Want a riot of my own

Another really long day. The England/Ecuador game started at 10:30 a.m., and my grandfather took me, Charles Wallace, and Duncan to the Waltzing Weasel for it. They had a special Ye Olde Royal Beefeater Bulldog Churchill breakfast feature: $8.95 for three eggs, bacon, sausage, ham, kippers, scones, jam, cream, trifle, baked beans, beans on toast, fried mushrooms and a grilled tomato. I think Charles Wallace took the remnants of ours back home later (he said he had something in mind for the kippers). The owner of the bar got a restraining order against Arne so there was no danger of him showing up. My grandfather was in a foul mood by the time the game ended, but it was England's fault.
After that Duncan and I went to Toronto to meet up with Enid at the main Pride parade (her boyfriend was helping someone synchronize sound for something that day). Duncan said he saw Howard, and much to our surprise the Milborough/Eastgate PFLAG was there (well, who knew we had one?), and Duncan said Connie Poirier and her son Lawrence were marching. When the parade was over, we were going to wander a bit in the west end but someone told us that the Portugal/Netherlands game was getting really ugly and that "Tiny Amsterdam" (as the city streetsigns called it) was basically a no-go zone. So we had something to eat and went to the Vatikan.