Government as Godzilla

Picked up from the irrepressible Frank J Fleming of IMAO, the idea that most modern Governments resemble Tomoyuki Tanaka‘s comic creation, the fictional raging Japanese Manga* Monster, Godzilla. O-okay. Kind of weird and goofy as a mental image, but upon careful examination, quite accurate, even witty.

What do Governments do best? Hmm. That’s fairly easy. Big stuff like defence, wars, infrastructure, all that jazz. What do Governments do worst? Another easy one. Everything.

Asking Government to fix a relatively small scale problem is rather like calling for Godzilla to do your windows. The end result is the Windows smashed, your home and all its contents trodden into an unrecognisable pile of rubble, and the shrubbery thoroughly trampled. Not to mention the resultant defoliation caused by its radioactive breath. Watching Big Government at work is an entertaining spectacle from afar, but not so funny when you’re the poor sod getting under its feet. Big Governments do not do small. They do the one size fits all thing very well indeed, but when it comes to the fine detail bring the Loki like law of unforeseen consequence grinning and dancing in their footsteps.

For example; dealing with Government departments, as we all know, is a difficult and delicate process. One must always be aware that there is a massive gap between the brain, which like Godzilla is a long way off and difficult to reach, and the bit you want to stop doing what it is doing, e.g. radioactive halitosis, trampling, claws, tail and property damage. Unfortunately, successfully dealing with one Government department often leads you into conflict with another. Also like Godzilla, discovering it has another vestigial brain in its bloody tail which you must now successfully deal with. Which is frustrating. All the boxes must be ticked in precisely the right order to placate the beast and send it happily wandering back into the primordial ooze from whence it came.

So yes; I think Frank’s entertaining little metaphor works. Invulnerable monster, heavy handed, do not summon lightly. Yet there are a lot of people who will cheerfully call on the beast without a thought for the consequences. Which is where a whole new set of problems arrive.

*Yes, yes, I know, but the alliteration was just so darned tempting.

Is organic orgasmic?

Okay, a quick declaration of interest here; I don’t have an axe to grind one way or the other. I grew up on home grown food. Vegetables from our garden (in season), home reared chickens traded for favours or work done and I must say thrived on it. Some of it was flavourful, rich and much nicer than mass market store bought, but the quality was uneven, and you occasionally had to mind not sinking your teeth into a juicy apple or pear and having to spit out half a mouthful of Codling Moth larvae. Or tuck into a nice fresh green salad to experience the minor horror of half a caterpillar gently writhing on your fork tines. Maybe having to cook the chicken until it was slightly dryer (Or adding butter under the skin to keep the flesh moist) than fashionable to ensure the many bacteria that flourish in domestic fowl do not end up giving you a bad case off the trotsky’s. So yes, I grew up on organic food and know the meaning of the old country saying. “Eat a peck of dirt before you die“? A ‘peck’ being a dry measure of two imperial gallons, or just over 8 litres. That’s a lot of shit to hide in a sandwich.

Yes, but is ‘Organic food’ better? That’s the million dollar question; and my answer is you get what you pay for. Top notch non pesticide tainted grub is very good indeed, but because less of it, proportionally speaking, is fit for market. Pound for pound it costs way more to produce. Which is why ‘organic’ food stores charge like a Rhinoceros with a bad migraine and a psychotic hatred of 4×4’s. Apart from hiking their prices skywards to cash in on the middle class guilt factor.

So when one report says Organic food is no better than more mass produced foodstuffs, buck for buck I’d have to agree. When another report claims that organic food is way better for you than the mass market stuff, I’d have to hang a big “Not so sure” sign on it. Average quality organic, I can tell you from first hand experience, is not better for you, apart from occasionally acting like a vaccination against all the ‘natural’ pests we are heir to. Specifically letting your body get used to toxic bacteria and material in the ‘organic’ foodstuff by exposing you to low level doses like happens with vaccines. It’s all about exercising the immune system. If the foodstuff concerned doesn’t have this slightly icky quality it is most probably no better for you than its mass market equivalent. I derive my proof from the adage; “Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” Organic food has no more vitamins or mineral content worth writing about, contains no more calories or anything significantly pound for pound, and although the expensive stuff sometimes tastes much nicer (Providing you prepare it right) with major emphasis on ‘sometimes’, you are still paying for a premium product which proportionally speaking takes way more resource in terms of land to grow per unit produced. I won’t say it’s bollocks, but for me, organic food has never lived up to the hype. Even though I grew up on home grown.

As for ‘organic wine'; from the samples I’ve tasted, I’ve rarely been anywhere near even mildly impressed. In fact, if I’m at a function where such beverages are offered, the car keys will magically spring into my pocket, and I will politely demur on the grounds that I do not, under any circumstances, drink and drive. Whether I’d agreed to be the designated driver or not.

Organic meat is a conundrum; but quite frankly you’ll get the same result if you feed, say pigs, windfall apples in a farrowing pen, or let them root for apples in someone’s orchard or after a potato crop has been raised. It’s the feed that gives the flavour, and ‘cardboard’ meat as found in many supermarkets is more down to the quality of feedstuff than whether antibiotics and chemicals were used to ensure the animals were healthy right up to the moment of slaughter. I grew up in the English countryside, and many boyhood hours were spent watching livestock and listening to the farmers who raised them. Amazing what you pick up if you learn to just listen.

I’ve had my doubts about this Organic malarkey for a long time, mainly on the grounds that the overblown claims of health benefits had a phony ring to them. I spent a couple of years in Marketing, so am quite aware of grandiose, even spurious claims are made over any product. So it is with organic foodstuffs.

To conclude; is organic food orgasmic? Well, I hate to say this, but not so’s you’d notice.

Mad dogs and Englishmen

At work recently, one of my co-workers was discovering the restorative value of what is colloquially known as ‘builders tea’. “You know.” She said to me. “I’m beginning to see what you Brits like about this stuff.”
“Oh yes.” Said I, airily, although a little nettled by the ‘you Brits’ label. “It’s one of life’s great restoratives. We built an empire on it.”
“Is it true that you guys used to stop battles to have tea?” She asked.
No idea where that one came from, but I thought I’d play along. “Only the senior officers.” I replied mischievously. “Generals and upwards. Colonels had to drink on the go, and all other ranks had to brew up in foxholes and the like while they were fighting.” Which is probably closer to the truth than most people would like to admit. You can’t exactly down bayonets and say to the other side; “Look chaps, we’re a bit hot and dusty, and it’s close to three o’clock, so would you mind while we take a quick tea break?” Although upon reflection, the sheer psychological value of doing so must have caused many a foreign potentate to think more than twice about taking on the English and their Northern ginger devils in skirts. Especially when the commanders of said forces decide to take a spot of Tiffin mid slaughter. “You don’t build Empires by being nice.” I pointed out. “Tea takes the stress out of Empire building. It’s very soothing.”
“Well you guys don’t have an Empire any more.” She pointed out gleefully.
“Ah yes.” I riposted ruefully. “That’s the curse of Empire, even stronger than Tea. Middle class guilt.”
“Middle class guilt?” She said, suspecting that I wasn’t being entirely serious.
“It’s why Empires fall.” I explained. “At every point in an Empires story, it becomes rich enough to support an extended middle class. Furthermore, the middle class evolves to a point where they feel terribly guilty for all the war and associated naughtiness required to build said Empire and they destroy it from within by not believing in it any more.” I expanded. “The expansion of Empires depend upon their self confidence and ruthlessness. Take that away and they begin to shrink because the energy necessary to push the boundaries of an Empires expansion grows less than the opposing forces. The supply chains get over extended because the will to maintain them fails. Tea is a kind of mental lubricant for this belief. Without it the Empire collapses. Happens to them all. The Greeks built theirs on trade and Hoplites. The Romans on Falernian wine and their Legions fighting discipline. The British on Tea and bayonets. The Americans on Coffee and technology.” I said. “The Germans and Austro Hungarians built a smaller version on Sausage, bombs and Sauerkraut, but that collapsed because it was mainly due to wind. The Ottoman Turks used religion. The French under Napoleon gave Empire building a go, but the smell of garlic and too much red wine did for them in the end.” I added with an air of impeccable logic. “Without tea and belief, Empire becomes too difficult to maintain.”
“What about Canada?” she asked.
“You’re too nice and civilised to have an empire.” I said. “With or without tea. You imported too much middle class guilt from England, and it’s too well embedded in your culture.”
“Oh, that’s all right then.” She said. Although I caught her staring at her teacup with new respect.

Yes I know. It was naughty of me, but I’m just a mad dog of an Englishman at heart, and must take my entertainment where I can find it.

Canadian wine

Sounds like a joke doesn’t it? Wine in the land of the frozen north? Bill, are you taking the piss? Oddly enough no. Mildly irreverent and contemptuous of fools as ever, but no piss taking.

When Mrs S and I first made the jump over to this side of the pond I secretly wondered if I would ever taste a reasonable wine vintage again. At least nothing that was not Australian, New Zealand, a Chardonnay, which is not my favourite grape variety, or hideously expensively imported French. However, it is with significant pleasure I can report that there are some quite reasonable, even remarkable, wines springing full blown from the Okanagan valley. Even at the budget end of the market ($14-20 a bottle).

Although I make no claims to have an educated wine tasters or epicures palate, I do know what is drinkable, and would like to share my top nine vineyards and most liked wines (in no particular order) with whomsoever cares to visit this blog. To set my baseline; I like wines with a pleasant bouquet and nicely rounded flavours that leave little or no aftertaste.

Mission Hill: 2010 Viognier, 2009 Pinot Noir
Quails Gate: 2009 Pinot Noir Stewart Family Special Reserve
Volcanic Hills: 2011 Gewurztraminer
Mt Boucherie: 2011 Pinot Gris, 2010 Gamay Noir
St Hubertus: 2010 Pinot Blanc
Cedar Creek: 2011 Pinot Gris
Gray Monk: 2011 Siegerrebe, 2010 Auxerrois
Intrigue: 2011 Gewurztraminer
Ex Nihilo: 2010 Pinot Noir

Best red: Quails Gate’s 2009 Pinot Noir Stewart Family Special Reserve. No question. By a country mile. Superb. Close second was Mt Boucherie’s 2010 Gamay Noir. Light and nicely balanced.
Best white: A tie between the subtly perfumed but eminently quaffable Gray Monk 2011 Siegerrebe, Cedar Creeks clean and rounded 2011 Pinot Gris and Mission Hill’s perfectly suppable 2010 Viognier. Honourable mention to St Hubertus Pinot Blanc.

We have tasted and purchased bottles of all the above wines and look forward to making suitable occasions to drink them. Did try an Ice Wine, but only one and did not purchase any so any comparison would not be fair. I would also like to mention that no Rose’s were tasted in the writing of this blog.

About the vineyards we visited: Some awards.

Bill Sticker Prize for most impressive goes without contest to Mission Hill. Their open air restaurant is superb and the staff a delight. Beautifully styled grounds. Architecturally stunning.
Bill Sticker Prize for most intimate: This is a toughie, but after due consideration I’d recommend Mt Boucherie. Smallest wine shop, but really worth a visit. Close run second; St Hubertus.
Bill Sticker Low Bullshit Quotient award: St Hubertus. No fancy talk. Small gift shop. Will go again. No question.

Downside: Being charged $5 for tasting three less than impressive wines.
Upside: Incredible views and some surprisingly sippable vintages.

We only managed to visit about sixteen vineyards, but were pleasantly surprised by the variety and quality of most. There were few disappointments (No names, no pack drill, but SBML knows who I mean), and places I wouldn’t visit again, but they are not mentioned in this post. As for the mentioned; fill your boots. They’re good. Even to a tyro with a Biryani ravaged palate like mine.

There are vineyards we didn’t visit simply because of time pressure. Which means, oh dearie me, heavy sigh, we’ve got to go back there at some stage. Life’s a bitch, eh?


Before I left the UK, one of life’s little pleasures was a shark fishing trip.  A day on the English Channel, boots on the gunnels, hat over your eyes, lines drifting out on a turquoise sea.  There is nothing quite like it.

Then out of nowhere you get a bite. The buzz of the reel as the line is stripped away until it stops. The adrenalin rush as the buzz starts again and you drop the reel drag to strike. Then the rod bending almost double, and the creep of line slipping away uncontrollably off the big reel. Dumping your arse into the fighting chair, if the boat has one, or putting a foot against the side to brace yourself. The strain biting between your shoulders and stretching you upper arms with the sun on your back. Now the heavy, back straining, bicep creaking pump action as you reel it in, and then the line stripping off the reel, followed by another five minutes of straining before the Shark pulls down into the depths again.

This can and does go on for half an hour and often far longer. The bigger the fish, the longer the fight. Did I mention I’ve done a lot of shark fishing?  Only ever killed two, one deliberately, one by accident, the rest have been subject to tag and release.  

Over the years, I’ve lost count of how many days I’ve spent out on the water without a single nibble.  On the other hand I remember each and every scrap I’ve had with a shark on the other end of the line as though they were barely minutes ago; the experience is that intense.  

On one occasion I vividly remember staring down into a foot wide mouth of ripsaw teeth while holding a hooked gaff up with all my strength.  This to allow the skipper to reach in through the gills with gloved hands to release the hook.  Then the skipper and his crewman grabbed the animal behind its pectoral fins and let me ungaff the struggling creature and step smartly out of the way on a slippery pitching deck. Grabbing the tagging tool, a six inch spike in the end of a six foot pole so I could stick a tracking tag into the sharks flesh just behind the triangular dorsal fin.  Without sticking it in the skipper or his mate. This is a fishing social faux pas, and is not approved of.

This is a lot more difficult than it sounds.  Mr Shark does not want to be here.  Mr Shark wants to be off chasing other fish for a spot of tiffin.  He does not want to be thrashing around onboard a boat with these pesky two-legs, and like any sizable wild creature will take lumps out of whatever is in the way.  So it comes as no surprise to hear that a Scottish skipper got one of his boots chewed while p-p-p-picking on a Porbeagle.

What also comes as no surprise is the extent of ignorance regarding sharks and shark behaviour in the article and comments of this item in the Torygraph. A number of issues raise themselves. Firstly; why was a fisherman ‘worried’ about sharks eating seals? Even if a Porbeagle was the guilty party, which is unlikely, why bother? Porbeagles are Mackerel sharks, and they are called that for a reason; a large part of their diet is Mackerel, Squid, Garfish, Red Bass, Whiting and various similar fish, which are a fisherman’s cash crop. Likewise Seals. Of all the skippers I’ve known over the years, Seals are either a) a pest; or b) a tourist attraction and source of revenue. As for the Porbeagle, mammals like seals rarely figure in their diet, if at all. I’ve never actually come across a report of a Seal being chewed by a Porbeagle. Porbeagles aren’t man eaters either. As shark species go they are way down the list of human predators. Indeed, if anyone were to make that excuse to me I’d probably laugh them off the boat. The closely related Mako sharks have been recorded in attacks on humans, but barely one of these happen a year. Two a year if you count pissed off fish hauled onboard a boat and taking a chomp at a crewman. Which is exactly what happened in this particular instance. Nothing to see here, man got his boot chewed. Silly season story.

Yet the frothing nutcases and pseudo eco freaks in the comments section made oi larf. These people have never been within ten kilometres of a real wild ‘n frisky Lamna Nasus, and know bugger all about them, a fact they are determined to share with the world. Then there are the armchair fishermen, and okay, they may have watched pro sharkers do it on TV, but maybe they didn’t watch the out takes.

Real life isn’t like TV. Real life is trying to tag a shark on a slippery tilting deck with the tag bouncing off its skin and the skipper shouting at you to stop fucking around and stick the bloody thing in, you great nancy. The shark thwacking its tail and snapping at everything in sight, and I can tell you from personal experience, that tail is not to be messed with. Mister Shark is best over the side and back into the clear blue water asap.

Trying to tag at the boat side is a similar comedy act. Two guys hanging on the hooked gaff, another on a rope looped round the tail, and the fourth repeatedly trying to stick the tag in the right place, and all the time the tag bounces off the sharks tough skin like a rubber ball. If you’re lucky, the tag goes in on the second or fourth try. If you aren’t, you lose two tags before one actually sticks in and the skipper and mate can release the gaff, followed by the other guy on the tail rope. If you have any sense you’re already sitting down and out of their way with the tagging spike and your rod properly stowed. Then everyone on board shares that feeling of Yeehaw! having hooked and tagged a live one. Then its time for a beer and cigar before you reset the lines for another drift. One of your boat buddies hooks one and it’s either your turn to step out of the way or get on the gaff or tail rope.

BTW: The picture is my first ever shark over 100lbs. Only a tiddler as they say, but an indelible experience that is etched in my mind until the day I die. What a ride.

Anyone with me?

Took a break over to Canadian wine growing country in Kelowna earlier this week and had a rather grown up time sampling the local nectars.  Canadian wine is growing up fast, and Okanagan wines are improving rapidly.

However, this is not the point of my post.  Today’s little gripe is about the noise levels in bars and restaurants.  Unlike many, my life has its own soundtrack, which is muted and inclined towards pleasant conversation and listening.  To this end I’m running out of places I want to spend my money, specifically bars and restaurants.   Two nights ago I went into a fairly upmarket waterfront place and almost walked straight out again because the owner and staff seemed to want to work in a Disco.  The staff were great; attentive and pleasant.  The food was reasonable Canadian fare.  Not up to French standards, but that’s another story.

Call me an old fart if you like, but I like to be able to hear myself think when I go out for a meal.  I like not to have to strain in order to hear what my server is saying as they reel off the list of ‘specials’ in that delightfully practiced way of North American restaurants and diner staff.  I like not having to raise my voice to be heard over the ‘Thump-thump-thump’ of some dumb fuck headed rap number making the air pulse in my delicate shell likes.   I like conversation and good company over the artificial noise some people need to keep their brains from working.

Are there any restaurateurs out there who can justify deluging our ears with a torrent of crap on the false premise that it creates ‘ambiance’?  Just let me know the name of your establishment and I solemnly promise never to darken your doorstep or spend my money there.  Please communicate; I’m sure there are a lot of others who would like to do the same.

I would wear earplugs like HM the Queen at the Paralympics opening ceremony, but then I would be unable to hear what my dinner companions are saying, and that would be impolite.

World’s finest scientists?

Watch the whole video (Yes I know it’s 30 minutes long) as Donna LaFramboise deconstructs the idea that the IPCC consists of the ‘worlds finest scientists’. Rather there is a preponderance of students, activists, and people well before getting their Phd or Masters. These are the ‘worlds finest’?

I’ve heard of child prodigies but the UN is looking less than credible as a source of all wisdom every day. At least as far as climate is concerned. Probably everything else, too. Time for a revamp? A shrinkage of mission?

Neil Armstrong R.I.P.

The first human to set foot on another world has passed from amongst us, and this leaves me deeply saddened. He blazed a trail across the sky that those who dare to dream might want to follow. He was the tip of a broad pyramid of engineers who made the dream of stepping on to another world possible, and with Aldrin and Collins showed the way out of the cradle of mankind. He is one of the giants upon whose shoulders future spacefarers will stand.

God speed Neil. Condolences to your family.

The Tightrope Mendacity

Back in 1973, Desmond Bagley published a cold war thriller about a man who found himself part of the looking glass spy war between the West and the then Soviet Union. The book is called The Tightrope Men and it’s a bit dated like all books of that genre, but quite a good read nonetheless. On form, Desmond was more than a match for Tom Clancy and a legion of other writers, but I digress.

One of the key premises of Desmonds book was the idea that both sides during the Cold war leaked secret plans intended to tie up the oppositions best brains and stop them from thinking about more critical and workable ideas. Rather like Smart phones, iPods, Computers, Television, Radio, Sudoku and Crossword puzzles distract we mere mortals from actually bothering to talk to other people, and thus make connections to work out our differences amicably. Now gentle reader (Either of you), If I may lead you down a path that smacks as dangerously of tinfoil hattery as some of David Icke’s wilder assertions, please humour me. I will try not to bore you.

Every day our senses are assailed by some rent-seeking tub thumper or QUANGOcrat firing out press releases that we’re all doomed unless someone ‘does’ something about an alleged problem. Video games causing riots, this or that foodstuff causing Cancer or Heart Disease. Shoe sizes and dress restrictions being coded Racism, Gay rights (Why should they have any more rights than you or I? – That’s discrimination that is), the limits of Unfree speech, people who hide in embassies because they’ve pissed off powerful people as well as their ex girlfriends. Talentless people on pointless television programmes, non existent problems that ‘someone has to fix’ (How about ‘man made global warming’ – if the dutch cap fits, as one prostitute said to another). There is a cacophony of voices out there screaming about this or that, mostly drowning out the less strident voices saying; “Er, that doesn’t work – why are you still banging on about it?” Then the strident ones begin castigating those who do not share their world view. Classic examples are meaningless labels like ‘Denier’, ‘Hater’, ‘Truther’, and many, many more. It’s often hard to see where the smoke ends and the mirrors begin, and vice versa. Yet in order to make sense of this world, the mirrors and the smoke must be understood to distinguish the real from the imaginary.

In order to understand what is real and not, one has to walk a philosophical tightrope without falling off. To have a sense of detachment and balance where others, in their rushes to tribal judgement and reliance on narrow, tick box thinking, fail to apply the principles of critical thought, thus ignoring the real issues. It’s a freedom trap, which even the brightest and best of us fall into. We allow ourselves to fall prey to the glittering horde of daily distractions; Family, Friends, wild eyed activists, various attention seekers and the fools gold of misinformation which the lamestream is heavily laced with.

Friends and family demand attention. At least if you want to keep them. They have to be included in the discussions about the real. Their views cannot be discounted lightly.

However, the first class of opposition to automatically dismiss are the ones coming from people using various parroted shorthand terms, threats and name calling. They have nothing worth listening to. They are the scum on the pond. The second are the single issue ranters, who bang on and on about their pet topic, trying to hijack threads to their own purpose. The third are the verbose, those who insist on boring everyone to tears with two paragraphs of comment-waffle before they even begin to make their point. Worthless trolls to a man (Woman / whatever). I must confess some comment streams have me yawning fit to crack my jaw, especially when certain people can’t simply cut to the chase or keep on topic.

The issue above all issues is the economy. How to get the economies of the west away from their current kamikaze nosedive. One thing is certain, Government spending won’t do it because of one simple economic fact; Governments do not and have never created wealth, they only spend money earned by taxpayers. Inflating the debt away by QE or printing money won’t do it. The Weimar Republic tried it, Zimbabwe is doing it and QE does not work. Even Keynes, the originator of the economic philosophy behind the current mess said that Governments had to put aside funds in the good times to prepare for the bad. Yet what did the Governments in question do? Piss taxpayer dollar up the wall and weaken the nations financial position during the good times before for the inevitable downturn. Now what are they up to? Robbing ordinary people of their hard earned, and trying yet another tax grab on those with assets left overseas.

All the time, the rest of the UK is obsessing about a wealthy Junior Army Officer from a famous family blowing off some steam in Vegas and getting his picture taken in the nude. Oh yes, and football, and dumb TV shows. They believe the lies they are fed about ‘fairness’ and ‘social justice’ because those lies stop you from seeing the mendacity and avarice they shield. Give the socially and financially inactive money earned by others to keep them quiet and stop them rioting. Pay off the potentially violent because if they really kick off, the army and Police couldn’t shoot enough of them to keep the peace. Better they live with their toys and let the grown ups alone. Tell them they’re being ‘nice’ and their need for self worth will make the poor saps believe. Even if they’re keeping otherwise active people in a sessile state.

Some of us have seen the future and are Getting the Fuck Out (GTFO) of the UK. Yet now it seems that what remains of our assets are in the sights of a committee of UK MP’s. They say they want to prevent ‘capital flight’, but whose capital is it? Not theirs. They didn’t make it. Yet these worthless lumpsuckers want to give the sweat off your brow to others? Not only that but home searches by HMRC have increased by 155%. The politico’s must be getting really desperate. They blew the money on their friends and yet they’re scavenging for more? Yet do we hear of this in the newspapers? Google it for yourself.

There is a large body of opinion who might opine; But it don’t matter ‘cos it’s only the rich wot gets hammered yeah? Which is a rather fuckwitted statement one would expect from the mindlessly dependent. Only brain dead drones unworthy of the breath of life think this way because they cannot see that it is only a matter of time before the greedy leviathan might turn its attention to them. Unfortunately they are either intellectually unwilling or unable to walk the tightrope between the mendacity of the lamestream media, and the non-stories fed via these outlets, and the real facts, often hidden in plain sight but ignored. They believe the deluded ‘best in the world’ stories which demand ever increasing tranches of GDP. Because a time may well come when some moron will propose that the state take over all your major life decisions, and that like some medieval serf, all the fruits of your labour will belong to them.

Then everyone but the insiders who run the system will be equal. It will be ‘fair’ because the all encompassing state will dole out ‘social justice’ whether you personally like it or not. No matter how hard you try, you will go nowhere. Doomed to spin your wheels for the rest of your life, never being able to make your own choices. Your life will never really change because you will have no real say. Won’t that be lovely?

Expatriate expostulations from Canada; a.k.a. A Sarcastic man abroad


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