Little things to like about Toronto

Toronto has lots of parks. Big ones. Small ones. Today I found a rather nice little one I hadn't visited before, Woodbine Park. It's just north of Woodbine beach. It's quite small but it has some rather charming artificial wetlands.

And the morning's moment of cute. Traffic on Lakeshore was halted for several minutes at the mouth of the Don to allow a gaggle of geese and goslings to cross.

zzzzz

It is bright and sunny today. It is also decidedly chilly. Thus my plot to sit on a sunny patio, eat brunch and drink beer was thwarted. Instead I descended to the Stygian depths of C'est What, ate brunch and drank beer. The plus side is that the beer at C'est What is markedly superior to the patio competition. Indeed, even if the Olympian gods dined at home on nectar and ambrosia, I feel confident that when they nipped down to the Titan's Arms for a few kraters, Al's Cask was what they drank.

As a result, I was taking a post-prandial snooze with Jane and Padmini when the phone dragged me back into the real world. Apparently my father's cousin Anne died this afternoon. Given that she was first diagnosed with cancer 21 years ago I guess she's had a pretty good innings.

So it goes.

Stress, depression and stigma

From the BBC:

Graveney said there was no intention of picking Marcus Trescothick "in the foreseeable future" after the Somerset man's various stress-related problems.

Given England's track record of rushing the chosen ones back into the international team after physical injury with little or no evidence that they were in any shape to perform at the highest level this seems somewhat inconsistent. After all, Trescothick has been scoring runs like they were going out of style. It's hard to resist the idea that Trescothick is being punished for having mental health problems in a way that a player with a dodgy back, like Vaughan, isn't.