Tag Archives: Family

Important stuff

Well, that’s that. Eldest is now in the Fabled land of Oz. Flight went on time, landed on time, and according to latest message update her immigration visa acceptance was ‘a breeze’. She has a decent place to live, friends in country and even two very reasonable job offers. It threatened to get a bit emotional when we took her to YVR, but my final words into eldest’s ears before we saw her off at the security barriers were; “For god’s sake don’t forget to send pictures and tell us what you’re up to, or your Mum will drive me nuts.”

On the way back to our hotel we had a near-comical Satnag failure where the screen went blank at eleven on a very wet Vancouver evening. Mrs S stressed out at me, but all we needed to do was pull off the main drag, work out what turn we’d missed and memorise an old fashioned road map before setting off in the right direction. Wasn’t that fun? No. If there’s one thing guaranteed to disrupt domestic harmony, it’s driving and navigation.

Notwithstanding, Eldest has a place to run to if things go sour because sister in law now ensconced up Brisbane way can take her in. Mrs S of course is missing her firstborn. Which comes as no surprise. All mothers have this issue, be their offspring two hours or twenty eight years old, ergo my beloved will be less than her usual efficient self for the next two or three days. So I will step into whatever breach is necessary and smooth the path, reminding where necessary, forgiving as much as I can. Settling back to work, planning our next trips to Europe, Australasia and possibly the Caribbean for a little snowbirding in February. Not only that, but Youngest is due for two weeks at Christmas, so there will be another emotional trauma to deal with when she goes back to her London job. Hi-ho, it’s all part of growing up and being part of a global family.

Over here, the story about the Wikileaks Clinton email release and DCleaks Soros information releases is starting to gain momentum. Those in the know have long suspected the interventions and manipulations of various Soros funded organisations, but it’s like being a villager watching for suspicious ripples in a murky swamp that tell you where the Monster is. You can’t see the beast, what it’s target is or what it’s looking at, but you’ve suspected for a long time said critter is up to no good. And you know damn well it’s hungry because stuff goes missing.

Now the evidence is out there in the public domain, defended by a flimsy cordon of hatred-stirring middle class student activist types with their faux-battlecries of ‘Social Justice’, and claiming to be for ‘the people’ when they themselves have no real idea what ‘people’ are really about. ‘People’ are something you can’t learn at a liberal arts university. ‘People’ requires observation and over thirty years of experience. And when you’ve seen ordinary folk in all their light and shadow, will know in your bones that there is no such thing as ‘the masses’ or ‘the people’, just individuals trying to make their way the best they can. Some reekingly bad, some downright monstrous, but also many unaccountably good, the startlingly kind and outrageously decent. All flawed, all imperfect. All in a big, constant murmuration of societal motion.

This being said, itshould come as no surprise that there are those who want to control the motion so that they might personally profit from it. So it seems with the Soros funding machine, which channels millions of dollars (Yikes!) to various politicians and political NGO’s via a series of foundations and ‘charities’, including the ‘Open Societies’ and ‘Tides’ Foundations, which argue and push for more state organisation under the guise of ‘Saving the planet’. For example the news that ‘Global Warming’ pundit Al Gore had at least ten million USD a year bunged his way to ‘aggressively’ push the catastrophic warming agenda should not come as a shock. And there are several thousand more Wikileaks cats gleefully bounding out of bags regarding back door multi-million bungs. So it’s not really surprising that everyone who is anyone wants a taste. It’s easy money these control freaks don’t have to produce or sell anything for and ultimately feeds off society rather than contributing to it in a form of vampire economics.

The word from the sceptical side has always been ‘follow the money’ because the science for Man Made Climate Change / whatever is so obviously weak for any impending man made climate catastrophe. Indeed, certain astrophysicists have predicted that a new Dalton Minimum (possibly worse), when the climate was colder back in the 1800’s will occur over the next thirty to forty years. But there’s no slush fund money for such research, no cash for the activists, so don’t expect to hear much about it outside of academia.

I’ve even heard astrophysicists say that shifts in Earth’s molten nickel iron core have had some effect on climate via changes in our planets Magnetosphere. Which apparently ups the rate of cloud formation. See Svensmark’s work on cloud formation due to cosmic rays (The strange spelling is due to translation errors from Danish to English). Although some atmospheric physicists have claimed that atmospheric CO2 causes shifts in the Earth’s core, which is a mechanism that I have more than a little trouble with, at least from a physical modelling perspective. CO2 is comparatively speaking a very weak climate influence, swamped by all the natural feedbacks and how humanity’s CO2 emissions could alter movements and rotation of the Earth’s core has yet to be satisfactorily explained. Like the laughable claim that all the heat retained by man made CO2 emissions went off to sulk in the deep ocean because no one was paying it any attention rather violates the basic principles of heat transfer.

But we knew all this really, didn’t we? Well, you would have if you’d really been paying attention.


Suffering a bit today with a mild but debilitating lurgi caught off Eldest, who leaves us for the fabled land of Oz tomorrow. Fortunately this is a short lived bug and the fever has already broken and the cough is ‘productive’. The chunks I’ve been coughing up are fading from yellow to white, which means the infection is on the decline. Should be fine to drive Eldest to the Airport by tomorrow. Plenty of fruit juice and fresh air should speed my recovery.

Dahn sarf, in the often confused morass of US politics there’s been a lot of talk recently about a super secret cabal called the ‘Alt-Right’ and what bad people they are. Oo yes, they eat babies don’cha know. Oh yes, yes, and they’re anti everything good, wholesome and natural don’t you see, so they’re evil and must be sent to stand on the naughty step forever and ever amen. So there. Odd that the term was invented by the Clinton camp, who by any measure are hardly models of honesty and integrity. Whitewater, Haiti, Benghazi, favour selling in office, breaches of national security, Is there anything they can’t get away with?

From what I can see, the ‘Alt-Right’ label, apart from being a childish attempt to demonise most of the US electorate, encompasses everyone who likes to make their own decisions without being herded into a box by government bureaucrats who are ‘just doing their job’, whatever particular job that is defined as by a ruling elite. The label also covers anyone not fleecing the state for every penny everyone else puts into it. Which is why this all embracing term, like ‘Deplorables’ before it should be enthusiastically embraced by anyone with any integrity or self respect, regardless of actual political position. Which would mean the ‘Alt-Right’ is a broad church which includes both ‘left’ and ‘right’ leaning supporters, in particular anyone who thinks the Clinton political camp are a bunch of dishonest weasels who would auction off their own unborn for political power, money or privilege. Which is a very broad spectrum, from all the independent voters and fervent Trump fans and enthusiastic Bernie Sanders supporters to the most piratical free marketeer.

FYI: ‘Alt-Right’ from what I can see does not include people who are essentially shilling for Billionaire currency speculator and international criminal (Well the Russians think so) George Soros, like Black Lives Matter or a number of ‘Environmentalist’ factions. Indeed, they themselves would be first to say so because any political position that is even mildly right of centre (or even the most mild mannered centrist) is something they despise and want to tear down and destroy. Which is why Soros throws chump change at them via various ‘Foundations’ (Tides, Open Societies etc.) He can make money off the economic instabilities such movements can cause by helping block major infrastructure projects like Dams and pipelines, burning down neighbourhoods, or any economic downturns the otherwise insignificant factions he helps fund are at the root of. Like mass migration of an incompatible culture into western nations for example. The human casualties of which of course are nothing to do with him. Therefore it is my considered opinion that Soros is not ‘Alt-Right’. Nor is anyone associated with him or his organisations, or any allies thereof.

Which is as good a reason I can come up with to openly declare that I am part of the ‘Alt-Right’. For whatever that’s worth.

Kill Bill

kill-bill-c16Panic not dear reader. I have not been receiving death threats or any other similar abuse. Not that I care much about such things, I’m ‘too old for that shit’ as they say, and tend to respond with “Yeah, right. Just don’t expect it to be easy.” I’ve survived too much for too long to have any other attitude. Been there, done that, called CCTV. Now when random people call out abuse or other strangeness, I tend to be unimpressed.

Take for example Saturday evening where I was meandering amiably up Government Street following a pleasant evening in the Bard and Banker with Mrs S and Eldest. I was walking along ahead of wife and stepdaughter, noting that the fudge and maple syrup shop was still open when a young woman approached me, right hand stuck out saying “Hi!” Very loudly and cheerfully. A little nonplussed, I gave her my best perplexed look, but did not take my own hand out of my pocket. At which she walked straight past me and made some shouted remark about her thinking that I was a very nice person but…, or some such nonsense. She’d obviously failed to understand that not everyone wants to shake hands with random strangers, no matter how ‘friendly’ they seem. At which I turned, smiled sadly at her, tipped my hat and carried on walking toward our bus stop. My wife and stepdaughter glanced at me with “What was all that about?” expressions, to which I gave a shrug. I had no idea. Drunk kids are all part of the bell curve of human existence and nothing I haven’t come across before. I’d had a few glasses of red and was in a placid state of mind, so I took no offence. It was just a little strange, that’s all.

No, today’s thoughts are focused on the iniquity of ‘speech codes’, and why it is plainest folly to codify what people may or may not say in their own private lives, into law. The Harper Government did a number of good things, and one of those was to remove the ‘Hate Speech’ provisions from the Canadian Human Rights Act with Bill C-304. Now those cuddly kittens in the Liberal party want it back so nanny can tell us all how to think about a tiny minority of freakish people (I’ve met a number of pre and post-op TV’s and TG’s, and yes, ‘freakish is the right word) who most are not likely to meet or interact with, nor even care about.

Apparently the motivation for such idiotic legislation is to stop Transgenders and Transexuals offing themselves because someone said something horrible to them, or failed to call them by their ‘correct’ gender pronoun. Sorry folks, but the bad news is that TG’s and TV’s have the highest suicide rate of any section of the population outside of Kamikaze pilots on a Sake drinking binge. Self loathing and self destructive urges are hard wired into the physiology of the condition. Between 42-46% of Transgenders will actually self destruct. End of. These figures do not of course include suicide attempts as in ‘cries for help’, just those who succeed. There seems to be an endemic self loathing built into transgenderism, a lack of connection with tribe and family, connections which are essential to general psychic well-being in well-balanced individuals.

The above being the case, why is it so essential to shackle the mouths of the rest of the population to spare the feelings of a few who are rabidly poised on the razors edge of self destruction? Will we save them, those who are incapable of saving themselves? Probably not, no matter how much we try to spare their feelings. The sad reality is that no matter what you do, you will trigger these people simply by looking away from them or any other behaviour other than treating them like you’re their newest best friend. Like with Saturday’s random young lady, even inaction is seen as somehow offensive. It’s a no-win scenario.

It’s all academic really, if the politically correct do get their way and Islam becomes the dominant culture, as seems the intent, all the TG’s, TV’s, gays and hard line feminists will be first on their knees for emergency height reduction surgery or a free flying lesson from the very people they sought to empower.

However, I take heart that this is not a certain outcome. Bill C-16 may die. The political pendulum may swing back to point sanity and the bills PC idiocy will fade into the realm of deranged lefty student politics from whence it came. I may die before it does, the University system that nurtures such beliefs may fail even if the bill should become law, and who knows, the horse sense of sanity may even learn to sing?

Surprises and stuff

Time is being taken up by family stuff at present. Nothing amazing. Eldest is back from Vancouver and catching up with sleep to reset her body clock and rest before we pack her off to the fabled land of Oz. She’s taken up smoking in the last five years and picked up a couple of tattoos, although nothing inelegant or indecent. Nothing to fuss ourselves over. I cobbled together an ashtray for her so she can sit out on the front step for a ciggie and not leave fag ends all over the front porch. Job done, no fuss. She’ll pack in when all her friends do. Or not. I’m certainly not going to alienate her by nagging. Besides, if she’s trying to shock us, well, only if she brought her latest boyfriend to the door on a leash with him wearing a nappy and full bondage gear and probably not even then. We’re just feeding her up and letting her rest so she’ll have the energy to hit the ground running when she gets off the plane in Sydney.

In some ways it’s strange to see the gawky teenager I first knew morphed into a mature young woman who’s got a reasonable handle on who and where she wants to be. Trotting the globe with friends all over the world. Making her own way with minimal assistance from us. Mrs S of course sighs heavily, because for a mother, her offspring always remain children, no matter what. Her wistful sorrow at seeing her eldest all grown up and independent is almost palpable. Me, I just try and keep things turning over, smoothing the path as best I can. Not a road I would have chosen had I but known, however, this is where we are, and this is the role I must play. For the moment.

What else? Bill and Kate Windsor have been in the area, but they never call, so we’re quite relaxed about that. Although I was quite impressed when young George showed good taste when approached by a Trudeau. Even if some of the First Nations are throwing a snit and snubbing the party. Who cares?

The media luvvy super-rich are building more bunkers to hide in if everything does go pear shaped after a Trump Presidential election win. However, how they’ll get out if someone welds the doors shut or parks a truck over their multi-million hidey hole is another matter entirely. Not that things will. Go pear shaped I mean. We hear all the same scare stories that “We’re all doomed” if we don’t vote for the elite’s preferred candidates, or do what we’re told, yet do these disasters ever materialise? At least in the size and scope promised. No. The world stumbles on.

Meteors hit near Australia and Cyprus. There’s a ‘black moon‘ eclipse due in a day or so, but does all this really mean anything? Are we in the ‘end of days’? No. It’s just astronomy. Business as usual and nothing to get fussed about. Even if Deutsche Bank has been caught with it’s Lederhosen around it’s ankles. The world is not coming to an end. Despite all the prophesies. If the world does end, I’ll give five thousand to the first person to find me and say ‘told you so’.

Five thousand what, I’m not saying.

Parish Notice

Well I’ve had a very successful week despite being chief chauffeur for Eldest while she’s with us, and all the other ructions that come with house guests and not quite enough space. Packed her off to see friends in Vancouver for the weekend on the 7am ferry, so she’ll be partying with pals for the next day or so, while we old codgers back home discuss the revelations she brought over with her.

Right; so what’s this ‘Parish Notice’ malarkey? Okay, I’m finally ditching the gmail address and making a few administrative alterations to my various commenting accounts like Disqus etc. So if anything comes from my old gmail address after tomorrow (Sunday 25th September), it will be fake and can therefore be deleted with impunity. If anyone needs to talk directly, the contact form for this blog will field all new messages to my new mail hosting service. Gravatar is going to be on the casualty list too. I’ve used it for over ten years, but now it’s outworn all utility.

My reasons are quite simple. I’ve long been annoyed at gmail for all their spurious ‘security’ notifications which not only effectively work as a tool for tracking my movements, but suspend the account every time I take a trip up the road until I go through the whole ‘account verification’ circus. Every time I take a week away from my desk (Which is an irregular but not uncommon occurrence) I get half a dozen ‘Is this you?’ service disruptions which are about as amusing as a kick up the bum. In addition, I’d like to state that my motivation for discontinuing gmail is not derived from some paranoid “They’re out to get me” as some might think, but more out of a general “What the f**k’s it got to do with them?” Consider the account dormant.

Sadly, Google, along with Microsoft, Yahoo, Arsebook and Twatter have outgrown their usefulness and sold out to certain interests who have their own agenda. Thus their worth, at least in my eyes, is reduced to the point of near uselessness. WordPress retains utility, so the blog stays. Scriblerus stays. The means adapt. The song remains the same. Take that as you will.

Spider season

The first hint of Fall, or Autumn as we expatriates call it, always brings the wolf spiders indoors. A shriek yesterday morning alerted me to the first of these annoying eight legged interlopers when one was found poised perkily on the coverlet. Using the old jar and card trick, which goes like this, to the feminine chorus of “Don’t kill it! Nooo, get rid of it! Bill! Do it now!” Using a piece of card and a sufficiently large jar or glass, put jar over offending creature, slide card underneath affronted arachnid and carry to window or door and eject summarily. I found said dreaded wee beastie’s brother (Or sister, with spiders it’s hard to tell. Is there such a profession as ‘Spider sexer’?) in the tumble drier this morning and decided to deploy the heavy artillery, otherwise known as the vacuum cleaner, which is the nuclear option as far as spiders are concerned. Those that learn to keep out of the way of humans live, those that don’t, die. This is the way of things since Mrs Ug first screamed at Mr Ug to get rid of this horrifying half inch nightmare from their cave. You’d think that after the last couple of hundred thousand years of evolution the spiders would get the hint that humans are bad news, but no. Hi-ho.

Spider season is a little earlier by my reckoning this year and betokens a cold winter even though locally we’re having a run of sunny days with only a few showers. Normally they don’t start infiltrating households in any numbers until October. At least in these latitudes. A couple of our local species are known to pack a nasty nip, so instead of meandering around the office and apartment in bare feet as I usually do, I’ve elected to put my socks on. Just in case.

And speaking of those human web lie-spinners and purveyors of influence, the Clintons, I see the lamestream is finally owning up to the fact that Hilary Clinton is most definitely ill, no it’s not just a temporary sniffle because you don’t ‘fit’ during a faint or bout of pneumonia unless you’ve got something else pretty serious going on. Now here’s an interesting medical fact; the coughing is a known side effect of certain blood pressure medication, which, knowing that she has a family history of strokes and previous TIA‘s, it’s not a total wild guess to say she may be taking something like Ramipril. Which also might account for some of the fainting and spasms observed. She’s had TIA’s before, so I have a strong suspicion that she’s on quite a high dose to prevent another incidence. It would fit in with the prescription of Coumadin she’s been known to be on. Which would account for more or less all of her observed symptoms. The fainting and fitting, ‘zoning out’ and episodes of imbalance, not to mention the coughing fits. An adverse drug reaction would also account for the fast ‘recoveries’ as the dosages are altered. Well done Bill. Mystery solved.

Anyway, that’s besides the point. Eldest is due in under a week, the freezer is full, and we’re turning the apartment upside down in order to rearrange for her coming royal visit before she heads off to Oz. Brother in law is much better, and currently recuperating in France. Despite the spiders, life could be a lot worse.

Family stuff

Busy with organising for extended visit from Eldest on her way to the fabled land of Oz. She’s done her Africa experience, and now is looking to move down under. Her entry and work visa has been approved, flights are paid for, and backup finances put in place. Which may or may not be needed. Hey, she’s still young, so should do these things while she can enjoy them fully. We will assist where we are able while she gets settled in her new life. She’s got friends and family already in country, so she’s not going in completely cold. Hell, she’s even got mates in Vancouver who moved there after University, so no matter where she goes she’ll have a place to crash, as well as with Mrs S and I whilst she’s passing through Canada.

Which is cool. There’s always that sense of inhibition when you visit family, and the old bug-a-boo of things you always wanted to say but felt you couldn’t. Such as; “Why does no one talk about Uncle Henry?” or “Why didn’t Mum and Dad tell me?” This is something Mrs S and I try not to encourage. Because we both know from our own upbringings how toxic that can be. Repression brings nothing but regret and unhappiness, and over the years I’ve formed the opinion that’s way worse than giving an issue a bloody good shake out and airing. No matter how uncomfortable it is at the time. If you can’t talk about an issue, it just goes underground and festers, poisoning relationships and leaving problems unresolved. Which is something the current politically correct climate in academia, politics and media doesn’t help.

You see, I’m aware of all the problems my personal family history has brought and how it has in some cases stopped me from being a better human being. Now I’ve cheerfully accepted that I’m a real bastard son of a bitch, I feel much more relaxed about my life, and have determined not to pass that shit on to the next generation, while trying to improve my own lot. Put it this way, my stepkids do not have either my, or Mrs S’s hang ups and have been set free to make their own way in the world. With a little help from us older folks of course, who in my case is setting a thoroughly bad example, just to show that fun can be had, no matter what age you are.

As well as all the “But you can’t say that!” voices crying out that we should not talk about certain issues, or even allude to said facts existence, there’s a ‘health’ lobby out there determined that we will all end our days restricted to ‘care’ homes, dribbling out our dotage, and subject to naught but pity as the Alzheimers inexorably robs us of our marbles, bowel and bladder control. Me, I know that it’s a short life but a merry one, and that seeing as there’s precious little of it, intend to relax and take what comes, even if my last words are “Shit! The ripcord didn’t work!” or “Just a moment, I’ve had an idea.” or even “Bloody Satnav!” When the book closes on me, there will be no regrets but that which says “I wish I’d had time to do more.”

Life may be a terminal disease, but you only get one, no matter what any priest or politician says when they want you to do what you’re bloody well told, you, you utter peasant, you. My only reply to that is outright contempt, and if this makes me not worth talking to, then it has the upside of freeing me from the interminable blatherings of the dim and depressing.

Anyway, I’ll conclude today’s little missive with a misquote by one of my old boon companions (often falsely attributed to Sir Walter Scott or William Blake). “Better one hour of crowded life, than an eternity without a name.” Although I think his version was actually an improvement on Mordaunt’s original.

Folk remedies

Feeling much better today. Sweet repose has returned as the Korean Kitten infestation (Ask Leg-Iron, he started it) has departed. My mind is more settled, with the shadows that conspired to rob me of sleep vanishing with the light of day. To the point where Mrs S noted “Bill, you’re whistling.” Which I was. Just an aimless tune whilst engaged in a mundane task, but it’s a sign I’m feeling much more relaxed.

I put my vastly improved humour down to applying the Sticker family cure for insomnia. Which is one of a collection of remedies for various mild ailments I grew up with. Hot sweetened milk (Honey, sugar, whatever) and 500mg of aspirin or paracetamol at bedtime is the one we applied last night because Mrs S was running a mild malaise and fever and I wasn’t feeling too wonderful either. Like a hot toddy it’s a very nice way of sliding into the arms of Morpheus and makes for a better nights repose, allowing the bodies immune system time to do it’s thing and fight the infection causing the malaise. Which, unless you have a serious illness, is a sensible thing to do rather than immediately run to the quack for the latest thing from the drug companies, which is far too often a sledgehammer to crack a nut. Besides, everything for a purpose.

For most minor health issues I try to avoid bothering our GP, and only make an appointment if I’m feeling really unwell. Then I’ll take my pills without a whimper, because my body won’t have developed any drug resistance through over prescription, so my reasoning is that any medication I’m prescribed will work more effectively and I’ll recover sooner. That and I hate sitting in Doctors waiting rooms, which are always full of depressingly sick people. And the copies of Reader’s Digest and National Geographic are way out of date and just covered in germs. Double-euw.

For example; a recent experiment on the old anti-inflammatory standby Apple cider vinegar showed that regular consumption can reduce ‘harmful’ cholesterol in the blood by up to 13% rather than the 5% generally achieved with regular Statins. Without the risk of liver damage. Hmm. Ma Sticker used to swear by daily doses of Apple Cider Vinegar and Raspberry Cordial to reduce the symptoms of her arthritis, but probably didn’t know (or care) about the whole Cholesterol thing. Some people think it acts as a slimming aid or mild diabetes remedy, go figure. All I know is that it does seem to work as far as mild Arthritis is concerned.

Regarding regular medication, a family anecdote Ma liked to tell from when she had to go to hospital for an eye problem (Cataracts at age 95) where she had the following conversation with the nurse taking her medical history;
Nurse with Clipboard: “Can you tell me what medications you take regularly?”
Ma Sticker: “None.”
Nurse with Clipboard: “I don’t think you understand me dear. I mean’t what pills do you take every day.”
Ma Sticker: “I understood you perfectly the first time. I have no prescription medication. No regular medication.”
Good old Ma. Sharp as a razor right to the last. During most of her long and interesting life I think she rarely took more than the odd antibiotic and generally viewed doctors and hospitals with a healthy scepticism. Until 2012 when her health began to go downhill. The rest of her life she relied on our proven family folk remedies. Apart from a small goitre removal when she was in her eighties, that was it.

The randomness of existence

Illness in our little clan has reared its head once more, with eldest having a close brush with Malaria two weeks shy of her Australian residential / work permit medical. Brother in law looks to be on the mend, although post-op he’s looking a bit tattered and torn. This has also been a frustrating time because Mrs S and I have debated flying off to Africa on a rescue mission, but then deciding we’d be as much good as a chocolate teapot, because the medics at the hospital in question gave Eldest the most up to date treatment for the Malaria parasite, which has now been purged from her system. Like brother in law, she’s looking a bit worse for wear when we talk to her on Skype, but give her another forty eight hours and she’s going to be fine. Brother in law will take a bit longer because his condition was a direct hit on his lymphatic system. However, he is too robust and will recover quickly because if I know him, it would take a small thermonuclear device to put him down. This is good, because his Australian immigration medical is scheduled for November I think, and he and my other sister in law have worked too hard to fall at the final hurdle.

What else? I managed to piss off junior sister in law this weekend because I gave brother in law a small bag of birthday goodies we’d picked up in our trans american travels. She’d have been just as pissed off at me if I hadn’t, but I’ve learned that as far as she’s concerned, I’m always in a lose-lose scenario. Apparently I’m to blame for everything from her older sister, Mrs S, not calling her precisely on time because junior sister in law has such a busy schedule and never answers the phone herself anyway. Or some other minor inconvenience because I had the temerity to marry into ‘her’ family. Not middle class enough I think. Or as one of my cousins remarked, having met her briefly when Mrs S and I got married. “Lady Muck.”

At home I’m trying to steer clear on the subject of the US Presidential elections because although I’m not necessarily pro-Trump, I just feel he’s a much better bet than Clinton. While Mrs S disagrees, having swallowed the narrative being fed to the public via the lamestream. Why do I feel this way? Because I’m betting that Clinton will be no better than Obama, whose presidency now looks like it will only leave scorched earth behind it. Clinton, from what I can see is in hock to special interests and overseas influences as well as the big dark question mark over FBI investigations (It’s not just the emails, folks) and what seems to be a serious health problem that will directly impact on her ability to adequately fulfil the role of US President. Anyone remember the premise of Ivan Reitman’s amusing political fantasy movie ‘Dave‘? Where a cynical and corrupt US President (Republican of course) is replaced with an underachieving lookalike after suffering a massive stroke, who ironically turns out to be a better president than the real deal.

Yet could life end up mimicking art? Because I still think Clinton will win the Presidency because she’s bought and sold. Every dirty trick in the electoral book will be brought to bear upon her behalf, and like the scheming fictional Queen Cersei the throne of the west will be hers.

Although I hope she won’t win the election because instead of representing the US population, she only represents her own interests and those of big business and foreign donors. It seems that this is not an opinion that is uncommon. As I’ve said before, we toured through twenty three States on our big US road trip in May and June, and saw plenty of support for all the other hopefuls, but not one lawn sign, bumper sticker, banner or advertisement supporting Clinton. Most of the overt support we saw was for Bernie Sanders, with Donald Trump and Ted Cruz banners coming in second. There was even a John Kasich billboard up in Utah, but nary a one for Clinton. Which tells me one thing; popular support won’t win this election. Big money will. Just like for Bush and Obama.

Anyway. More important things have been done, like getting my recipe for dry garlic salt and peppered pork ribs right. It’s so easy it’s ridiculous. A pound of frozen pork back ribs. Rub with a lick of Olive Oil. Sprinkle with salt and garlic powder to taste. Give it a quick rub, sprinkle with black pepper, set the oven at about 325-350 Fahrenheit (Gas Mark 3 or 180 Celsius). Stick the rack of ribs in a roasting pan, put in oven and leave for ninety five minutes. Switch oven off after time is up. Remove ribs and leave out to cool. Or if you’re feeling brave, eat while they’re piping hot. “Do not change this recipe. It’s evil.” Says Mrs S.

Well, far be it from me…. Good or bad it’s all part of the randomness of existence.


At present I have much to be annoyed about, and I’m letting my inner grump have free reign. Why? From people in the UK trying to screw me over for tens of thousands (Good luck with that one – I know what they’re up to and so do my lawyers) and ill relatives, to the happy clappy attitude of some of the locals, who, it turns out, are far more likely to die younger than I. Which is a relief. A man can only take so much ‘nice’ before he considers committing an uncharacteristic act of malice and mayhem. Which tends to upset local law enforcement, and that would never do.

However, there is hope, because a new study has found that being a curmudgeon makes you likely to live longer, be more creative, effective, and generally be more prepared against life’s little vicissitudes. Of which there are a plethora.

The reason for my grumpiness? Hunting for a new apartment. Bills. ‘Hate crime’ laws going back on the books, people you’ve never met acting like you’re their best friend, usual shit. Now Mrs S has just announced she’s had a belly full of ‘nice’ because she’s just asked me what country I’d like to move to because she’s pissed off with the stinking tide of Political Correctness over here in BC. And going back to the UK isn’t going to happen because we like our personal space too much. After a few moments reflection I said “New Zealand. South Island.” For six months, certainly. Okay, I’ll give it a try. This is one of those ‘can hack’ situations where I have to do the hacking. Hey, I got us through the hoops of immigrating to Canada. Five or six months in NZ during 2017-8 by comparison should be a snip.

Just got to work out how to store the car, as the Bike will definitely be coming with us.