I left today’s breast symposium at lunch because I was falling asleep. The “mildly” sedative antihistamine in my cold and flu tablets were moderately sedative. I slept all afternoon. I had thought this rest would benefit us tonight, our first experience of Toronto’s annual all-night public display of contemporary art, Nuit Blanche. It’s not even 11pm and we’ve already walked across to Queens Park, down University Ave, across to the City Hall, through the Eaton Centre to Dundas Station and caught the train home, packed like sardines into a train full of people that don’t move down the carriage or take off their backpacks. I was underwhelmed by all of the works, mostly because they looked tawdry and we were experiencing them while battered with passing throngs of people. The way to experience anything nowadays is to whip out your iPhone and click away, and we partook in this; if you tag your Instagram photo with #snbTO (Scotiabank sponsors Nuit Blanche) it came up on the live Twitter feed being projected onto a screen. Teenagers screamed with delight at their five seconds of apparent fame.
My highlight of the evening was lining up for a dozen Tiny Tim donuts. Or it might be Tiny Tom. It’s a small boy with a blue hat logo. Tiny doughy warmth coated in cinnamon flavoured sugar. With a homeless guy ten metres away holding his cardboard sign asking for spare change, looking mournful at the ground.