The 100-year storms keep a-coming

We are still in the middle of stormy and unsettled weather. Very hot, but continually threatening to break into massive downpours or thunderstorms, which don’t really happen. Toronto got hit by a huge downpour a couple of days ago, which is really scary to see. They almost had 100mm of rain in a day – the third “100-year storm” since 2013. No North American city is really designed for this level of rain and, still, unbelievably, we continue pouring concrete everywhere. The current mantra of densification isn’t really helping. I hate urban sprawl as much as the next person, but if you cannot cope with the amount of people you have – and work out that concrete is not a solution – then you have to do something else. I have no idea what that might be – but nor does anyone else. And in the absence of solutions, we keep on with the status quo, and you get scenes where people are being pulled by firefighters from the window of their cars on the Don Valley Parkway because there has been a flash flood. Whatever. Maybe we should all just submit and enjoy the ride while we can.
 
Today was another day at the coal face (well, mostly). Fresh from my breakthrough with New Zealand work yesterday, I did a couple of hours’ work in the morning, and then prepared to go out to get a haircut with Odalia at her salon and then go for a coffee with a person offering me a contract just afterwards. My plans went somewhat awry when I got a call just as I was leaving from the person with who I was scheduled to have coffee. “Going to have to cancel, I am afraid, I have just lost my job.” Apparently, the company had just run out of money and it was a case of “last in, first out”. She’ll bounce back, as she is still young, as well as being smart and experienced. But what a way to handle the elimination of a position. Go into work on a Wednesday morning and then out you go. Oh well, there goes another contract.
 
So, I headed off for the haircut and got sat down in the chair and to be told what I was having. After my Spanish experiences, it is good to be able to at least express concern in my own language, and at least I didn’t come out of the salon looking like Donald Trump. Or Joe Biden.
 
In the evening, I took Ottawacker Jr. to his goalkeeping practice, despite the rumbles of thunder in the distance and the start of rainfall warnings. It was torrential by the time we arrived at Hillcrest, and Ottawacker Jr., having ignored my advice regarding a waterproof top, was dressed in a short-sleeved football shirt, shorts and socks. “Oh dear,” I said, as I opened the door and pushed the ejector button. Then I settled down to continue with the Firmino book, which is definitely improving.
 
As the skies cleared, I thought I might head over to watch the last 45 minutes or so of the practice, but bumped into Rob Troy, one of the old Internationals’ crowd I used to coach, who was doing the same thing as me (taking a child to soccer, not reading the Firmino book). We spent a good half hour catching up, made plans for a future lunch, and then I headed off to watch Ottawacker Jr. splashing around in the puddles at the far end of the pitch.