For years to come, when Nova Scotians hear the name of a certain rural Cape Breton municipality, it will immediately call to mind a scandal-plagued cesspool of selfinterest.
In truth, I’ve never understood why people feel the prospect of a new year looming large in the windshield of life necessitates resolutions and promises of self-improvement.
The somewhat mystical, other-worldly allure of Cape Breton continues to entice the Come From Away crowd, with everyone’s favourite amateur weatherman Frankie MacDonald once again making headlines across the globe.
It’s been awhile since the Frankland Bunker was the recipient of a voicemail message from former enfant terrible Ashley MacIsaac. Too long, in fact.
But I am sorry to say the Ash-man has some difficult news for me to digest: after almost 12 years, he and his husband, fellow fiddler Andrew Stokes, are going their separate ways.
As civilization, suddenly and solidly, now moves into its post-sanity, post-rational period, we would each do well as charter members of what’s left of civilization to take the time to reflect on the small ironies of life.
Like longtime Sydney lawyer Robert Sampson, 106.
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