It’s 11.30 on a Friday morning, and I’m in bed with a cold – stuffed up and achey, after a night of not much sleep. Phooey. This is one of the times when I am powerfully grateful to be self-employed, and particularly, that I am not an actress any more. The few times I had to drag myself from sickbed to stage were a nightmare. What a blessing to stay in my cosy bed. It’s dark and raining, so I’m especially safe and warm in here – with my MacBook Fleet, two newspapers, piles of research – I just printed a calendar for 1964 – and the box containing my new cell phone.
Summer continues, bewildered but happy Torontonians out in tank tops, shorts, flipflops. On October 1 Lynn and I swam in