We have 8 people and two runs of a 5 man instance. Please, COMMENT.
As main tank and healer, Dave and Martin have to go twice. Please be ready!
Starting at 6pm
Martin
David
Rob
Andrew
Mike
Starting at 9pm
Martin
David
Helen
Luke
Richard
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
This I missed in the uk
There are a number of things in the UK that I've missed, and its only now that I'm here that I'm really realising what they are.
The first on that list is....sausages.
Not those silly shop purchased frozen things. Nor the "Brats" as they're called in Canada. And even the Brats arn't bratwurst, but the palest imitation.
No, the ones I miss?
Cumberland sausages, fried!
The first on that list is....sausages.
Not those silly shop purchased frozen things. Nor the "Brats" as they're called in Canada. And even the Brats arn't bratwurst, but the palest imitation.
No, the ones I miss?
Cumberland sausages, fried!
Monday, January 21, 2008
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Things to do on a quiet Sunday morning, right next to the catholic church
Of late, most sunday mornings have been spent infront of the laptop, playing world warcraft with the RPGers back from the UK, on the horde side. This is fun, but...
Today I was doing something different.
Instead, Isabelle's father and I went into the back garden. We took guns.
Lots of guns.
I could wax lyrical about the morning for pages - but I'm not going to. I'm going to tell you about the first gun we started with...
We started with a sweet little rifle - a Remington model 39. It's a 22ga rifle, that's about 30 years old. But its a lovely thing. My love affair started when I picked it up.
It was light - very light. It felt as light as a 9mm browning, but with a stock and housing that felt strokeable and a lovely varnished feel...
Remember this is a gun which is 40 years old and archaic by modern standards. It hasn't been properly sighted in over 20 years. With ammunition that's been kept in the damp, on one side for years...
Kicked around from pillar to post.
But to fire, it's so quiet. Barely enough recoil to break an egg, it whispers into the wind - a pfft - that I doubt you could hear at 100 yards - let alone 200.
The mechanism is a bolt action - so single shots only, you automatic and semi-automatic fans. But so simple...it doesn't have a safety because it doesn't need one. Simple enough to explain to a child, it's so clean and elegant.
I asked if it should be cleaned, and he just laughed!
And yet it'll still hit a rabbit sized target at 100 feet - after 20 years of neglect.
Come the Zombie Apocalypse, it's my new choice of gun.
Today I was doing something different.
Instead, Isabelle's father and I went into the back garden. We took guns.
Lots of guns.
I could wax lyrical about the morning for pages - but I'm not going to. I'm going to tell you about the first gun we started with...
We started with a sweet little rifle - a Remington model 39. It's a 22ga rifle, that's about 30 years old. But its a lovely thing. My love affair started when I picked it up.
It was light - very light. It felt as light as a 9mm browning, but with a stock and housing that felt strokeable and a lovely varnished feel...
Remember this is a gun which is 40 years old and archaic by modern standards. It hasn't been properly sighted in over 20 years. With ammunition that's been kept in the damp, on one side for years...
Kicked around from pillar to post.
But to fire, it's so quiet. Barely enough recoil to break an egg, it whispers into the wind - a pfft - that I doubt you could hear at 100 yards - let alone 200.
The mechanism is a bolt action - so single shots only, you automatic and semi-automatic fans. But so simple...it doesn't have a safety because it doesn't need one. Simple enough to explain to a child, it's so clean and elegant.
I asked if it should be cleaned, and he just laughed!
And yet it'll still hit a rabbit sized target at 100 feet - after 20 years of neglect.
Come the Zombie Apocalypse, it's my new choice of gun.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Driving
The Canadian rode network can be compared favourably with the UK - for the most part.
That...is not the problem. Every country has different driving conditions - in the uk, people (especially on motorways) tend to drive fast, close together. Not so much drifting along the road but a Pack - a pack of wolves, seeking to overtake and feed their lust for speed.
In comparison, in Canada there doesn't appear to be that bloodlust. Mostly.
The problem here is lanes. Lanes on a motorway - the outside lane, at least - seems to become an off ramp at random intervals.
f you don't know, and you weren't paying when it did so, you can rapidly be moved off a motorway, unable to do anything about.
This means that Canadian drivers arn't quite as predictable as their uk equivalents. In the UK, if someone is sitting in their lane, quietly driving along at a set speed, its usualy fair to say they'll keep doing this.
Not so in Canada. And the french orientated Quebec is worse.
---
Anyway, right now as I type, we're on the way to Montreal, we decided to take a small sidetrack...to see some waterfalls.
Even now, in the depths of winter-
Not a very cold one though.
Shut it you.
In the depths of winter, the falls haven't frozen. So we trundled down a side road to have a look...
The roads grew steadily worse, the passable road growing narrower as the hamlets grew rarer. The snow was banked up on either side...a foot here, three or four there.
Across the road the biting icy winds blow - not mist, but a fine fog of snow in gusts. The breath of winter.
Still, we persevered. Until we reached the falls. Pulling into the uncleared car park, just off the road, we could see from the car that the place was closed. But that's not a problem, we can walk there - its almost in sight!
This idea lasted till Isabelle tried to open the door....and the snow was deep. Ten or twelve inches - a foot by most definitions.
Deciding that we really needed different shoes, we tried to turn the car around.
The snow wasn't co-operative.
After about five minutes of playing around, a kindly local stopped by. Perhaps 60 or 70, he nether the less grabbed from his 4x4 a snow shovel. Shoveling away the snow from underneath the tires, he then aided in pushing the car off the ice layer it had melted underneath its wheels.
We were free! And with a wave and a shake, he throw the shovel in the back and drove away, his good deed done.
And still the misty snow blew.
That...is not the problem. Every country has different driving conditions - in the uk, people (especially on motorways) tend to drive fast, close together. Not so much drifting along the road but a Pack - a pack of wolves, seeking to overtake and feed their lust for speed.
In comparison, in Canada there doesn't appear to be that bloodlust. Mostly.
The problem here is lanes. Lanes on a motorway - the outside lane, at least - seems to become an off ramp at random intervals.
f you don't know, and you weren't paying when it did so, you can rapidly be moved off a motorway, unable to do anything about.
This means that Canadian drivers arn't quite as predictable as their uk equivalents. In the UK, if someone is sitting in their lane, quietly driving along at a set speed, its usualy fair to say they'll keep doing this.
Not so in Canada. And the french orientated Quebec is worse.
---
Anyway, right now as I type, we're on the way to Montreal, we decided to take a small sidetrack...to see some waterfalls.
Even now, in the depths of winter-
Not a very cold one though.
Shut it you.
In the depths of winter, the falls haven't frozen. So we trundled down a side road to have a look...
The roads grew steadily worse, the passable road growing narrower as the hamlets grew rarer. The snow was banked up on either side...a foot here, three or four there.
Across the road the biting icy winds blow - not mist, but a fine fog of snow in gusts. The breath of winter.
Still, we persevered. Until we reached the falls. Pulling into the uncleared car park, just off the road, we could see from the car that the place was closed. But that's not a problem, we can walk there - its almost in sight!
This idea lasted till Isabelle tried to open the door....and the snow was deep. Ten or twelve inches - a foot by most definitions.
Deciding that we really needed different shoes, we tried to turn the car around.
The snow wasn't co-operative.
After about five minutes of playing around, a kindly local stopped by. Perhaps 60 or 70, he nether the less grabbed from his 4x4 a snow shovel. Shoveling away the snow from underneath the tires, he then aided in pushing the car off the ice layer it had melted underneath its wheels.
We were free! And with a wave and a shake, he throw the shovel in the back and drove away, his good deed done.
And still the misty snow blew.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Dreams and things
While I'm here, Isabelle has dragged/taken/escorted me to an assortment of her lectures.
Some, I've played Stars through - because the lecturer could have put a can of paint to sleep - let alone watch it dry. Sheep jumping through the blackboard would have made it more interesting.
He's damned right there. Here I am, trapped in his laptops power supply, turning the dynamo to keep his game running, and I have to listen to the drivel!
The lecture on sleep and dreams was different...
First, the lecturer was funny. Not comedian funny - but close. A quick sidetrack to discuss the practical concerns of sleeping with a duck - yes, a duck - was a minor diversion in this class.
Secondly, the material. We worked through two or three dozen different sleep disorders of different types, discussing causes, some treatment points - even anecdotal evidence from the class...
One quick fire question - how many people present slept with a pillow between their legs...and about 7 slowly raised their hands...
Thirdly, the discussion. She involved everyone - even me. Such as the case of the unfortunate duck. A young lady of the audience could only sleep if her duck was in the bed.
This is only a small problem, you'd think? Well.....she couldn't get another duck...not the right duck. She'd tried. She had already restuffed and repaired it - the implication was several times.
And he asked if after being repaired so many times, it was even the same duck!
I was only joking...
She said you weren't helpful!
But with a smile.
Still, when was the last you seriously talked about sleeping with a duck?
Some, I've played Stars through - because the lecturer could have put a can of paint to sleep - let alone watch it dry. Sheep jumping through the blackboard would have made it more interesting.
He's damned right there. Here I am, trapped in his laptops power supply, turning the dynamo to keep his game running, and I have to listen to the drivel!
The lecture on sleep and dreams was different...
First, the lecturer was funny. Not comedian funny - but close. A quick sidetrack to discuss the practical concerns of sleeping with a duck - yes, a duck - was a minor diversion in this class.
Secondly, the material. We worked through two or three dozen different sleep disorders of different types, discussing causes, some treatment points - even anecdotal evidence from the class...
One quick fire question - how many people present slept with a pillow between their legs...and about 7 slowly raised their hands...
Thirdly, the discussion. She involved everyone - even me. Such as the case of the unfortunate duck. A young lady of the audience could only sleep if her duck was in the bed.
This is only a small problem, you'd think? Well.....she couldn't get another duck...not the right duck. She'd tried. She had already restuffed and repaired it - the implication was several times.
And he asked if after being repaired so many times, it was even the same duck!
I was only joking...
She said you weren't helpful!
But with a smile.
Still, when was the last you seriously talked about sleeping with a duck?
Thursday, January 17, 2008
These places...
There are many.
No - really. Step out the door, walk down the road. Chances are there's one in easy walking distance.
What, pubs?
No Alter - museums.
They're all over the place - towns, cities, aerodromes...in the middle of nowhere...
Today we went to see the Museum of Civilization (bloody Canadian spelling). Thinking that 5 hours or so should be enough (and not really wanting to get out of bed) we got there for 12.
You lazy git.
Yep.
And reading the floor plan, add up the recommended time for each floor...about 3 hours to see the entire thing, with perhaps another 45 minutes for the IMax theatre. This sounded...somewhat reasonable.
So, you can just imagine, three and a half hours later, I was still on the first level. Of four.
The second floor we just bypassed - we'd go back if there was time.
Ha ha ha.
Then the third level...I started meandering though, looking at the exhibits, the setup scenes...I was harangued by a 18th century french inn keeper/mistress...
Perhaps a third of the way through, Isabelle decided to take matters into her own hands. She dragged me through the rest of the level. Long enough to see things...as we walked by.
On the fourth level there was barely enough time to read the headings as I was hustled past. I think it was famous Canadians. But I could have been wrong.
A whole level in less then 10 minutes.
I blame the guidelines. You'd think they'd include time for people to read things...
As it was, we got out 5 minutes before closing.
No - really. Step out the door, walk down the road. Chances are there's one in easy walking distance.
What, pubs?
No Alter - museums.
They're all over the place - towns, cities, aerodromes...in the middle of nowhere...
Today we went to see the Museum of Civilization (bloody Canadian spelling). Thinking that 5 hours or so should be enough (and not really wanting to get out of bed) we got there for 12.
You lazy git.
Yep.
And reading the floor plan, add up the recommended time for each floor...about 3 hours to see the entire thing, with perhaps another 45 minutes for the IMax theatre. This sounded...somewhat reasonable.
So, you can just imagine, three and a half hours later, I was still on the first level. Of four.
The second floor we just bypassed - we'd go back if there was time.
Ha ha ha.
Then the third level...I started meandering though, looking at the exhibits, the setup scenes...I was harangued by a 18th century french inn keeper/mistress...
Perhaps a third of the way through, Isabelle decided to take matters into her own hands. She dragged me through the rest of the level. Long enough to see things...as we walked by.
On the fourth level there was barely enough time to read the headings as I was hustled past. I think it was famous Canadians. But I could have been wrong.
A whole level in less then 10 minutes.
I blame the guidelines. You'd think they'd include time for people to read things...
As it was, we got out 5 minutes before closing.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Herbal Teas
Many herbal teas smell lovely - indeed, they smell gorgeous, promising riches of taste and flavour. Most....don't.
They disappoint, promising the moon and giving a small shanty shack in some silent suburb in Surrey.
However, Isabella's lovely cousin Marie-Lyne made me some teabags...and the first I tried, Casablanca, promised the stars and actually delivered.
I was shocked. Herbal tea, tasting of something!
I'm having the second tonight...
They disappoint, promising the moon and giving a small shanty shack in some silent suburb in Surrey.
However, Isabella's lovely cousin Marie-Lyne made me some teabags...and the first I tried, Casablanca, promised the stars and actually delivered.
I was shocked. Herbal tea, tasting of something!
I'm having the second tonight...
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Missed Christmas Traditions
At Christmas there are many things happening - most of which didn't happen this year because I was in Canada.
There's the mine pies, family visits, over eating-
Ha! There was a Whole Turkey!!
Don't make me hurt you Alter - the cat ate most of it.
Anyway, there's one that I'm really missing. This year, the first time in all the years I can recall, I don't have new slippers.
Which I miss.
Because these are falling apart!
There's the mine pies, family visits, over eating-
Ha! There was a Whole Turkey!!
Don't make me hurt you Alter - the cat ate most of it.
Anyway, there's one that I'm really missing. This year, the first time in all the years I can recall, I don't have new slippers.
Which I miss.
Because these are falling apart!
Saturday, January 12, 2008
The nature of comedy
This evening was spent at a club.
Get down with the beat, yeah!
Not a dance club, with thudding music and loud thumping beats - but a club for people who talk and listen.
Ooooooh, a singles club. All the birds and-
No, not a singles club.
A comedy club. That, Alter, is where comedians try to be funny.
Like....clowns?
No....not like clowns. You go there, they stand on a little stage and they tell jokes. Sometimes they act a bit, other times they make the audience do things - but most of the time they improvise.
My point is that here, 4400 miles away from England, moat of the jokes worked. Even the jokes at the expense of the Americans, racist jokes, sexiest jokes, fat jokes and blonde jokes.
All pointed at someone. All broke some -ism. And almost all got a laugh.
Those few that didn't...got a groan.
But the funniest lines were the ones at the expense of reality, life and the audience.
Such as the man who was celebrating getting a new job with some friends. He was moving from being a renewable resource engineer to a demolitions engineer.
Or the couple that were getting divorced. Not from each other, but from their partners. And they came to the comedy club to celebrate.
Get down with the beat, yeah!
Not a dance club, with thudding music and loud thumping beats - but a club for people who talk and listen.
Ooooooh, a singles club. All the birds and-
No, not a singles club.
A comedy club. That, Alter, is where comedians try to be funny.
Like....clowns?
No....not like clowns. You go there, they stand on a little stage and they tell jokes. Sometimes they act a bit, other times they make the audience do things - but most of the time they improvise.
My point is that here, 4400 miles away from England, moat of the jokes worked. Even the jokes at the expense of the Americans, racist jokes, sexiest jokes, fat jokes and blonde jokes.
All pointed at someone. All broke some -ism. And almost all got a laugh.
Those few that didn't...got a groan.
But the funniest lines were the ones at the expense of reality, life and the audience.
Such as the man who was celebrating getting a new job with some friends. He was moving from being a renewable resource engineer to a demolitions engineer.
Or the couple that were getting divorced. Not from each other, but from their partners. And they came to the comedy club to celebrate.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Muppets with Power
I am once again annoyed with airport security.
But lets be specific, shall we?
Packed up last night, accidental left a pair of sewing scissors in my hand luggage. Now, just to be clear, the "blades" on these are about 2 inches long. They don't have a "point" to them - indeed, you'd be better off stabbing someone with a biro.
At the airport, I check in my bag, stroll over to the security point, and realise - yep, carrying the scissors. Opps.
Ok, no problem. Read the instruction posters around the place...blades and sharp objects forbidden, such as knives and pointy scissors.
Feeling much relieved, I double check with the security person at the end of the queue - and she says, after looking at them for a few seconds, that they're fine.
Stick them back in the bag, think nothing of it.
Wait in the line...5 minutes...10 minutes...15 minutes....
Bag goes through and it's pulled up on two things. Not that they told me that of course. Get to the end, put my shoes back on (yep, they did it again, those pesky English with their offensive footwear) and a muppet addresses me.
First, she pulls me over to one side.
Then she demands, in thickly accented english (ah, you've got to love those pakistani accents - just about understandable - add a touch of french...) that I remove the laptop from my bag. This wasn't a problem - I expected it.
Then she recoils from the laptop, with the green/yellow gunk coming out from several metal plates. Deciding that I'm clearly a risk, she interrogates me for five minutes about the laptop.
What is that stuff? Why the plates? (Its a cyanoacrylate based super glue, that with the prevents the laptop falling apart and has stopped the crack propagation.)
But superglue is clear. (Yes, it was a year ago. Its undergone some photochemical reaction, probably a chlorine based one.)
I offer to turn it on, to demonstrate that it's a harmless machine. That..didn't go so well.
She orders me to stay clear of it. She swabs the glue, keyboard and hinges with a scent thing that she takes away for a minute.
Then she demands I turn it on.
Finally, I think, its over, I can get on the damned plane. No...
Next she has to go through my entire bag, without saying what she's looking for. Can't find it. Then she GLARES at me, like I'm toasting babies (again - where do they get these ideas?) and says that if I don't tell her where the scissors are, I can't board the flight.
Open up the sewing bag, pull out the small, blunt, harmless scissors. She takes them as if they're a weapon of mass destruction and tosses them in the bin.
Then she spots - oh horror. Not a knife, or a pair of scissors, or a gun, bomb or bottle of offensive water.
No, she sees a sewing needle. A small thing. Tiny. Less use then a chocolate egg in a fight. She pulls it out and throws it away.
A bloody sewing needle.
Dismissively, as if it didn't matter that she's thrown away something belonging to me, she says "you can go".
My blood boiled.
The temptation to make a scene. To complain. To simply start shouting at the arrogant- no.
Calm.
Its not good for my blood pressure.
Besides, I had another 2 needles on me.
Sodding jobs-worth.
But lets be specific, shall we?
Packed up last night, accidental left a pair of sewing scissors in my hand luggage. Now, just to be clear, the "blades" on these are about 2 inches long. They don't have a "point" to them - indeed, you'd be better off stabbing someone with a biro.
At the airport, I check in my bag, stroll over to the security point, and realise - yep, carrying the scissors. Opps.
Ok, no problem. Read the instruction posters around the place...blades and sharp objects forbidden, such as knives and pointy scissors.
Feeling much relieved, I double check with the security person at the end of the queue - and she says, after looking at them for a few seconds, that they're fine.
Stick them back in the bag, think nothing of it.
Wait in the line...5 minutes...10 minutes...15 minutes....
Bag goes through and it's pulled up on two things. Not that they told me that of course. Get to the end, put my shoes back on (yep, they did it again, those pesky English with their offensive footwear) and a muppet addresses me.
First, she pulls me over to one side.
Then she demands, in thickly accented english (ah, you've got to love those pakistani accents - just about understandable - add a touch of french...) that I remove the laptop from my bag. This wasn't a problem - I expected it.
Then she recoils from the laptop, with the green/yellow gunk coming out from several metal plates. Deciding that I'm clearly a risk, she interrogates me for five minutes about the laptop.
What is that stuff? Why the plates? (Its a cyanoacrylate based super glue, that with the prevents the laptop falling apart and has stopped the crack propagation.)
But superglue is clear. (Yes, it was a year ago. Its undergone some photochemical reaction, probably a chlorine based one.)
I offer to turn it on, to demonstrate that it's a harmless machine. That..didn't go so well.
She orders me to stay clear of it. She swabs the glue, keyboard and hinges with a scent thing that she takes away for a minute.
Then she demands I turn it on.
Finally, I think, its over, I can get on the damned plane. No...
Next she has to go through my entire bag, without saying what she's looking for. Can't find it. Then she GLARES at me, like I'm toasting babies (again - where do they get these ideas?) and says that if I don't tell her where the scissors are, I can't board the flight.
Open up the sewing bag, pull out the small, blunt, harmless scissors. She takes them as if they're a weapon of mass destruction and tosses them in the bin.
Then she spots - oh horror. Not a knife, or a pair of scissors, or a gun, bomb or bottle of offensive water.
No, she sees a sewing needle. A small thing. Tiny. Less use then a chocolate egg in a fight. She pulls it out and throws it away.
A bloody sewing needle.
Dismissively, as if it didn't matter that she's thrown away something belonging to me, she says "you can go".
My blood boiled.
The temptation to make a scene. To complain. To simply start shouting at the arrogant- no.
Calm.
Its not good for my blood pressure.
Besides, I had another 2 needles on me.
Sodding jobs-worth.
Monday, January 7, 2008
AAAAARRRRRRGGGHHHHHH!
I was going to post many witty and thoughtprovoking observations today.
Perhaps comment on the use of reading as a punishment...why you should look up at lazer quest...the inadvisability of saying "He's around here somewhere" in such an establishment...
Or possibly about the nature of american gladiator...which really is a walk over compared to the old uk version. Wolf would have kicked their collective arses.
I might even explain why there's no picture of a small cuddly toy on the blog.
But no. I've spent the last two hours battling a failing windows 2000 installation. Two hours to get online.
So having finaly got there, I'm going to have a stiff drink. With ice.
And I'm going to fry the degus.
Perhaps comment on the use of reading as a punishment...why you should look up at lazer quest...the inadvisability of saying "He's around here somewhere" in such an establishment...
Or possibly about the nature of american gladiator...which really is a walk over compared to the old uk version. Wolf would have kicked their collective arses.
I might even explain why there's no picture of a small cuddly toy on the blog.
But no. I've spent the last two hours battling a failing windows 2000 installation. Two hours to get online.
So having finaly got there, I'm going to have a stiff drink. With ice.
And I'm going to fry the degus.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Meet the relatives...
Well, here we are in Vancouver.
Lets start with the city....
It doesn't appear as though I came here on the right day. Admittedly, I'm told it rains in Vancouver most days, so a Good Day is rare...so I can't hold that against the place.
You'd rather it snowed?!?
Yep. Snow isn't as wet.
What was worse was the traffic. Not only did I come here on a day when the local cult- hockey game was on, but there were additional traffic causing issues. So after getting here in the rain, getting to the relatives was interesting.
So finaly we reached Colin and Elena's home. And all I can say is that it resembles those homes you see on american programs like CSI - roomy, spread out and - worse - decorated with taste!
In the kitchen there's 2 racks of knives (I'd take a photo for you Ali and post it, but that would be knife porn). Sharp knives. hard wood floors, lots of natural light....sauna, small indoor pool...
I could wax lyrical about the place - but enough to say its stylish, impressive and oh so comfortable. And I really must try that sauna.
But you like snow!
And heating.
Thats the house - what about the children? Well, so far I've not had to use a wrist lock...or even frown much at them. Boys will be boys - but these are boys with limits. They may push them, but they know where the line is.
We went out bowling today and a bit of a meal out - most amusing.
Although I have ended up upgrading the computer here....it was crawling along with 512 mb of memory running xp....painful.
Lets start with the city....
It doesn't appear as though I came here on the right day. Admittedly, I'm told it rains in Vancouver most days, so a Good Day is rare...so I can't hold that against the place.
You'd rather it snowed?!?
Yep. Snow isn't as wet.
What was worse was the traffic. Not only did I come here on a day when the local cult- hockey game was on, but there were additional traffic causing issues. So after getting here in the rain, getting to the relatives was interesting.
So finaly we reached Colin and Elena's home. And all I can say is that it resembles those homes you see on american programs like CSI - roomy, spread out and - worse - decorated with taste!
In the kitchen there's 2 racks of knives (I'd take a photo for you Ali and post it, but that would be knife porn). Sharp knives. hard wood floors, lots of natural light....sauna, small indoor pool...
I could wax lyrical about the place - but enough to say its stylish, impressive and oh so comfortable. And I really must try that sauna.
But you like snow!
And heating.
Thats the house - what about the children? Well, so far I've not had to use a wrist lock...or even frown much at them. Boys will be boys - but these are boys with limits. They may push them, but they know where the line is.
We went out bowling today and a bit of a meal out - most amusing.
Although I have ended up upgrading the computer here....it was crawling along with 512 mb of memory running xp....painful.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Travel Plans
Preliminary travel plans for next few weeks
3rd - Bus to vancouver.
Stay with Colin and Elana + children for a few days.
9th - Fly to Ottowa
Stay with Isabelle
21 Fly back to Vancouver
22 Fly home
To contact me, email me.
3rd - Bus to vancouver.
Stay with Colin and Elana + children for a few days.
9th - Fly to Ottowa
Stay with Isabelle
21 Fly back to Vancouver
22 Fly home
To contact me, email me.
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