Dr. Pepper, erm Dr Fauci, was behind some of the virus research at the Wuhan lab – or at least he knew what was going on there and has been implicated in the Wuhan Corona virus. So says Fox News.
Now Fauci wants us to wear seasonal mask for……………..for………….forever!
And the W.H.O. wants to get to the bottom of this. Who? The World Health Organization stupid. That oxymoronic organization who are in China’s back pocket, that’s WHO?
Gotta love this:
NBC cancels the Golden Globe awards for 2022. AWESOME. Next? The Oscars and hopefully the Grammy weirdos.
For me this is the last straw, or the straw that broke the camel’s back…or…
Helping our planet – one straw at a time. Timmy’s (Canada’s version of Dunkin Donuts) introduces paper straws. Reason is to save the health of the planet. Not us, the planet. Never mind that their products suck and are 99% sugar. Doesn’t matter Timmy’s, as we will be too fat to notice.
Unintended consequence: Sales are plummeting at Timmy’s:
Hey, but I am saving the planet…one butt at a time.
Gotta love this too, too….
All the money in the world cannot make you happy. Bill and Melinda Gates are divorcing. “Never marry a computer nerd.” she was heard to say in passing.
Apparently….
Bridgitt Arnold, a spokeswoman for Mr. Gates, told The Times that her boss and sex fiend Jeffrey Epstein had met multiple times to discuss philanthropy… yeah right. “Bill Gates regrets ever meeting with Epstein and recognizes it was an error in judgment to do so,” Arnold said at the time.
When asked to comment he, Gates, could only say this: “ERROR 404.”
When pressed about this video Bill Gates could only say: ERROR 404.
Why is it that the millennials will listen to Bill Gates on just about anything but will not believe the actual science?? This from a guy who wants to inject gazillion amounts of dust into the atmosphere to block out the sun’s rays.
The madness of even being Bill Gates.
A Bill Gates world:
When asked about his vision for the future all Gates could say was:
“ERROR 404”
You know we’re screwed right? Canada’s debt load is the highest per capita in the western world. Tru-dough has increased Canada’s spending since Covid began to such an extent that our debt load and spending over the past 2 years is higher than the last 152 years combined. No matter.
Timmy’s is looking to hire Tru-dough as a consultant.
Unintended consequence in Canada: printing machine sales to the federal government soaring.
Joke of the year. The Liberals approve the Arctic Ice Breaker project. hahaahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.
Job for life. Of course Quebec won a major portion of the contract.
SJ Note: I have to laugh as I worked on this project way back in 1988 when I was stationed at National Defense Headquarters.
Fact of life: Stephen Colbert is not funny.
Being good looking and popular doesn’t mean you are not as nutty as an O’Henry: Tom Cruise and his scientology science.
Saturday Night Live has been accused of cultural misappropriation. Really? I would have thought that they have been accused of not being funny. How on earth has SNL lasted so long. Well, like those never ending lineups at US amusement parks, Americans love “boring.” Have ya watched a Major League Baseball game lately?
What “Herd Immunity” looks like.
In Canada?
In Canada we also need “Turd Immunity:”
From our fearless leader. Turdeau!
Dear Shiva. Help me rid myself and Canada of Hazmat Singh.
The last bit of the section I have been working on. Hope you like it.
The very next Saturday afternoon. Back at Noss’
“Wonderful Nigel. Just bloody wonderful. It will be a great opportunity for you.” Mr. Sommers said, about as excited as I was. Ruth was non committal.
“Well, I should miss you Nigel Filtness.” was all that Ruth could say.
“I will not be gone bloody long Ruth. Maybe a month or two. Then back.”
“It will not be the same.” she said emphatically. “Oh I know it won’t Nigel. You…you will be gone off to some…some exotic mysterious locale and may never return. I may never see you again…or our afternoon adventures with Lilly and Lillian.”
She was pouting, like a ten year old spoiled schoolgirl.
I was confused. She had never shown me any affection other than that as a sibling.
“I do not understand you Ruth. I thought you would be happy. For this opportunity for me.”
She looked at me, shyly. “I am happy Nigel…really…I am…good on you. She seem to perk up, smiled a very broad smile then ran off toward Bridge Road heading in the direction of Kingswear, which was about 2 miles away.
Mr Sommers shrugged. “I cannot help you there Nigel. I think she sees this…I mean you going away… as an end to her idyllic life here. A disruption of her routine. She does not like change.” He shrugged again then drew his attention back to Lillian.
I looked at Mr Sommers, then in the direction to where Ruth was heading. I threw down the rags I was holding and run up to Bridge Road to catch up with her. I walked on past the upper bridge ferry to Dartmouth but there was no sign of her. I continued on for a short while down the laneway until I came to a small clearing on my right which was just up from the train tracks but below the laneway. Ruth was sitting there on a grassy slope looking out across the Dart to Dartmouth. Her arms were wrapped around her legs which were bent upward almost touching her chest. It seemed as if her chin was resting on her knees. She was rocking back and forth. She seemed to be in some sort of meditative state, as if the world around her was but a distant sideshow of her immediate reality.
“Ruth…Ruth.” I called.
Startled she looked up and behind her. Her left hand and arm across her chest. She gasped.
“You scared me Nigel.”
“I am sorry Ruth.” I walked down to her. “I did not mean to scare you, only to find you to see if you are okay. You left in a huff it seemed to me.
Can I join you? I promise I will not bite.”
She motioned me to the grass not saying a word. I sat down beside her. We sat there as one and in silence for a time.
“You will not be coming back.” she said. “I just know it.”
“What makes you say that Ruth?”
Without looking at me directly she responded. “I can sense it Nigel. A feeling I guess.” After a pause. “But why would you come back?” She turned toward me as she said that. “There is nothing here for you. Is there?” She touched my arm. “No family. Not many friends to speak of? Nothing concrete really…to anchor you to this place? And why should I care? Outside of our sailing afternoons with Daddy, I hardly know you. Do we have anything in common Nigel? You and I? I mean we come from different households…have different backgrounds…different life experiences. What do we have in common Nigel? Hmmm?”
I did not know what to say. This was not like Ruth. What has gotten into her I thought.
I looked out across the Dart for a while, then back at Ruth. She looked beautiful, radiant.
I went on.
“We have a lot in common Ruth. More-so than you may think and many others I would gather. We share a common love for sailing, for the water, our environment here on the Dart…this place, Kingswear, Dartmouth, “Lilly” and “Lillian” Saturday afternoons, the Dartmouth Castle, your father. Oh yes indeed.” I paused to gather my thoughts, emotional as I had become. “Yes Ruth your father. We share a common bond there…that I know for sure. Mr Sommers may be your father and you love him and he loves you very much indeed. But for me your father is also very special for he saved my life. Without him I would be nothing. I shudder to think what I might have become without his friendship and his kindness to me. He has been like a father to me. The father that I never had.
And above all else Ruth we share a common memory of our life here on the Dart.”
Oh yes, we have a great deal in common Ruth.”
As I said this Ruth turned toward me. Slowly, ever so slowly she moved her head toward mine. Her arms came up and touched my shoulders. I did not know what to think or do at that very moment. I followed her lead. Our eyes met. She smiled affectionately at me, then, instinctively, we embraced. We were drawn to one another, naturally. We kissed. A sweet short kiss followed by a long, warm touch. It was wonderful. I was becoming aroused.
“I will not be leaving you Ruth. Not ever. I will be back. I promise you.”
Saying nothing she smiled at me with her eyes, with her mouth and with her expression. She stroked my facial features and my hair with her soft hands.
“Promise me Nigel? Promise me again and again.”
“I promise Ruth.”
“I think I love you Nigel. I do love you.”
She loves me? I thought. She loves me. What does that mean?
No response.
What a wonderful afternoon we spent together. Walking back to Kingswear hand in hand. Playful. Laughing. Boasting in jest. Stopping from time to time to embrace. Time stood still, the walk to the lower Kingswear Dartmouth ferry melted away – too quickly. As she boarded the ferry to Dartmouth, I stood there and watched her go. In her giddy way she jumped up and down…for joy…as she waved goodbye to me over and over again until she was out of sight.
For the first time in my life I was extremely happy.
Great song. Never heard from these guys after this one.
A very successful first day on the water for Lillian’s new life as the inanimate protégé for Mr Sommers’ attention…and for Ruth and I. We spent the next few Saturday afternoons working with Lillian. We would not venture out if the weather was nasty as Mr Sommers felt our experience level was not commensurate with the expertise needed in a strong wind. No matter for me as I would spend that time helping Sommers at the shipyard maintaining Lillian. There was still much work to do on the interior. Ruth, when not at school, would come down and help. I looked forward to her presence with us as I found I was beginning to miss her when she was away. I was thinking of her all the time.
The next few years went by quickly. I had finished my forms at Dartmouth. I decided that the Navy life was not for me and as grateful as I was that the Royal Navy saved my life and instilled a sense of discipline and self worth and confidence into my psyche I could not see that kind of life for me. I declined the offer of a commission as an Officer Cadet or a rating. Seeing first hand what these young men had to put up with, my own upbringing, with its neglect and physical and verbal abuse, lack of love, instilled into my character a strong sense of independence and selfishness. My back would often rise and my temper flare at the slightest occurrence of an over bearing authority. Little did I realize at the time that the forbearance of love and of patience for me in my early life would become a dominant factor of my own personality in the way that I treated those for whom I felt were beneath me. Little did I know at the time that this would become an overriding determinant of my character in future years to come. But this was my survival instinct that I felt I needed in a world that I felt, unconsciously, was harsh, cruel and void of love. It was the only way I knew in handling relationships of a non carnal nature. The only way I knew of getting things done as most people had done with me. Mr Sommers was the exception. But that would manifest itself later and beget considerable loneliness. As a late blooming teenage boy I had no understanding of such things.
Ruth and I grew closer and closer as the months turned into years. Often times we would go out on the Dart in “Lilly” and explore the area stopping from time to time on a bank of cool grass upriver a way. We talked…erm…she talked of many things. She was a young woman now. Gone were the boyish locks. Her hair now fell to her shoulders, fashionably coifed with natural curls that were interspersed and intertwined within wave upon wave of strawberry blond tresses that were particularly radiant in the afterglow of a late afternoon sun. Her complexion was flawless and was all the more exotic and welcoming by just a hint of makeup. She was naturally beautiful. Well proportioned, athletic, strong. Her breasts were mature and full, not large, perfect for her physical size. She had her mother’s eyes I was told. Hazel green for the most part with the slightest touch of grey and an intimation of violet if the sunlight graced her features just so. You could almost detect the coloured hue of violet in a reflective measure of sunlight only to lose sight of it on closer inspection.
“Whaaaat” she would say, teasingly, as my gaze burrowed into her eyes.
“Your eyes Ruth.” I thought they to be green, hazel perhaps, but just then I could detect some violet. Violet, for heaven’s sake?”
“My eyes are green Nigel Filtness.” she laughed as if she needed to scold me, turn me straight. “Maybe a tad hazel but green predominantly.”
Predominantly…predominantly? She had a better way with words than I will ever have. Her diction was precise, flawless really, unlike the guttural slang that came out of my mouth. I was intimidated by her yet she never belittled me.
“I like you Nigel Filtness.” she would announce, as if she was my queen and I her peon…jester. “King….Nigel”, never the Queen. I may be female but I would be KING of all of England, and Wales, maybe Scotland, Ireland perhaps. No, no never Scotland as I can never understand the brogue there.” She giggled. “But Ireland? Ah the land of song, poetry, romance and tragedy. Suffering, tragic Ireland. The Emerald Isle.
“Ireland?” I would ask of her as I lay on my back, my eyes closed, the sun high in the sky but on with its western slide.
“Yes Ireland Nigel” she sat there, smiling, as if pleased with her own insight, sitting as she was with her legs flat out across the grass in front of her with her arms back and to her sides holding her up. “Yes Ireland Nigel, the land of Yeats, of Shaw, of Oscar Wilde…”
“Oh the “poofter” I interjected.
Not saying a word she looked down at me with a scorn that could mortally wound.
“Of Oscar Wilde, Joyce, Michael Collins…” she paused and sighed a long passionate sounding sigh…of the revolutionaries, 1916 Ireland with Padraigh Pearse…”
“Who?” I countered.
“Padraigh Pearse Nigel. Padraigh was an Irish romantic poet, scholar, barrister, revolutionary of the 1916 Irish Rebellion. He was a tragic figure – a naïve Irish ideologue hero. He was executed as one of the Irish rebels of the Easter Riots.”
“Oh, you don’t say” was about all I could say. I felt extremely low intellectually whenever I was with Ruth.
Nevertheless Ruth and I became inseparable. “Lilly” and “Lillian” were our common thread; our common bond; and our common love for sailing. Soon, the intricacies of Lillian’s unique gaff rig configuration became second nature to both of us. We knew Lillian’s quirks like the backs of our palms. It was not long before Mr Sommers had full confidence in both of us. And before long it was not an unusual sight for the Dartmouth and Kingswear sailing community to recognize us both for what we were: respected local seafarers. Lillian, and us, became synonymous with the regulars of the sailing community, particularly those members of the Royal Dartmouth Yacht Club, of which Mr Sommers was a lifetime member, as an icon of the Dart maritime environment. Even the Royal Naval College took note of us, particularly Petty Officer Brand.
“Nigel…Nigel.” Petty Officer Brand asked of me one day while about on the Hindostan.
“Yes Sir.” I was still part of the Royal Navy at Dartmouth but not for very much longer.
“We’re taking Mercury to Gibraltar in the spring. Would you be interested in joining us.”
“But I will be finished here Sir.”
“No matter Nigel. I can offer you an extension for the purposes of this trip. You will be released on return. I can have that in writing. It will be a great experience for you. Almost a direct sail down. We can take a frigate ride home. We intend to leave Mercury at our base there for use by the Garrison. – adventure training as it were.
“Let me think on that sir.”
“Fine Nigel, let me know. But soon. Oh and one other thing. You will be tasked as our principal navigator. A great opportunity for you.”
“What about kit?”
“That will all be taken care of. Sextants, tables, almanac everything. You will also have charge of your own watch.”
“Yes indeed.” was all I said, Yes indeedy” then left for Kingswear with a pronounced spring in my step.
I was so excited. I had to tell Ruth and Mr. Sommers.
“I know Nigel and I am sorry. You do know that it was me that alerted the authorities about your personal challenges, especially after the death of your father. I was also able to convince the naval brass at Dartmouth to take you on. Better than some of those schools for wayward boys I might add.”
That it was I thought. That it was. I had heard of the Fairbridge Society[1] and wanted no part of that.
“I am going to bring her out next Saturday. I want you and Ruth to help me. Are you on for it Nigel.”
“Yes Sir. I wouldn’t miss it for anything. Thank you so much.”
That we did and what a beautiful remarkable sight to behold as we graced the Dart with Lillian’s fine looking lines. Her sails were of lilly white sailcloth: white canvass, bulbous when filled and bright in the noon day sunlight. Not a fleeting luff was seen between the main and mizzen. The foresail was cut perfectly and not a ripple, or a fluttering luff or a backing bulge was detected. The beautiful synergy of the sails was matched only by the clean lines of the white hull. You could detect each and every planked seam. Lillian’s clinker design, a design made famous by the Viking shipbuilders and sea goers, was considered a classic and for a gaff rig sailboat like “Lillian,” appropriately classic. Like the beautiful woman that she was she was oh so elegant on the water. She turned heads.
The bright-work of her caramel coloured teak decks and mahogany uppers almost blinded one with their deep rich hues, especially with a high noon sun that was unobstructed by clouds. Her tall mast, her gaffs; the running rigging that was almost devoid of winches; and her long projection of a bowsprit enhanced Lillian’s lines and curves and waterline perspectives as she sliced through the water effortlessly as a sharp knife or saw would cut through butter or wood. The slight heel to port in this light breeze underlined her righteousness and with an arrogance to all who saw her that she was meant to be on the water. The tiller and rudder was well balanced and only required the slightest touch by Mr Sommers to keep her course true. The rigging was well tuned. Lillian seemed to have a mind of her own as she appeared to sail herself.
Coming about, beating up as far as we could go with a gaff rig; gybing, running before the wind was child’s work for Lillian, especially under the guidance and expertise of Mr Sommers. He did this slowly and painstakingly at first as Ruth and I were novices to a boat of this size, shape and structure. Yes I did have experience with the Royal Navy’s sail training vessel Mercury but Mercury was a standard sloop. She was a lot less complicated than Lillian’s gaff rigged ketch configuration. Indeed it took almost the entire afternoon of course changes, sail tuning and the odd bit of cursing on Mr Sommers’ part before we became comfortable with the running of Lillian.
Ruth and I worked hard managing the array of lines, blocks and tackles. I would take the foredeck while Ruth worked the main, or vice versa. Mr Sommers always took care of the mizzen. Lillian’s running rigging was also of a classic design and comprised almost entirely of manila cordage. Blocks and tackles managed the strain and pressures of the topping lift, outhaul, downhaul, sheets, halyards, Cunningham and boom vang. Just about every aspect of the running rigging that made Lillian dance, was of rope. The only exception to all of this was the two winches situated just below the main companionway, port and starboard, which controlled the port and starboard sheets of the foresail. Once everything was set by Ruth and I on the orders of Mr Sommers was the management and control of the sails through the sheets. One could equate the sheets to a transmission in an automobile whereas the power and aspect of the wind dictated the pressure of the sheets on the sails.
It became obvious to me that Mr Sommers had had a great deal of experience sailing although he was very reticent about this or anything else to do with his past.
[1] Fairbridge Society: In 1909, South African-born Kingsley Fairbridge founded the “Society for the Furtherance of Child Emigration to the Colonies.” The purpose of the society was to educate orphaned and neglected children and train them in farming practices at farm schools located throughout the British Empire: Australia, Canada, New Zealand, South Africa. As they say “the road to hell is paved with good intentions.”
I continued my afternoon sailings with Mr Sommers. One Saturday afternoon was of particular note as he told me to meet him at the Noss Shipyard. There at one of the berthing slipways was a beautiful gaff rigged sailing vessel of stripped mahogany about 35 feet in length: “Lillian” she was christened. Of course she was.
“What do you think Nigel?” Mr Sommers said on seeing me.
“Beautiful” was about all I could say.
“Come aboard.” I did…in awe.
Mr Sommers had been working on “Lillian” for some years now.
“Just after the war’s end.” He told me. “My wife Lillian had been killed and my work with the yard and as Dockmaster and Harbourmaster for the Port of Dartmouth was considered essential by our government, thus my exemption from military service. I was too old as well they told me but I didn’t like to think of myself in that way. The activity of the Port, my job and my responsibilities were important to the war effort. Yes, perhaps, but it kept me sane, grief stricken as I was with Lillian’s death. And I had Ruth to take care of.”
“I am sorry sir.” was all I could say for the moment. We went below deck into the main cabin. I followed his lead and took a seat across from him on the port settee. He continued.
“I found this piece of maritime flotsam, as I referred to her, up in the western arm of the Dart, by the Old Mill Boatyard. She was in rough shape, neglected and up on her side on the mud flats in a little bay just to the east of the marine slips on the north side of the arm. Being the Harbourmaster it was my responsibility to ensure that derelicts such as this could not be used by the enemy for nefarious operations against the port. Believe me Nigel there were many spies and Nazi sympathisers in this area, especially given our proximity to the Royal Navy’s presence at Plymouth. Plymouth was strategic and an important target for the German bombers. Nevertheless, I gave whoever may have owned her a chance to recover her. I posted notices up and around the various slipways of the Dart and in the small towns and villages around here and upriver all the way to Totnes. No response.”
“Then what?” I asked, while admiring Lillian’s interior teak.
“I took ownership and had the lead shipwright and naval architect at Noss’ come over and survey her. Turns out she was stable. Her hull was sound. The mast and gaffs were strewn across the mud flats and beach but all of the bits and pieces were still true to form in relatively good order. Her standing rigging was gone however. I felt that with a bit of sweat and a loving touch I could bring her back to life.”
He paused to reflect on something. He looked directly at me.
“On the selfish side of things Nigel I knew that bringing her back to life would provide for me a focus and purpose to continue living without dear, dear Lillian. Sure I had Ruth’s welfare to consider but she wasn’t enough.
“So I had some of Noss’ crew come over and right her, get her floating again and bring her over to the shipyard. There they found a slip for me, and a cradle on the hard which was out of the way of prying eyes. I could use the resources in material and expertise of the yard to draw from in which to restore her. That I did over the years, but on my own time and at my own expense.” He looked forward then aft toward the engine compartment.
“It wasn’t until after the war’s end that I could really focus on her in my spare time, of which I suddenly had lots.”
He looked at me again, grinned, then added. “And that is why those Saturday afternoon sails in “Lilly” were so important to me Nigel. In a selfish way I might add I used you and our time together to placate my own fears and loneliness. It provided a welcome break and respite from my work as Harbourmaster but also a break from my responsibilities in raising Ruth. Furthermore, our afternoon sails reminded me as to why I was so eager in restoring “Lillian.””
“You were not using me Sir.” I responded. “I enjoyed every minute and it got me away from a home life that was becoming unbearable, if only for an afternoon escape.”
