’s Witnesses know now that EVERYbody’s home. I almost replied, “Yeah, as if they’re likely to come knocking…” But who knows?
The house is now so clean, Toronto Western has asked to use the living room for minor surgery. We’re having the cats fitted for scrubs.
Pandemic, I probably don’t need remind you, is an anagram of “damn epic”.
Damn straight.
(Also “denim cap”. But they went out with Donovan.)
( A friend of my sister’s “went out” with Donovan once, too. But that’s a very long time ago and not something anyone talks about.)
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