Blame everyone

Well, we’re off.  As you read this we’ll have already passed through customs and be well on our way across the water into the US of A.  This is a timed post, written on Wednesday night. and I’ll report any misadventures and observations later, after a very large drink.

What I’d like to say is this; having seen the UK news over the last few days I just want to say I truly feel sorry for the poor buggers trying to earn a crust at Port Talbot Steel Plant, only to find their livelihoods are being snatched away.  The trouble is, when somewhere as big as Port Talbot goes tits up, everywhere else in the area suffers.  In fact, every trader involved in the supply area finds their cashflow developing a nasty stutter.  For some it will mean the breakup of everything they gave their lives to building.  Homes.  Families.  Social networks.  Through no fault of their own.

However, even if you’re unaffected, just remember this; if you are a UK voter and supported the Conservatives, Labour, Liberal Democrats, especially the Greens or any of the pro-EU political parties in any of the last four general elections, you voted for the very carbon taxes that just cost all those Welsh steelworkers and quite a few service employees their jobs.  As they say in the valleys; Proud of it are you?

Part of my genetic heritage comes from those parts, so I do feel a little sympathy for the people who will probably have to cancel their 2017 Christmases .  All because of a lie.  A veritable crime of the century.  The one perpetrated from the highest levels of the United Nations, whose name is carbon taxation and whose stated cause is ‘Wealth redistribution’.  That old fraudster ‘Man Made Global Warming’.  Whose wealth do these corrupt bastards want to redistribute?  Yours.  Mine.  Everyone’s.  Right into the pockets of the politicians and their financial sponsors.

Now repeat after me; “Carbon taxation is economic suicide.”  Got that?  Now don’t forget it.  Don’t vote for anyone who will support it.  Your job may depend upon it.

/rant

Not a complete cock-up

Exam day.  Have come out of it feeling that I could probably have done a little better, but I reckon that I came out with a solid B+ at the very worst.  But then I’m a realist at heart.  It will be a very kind marker who gives me an A.  Did better than the last exam on my course, which came out as a solid B+, and so as long as I keep this up I’ll end up with a sound Canadian professional qualification and a good transcript to back it up.

No, seriously, it’s not all chaos.  I can cope with that.  What always hits me is the sense of numbness.  I’ve never been one for celebrations, as I’ve always found them premature.  I rarely celebrate my own triumphs or victories, and the most fate gets out of me is a grim smile of satisfaction on a job well done.  The whole whooping, singing and dancing that some folk go in for strikes me as somehow undignified.  I’ll gladly cheer on other people, but never myself.  Funny that.  Mainly because I know that there’s always something unforeseen.  A minor detail that sends everything tits up.  So I’ve been preparing for everything I can.

Tonight I pack.  Downtown tomorrow for a haircut and last minute fit of the vapours.  Thursday we’re off south of the border at sparrow fart.  Extra time has been factored in for heavy traffic and Victoria’s notoriously erratic downtown pedestrian population.  Although at the time we’re on the road, all the extra crusties kipping out back of the courthouse will still be snuggled in their sleeping bags.  So that’s at least one road hazard I won’t have to deal with on the way to the Coho ferry.

As a sidenote; temporary habitation was offered to the homeless on an “Until you get back on your feet” basis, but then some dingbat protester group from Vancouver pitched in, demanding ‘homes’ or nothing.  Like the rest of us don’t pay rent or mortgages, why should a bunch of freeloaders from the East get houses while the rest of us struggle?  I remain cynical.  No doubt by mid-May most of them will be off to Tofino to pollute the beaches and leach off the surfer population, as usual.  It really pisses me off when people have taxpayer dollar thrown at them, then whine about not getting soft toilet paper in their five star hotel.  Despite not doing anything to merit it.  Having sampled the dubious delights of sleeping rough when times were really bad I’m not totally unsympathetic.  However, I was never homeless for more than three days, and never, ever went into publicly owned or provided accommodation.  The thought never even occurred to me.

Anyway, that’s pretty academic.  Like the course I’ve just finished.  The car is ready.  I’ve made sure we’ve even got one of those emergency tyre repair thingies that will seal and re-inflate your tyre if you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere and out of cell phone range.  Handy if you’ve already used the spare.  Add to that a modestly well equipped first aid kit of my own construction, not one of store bought things full of stuff you’ll never need, and after packing we’re good to go.  What else?  Oh yes, a (very) rough map of our route.US Road Trip Map.jpg

First we’re heading down to Cali-forn-i-a to see the big trees and drink the wine, then cutting across via Vegas, Flagstaff, then down into Texas and across to Florida and back.  I’m verily skittish with anticipation.  All we have to do is follow the flags.  Or the Satnav.  Or the proper map we have in the car.  I hope.  Should be fun.

TTFN

Bill

 

Devil, meet details

Finalising the last main bookings on our road trip. I’ve shoehorned in Bonneville Salt flats (Followed by a really good car wash in Wells, Nevada), then hacking homeward via Twin Falls and Pendleton in mid May. It’s been a lot of hard work to line up. Then there’s an exam to do today and some packing. Mrs S is getting a bit stressed out, but I’m just plodding along, dealing with every issue the moment it hits and whacking the metaphor firmly out of the stadium.

Today it was our mail hold service going AWOL. Fortunately I’ve handed the Post Office the correct details which their clerk had not put on the computer, after we had filled in the forms correctly. Apparently the clerk had failed to untick a box on her rinky dinky little computer. So I have to deal with ‘customer service’ and waste valuable time fixing someone else’s mistake.  It’s all little stuff.  Checking the exclusions in our travel insurances.  About the only thing I haven’t done is make out a Will.  I do hope that won’t be needed, oh well, it won’t be my problem.  Our travel insurance has a clause for repatriation and burial anyway.

What else? The USB in-car charger unit is sitting on my desk awaiting installation tomorrow so we can charge all our electronics on the move on this epic twenty five stop trip. So long as there is gas in the tank, we’ll have a larger electronic signature than an aircraft carrier group. Am I bothered at my lack of electronic invisibility? No. All I will be doing is recording our thoughts and experiences along the way. For security I’ve signed up for a secure VPN service and keep my anti-virus, anti-spyware and firewall up to date. Hell, if anyone wants to follow me around, just buy me lunch occasionally and we’ll call it quits.

My biggest IT issue is that there are a lot of people out there who should not be allowed to play with grown up toys. Including Google’s massive “Mic Drop” April Fools cock-up. Newsflash Google; April Fools gags are supposed to be funny. You know, make people laugh. Screwing with a core function of a business and personal service isn’t remotely amusing, it’s fucking annoying and makes Google like a useless bunch of eHippies.

Notwithstanding, all we have to do on Thursday is get up on time and get Downtown to the Coho. No doubt one of Mr Horton’s emporium of degustatory delights or similar will be getting a visit en route for two large Double Doubles and some blood sugar enhancers. A.k.a Coffee and Donuts.

Sorry to keep harping on about this, but this Trump guy; I thought I’d actually check him out and see what he was all about first hand rather than trust all the Op-eds and propaganda currently polluting the Interweb. Is he really the ranting monster that the mainstream would have us believe? So far the answer coming back from my observation at least, is a loud, resounding ‘No’. He may get a bit repetitive, loud and messianic, but everything the guy says and stands for, like controlling US immigration, upping America’s game as a negotiating power and being anti-US involvement in middle eastern wars (“We made things worse”) just seem like common sense. He doesn’t like the sinister Transatlantic Trade deal, as currently structured, so that’s another plus. As for pandering to special interest groups, like the man says, he’s not a politician. He owes them nothing. What all the Spads and political class are panicking about is that if Trump gets voted in, they will have lost their influence, that’s why he’s getting such a spectacularly bad press. All the special advisers, insiders and hangers on stand to lose big time under a Trump Presidency. So of course he’s under media attack from some pretty heavy guns. The problem with these attacks is that the mainstream are fighting the previous media war. Which is why his support is growing.

Social Science degreeIf asked, I’d say that despite all the protestations to the contrary, Donald Trump is no more racist or sexist than anyone else on this planet, well, apart from a bunch of virtue signalling whiners with useless ‘Social Science’, ‘Gender Studies’ and PPE University degrees who dominate the twatter feeds with their nauseating protestations of how much ‘nicer’ than everyone else they are. Which is often so far from the truth of the matter their views have taken on an Alice Through the Looking Glass unreality all of their own.

Minion Quote migraineRegarding Twitter, do I even have a twitter feed? I think I signed up for one to get the ‘breaking news’ feeds on my sidebar, but that’s all. I never log in to it or put any ‘twats’ out there. Did sign up for Farsebook but I’ve killed my account, or at least tried to, not once but twice. Anything else? I have a Disqus account and a few others to sign on for various comment threads and forums, but that’s it. My contributions are sporadic at best, and my attitude can be summed up by my good mate Dave, senior Minion and Acting Chief Sarcasm Officer at Sticker Enterprises Inc.

TTFN

Bill

I close my eyes

Successful day today.   I’m ahead of the game this morning, both in work and study.  So, it being a bright beautiful British Columbian day, Mrs S and I went out to sort out some last few details before we pootle off on our grand six week trans-american adventure in just over one weeks time.  We’re erring on the side of caution on our trip back across the Rocky Mountains and opting for the southerly route via I-70 via Colorado Springs and Grand Junction to miss the snows, then picking up the road north to Salt Lake City and Yellowstone Park.  We hope not to become asphyxiated by either the Sulphur or Carbon Dioxide emanations of the big caldera, or the Marijuana fumes while we’re passing through Colorado.  We’ve even set time aside so I can pay a flying visit to the Bonneville salt flats.  If they’ve dried out enough to drive on by mid May.

While Mrs S was shopping for last minute springtime clothes, I eschewed the normal respite of the Husband chair and sat outside in the main mall to enjoy the sunlight.  I put on my shades, closed my eyes, kicked back and let my other senses take over.  Why?  Let me explain.   When I was very small, I had a morbid fear of going blind.  No idea why, I just did.  Small children left to their own devices for too long often develop eccentric world views and I had a fairly solitary early childhood.  So in order to prepare for what I mistakenly thought was inevitable, I used to close my eyes and tried to use my hearing, smell and touch instead of visible light to fix my position in the world.  To train myself for the worst, if it happened.  Nothing serious, just trying to work out where I was, and what all the various noises and smells around me meant.  How the sound echoes off bare walls and in heavily furnished rooms.  Trying to use my ears and touch alone to echo-locate myself in the confines of my room.  Developing my sensitivity to sense the kiss of air on the back of my neck as someone passes close behind me, the sound of their footsteps dopplering from right to left, the scent of their body, perfumed or not if they come close enough.  Sensing the very electricity of their motion through the world, from the sparkling erratic uncertainty of small children, the fizzing of their older peers, crackling discharge anxieties of the born worriers with their erratic shallow breathing.  The soft grunts of an extremely overweight person as they make their heavy footway along the tiled mall.

As a boy I used to cheat, slightly opening my eyes so I had a visual memory to associate with the sensations surrounding me.  Now I don’t have to unless the smell is so obscure or the sound unfamiliar it falls outside my aural lexicon.

When you close your eyes the world of the other senses opens like a flower, swamping everything that sight normally blinds you to.  What is that approaching grumbling noise?  An Earthquake?  A massive truck?  Or more prosaically a deliveryman’s steel wheeled sack truck on concrete?   As he passes, a waft of Pepperoni, dough and cheese tells he just had pizza for lunch.  The “Yeah?”, “Right.”, and “Mm-hm”, “Well he like er..” and “She like er….” of multiple random cell phone conversations within earshot.  The meaningless squealing of teenage girls as they navigate their developing social vortices.  Does anyone really listen to themselves?  Or is that not the point?

Then the distinctively fleshy, slightly foetid, hormone heavy smell of a pregnant woman insinuates itself into my educated nostrils.  I can hear her behind me, the mildly waddling, shuffling gait, hesitantly stopping in front of the women’s clothing shop behind me, presumably looking enviously at all the elegant clothes she aspires to get back into when her child has come into the world.  I don’t know, there are things sound and smell alone cannot tell you, but the scent of a woman in late pregnancy is quite distinctive.

All the time the sheer background whispering roar of humanity and muted traffic noise passes by a single seated figure wearing sunglasses, head tilted slightly back, small smile ghosting across his face, precisely in the moment.  Privately wondering at the magic of it all and quietly praying that no-one interrupts his solitary enjoyment.

Then at the edge of hearing, a set of familiar footsteps that I know like my own heartbeat. Behind my shades, my eyes open and smile broadens.  “Hello love.  Got what you needed?”  Time to move on.  The rest of the day beckons.

Stuff I didn’t know

Road trip again. Ignore me if I’m beginning to bore you with my heretofore unexplored positivity. It’s not that I don’t care about the latest terrorist outrage in Brussels, because all I feel is a sad certainty in my bones that the situation is all too avoidable and a bit of a cultural own goal. If it were down to me, the politicians who laid the groundwork by supporting mass immigration from a hostile culture would be made to write out ten thousand times; “I must stop importing voters from incompatible cultures” and “I will not sell out my own people to gain short term political power” before being sent to their rooms without any supper. Permanently.

Nonetheless, Nashville is all booked, our ‘America the Beautiful’ National Parks pass has arrived and I’m avidly examining our options for the trek back westbound across the great divide. One thing I didn’t know about the USA is that up until the mid 1300’s it was home to a thriving culture. A civilisation that began to die out at the end of the Medieval Warm Period.

Called the Mississippian culture, it appears to have been of Mayan in origin (because Mississippian art has distinct similarities to middle Mayan, look it up) and spread north up the Mississippi and it’s tributaries from 600AD onwards to far as agricultural practices of the time would support it. Then as the global climate began to cool in the mid-14th Century prior to the Little Ice Age, this culture began to disintegrate, the population largely abandoning their ‘cities’ as their political structures began to fail along with their crops. Three to four hundred years later European settlers began to arrive in the area, finding only hectares of grassed over mounds and the mainly nomadic descendants of the Mississippians. The best example of these mound cities being the Cahokia Mounds near St Louis.

Now as I’ve said before, Mrs S and I are avid history buffs, she covers the more academic side, and I have instincts trained by years of tramping the English countryside and it’s plethora of Deserted Medieval Village sites, with all their lumps, bumps and crop marks punctuating otherwise deserted pastures. Which is why we’re spending an extra day on the eastern side of St Louis. She reading the books, me spotting the landscape and map reading then discussing our respective findings in the evening over a long drink. Because up until last night we’d never come across this culture, being brought up on the limited narrative surrounding the ‘wild’ (and some argue, mild) west. Which tends to pointedly ignore the French and Spanish influences in these lands (De Soto expedition and subsequent Spanish colonisation, the Louisiana purchase which the French had nicked off the locals whilst fighting British claims in the not so frozen north) before the main tranche of northern European settlers arrived. Which is all absolutely brand spanking new to me. There’s still this narrative about how wild and uncivilised North America was, yet for long periods North America was relatively civilised and colonised. Until it all fell apart in internecine warfare and crop failure from around 1350AD onwards. Which is stuff I previously didn’t know anything about. Well, not really. But which I’m quite looking forward to finding more out about.

Anything else? Well over at the professional pilots forum there’s talk of more debris, possibly from MH370 washing up on the South African shoreline. Which confirms that it went down in the Southern Indian Ocean. Although that’s a big deep piece of water, perhaps too big and deep for even the modern wonders of sidescan sonar to explore with any accuracy. I did once ask a respected Oceanographer about the definition of sonar at those depths. His answer surprised me. At the depths and densities of water found at 3000 metres, sidescan sonar definition can be as much as ten metres between contours. No wonder the search teams are planning on giving up in June this year.

Choosing Chattanooga

That’s the next stop on our epic road trip sorted out. Chattanooga, Lookout Mountain and the recently modernised riverside. It’s a bit of a shank to get there, but with Mrs S and I splitting the driving we’ll do just fine. According to a youtube video I watched last night, the city fathers have transformed the city from a beat up post industrial wasteland to a modern metropolis. Well, we shall see. I’m actually looking forward to a trip up the funicular railroad on Lookout Mountain.

Saw the bad news from Brussels which made me regret looking at the news this early in the morning. Brussels is a nice city, a bit dull looking until you get into the night life. I have fond memories of goofing about with a few friends there back in ’03. Great seafood restaurants and bars. What can I say? The bombings and killings were pointless and will no doubt rebound upon the perpetrators and their friends and families tenfold. The killers and their sponsors will probably still be grinning, high fiving each other and gleefully talking about what a ‘victory’ they’ve just scored against the hated Kufar, ironically this ‘victory’ probably includes one or two of the sympathetic people who supported giving the killers’ families sanctuary from their original middle eastern hell holes. The killers need to read their socio-political history a little more critically. Bombings only work as part of a greater social demographic for change. The killers’ faction don’t have that demographic. Unless a bunch of stupid vote-importing politicians have their way.

Well that’s another sermon from the church of the bleeding obvious.

On a more cheerful note, I’ve come across an Über-like concept called Jetsmarter, an app which lets you book empty seats on private jets instead of having only the options of cattle class and not quite so cattle class offered by the major airlines. For USD9,000 a year membership, the service gives ‘unlimited’ Business Class travel (Think two Business Class trips with BA out of Heathrow every year), which for the corporate flyer sounds like a pretty good deal if your work or pleasure takes you all over the globe, with complimentary helicopter borne transfers to Manhattan if you fly into New York. Now you don’t get that with the major airlines. ‘Unlimited’ travel on Private Jets on your cell phone? Now that’s more interesting and world changing than a pointless terrorist bombing. More likely to change the world for the better, too.

But that’s the problem with terrorists, no imagination.

Charleston

Well that was a bloody mission and no mistake. Finally booked our hotel in Charleston without breaking the bank. Charleston is an expensive place, but then it’s a historical resort, so fair deal. What we aren’t spending on the hotel we will spend elsewhere, of that I have no doubt. The good news is, we’ve saved money on the midwest leg of the trip and I’ve just fed the details into a spreadsheet to calculate the cost and the overall trip is running slightly under budget. Which is nice.

That being done, I’m off back to my studies and will leave my one remaining reader with the talents of notorious 1920’s dance icon, Josephine Baker, performing her version of the ‘Charleston’.

Cunning planning

Well, I’ve successfully planned our road trip from up here in the not so frozen north all the way down to Florida and our planned turnaround point. Hotels are booked as far as Jacksonville, just so’s I can get a chance to see the scheduled SpaceX launches for that week. After which we’re looking at Charleston for a few days to soak in the local Revolutionary and Civil War history. It’s taking a lot of discussion, argument, rolled eyes and subterfuge to agree on where to go and stay. Still, we’ve more or less agreed on where we want to be and what to do while we’re there. It’s proving a mammoth task, especially as Mrs S wants stuff all booked up in advance. Which I feel interferes with the spontaneity of the trip, but that’s where we’ve had to compromise. So far we haven’t quite threatened each other with divorce. Yet.

Minor frustrations aside, things are shaping up nicely. Mrs S did ask me if I’d buy her an Alligator skin handbag. I smiled and did my usual ‘yes dear’ until I saw the prices. A thousand bucks! Yikes!

No doubt whilst we’re down in the deep south we’ll have to dodge all the political campaigners. I’m watching with amusement as the Republican party upper echelons appear to want to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory, simply because the current front running candidate is not “One of us.” and is more of a pragmatist than they’d like. As for the Democrats, I can’t see much of a choice from Bernie Sanders’ redistributionist policies and Hilary Clinton’s, the only difference between them is whose pockets the ‘redistributed’ wealth ends up in. Sure as hell won’t be the voters. Never is, never will be. But that’s left wing politics for you. The little guy always gets screwed, only the insiders ever get anything out of it.

Talking of people getting screwed by officialdom. In our municipality some dozy half wit passed the EDPA bylaw in 2012, which on the face of it isn’t much. Basically what the bylaw is supposed to do is to protect endangered species. Which is a laudable sentiment. Unfortunately, the road to hell being paved with good intentions as it is, this bylaw is in some places preventing people from mowing their lawns and repairing properties into which the rot has set. All in the name of ‘protecting the environment’. This bylaw is being enforced with such zeal that even the new Mayor wants it repealed. Which won’t happen. Because the problem is that the ‘green’ insanity is so entrenched in our locale that this will never happen. Which is why Mrs S and I won’t be buying a house in Saanich. Why bother buying a property when some silly bylaw takes a chunk off it’s value whenever your house needs repairing or the hedges need cutting back? What happens when you can’t lawfully trim the big tree in your yard that tries to put a branch through your bedroom window whenever there’s a windstorm? All in the name of ‘protecting’ the environment.

What the zealous enforcers do not seem to have a grip on (apart from reality) is that properties and land need maintenance. Like the environment. We live in a managed environment. Our houses are proof of this. 21st century man is not well adapted to living without the necessities of life like shelter, heating, fresh water on tap, sewage disposed of, light at the flick of a switch, clean dry clothing and food they don’t have to catch or grow themselves. What is it modern people do when deprived of these things? Oh yes, starve. I wonder how the enforcers would fare if deprived of these modern conveniences. Probably not well, although going onto a more survivalist footing might deprive them of the time they spend on gleefully interfering in the lives of others.

One thing I have promised myself this year is that I’m going to join the local fish and game association, do my gun safety course, get my license and buy a couple of rifles for Mrs S and I to do a little off duty plinking. We may even do a little hunting up Island. Maybe not. Fresh Game is nice for a special treat five or six times a year but it’s such a nuisance to prepare and process a whole animal just for two people.

Dictionaries are for everyone

I’m going to start keeping a dictionary by the front door. Let me explain; I have put up a simple ‘No soliciting’ sign so that Mrs S and I can work from home without unnecessary interruption. Necessary interruptions include delivery of ordered goods and cordially greeting those with an appointment. Unnecessary interruptions are canvassers for whatever purpose, door to door sales people and anyone who has not let me know they’re coming (Friends and family are exempt from this rule).

Yet still there are people who ring my doorbell to try and sell me stuff or worse, use emotional blackmail to try and wring twenty bucks a month direct from my bank account. I had one this afternoon who said; “Don’t get mad, I’m not soliciting.”
“Okay, what do you want? I am quite busy.” I stated, already knowing where this conversation was going.
“Can I just show you this leaflet for..”
“That’s soliciting. Good day.” I saw no benefit in prolonging this conversation with someone who seemed to have failed basic High School English. So I closed the door and locked it firmly behind me, not forgetting to loudly affix the safety chain.

Honestly, what is it with some people? Can they not understand simple written English?

Definition
solicit
Pronunciation: /səˈlɪsɪt/
VERB (solicits, soliciting, solicited)

1 [WITH OBJECT] Ask for or try to obtain (something) from someone:
he called a meeting to solicit their views
[NO OBJECT]: don’t solicit for money
More example sentences Synonyms
2 Ask (someone) for something:
historians and critics are solicited for opinions
3 [NO OBJECT] Accost someone and offer one’s or someone else’s services as a prostitute:
(as noun soliciting) although prostitution was not itself an offence, soliciting was

Origin:

Late Middle English: from Old French solliciter, from Latin sollicitare ‘agitate’, from sollicitus ‘anxious’, from sollus ‘entire’ + citus (past participle of ciere ‘set in motion’).

General usage:
I solicit, am soliciting, have solicited
You solicit, are soliciting, have solicited
He solicits, is soliciting, has solicited
She solicits, is soliciting, has solicited
They solicit, are soliciting, have solicited

In short, ‘no soliciting’ can thus be defined as “Don’t ring my doorbell to try and sell me something I don’t want, or otherwise waste my time. Got that, bozo?”

Why the dictionary? Oh that’s not to explain anything, that’s to hit them with if they won’t go away.

Just a thought…

While I was meandering through the Internet this morning, checking out the news and looking for interesting stuff not to miss on the Texas phase of our road trip, I kept tripping over news of disruption at political rallies by various catspaws.

Here’s the question that popped into my head. If a foreign funded organisation funds disruption and / or voter intimidation, does that qualify it as a ‘terrorist’ entity? If the answer is yes, then moveon.org, change.org etcetera which are known to be Soros funded, along with all those protest groups that indulge in ‘direct action’, within any democracy, are by definition ‘terrorist’ organisations. Presuming of course that we define terrorism as violent direct action upon a given target, be that a person, group or a structure associated with them. The definition of ‘Violent’ to include attempted intimidation, to strike or disrupt with fist or other weapon, be that club, bullet or bomb. In that case, should not the funders of such groups be subject to the same RICO-type seizure laws as drug barons or other criminals? Unless of course they publicly disown the terrorists and defund them immediately.

I’m also moved to consider that beating, or worse still, blowing up people with a differing opinion to you has the teensiest tendency to piss them off. Permanently. Because it’s a fundamental truth that it’s very hard to change anyone’s mind after they’ve had their brains beaten or blown out. Unless of course they were in receipt of the other kind of blow job.

Just a thought. I do have them occasionally.

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

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 384 other followers

%d bloggers like this: