By Christopher Bird

Christopher Bird and Christopher Drost are Torontoist’s staffers accredited for the G20. They will be reporting on the inside for the duration of the summit; Torontoist’s complete G20 coverage, including reporting from the streets, is here.

Jack Layton and aides. Photo by Chris Drost/Torontoist.

Jack Layton was whistling a cheerful tune as he finished up at a urinal here in the International Media Centre’s men’s room, after making the rounds with the assembled press on Friday. It’s the sort of thing that cheers you up (Jack Layton can’t be quiet in the men’s room! Just like me!) until you eventually turn around and get a better look, and see how loosely his clothes now hang on him. You’re used to seeing Layton bound about like a hyperactive rabbit, but now his walk is a slow, deliberate shuffle, visibly favouring one leg. Though his step is weak and tentative, his handshake’s still firm, and when he thanks you for wishing him good health, his voice is clear and strong.
Even if you don’t like his politics or the man himself, that’s still a good thing. Because fuck cancer, that’s why.