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.
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