Article content continued

The reader will make up her own mind, of course, but for God’s sakes, he announced his retirement last September. Eight months is a short goodbye, it appears.

Let us be grateful for small mercies.

Before the day dawned dreary and rainy, there were confident reports in virtually every major news outlet in the land that 500,000 people would descend on Parliament Hill.

About 25,000 made it onto the lawns, as many again stuck in lines that went nowhere, and if you imagine it was all because of the grisly weather, think again.

By now, with the Vimy Ridge 100th anniversary celebration not far in the rear-view mirror, Canadians know precisely what to expect on such occasions — paeans to equity, refrains praising the collective modern tolerance (but damning the oppression that went before and lingers on), rote odes to all that is indigenous — and thought better of it.

Better a few days at a cottage or camp, a swim in a still-cold lake, a beer on the dock with family and friends, the Hip blasting all day long. Better a barbecue in a city park, cheek by jowl with families from other parts of the world, everyone minding their own business and getting along without the PM there, telling them how fabulous they were.

(As an aside, a friend and I went to the glorious Lahore Tikka Palace in the Gerrard Street East area of Toronto. I remain bitter that M. Trudeau did not show up to personally congratulate us for our embrace of diversity, and the owner for hers.)