A Canadian pork pie picnic (Rousse)

We drove for miles and miles along Canadian single track roads. I doubted TPR’s navigation skills, but he was convinced that he knew the route to our cousins in Toronto – even without a map.

Eventually we reached our final destination: the hall of residence in which my cousin G lived. He lived in a huge dormitory with about twenty other young men, some of whom shared their beds with their girlfriends (despite the lack of privacy).

I laid out a picnic in the dining area to which we invited G, his parents N and D, and my parents. As we ate we discussed G’s forthcoming trip to Sydney, and baby O, the recent addition to the Australian branch of the family. I wondered whether he would have the family cheeks like my mother, Cousin N and me.

The food seemed to go down well, especially with my parents. However I was not happy at all when the dogs started stealing my home-made pork pies from the table.

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