If you've worked on Parliament Hill, you have no doubt been to a Press Gallery Dinner. The dinners these days are relatively staid affairs. Except for this year. This year, our Elizabeth May extinguished herself by going postal on the Conservative Cabinet, f-bombing her way to a hook off the stage. Good for Liz. There's more than hot air in that helium balloon, and we frankly applaud her for whipping it out. That said, it was a frankly amateurish performance for Lizzie (who took and axe, gave the Tories 40 wacks), and it was pretty tame compared to Press Gallery Dinners of yore. I was reminded of this last night when the old codger Ray Stone filled my inbox to the brim with photos of pre-eminent journalists wearing chaps, and drunkenly crooning on stage, to the delight of a mostly male crowd back in the 70s. There were only a handful of women allowed at the Dinner back then, when I was a sweet young thing trying to break into serious journalism. The women allowed in were...
More than a million served!