Saturday 20 November 2021--Sleep in a bit...I invited Marc to come from Quebec City, and he arrives late in the morning. We ride the Métro to the Jean-Talon stop, then go for a stroll down Plaza St-Hubert. Rue St-Hubert runs about seven miles, from one side of Montréal, at the St Lawrence River, to the other, at Rivière des Prairies. The Plaza is a stretch of several blocks with glass canopies over the sidewalk; it's a shopping district I'm not quite sure what to make of. There are restaurants and bars, of course, and a variety of specialty shops, some fairly kitschy. Apparently there is a concentration of bridal shops. I have the sense that the area teeters on the edge of fashionability, somewhere between out-of-date and retro, just uncool enough to be cool. I don't know if that impression is really accurate; I just know there isn't another street like it in town. A recent $50 million makeover, spurred by necessary infrastructure work, included new pavement and canopies, and may have saved it from a long slide into dereliction. Or ruined it. I'm not qualified to say.

I've come to find the current premises of T Westcott Used Books. I visited Terry Westcott's shop on Rue Ste-Catherine, at the western end of downtown, many times over the years I came here on bus trips; my shelves carry many volumes of Canadian interest, history and travel and photo essays, purchased there. Some years back, he was obliged to move to make way for a large Mexican restaurant, which appears to have been replaced since by a huge sports bar, catering no doubt to the burgeoning population of nearby Concordia University. (Bookshops are apparently not really desirable in a student community.) Mr Westcott was on Boulevard St-Laurent, between the Quartier Latin and the Plateau, for a while, before having to move again. And here he is. The premises here are much smaller than the original shop, cramped, with stacks of books on the floor making navigation difficult. Marc is waiting outside, so I don't browse for too long. I find a couple of volumes that will fit on my shelves. Truth to tell, I don't really need more books; someone is just going to have to dispose of them all when I shuffle off. But I feel obliged to do my small part to assure that Mr Westcott will be able to keep on doing what he is doing, for as long as he is willing and able. He is not a young man.

Of course, what we are really here for is a pub crawl. This neighborhood, La Petite-Patrie, is home to a fair number of microbrasseries, and we visit Isle de Garde, Yïsst, and Birra, as well as the beer pub Vices & Versa, which has forty or so taps. Somewhere in there is pizza at Corneli. We finish with one last microbrasserie, Mellon, near Marché Jean-Talon.

Back at the motel, we find a pair of police officers checking on a room down the hall from us. One greets us fairly cheerfully--I recognize her from an encounter yesterday, when the two challenged me briefly in the parking lot. I was annoyed at the time, but also appreciative that my car and property were being watched over, and I tell the officer so. But it occurs to me that a motel with a frequent police presence is probably not the best place to stay.