Tag Archives: crash out

Wednesday 27th September 2017 – THAT WAS SOME …

… nocturnal ramble, that was.

I had a bad attack of cramp and had to stand up – and then I had to go for a meander down the corridor too. And each time, I returned to bed and restarted where I had left off.

And do you know what? Once I awoke, I couldn’t remember a thing about it at all. No idea where I went to.

So I spent an hour or two doing some paper work on the laptop, and then stopped for breakfast. I was feeling hungry as well so I followed it all with a bagel. Luckily I had bought some yesterday at the Food Lion.

I’d also bought some new razors and some smelly stuff, so I could have a good shave and shower too. That made me feel better.

There was a lot of noise outside while I was working and so I went to see what was going on.

It seems that there’s some building work going on at the part of the hotel at the back nearest the sea.

They had this huge crane down there lifting things about onto that roof. My block by the way is the one where the two palm trees are.

Seeing as it was so nice – and so hot – I decided to go for a walk this morning, especially as I was out of the building already.

It’s a good mile or two’s walk down into town and the route takes me past the fairground that we first saw when we were here in 2005.

Out of season, it’s only open at weekends though, and I’ll be long-gone by then, I reckon.

It’s hard for me to recognise anything here because the place has changed so much since those days.

I certainly don’t remember Ripley’s exhibition here, and I’m sure that there were buildings right by where I’m standing.

Mind you, there have been several hurricanes that have passed this way since 2005, and probably taken a lot of stuff with them.

I remember that place over there, and I remember saying at the time that I would be badgered if I’m going in there – or something similar anyway.

But I’m sure that it was on the other side of the road back then.

But never mind the changes – when I was here in 2005 they had loads of tee-shirts with all kinds of different phrases such as “when God made me he was showing off” – which I thought was appropriate for Zero.

And they were still on sale – the same ones too probably judging by the dust.

By now, the heat was intense and the sunshine was overwhelming.

And so having armed myself with a new hat (my old one is stuck on a boat somewhere up in North West River, Labrador) and sunglasses, I went off to find the pier.

That’s still here – the passing hurricanes seem to have managed to leave that well alone, which is just as well.

Here’s the view looking south from the pier. Not actually from down at the end, because it costs $1:00 to go down to the end and I’m a cheapskate.

It seems to be a fact that the further south you go from the centre of Myrtle Beach, the cheaper the accommodation becomes.

I’m a good mile or two down there somewhere, way beyond the other pier that you can see in the distance.

On the other hand, the further north you go, the more exclusive the place becomes and the more expensive it costs to stay there.

Right down at the end on the horizon several miles away is North Myrtle Beach, and that’s just unbelievably expensive.

At the far end of the road down there is a golf and country club, and prices there are just absurd.

This is the “Bible Belt” of the USA where they constantly deny the phenomenon of things like Global Warming.

And despite their official denials, you can see evidence everywhere that they really DO believe in global warming.

This explanatory panel about the presence of glacial ice sheets to the north and icebergs off the coast of Myrtle Beach will tell you that.

And yet Global Warming isn’t really happening, is it?

In the intense heat, I’ve bought myself one of these drinks of iced slush stuff and I sit in the shade of an overhanging tree to admire the view.

And listen to one holidaymaker wailing that he has confused the times of his bus back home and it’s left without him, so he needs to make other arrangements.

But I only have half an ear open to listen to him. I’m more intent on enjoying the sunshine and looking at the scenery.

That’s the southern pier, and no photographs from thereupon, because here you have to pay to set foot on the pier – never mind going down to the end.

And on this part of the beach we aren’t allowed to walk on the sand dunes. They have been reseeded with wild oats, the roots of which spread in an immense network that stabilises the dunes.

So you’ll have to make do with a photo from here.

By now the heat is overwhelming and I go wander slowly back to my room. And despite it being only 2 storeys up, I’m obliged to take the lift. The heat is debilitating.

I keep thinking to myself that I ought to make my butties for a late lunch – but it’s too hot and I’m too tired to go outside again for the moment.

Consequently I close my eyes for five minutes – to find that it’s 18:00 and I’ve been out for four hours.

It was probably the wrong thing to do, to go for a walk this morning, because although I’m awake, I can’t even find the energy to go and make tea – and it’s not as if it would take too much either seeing that all it needs is a warm-up.

But then, this is the kind of thing that happens every now and again.

Tuesday 26th September 2017 – OLD, TIRED AND CHEAP

But that’s enough about me. Let’s talk about my living accommodation.

As I mentioned yesterday, there’s a sea view “of sorts”. It’s not the best sea view by any means, but we have had worse than this and I’m not complaining.

The bed is super-comfortable – the sleeping issues that I’m having are due to me and not the bed – and the place is relatively clean even though it’s old and tired.

My neighbours are a little unruly, but you can’t have everything, and I’ve had much worse neighbours than those too.

Out at the back, which is actually the front of the little apartment, there’s a view over the street and the neighbouring hotel complexes.

Every hotel complex has its little private swimming pool (that’s next door’s just there) and terrace, although our terrace isn’t much at all to write home about.

But when the beach is 20 yards away, does it really matter?

And so this morning I was up with the cock and attacked the paperwork – well, sort-of anyway. And followed that with a nice shower and breakfast.

But I was obliged to bin the bread and the soya milk, and my razor has had it and I’ve run out of smelly stuff so a trip to the Food Lion – a Delhaize company with the same logo – was indicated.

The receptionist gave me directions, and made it sound like 10 miles away. So I went in Strider, only to find that it was less than half a mile away. I could have walked it.

But one of the shops here is having an offer that is absolutely irresistible. I bet that not many people would turn this down.

A free hermit crab with Woman Police Constable.

But I forgot to mention the usual Myrtle Beach issues.

Last time I was in Myrtle Beach, I witnessed what would only be called an “aggressive arrest” in the motel where I was staying.

Today, I popped outside, and there was another member of the farces of law and order visiting my accommodation.

And that’s not the best of it. I’d only been here about 18 hours and they had a pest control company in. “Termites” so I was told, but I don’t believe them.

Lunchtime was a visit to the beach with my butties.

I said before that it’s claimed to be the most beautiful beach on the Eastern Seaboard, and while I don’t agree with that, I’ve seen much worse.

The waves are quite impressive though, and the kids here were having a tremendous amount of fun.

But here’s a thing. Alison and I used to work for an American company in Brussels and we had a colleague who had married an American guy who had brought her here for their honeymoon.

She used to rave about how beautiful the place was, never thinking that anyone from Belgium would ever have visited here.

When I showed her my photos from 2005, she never ever said a subsequent word about the place.

Back here, I crashed out yet again, and was once more gone for hours. It was a good decision to go for three nights instead of two. I was hoping that I might have been able to make it out to the Outer Banks or something for a couple of days, but with my state of health I need to be realistic.

If I’m feeling up to it, I might stop off in New Jersey for a night or two. There’s always … gulp … Atlantic City.

I remembered to make tea tonight, pasta with kidney beans, tomato sauce and vegetables. And there’s enough left over for tomorrow too.

And then I went for a walk and, much to my delight, I found an ice-cream parlour just across the road that sold vegan sorbets. $4:99 for two scoops and seeing as this is the USA, they were person-sized scoops too.

They needed a mini-digger for them.

And then I saw it – the world’s first pantomime door.

This called for a photo opportunity for Strawberry Moose so I went back to Strider and fetched him.

And on the way there and back, he met a good many future fans who were pleased to make his acquaintance.

So now it’s bed-time. Not too early but then I’m not planning on doing too much tomorrow. A nice leisurely day before hitting the road on Thursday.

Monday 25th September 2017 – SO HERE WE ALL ARE …

… not sitting in a rainbow, but sitting on a rest area on Interstate 20 – in Georgia. Strider, Strawberry Moose and I.

This morning, although the alarm goes off at 05:00 when I’m here, I was up and about and packing at 04:30. The old body clock is working well.

Rhys works as a bus driver for the local education authority and has to be in work at 05:30, which means leaving here at 05:00. And that was when I had planned to be on the road

Sure enough, at 04:55 a hand reached into the bus and deposited a nice, hot cup of coffee. That disappeared smartly into my thermal mug, and at 05:00 we were off.

Rhys went one way, and I went the other, heading south on Interstate 20. And when have you ever seen me on the road this early?

I’m glad that I had seen Rhys. We had studied together at University and I had been best man at his wedding. As I said a few days ago, this may well be my last visit to North America and I wanted to see him while I was here.

I had also wanted to come here, seeing as it’s just 50 miles away from Rhys’s place. And for two reasons too –

I’d never been to Georgia before, so it’s one more place to cross off my list
At 33.4735° N, it’s the farthest south that I have ever been, beating Arizona 2002 by about 20 miles. It’s little things like that which amuse me

We arrived here about an hour before it was light enough to take photos, and that gave me an opportunity to try to bring some kind of order into chaos. As we know, Neitzsche said “out of chaos comes order”, but he had never met me.

And I’m glad that I did too, because I had a major stroke of luck.

I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned that I had lost Strider’s new licence tags.

In New Brunswick you buy the annual licence tags and stick them on the number plate. As I would be away when Strider’s needed renewing, I had bought them well in advance and “put them somewhere safe” so that I would know where they would be.

That’s famous last words, isn’t it? Once I’d put them in a safe place, that was the last that I had seen of them and I was afraid that they had gone for good.

However, moving the passenger seat, there they were, down the side. And then I remembered – I’d “tidied” the passenger seat in a hurry when I’d picked up Hannah in Antigonish. And they must have fallen down the side.

So Strider now has his licence tags properly installed, and I can breathe a huge sigh of relief.

Once I’d done the photography bit, I retraced my steps all the way back up Interstate 20, back through Lexington and Columbia and back to Interstate 95 just north of Charleston.

That’s the Road that will take me all the way back to Houlton in Maine, just across the border from where Rachel and Darren live and where Strider stays when he’s not on the road.

But I’m not going back straight away. It’s nearly 1900 kilometres and I’m in no fit condition to drive that kind of distance. Three consecutive days of over 750 kms per day last week plus an 05:00 start this morning have finished me off.

I’m really in no fit state to go anywhere right now and it’s pointless trying to do it. It will all end in tears.

But just down the road is Myrtle Beach. It’s a huge holiday resort, just like Blackpool, and the best way to describe it is to say that it’s like Miami Beach on Welfare.

It’s cheap, and tacky, but a small 2-room apartment with wi-fi, free parking, cooking facilities and a sea view of sorts, just 20 yards from the beach, is costing me just $39 per night. It’s the ideal place for me to hole up for three nights while I gather my strength for the trip back to Canada.

Three nights at the seaside, I said, didn’t I? So having had all of that heatwave for the last few days, it’s now overcast and trying to rain.

There’s a big grocery store on the edge of town so I stock up, and then head to the Polynesian Beach and Golf Resort.

Here’s a photo of the place – taken at night because, quite frankly, it looks much better in the dark.

But don’t misunderstand me at all. What I have here for facilities at $39 per night (and there are rooms at $29 per night if that’s too expensive) with a beach 20 yards away you wouldn’t get anywhere else in the world.

We’ve been paying $140 per night in some places, and $150 per night to live in a caravan and we haven’t had facilities as good as this. I’m on the economy plan, remember, and this is a good deal.

First thing that I do when I arrive, after checking in, is to crash out. And an hour later, the sun is trying its best to come out and it’s quite warm too, so I have a wander down to the beach to eat my butties.

Back here again, and crash out again. And I’m gone for … errr … several hours. These last few days have been too much for me.

That means that I miss my tea, and instead, go for a little walk around the area.

As I said earlier, it looks so much better in the dark

But I also said that if your budget is rather limited, you won’t find anywhere else better than this to go for a self-contained break.

One thing about Americans is that they are (mostly) restrained, and there’s a security guard on the premises.

My nocturnal perambulations took me briefly onto the beach. It’s a fine powdery sand so it’s difficult to walk upon in shoes.

It’s been claimed to be the best beach on the Eastern Seaboard, but while it’s good, I’ve seen much better than this – but in places that don’t have any tourist infrastructure so they aren’ easy to visit on a trip like this.

This will do me for a few days.

And talking of nocturnal rambles, I didn’t tell you of the two that happened today.

While I was asleep in Rhys’s bus, TOTGA – The One That Got Away – came to visit me. She brought with her one of her children and, surprise, it wasn’t the one with whom she’s mostly associated. What was even more surprising was that when I checked my social media page later, there she was in a photo with the child that she had brought with her, and that’s somethign exceptional.
And later, when I was having a crash, I was underneath a car changing a steering joint or a wheel bearing or something. Someone was helping me and I was giving them instructions like one would do to a child. I suddenly became aware of this and apologised, to which my father, who was watching, said “that’s why I like to do these jobs myself”.

Monday 18th September 2017 – WELL THAT WAS …

… something of a wash-out.

I’d come to Quebec mainly to do some research at the University of Laval, but I abandoned round by lunchtime.

I was going to say that I’d had a good night’s sleep but I’d had a very bad attack of cramp in the night – I’ve been having a few of these again just recently.

So a nice early start with coffee and porridge made in the microwave, and then a pile of paperwork to prepare things. And then I hit the road.

Reaching the University was one thing – finding where I was going was something else. I ended up going up a one way street the wrong way – twice! And through a red traffic light too.

Parking is weird there too – you either pay for an hour or for a day. There’s no in-between., and it isn’t cheap either. I can’t help feeling that there’s someone making an awful lot of money out of parking fees.

In the reception, a couple of helpful people at reception pointed me on my way to the library, and there, a very helpful lady helped me find what I needed – none of this incestuous academia like at Cambridge a few years ago.

Why I was here was in respect of a researcher by the name of Thomas Edward Lee.

An author by the name of James Enterline had written a book in the early 70s with a well-thought-out but very flaky argument about the Norse presence in Ungava Bay in the north of Quebec.

He had quoted Lee as one of his sources, but Lee’s works weren’t in the mainstream. The Centre of Nordic Studies at the University of Laval had funded his research and I had discovered that they till held his thesis.

And so I came here to read it.

And, as I said, it was a disappointment.

Lee, being aware of Enterline’s arguments, succeeds in undermining, if not demolishing them. But his own excavations at Pomiok Island are disappointing.

He’s sure that he has found a Norse Longhouse here, but his conclusions are based on coincidence rather than any hard discovery. The only substantial artefact – a Norse iron axe-head – wasn’t discovered by him but handed to him by an Inuit who had apparently found it many years earlier. And so its provenance could not even be verified.

The net result of all of Lee’s labours that he incited a great deal of discussion amongst his peers, and his funding was stopped.

I wasn’t impressed by his confrontational and polemic style of dialogue either. It struck me as being most un-Academic.

As a result, I decided to abandon my research, thinking that he couldn’t really tell me anything concrete about the Norse presence in Ungava.

At the end of the day, it was difficult to decide how much of Lee’s funding issues had been due to the inconclusive nature of his discoveries, how much was due to the un-academic manner of presentation, and how much was due to the confrontational, polemic style of his debate with his peers

Lunch was next on the agenda and so I removed myself to the Parc des Braves.

I had a list of things that needed doing on the north shore of the St Lawrence – a list that has been current since 2013 – and so I decided to attack that.

Especially as the Parc des Braves was included thereupon. I’m not sure how I had managed to miss that out before.

If, like me, you were educated in the 1960s you would have received the same kind of Empire-building jingo that I had had.

And we were taught that the UK always won, and came through every test with flying colours.

And the magnificent victory on the Plains of Abraham that General Wolfe had had, which had won French North America for the British crown.

I was even in “Wolfe” House in my primary school.

But that is, unfortunately, far from the truth.

It’s certainly true that the British had beaten the French at Quebec and occupied the city, but the fighting was far from over.

A French relief force had set out from Montreal and engaged the British in Battle at Saint-Foy, right where we are standing – and defeated them soundly.

The British retreated behind the walls of the Citadel of Quebec and the siege was on.

And had it been a French fleet that had been the first to break through the ice on the St Lawrence in the following Spring to reach the city, not a British one, the History of Quebec would have been very, very different.

And, of course, we were taught nothing about this at school as it didn’t fit in with the image of the Powerful All-Mighty UK (or “England” as we were taught then).

One thing left to do – and that was to go to find the Ursuline Convent – something else that I had spectacularly overlooked when I was here last.

Finding a parking space was, as usual, the issue in Old Quebec, but we soon come across more of this religious hypocrisy here.

We’ve seen so much of this on our travels – not just in North America – and you’re all probably very tired of me drawing your attention to it.

But whatever happened to the Forgiveness of Sins, or of Turning The Other Cheek, or Giving All That Thou Hast To The Poor.

There’s nothing whatever in the Bible about the towing away of offenders.

The Ursulaines – three of them – came over here in the 1èth Century to give instruction and education to the girls of the city – in the same way that Marguerite Bourgeoys did in Montreal round about the same time.

And the education part is still continuing, as you can tell, because I seem to have arrived round about chucking-out time and there are brats everywhere.

And you can tell what kind of school it is simply by looking at the clothes worn by the girls.

It’s the fashion in North America for exclusive private schools to dress their girls in plaid. And the more plaid, the more exclusive the school.

Here, they are wearing full-length plaid smocks. You don’t get more exclusive than this.

And the mothers picking up their daughters in their expensive Porsche Carreras is another sign of exclusivity too.

Somehow, you get the feeling that here at the Ursuline Convent and the Ursuline School, the message of Jesus Christ has has become extremely distorted.

I bet that Mother Marie of the Incarnation, the original founder of the Institution here in Quebec, is turning in her grave.

When I was here for my mega-ramble in 2012, this particular Square was fenced off and undergoing a great deal of renovation.

I was therefore extremely curious to see what had become of it and so I directed myself here.

And I wasn’t disappointed. They seem to have made a very fine job of it and I was quite impressed. I like the laurels particularly – and the fountain.

On the way back to my motel I stopped off at a “Maxi” Supermarket for some soya milk. And ended up with a few other things too, including Spruce Beer and also some grapes at 89 cents a pound – which didn’t last long.

Back here, another couple was moving in next door and they took quite a liking to Strawberry Moose.

But here’s a thing.

When was the last time that I crashed out? I mean – seriously?

It all caught up with me yesterday afternoon. I started to yawn at about 16:30 and that’s all that I remember until 21:00 when I found myself fully-dressed under the bedclothes with the internet radio blaring away. I was gone for good by the looks of things.

It took me a while to come round, but I still managed to make tea – and then I was gone again.

Mind you, I’m not surprised that it’s caught me up. I’ve been going at quite a pace just recently and something had to give.

Wednesday 13th September 2017 – IN THE HAPPY VALLEY CEMETERY …

Our Hero, looking for the grave of Gilbert Blake, arguably the most famous Labradorian of the early 20th Century
Man in digger, digging a hole
two men in suits, watching aforementioned man in digger digging aforementioned …

Our Hero, quite casually and lightheartedly to man in digger –
“what are you doing? Putting them in or digging them up?”
Two men in suits – “We’re police officers. Would you mind leaving the scene immediately?” (You could easily imagine the “or else …”)
Later that evening on Goose Bay Radio “following a court order obtained by the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, an exhumation was carried out in Happy Valley Cemetery this afternoon …”

Yes, it’s all been happening here today, hasn’t it?

Last night was another rather restless night.

I seem to be having them in cycles just now – a batch of good nights followed by a batch of not-so-good nights. And it’s annoying in a way, but can’t be helped.

But I did manage to go out on my travels last night, which is a good thing. It involved my red Cortina estate XCL 465X. The back axle had locked up and so I had taken it for repair. When they opened the halfshaft, a pile of water, not oil, flooded out.
“Ohh, we’ll have to wait for another 41 rinses then” said the mechanic. That filled me full of foreboding because that was going to work out to be extremely expensive and I wasn’t sure whether I could afford the cost of the repairs.

It was nevertheless a struggle to leave the bed and when I did finally make it to the living room, mine host was already there preparing breakfast.

I waited quite a while for my tablets to work and then I joined my housemates for breakfast. And this is the first place on my travels where I have ever been offered soya milk. Apparently mine host’s wife drinks it.

Once I’d gathered my wits about me, Strider and I set out for North West River to see what had happened to the guy whom I was supposed to meet.

At the Labrador Interpretation Centre, I met the lady who had been so nice to me two years ago. To my surprise, she remembered me.

And as for my contact, he’s “gone to his cabin until Friday”.

However, as a stroke of luck, she reckoned that she might know the person to whom my contact was intending to introduce me.

And the reason why it should have been yesterday was because today, he was going … exactly to where I wanted to go.

But she took my number and promised that she would have him telephone me as soon as he returned.

There are three cemeteries in North West River.

The influenza victims are said to be in the earliest one, but all that I could find was this headstone of Thomas Blake, aged 59, died in November 1918.

It’s hard to say what the day is, but if it’s the 12th, that might well tie in with what we know. The Sagoma with its infected crew arrived in Cartwright on 20th October and the infected Harmony arrived at Okak on 4th November.

But in the cemeteries, all of the old original “trapper” families of Hamilton Inlet are represented.

Here in this photograph, we have, for example, a couple of Meshers from Rigolet, a Michelin and a MacDonald.

The origins of the “Michelin” name are unclear. But there was a French trading post here on the south side of the river where Sheshatshiu stands today, and it might be connected with that.

Plenty of Blakes and Baikies as you might expect, and also dozens of Goudies.

This is the grave of Sarah Michelin, née Goudie and her name certainly rings a bell, although I can’t think for the life of me why.

In fact, everyone who is anyone is here – except of course for Gilbert Blake, even though he will for ever be associated with North West River.

Now I know that I shouldn’t smile about events in e cemetery, but sometimes it’s just not possible to stop.

Murdoch McLean, a beloved husband and father is buried here. And it reminds me of the American visiting the cemetery in Arbroath.

“Here Lies Jock McTavish, a loyal husband and devoted father”
“Now isn’t that ust like the Scots? Burying three men in one grave?”

But this next grave is enough to wipe the smile off anyone’s face.

Two young children aged almost three and almost four. Same surname, but different parents. probably related though died on the same day and buried in the same grave.

That’s the kind of tragedy that always seems to befall isolated communities like this. And the cemetery was full of the graves of small children.

This is the “Paddon memorial” in North West River.

Labrador was a British colony – not part of Canada – until 1949 but was treated even worse than Africa, with no infrastructure and no medical service.

It was a charitable organisation – the International Grenfell Organisation – that provided medical services here. And then only from the early years of the 20th Century.

It was Dr Harry Paddon and his wife – and later their son William – who came here from the IGA to deal with the health issues of the “liveyers” and the Innu and Inuit communities.

They are still fondly remembered in the community, despite Harry having on one famous occasion blotted his record by describing some trappers as “backyard bunny hunters”

Having done the tour of the cemeteries I went down to the beach.

The beach here in North West River is quite famous, being one of the nicest accessible beaches in this part of Canada.

But I would be very wary about bringing your bikini or your cozzy here because it’s not exactly sun-bathing weather and the water is freezing.

For lunch I went to sit on the dockside to look at the river.

But there’s also what was the Hudsons Bay Company offices over there, and also the North West River terminal of the chairlift.

The bridge here is of comparatively recent construction. Prior to that we had the chairlift, and prior to that it was either kayak, canoe or ice skates.

Having had a little … errr … relax, I decided to go for a stroll in the warm sun.

While I was walking along the boardwalk towards the tipi, I finally had my telephone call.

The person for whom I was looking was now back from up-country and I told him what I was hoping to do.

This led to quite a lengthy discussion and we worked out a cunning plan for tomorrow. I need to be back here for 09:00 and that means yet another night in Happy Valley-Goose Bay.

The highlight of North West River is the Trappers’ memorial. The whole raison d’etre of the town was as a centre for the trappers.

The Hudsons Bay company had a store here where trappers would trade their pelts for supplies.

And if you were in dispute with the Hudsons Bay Company, as many people were, the French company Revillon Frères had a rival post on the opposite bank of the river.

Now, isn’t this the right kind of place to live?

In my opinion it’s the most beautiful place in the whole of North West River in which to live.

Believe it or not, it’s not all that old. It was erected in 1995. And it’s not a kit home either, but constructed out of local materials by local craftsmen.

And they can construct something for me at any time they like.

You’ll remember that yesterday we visited one of the very few farms here in Labrador. Today we’re having a crafty peek at someone’s greenhouse.

I’ve absolutely no idea what it is that he’s growing in there – there was no-one around to ask – but I certainly admire anyone who gives gardening a go around here.

Mind you, having said that, it was quite the thing around here when the Grenfell Association ran the show before Confederation in 1949.

One of the things that I wanted to do was to take a drive down to North West Point on the southern side of the river.

This was the site of an American radio post in the 1950s and is something of an environmental disaster because the US Military cared nothing about the territory of Labrador.

A Canadian Government Environmental Report of 28th November 2011 “highlights chemicals of concern with concentrations exceeding the applicable criteria”.

I’d done some research to find out where the access road might be, but unfortunately, it seems to have been all ploughed up and impassible.

I wasn’t going to risk taking Strider down there and these days, I’m not up to doing a hike of any distance in these kind of conditions.

It looks as if I shall have to forget this one.

Instead, I continue down the gravel road, and I’m not disappointed by what I find.

I could show you 10 photos that I took from this spot but instead I’ll let you have a glimpse of just one – which I think might be of the docks and seaplane base down at Terrington Basin.

That’s where the ships come in, and where we saw the Fairlane the other day.

Talking of the seaplane base, which is at Otter Creek, we’re in luck yet again. Here on the slipway is Airborealis’ C-GNFZ.

She’s a De Havilland DHC6-300 – a type that is much better-known as the “Twin Otter” and is one of the more successful low-capacity commercial passenger planes, ideal for travel out here.

She was built in 1980 and as you can see, she’s still going strong.And, for a twin Otter, quite appropriately here at Otter Creek

But an earlier claim to fame for Otter Creek took place here.

Prior to the air base there was very little here at Goose Bay. The people who came here to build the air base had nowhere to live and so set up a squatters’ camp here on this spot.

They were soon moved on by the US authorities, but it’s here that it all started.

And here’s a thing!

Regular readers of this rubbish will recall that we have more than a passing interest in football grounds. And here is probably one of the most unlikely football grounds that you will ever encounter.

And, more to the point, who does the team play against? I can’t imagine that there’s much in the way of opposition around here.

And from here, I had my encounter in the cemetery.

Back here, I had more baked beans, baked potatoes and vegan sausages and yet another early night.

And it’s not as if I’ve done very much either.

Monday 11th September 2017 – WHILE I WAS SITTING …

… down drinking my coffee after breakfast, there was a tap on the door. Funny sense of humour, this guy here has.

But seriously, “come on – the wind has changed. Put your gear on!”.

So dressed in my flotation jacket and sea boots, I waddled down to the waterside and fell into the boat – which, I suppose, is better than falling out of it.

The tide was quite high up and so there wasn’t much difficulty in leaving here, even though we had an extra passenger.

A local Inuit woman had come along as a guide and to tell me a little about where we are going.

The sea wasn’t as rough as it might have been and so we could go comparatively far out to sea, and we made good time too.

Away in the distance just here is Main Tickle, which we saw yesterday from up on the top of Flagstaff Hill.

That was a summer fishing station used by people from the nearby winter settlements for fishing for cod and salmon.

However, there has been a cod moratorium since 1992 and salmon fishing is limited today.

Instead of catching barrel after barrel in an unlimited supply, people are allowed to catch just four per year and you aren’t going to make a living out of that.

Further down the coast is another summer fishing station.

This is North River and it was formerly a permanent settlement. However it was one of the places that fell victim to the controversial resettlement programme.

Most people moved to Cartwright and just come out here when time and conditions allow.

And here I am, with my feet ashore.

After much binding in the marsh and many vicissitudes, I’ve finally made it out this morning to the Porcupine Strand.

It has the nickname of “Wonderstrand” or “Wunderstrand” because, believe me, it is wonderful, but it also has another claim to fame.

If you were to read the Norse sagas about the voyages to “Vinland” you’ll read several very good descriptions about the areas to whch they sail.

The Norse make several references to the beautiful, long white sandy beaches here – the Furdustrandir – that so impressed them.

They also refer to a prominent cape to the north, and to the south they mention a great many inlets and islands.

A quick look at maps and aerial photographs will identify many sites that appear to correspond to the description that they give.

But in my opinion there’s one place that stands out above all of the others.

I have said for a long time that the 50-odd kilometre stretch of beach known as the “Porcupine Strand” fits all of the descriptions that I have seen.

It has been one of my lifetime’s ambitions to come here, and so regardless of the expense, I’ve chartered a boat, a driver, an Inuit guide and here I am.

I probably won’t ever have another chance to come out here, and I shudder to think how much it’s going to cost me, but ask me if I care.

It’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance and I wasn’t going to miss out.

as I said earlier, there was formerly a permanent settlement out here.

And where there has been a permanent settlement there was inevitably a cemetery, and so it is with North River.

This was another place that I was keen to visit while we were out here and so my guide took me along

Many years ago, I read a discussion about the Labrador coast. A Finnish anthropologist called Vaino Tanner who carried out research on the Labrador coast in the late 1930s had claimed that a small child had been killed in a Labrador village by a pack of dogs.

His critics hotly disputed that. They were insisting that dogs just wouldn’t do this kind of thing.

And so enlarge the photograph here by clicking on it, have a read, and make up your own mind.

But as I have been saying before, the Spanish Influenza epidemic that hit the Labrador coast in November 1918 was said to have killed off 10% of the population.

Here in North River Cemetery are the graves of a considerable number of people, many members of the same families, who died in November 1918.

While there is no evidence here to confirm that they died in the epidemic, the dates of death and their family relationships are very suggestive.

This is the grave of Isaac Lemare. And if you notice carefully, his cross is different from the other contemporary crosses and heis buried outside the limits of the cemetery.

The thought that went through my head was that maybe with a name like Isaac, he was of the Jewish faith and so was not entitled to the benefits of “consecrated ground”.

My guide however did suggest a couple of other reasons why he might have been so buried and I’ve really no definite idea.

This isn’t actually in the cemetery but on the headland overlooking the sea.

You will have noticed the number of people called Davis whom we have been encountering on our travels around Cartwright.

This monument is to Charles Davis, who is said to have come over here from Wales and was the father of the “clan”.

So back on the boat and out to sea again.

And although this photograph doesn’t represent what it is that you see with your own eyes, you’ll notice clearly the beach and how bright it looks from a good way offshore.

Anyone passing by this way would immediately notice the whiteness of the sand, and this is another justification of my theory.

The Norse sagas make much about a prominent headland in the vicinity of the furdustrandir and there’s at least one reference to a keel-shape.

I’m not quite sure that you’ll find any more prominent keel-shaped headland than this anywhere along any coast.

It’s an island though, and the sagas make no reference to that.

On our way back we took a little diversion out to what at one time was one of the largest outlying settlements on the island and where my driver spent many happy summers as a kid.

And when I stood up to take a photograph my hat flew off with the wind into the sea.

However, a keen-eyed guide and a boathook came to the rescue and I was restored to my headgear.

This is _ or was – the settlement of Pack’s Harbour. Over there are said to be the bunkhouses of the “stationers”.

These were the people who came over from Newfoundland in the summer to live on the island to fish.

There would be three kinds of people out here – the “floaters” who lived on their schooners, and the “stationers” who would be dropped off for the summer by the coastal boats such as the Kyle and the Ethie

The third class of people would be the “liveyers” – the ones that lived permanently on the Labrador coast.

Some would be permanent residents throughout the year, which was a pretty grim way of doing things.

But most would live in winter quarters on the mainland where they could attend their trap lines in winter and come here to their cabine for the fishing in the summer.

That little red building over there – that was the village store.

And seeing as how there was a “Fequet” listed on the censuses here for 1935 and that he had a “servant”, it’s a fair bet to say that the store was one of those operated by the Fequets.

My driver told me numerous stories of going in there for “candy bars” when he was a kid.

And so after a really good sail around for almost three hours, we set our sails … “you mean “our outboard motors” – ed … for home.

We managed that without being sunk or marooned, and once I divested myself of my marine equipment I came in here for a coffee … and somehow don’t remember much for an hour or so.

After lunch I was out for another hour or two. But I blame that on all of the exercise, the sea air and the fact that I’d had a restless night – and I fell down the steps in the caravan going to the bathroom in the middle of the night, which didn’t help much either.

TOTGA was there though- she was having a row with her boyfriend, and so was Terry. He had a pile of stuff that he wanted to givee me and was talking about having to empty his van, so when I went out of my front door (we were in Shavington by the way) it was all piled up against the wall of the front of the house – several really heavy ornately-carved pieces of furniture and I had no idea how I was going to move them or where I was going to put them.
But the worst thing of it all was that going down a hill in Caliburn, someone in a light grey large Nissan hatchback of the 1980s overtook a line of traffic and collided head-on with Caliburn. We both stopped, but he reversed, gave me a cheeky wave and drove off. I gave chase but lost him in the traffic. Caliburn wasn’t too badly damaged, but more badly-damaged than my liking.

Things didn’t get much better during the afternoon either. The propane tank ran dry and left me without heating, and then the electricity blew a fuse while I was cooking tea.

Rummaging around with a solar torch in an electrical compartment in the cold was not my idea of fun.

In the end, with everything working, I went to bed. It had been a long day.

Sunday 10th September 2017 – HAVING FALLEN …

… asleep listening to the radio yet again, I stayed asleep until about 05:30 and remember very little – including where I went to during the night. I know that I went somewhere though – but not quite where.

Something did disturb me though – I’m sure that I heard the siren of a large ship. It might have been Northern Ranger on her way to Black Tickle – if so, I’ll see her when she comes back later. (In fact that was her return trip – she’d gone out on Saturday).

It looks as if it might be a nice day for later, so I enjoyed the sunlight while eating my porridge.

But it didn’t though. Apparently there was a howling gale blowing outside and small boats weren’t leaving the harbour. That put paid to the whole reason why I’m here.

Just 10 kms away across the mouth of Sandwich Bay is a huge stretch of white sand – the Porcupine Strand. Having studied the Norse Sagas of Vinland and also having studied several maps, my theory is that these sands are excellent candidates for the Furdustrandir – the magnificent white beach that they saw on their travels.

It’s long been my ambition to go there, and this was the plan. But, unfortunately, not today. And I am as malade as a perroquet, as a French footballer might say.

But it can’t be helped, and there are plenty of things to see here in Cartwright – not the least of which being to spend more time sorting out the back of Strider which has once more become totally disturbed after all of the roads that we have driven over just recently.

First place to visit is the cemetery. In there is buried Garnett Lethbridge. He died in in the influenza epidemic of November 1918.

His claim to fame is that he encountered a certain young Clarence Birdseye who was trying to run a fur farm out at Muddy Bay. Lethbrodge showed Birdseye a technique that he knew about the rapid freezing of food which was practised here.

Birdseye made copious notes and when his fur farm failed, went back south and commercialised the technique, making millions.

But Lethbridge received an unmarked, pauper’s grave here in the Cartwright cemetery, along with dozens of others who perished in the epidemic.

Not all influenza victims are buried in unmarked graves though.

I have no evidence to suggest that John and Elizabeth Hamel were victims of the influenza outbreak but their ages (31 and 23) and dates of death (10th and 14th November 1918) are certainly suggestive.

These seem to be the only headstones from that period.

Pride of place – if that’s the correct turn of phrase to use – in the cemetery must go to this monument.

George Cartwright was the founder of the town in the late 18th Century and it is thanks to him that the area developed.

He’s not buried in there but back in the UK but nevertheless his niece thought it important that some kind of monument should be set up in the town to commemorate his exploits.

Famous names there are a-plenty in the cemetery, but none more famous than John Lethbridge there on the right. He’s much better associated with the town of Paradise River, being one of the first Europeans to settle there.

He was a tinsmith from Devon and when a salmon-canning plant was opened at Paradise River, he was recruited by the Pinson and Noble and later the Hunt and Henley companies to work in the canning factories.

He married a Metisse girl (half Welsh, half Iroquois-Micmak) and all of the (numerous) Lethbridges and many other families can trace their ancestry back to him.

When the Hudsons Bay Company took over Hunt and Henley in 1873 and closed down the canning plant, Lethbridge was so bitter that he refused to have any dealings with them.

And on his deathbed ordered that all of his possessions, including his boat, should be burnt so as not to fall into the hands of the company, much to the chagrin of his son who had travelled 40 miles on foot to rescue them..

While I was up at the cemetery, my musings were interrupted by this manoeuvre.

Seeing a helicopter take off is not an unusual sight, but seeing one take off with a load slung underneath it is an unusual sight for someone from the less-isolated parts of the world.

It’s an expensive way of transporting goods, to be sure,

We mentioned George Cartwright just now.

That huge rock there, Caribou Rock, marks the limit of Cartwright’s concession of land, and it was just there that he had his home, which he named “Caribou Castle”.

Nothing remains now, unfortunately, and there’s not even a sign to tell you about the place.

One of the big rivals to the Hudson’s Bay Company in the area was the company known as Fequet’s.

According to the sign on their premises they’ve been going since 1800 but that was in various outstations around Sandwich Bay. They came to Cartwright in 1918 but they aren’t going any more.

The place is closed down, locked up and up for sale – the end of yet another epoch in history.

Returning to our explorations, A trip out of the back of town brings me to Flagstaff Hill, and you can see why it earns its name.

And the painted stones to mark the footpath are painted in the colours of Labrador. We have blue for the water, green for the forest and white for the snow, all of which there is plenty in Labrador.

The Labrador flag consists of all three colours in horizontal bands, with a green twig with three branches to represent the three communities – Innu, Inuit and European.

We’e back to George Cartwright again, aren’t we?

He made his fortune here in Sandwich Bay but before he could cash in on his profits the bay was raided by American privateers and, quite naturally, he was the target.

He lost almost everything and, as a result, he arranged for two cannon to be installed up here to guard the entrance to the bay

The view from up here is tremendous and you can see why Cartwright chose this area to be his headquarters.

The bay is deep and sheltered by a couple of large islands that protect it from the fury of the onshore winds.

And if the wind up here just now is anything to go by, I can fully appreciate why we didn’t go to sea today in an open boat because it’s devastating even here.

Over there on the left of the image, thanks to the zoom lens, is the former settlement and now summer fishing station of Main Tickle – a ‘Tickle” being a sheltered stretch of water.

And way, way behind it to the right and in the far distance are the Porcupine Strands – the Furdustrandir in my opinion, where we should have gone today had the weather been any better.

But unless something dramatic happens, then this is a close to them as I am going to be, I reckon. We need good weather and the right tide and we don’t have either right now.

But not to be outdone – the guy here needs to go out to Muddy Bay up the coast so I seize the opportunity to tag along for the ride.

It’s quite sheltered all the way up there, although you might not think so from looking at the photograph, and so equipped with flotation jackets and sea gear and all of that, off we set.

I feel like,Captain Birds Eye dressed like this, but where I’m going to find him I truly have no idea.

Muddy Bay was another thriving little settlement along the coast and even at one time had its own trading post (which might have been a “Fequet’s”).

But the Resettlement Programme cleared it out and the inhabitants were moved out to Cartwright.

There are still a few cabins here, but these are used as summer fishing cabins. No salmon, and no cod either. Restrictions are so tight on the quantities of these that can be taken. Today it’s mainly trout.

But my interest in Muddy Bay is much more bizarre than that.

After the Influenza epidemic, Sandwich Bay was left with a pile of orphan children who had lost both their parents. An orphanage was built for them here at Muddy Bay

That concrete wall over there behind the cabin is all that remains of the orphanage today. Like most places in North America, it burnt down.

And so after circling around the bay and nearly being sunk by a minke whale that surfaced just by our boat (and I didn’t have the camera ready) we head back into Cartwright.

I may not have been to the Furdustrandir but I’ve done all that I can do about it – no-one can arrange the weather – and I’ve been able to see at least something on my list that is inaccessible by road.

A mug of coffee to warm me up and then more baked potato, vegan sausages and the rest of the beans for tea.

Not to mention a little “rest” for ten minutes or so. I’ve had a hard day today.

Now it’s bed-time. Tomorrow is another day and we’ll see what that has in store for me.

Wednesday 6th September 2017 – THAT WAS SOMETHING …

… of a disturbed night last night. And I’ll tell you why in due course.

And it took the alarm to rouse me from my slumbers – and I was still there when Billy Cotton wailed out his reminder 15 minutes later.

Furthermore, I wasn’t in much of a state to do much when I awoke. Something of a difficult morning in fact.

Eventually I made it in for the inclusive breakfast. It wasn’t much of a breakfast either. It might have helped had I taken my soya milk in but I wasn’t thinking too much about that.

A little later I did manage to attack the blog and bring it up to date, as well as tidying up the room and making it look presentable. By 10:30 I was on my way.

Last night I’d made a little miscalculation. Grand Falls where I ended up was about 50 kms beyond where I wanted to me so I had to go all the way back.

I ended up back at Botwood – one of the towns that had been very high on my list of places in this part of the world, because it’s another place steeped in history of the kind that I appreciate.

The area was first officially visited in 1810 by an exploration party led by David Buchan

An early claim to fame is that it is the place of death of that last two known Beothuk natives.

had you come here even 50 years ago, the bay here would have been a hive of activity.

There were quays here and the railway brought wagon-loads of paper from the pulp mills at Grand Falls-Windsor and ore from the mines at Buchans.

But all of that has long-gone – the ore in 1984 and the paper in 2009. Nowadays they don’t have one ship per month in here.

And had you been here between 1937 and 1945 you wouldn’t have been able to move out there either.

For this was the raison d’etre of the town during this period.

It’s another one of these places that played a leading role in the development of Transatlantic flight, because the first commercial transatlantic passenger flights came into land right there.

The town, originally called Ship Cove and renamed Botwood after an early Minister, was originally tied to the sea as you might expect.

It developed a lumber business at the turn of the 20th Century and then, once the railway arrived, became a throving port.

But just after the First World War, the legendary airman Sidney Cotton – pioneer of modern aerial photography – chose Botwood as a base for his seaplane that he used for surveying and seal-spotting around the Newfoundland and Labrador coasts.

Charles Lindbergh, the “flying fool” was employed by Pan-American Airways to locate sites for the airline’s fledgling fleet of flying boats.

He and his wife flew into Botwood in 1933 having heard of Cotton’s base here. They surveyed the bay and approved its use as a base for flying boats.

As a result, Pan Am issued a contract with Boeing to develop a huge flying boat capable of flying the Atlantic, and the Boeing 314 “Clipper” was born.

In the meantime, BOAC had been doing research of its own into long-distance flight to link up the major cities of the Commonwealth. This led to the development of the “Short Empire” flying boat.

The two airlines co-operated in research for transatlantic flight, and in July 1937 the first several Transatlantic survey flights were made with the co-operation of both companies.

And in June 1939, the first regular commercial transatlantic passenger flights began. The route was Southampton – Foynes – Botwood and then either Montreal or New York.

During the Second World War, the “Empires” were requisitioned by the British military authorities and it was left to the “Clippers” and a few older Sikorsky S42 flying boats to continue the service.

In fact, somewhere out there in the area shown in one of the earlier photos, there’s a Sikorsky flying boat – a more modern VS44 named “Excalibur”.

On 3rd October 1942 she “bounced” on take-off and went under. 11 of the people on board were killed and, strange as it might be to mention it, the US military authorities are still even today searching for the bodies of the four people who are missing.

The area really came into its own during world War II.

This was when the concrete slipway was built (the big flying boats were loaded and unloaded by boat).

The British – and later the Canadian – government based a squadron of flying boats here that were used for anti-submarine defence around the north of the island.

That’s because the slow “Sydney Cape” or “SC” convoys used to assemble off Sydney and then sail up the Strait of Belle Isle and out around the north of the island.

German submarines were quite active in the area as you know from our previous discussions.

The port itself was protected by a couple of batteries of heavy artillery, of which the gunners passed what could only be a very boring war.

We actually have on display here a PBY flying boat – one of one of the types that was based here during the war.

This machine was taken out of service in the late 1980s and was donated by the Canadian Government to the town.

It’s official recognition as some kind of reminder or memorial to the role that the town played during the war in the fight against the submarines.

We talked about Excalibur a short while ago. Somewhere out there in the bay are twomore aircraft.

One of the military flying boats, a PBY Canso, crashed on landing in the bay on November 8, 1943 and seven people were killed.

A Hurricane, flying to Gander, ran out of fuel and attempted a landing on the ice. Unfortunately it broke throuh and sank, but the pilot was saved.

That out there was formerly an island. The “causeway” that links it to the mainland is an artificial causeway and dates from the Second World War.

The island itself is hollowed out and was used as a bunker or store for munitions and the like and there’s a whole series of entrances over there in the rock.

You might think that that’s enough wartime excitement for a small town like Botwood, but that’s far from the case

Probably the very first Act of War in North America took place here.

A German ore carrier, the Christoph V. Doornum was in dock here on the very day that War was declared, loading ore from Buchans to take back to Germany.

She was immediately seized by the local police, her crew arrested, and she was impressed into the British merchant fleet.

She didn’t last long though, being damaged beyond repair by a mine off Margate on 9th June 1940.

And so having “done” Botwood I drove back to Grand Falls for a look around. And there’s nothing that’s really any reminder of the importance of the town.

I did the final load of shopping (having to go into three shops before I could find a lettuce), fuelled up, and then hit the highway to drive non-stop to Deer Lake.

On my arrival I negotiated for myself another over-priced accommodation in a cabin – Lush’s cabins – in the mountains at Cormack, but not before I’d noticed another significant milestone.

Just down the road from my cabin, Strider passed over the 200,000 kilometres. So happy 200,000 kilometres, Strider.

The cabin that I’m in sleeps four and although it’s tired around the edges, it’s not too bad. Four people would have a really good time here I suppose.

All of the cooking gear is here and there’s a microwave too, so it’s potatoes, beans and bangers for tea tonight.

And then an early night because I’m whacked. In fact, I fell asleep speaking to someone on the internet.

At the start of tonight’s rubbish, I mentioned that I had had a disturbed night and that I would tell you why.

I went on a ramble last night – a ramble that lasted most of the night and I was out and about all over the place.

I started out in some kind of town – an old run-down type of place falling to pieces and I was looking for some documents for a driving test. Id been told where to go but I couldn’t remember so I accosted a local. He pointed out a few places but one was closed a few days ago and the other one had closed a few months ago. Everything was in such a derelict mess – just in fact rather like Calveley Airfield.
And then I came across a boy whom I knew who was trying to burn a load of papers – it was very important that all of these papers would be burnt. He’d put them in some kind of incinerator and closed the door but the conveyor belt wasn’t working. He was kicking a football against the door and all of a sudden there was a bang from inside the door – something like a paper bag bursting. We opened the door to see and saw the big box disappearing – the conveyor belt was now working – but there was still a load of paper, some bubble wrap and a few bits and pieces lying around. I told him that all of these needed to be removed as they had people’s addresses on them and they were visible, so he took some of the stuff and left the rest behind. The first thing that I noticed was a big file of mine about an insurance claim with my name and address clearly marked on it. I made him move it but he just took it out and dumped it on the side, which resulted in me having a huge “go” at him about this.
Round the corner was a public bar and I went in, and on the TV was England playing Norway at football. England conceded a goal after just 30 seconds. The goalkeeper for England was Viv Anderson – a full-back from the 1980s. Apparently the England goalkeeper had been injured in a previous match. This made me wonder why they didn’t have a reserve or anyone better than him because he was dreadful – running away from his goal after balls that he would never ever win. At the start of the second half Norway scored again straight away but for some reason it was disallowed. The Norway players were extremely unhappy about this. And by this time Anderson was playing like the full-back he was, rushing around over the pitch and leaving the goal empty and on a couple of occasions the other defenders had to dash back and kick balls off the line. Roy Hodgson was the England manager and he was giving vent to his feelings, but actually doing nothing about it.
By this time I was looking for somewhere to go for the toilet, but there was no toilet in this house where I was staying – just a bath and a sink. So I went out and about looking for one and couldn’t find one anywhere in the vicinity. I thought about nipping down a suitable dark alleyway but there people down there. There was a small park down the hill at the end of this football ground that might have done, but there were a couple of cars and people all around – so I just couldn’t get to go.
At this point, I awoke. and no surprises for guessing what I needed to do.

Back to bed – and who should appear in last night’s voyage but a girl whom I haven’t thought about in a long time and who is making her debut in my nocturnal rambles. Even when she was a young kid we all knew that she was going to be “something” and I can tell you a couple of stories about how we met up quite a few years later.

But going on from here, something came up that meant that I had to go to visit this house, and it was the home of her parents. I was rather embarrassed because it had been a good few years since I’d seen this girl and I was expecting her mother to make a few comments to me. But it seemed that she was suffering from dementia and was making quite a few comments to everyone. There were loads of people there, including her brother who was giving me the cold shoulder, and several people had bought their guitars with them. I was saying that it was a shame that I hadn’t come in my van because I would have had my bass with me. Then the girl appeared – blonde hair and thick-rimmed black glasses, nothing at all like she used to be and I had a hard time convincing myself that it was she (which it wasn’t of course).
From there I was back doing something with a guy I knew from Wandsworth who was now running a taxi company. He’d left a piece of paper on his desk about an old taxi run that he had done, giving the address of the street and which road to take to enter it – and “take a trailer”. A little later I was outside discussing this thing on the phone with someone else when he came on the tannoy that I was wasting my time as the job had been done last week (which I knew anyway and which wasn’t the point) and they had charged £54. I went off there to find out why the specific street to use had been mentioned, and found that the rest of the street was blocked off by a street party. I was in a bus and hordes of people climbed aboard just to chill out. When it was time o go I had to usher them all off – and do it two or three times too. And then we gathered up the waste into two large oil drums and started to burn it. They took off really well but one flared up and was in danger of setting alight some overhanging branches (we’d not been to careful) so we had to move it, flames and all. Another person tried to light a fire but was completely unsuccessful so we sent people off to look for more rubbish to add to his pile.

Monday 4th September 2017 – I’M NOT QUITE SURE …

… what happened during the night but for some reason or other I was tossing and turning quite considerably.

In fact, I was so wide-awake at 01:00 that I was giving serious thought to actually getting up and doing some work. But I abandoned that idea and went back to sleep and off on my travels.

I was back chauffering again in the main office – my first day back for years and I wasn’t sure of how everything workec – the post needed to be sorted for distribution and I wasn’t sure of how to do that and where it was supposed to go. But then there were all kinds of changes taking place on the very day, and our office was one of the ones that had been selected for revision so no sooner ha I settled down when all of the workmen suddenly appeared. I ended up outside wanting to go downstairs but there were issues with the lifts and we had to wait hours – and when a lift did arrive it was going in the wrong direction. Some girl missed her lift and ran round to the back of it (I’ve no idea why) to see if she could catch it there.

I was still up and about by 05:30 though and that gave me a good opportunity to attack some work on the laptop. And I made a major mistake too – the slow cooker certainly lives up to its name and if I want to have porridge for breakfast at anything like a reasonable hour I need to start it off as soon as I awake.

It wasn’t until about 10:30 that I was ready to hit the road. And I remembered to stop and take a photograph of the motel this time too.

And the verdict about last night’s motel?

I refuse to be drawn into an argument about “Value for Money” because motel prices in Canada this last couple of years have for some reason or other gone through the roof.

A few years ago I was recoiling in horror at the thought of paying $75 per night for accommodation. Today, getting away with double figures is something of a miracle.

First stop wasdown into the town of Carbonear itself.

It’s another former port and fishing station that at one time was one of the busiest along the coast but became a victim of the incessant growth in size of merchant shipping.

120 years ago you couldn’t move in the bay for schooners but now no commercial traffic comes in because the ships are too big for the depth of the bay.

But the town has undergone some kind of growth spurt in modern times, and that is due to the concentration of services here.

One of the big things that the town has going for it today is the regional hospital and residential care for the elderly, of which there are more than enough left behind in Newfoundland and Labrador as the younger generations dash off to Alberta to seek their fortunes in the oilfields.

But then, they aren’t likely to be making their fortunes with what remains here.

Take the railways for example.

he building of Newfoundland’s railway network at the end of the 19th and beginning of the 20th Century brought a new wave of prosperity to many places, including Carbonear.

But the entire system was brutally axed overnight in the 1980s in favour of road transport, and the roads here are disgraceful. They must have been appalling 30 years ago. Many places just fell back into the slumber from which they had been awoken

And regular readers of this rubbish will recall that my opinion about what passes for “preservation” in North America. And it’s shameful to admit that Canada is as bad at this as their cousins across the border.

This is one of the surviving diesel-electric locomotives from the Newfoundland Railway – A GM EMD G8. Built in 1958, she’s just dumped here outside the station and is slowly rotting away without even a pretence of preservation.

But then this is not time for me to go off on one of my rants. I have things to do.

Instead of leaving Carbonear by going up the hill and along the new road, I followed the coast for a while.

You’ve seen a few beautiful views of Newfoundand to date but all around here can certainly equal whatever the rest of Newfoundland has to offer.

I was told on several occasions that this is the most beautiful part of the island.

And they are certainly not wrong, are they?

There are a few beaches around here but they are mainly shingle. You can’t build a sand castle on there.

And I wouldn’t like to go swimming off there either. Beautiful though the water may be, the cold Labrador current comes right in and I bet that it’s freezing in there

And all of the tiny villages and communities out here too that are really picturesque.

Many of them were cleared away in the controversial resettlement programmes of the 1950s and 1960s but a few still cling on, and here just by Freshwater Cove is one of the most beautiful examples that I have seen.

It’srather a shame that I’m in something of a hurry otherwise I could prowl around here for weeks.

When I arrive at Victoria, I turn off onto Highway 74 that takes me across to the western side of the peninsula.

It’s quite a climb up but when you arrive at the tip it’s well-worth it because the views from up here are stunning and it’s a shame that the camera can’t do them justice.

But with a good bit of peering you can make out the sea just beyond that range of hills in the distance.

I try to make these tours something of an educational trip as you know, and so this is another reason why we have come across here to the small town of Heart’s Content.

This is notable for being the landing site of the 1858 transatlantic telegraph cable from Ireland and although it only lasted a few weeks until it ruptured, it proved that cable transmission between Europe and North America was perfectly possible and the world was brought into a new technological era.

Once the American Civil War had ended, they had another go at laying a cable from Valentia in Ireland.

They were much-better prepared and much better-equipped this time round and using the massive “Great Eastern”, which had by then been transformed into a cable-laying ship, they could bring a tougher cable ashore.

And right where we are standing is the spot where the cable was pulled ashore, and started 100 years of cable communication between North American and Europe, lasting until radio transmission took over completely.

The cable was so successful that several other cables were laid across the Atlantic.

We’ve already visited a few sites in North America which were transatlantic cable stations, but several more followed in the wake of the 1866 cable and came ashore right here.

The redbuilding over there opposite where Strider is parked was formerly the cable company receiving station but today it’s a museum.

I was tempted to go in for a look around but it’s one of these places where they ambush you with the admission charges and I’m going to have to watch my spending very carefully given how prices have gone through the roof over here.

There are loads of “Heart’s” along here. Heart’s Content and Heart’s Desire, but here weare in Heart’s Delight having a look over the Marina and across the bay around which I have just driven.

Landing fees aren’t so expensive here I noticed – $10 for a night and $115 for the season if you turn up in a small boat.

And so the way that prices are going in Canada right now, next time that Icome, I’ll be coming by sea. It makes much more sense to me.

We run out of “Heart’s” shortly afterwards and end up in the community of Islington.

There was formerly a railway branch line that ran along this side of the peninsula. Built as late as 1915, it only lasted until 1940 when it was all torn up.

Very little, if anything, remains these days of the railway but having a look at that embankment across the bay there, and I’d seen plenty of others in similar situations, then if anything had “railway” written on it, then that does.

But I doubt if I’ll be able to find anything to confirm it.

Meanwhile, my attention was diveted a little further out into the bay by that geological formation just there.

I’m not certain whether you would call it a rock or an island, but the fact that it has grass growing on it woould seem to indicate that it may well be more appropriate to call it the latter.

At least the seabirds call it “home” and it’s probably their droppings that have fertilised it to enable the grass to grow.

A few miles down the road Strawberry Moose persuades me to come to a sudden halt.

He has seen sign on the side of the road that has caught his interest.

I have to explain to him that it’s referring to a kind of seabird similar to a cormorant or some such – hence the “rock” – and so we leave the area with something of an air of diappointment.

But not so this town in Newfoundland.

This place is well-known throughout the whole world as being the favourite holiday destination of the female inhabitants of the Isle of Lesbos in Greece – it’s certainly all Greek to me, that’s for sure.

Who says that 16th Century explorers didn’t have a sense of humour?

And what do people buy when they come to Dildo?

Here’s a notice at the side of the road advertising certain items for sale. and for a town with a name like “Dildo”, then somehow they seemed to be quite appropriate.

It all adds to the flavour of the place, I suppose.

Leaving childish schoolboy humour behind for a moment, we have to go down and investigate the town.

And it’s a small Newfoundland coastal town like any other with nothing to distinguish itself apart from its name.

But have you noticed a change in the weather? We are now all grey and overcast and a terrific wind has sprung up. Look at the sea!

another thing that regular readers of this rubbish will remember is the situation that many Labradorians feel about the exploitation of their region by St John’s.

We have the Muskrat Falls hydro project that might bring some money to the community over there, but where is the power all going?

Not on the Coasts of Labrador, that’s for certain. A company called Valard is building the high-tension lines out of Muskrat falls, and there they are, building a high-tension line not to far from St John’s.

Work it out.

Feeling a desperate urge for a pit-stop I find myself back at the Tourist Information site o the Trans-Canada Highway where I started when I arrived on Newfoundland.

It was also quite late too and I was hungry, so I took this as being the appropriate place for a lunch stop. And shame as it is to admit it, I went away with the fairies for a while too.

After a while I awoke and, searching in the toursit guide, came across a motel that had a room at a price that wasn’t quite out in the realms of fantasy.

I’d planned a little trip around rhe Belle Vue Beach area because that was another place that was quite beautiful, but it just wasn’t my lucky day.

An hour or two ago, I had said that the weather was changing – and I was right. By now we were in the middle of something of quite a rainstorm.

Leaving the comfort and safety of Strider to admire the view was not going to be all that muchof a good idea.

But nevertheless, abandoning my drive around the bay due to the miserable weather, there’s a good view across the bay from the climb back up to the Trans Canada Highway.

It’s a shame that the weather has turned like this. The view looks so good in these conditions, so imagine what it must be like in glorious sunshine.

It’s quite disappointing.

One final place to visit on this journey, and that’s the little town of Come By Chance.

It’s here that an early explorer by the name of John Guy found a portage across the island and encountered a group of friendly Beothuk natives with whome he engaged in trade.

The site of their meeting is quite famous in Newfoundland lore but if anyone thinks that I’m stepping out of Strider in this, they are mistaken. It’s absolutely dreadful out there.

And so I make my way through the driving rain as far as the Trailside Motel.

It’s not as cheap as I was expecting it to be, and it’s crowded with a bar and café where bikers and people like that hang out. Not exactly my ideal but then again it’s the cheapest place on offer right now.

The room is reasonable and I rustle myself up a meal of pasta, mushrooms, bulghour and tomato sauce. Having learnt my lesson from the other day I set it up as soon as I arrive – this slow cooker lives up to its name.

The internet is pretty lousy too – it won’t hold a connection for more than five minutes. I try to talk to a few people but give it up after half an hour of constant interruption.

Searching the internet (when it lets me) I find a thesis from 1965 about the displacement of settlements in Labrador so I download it (on one of the slowest connections I have ever seen) to read at my leisure.

But for some reason I can’t keep going and I end up calling it a day.

At 22:00 too! I really am slipping!

Thursday 31st August 2017 – AND IF YOU THOUGHT …

… that Tuesday night’s sleep was bad, you ain’t seen nuffink yet.

Because last night’s sleep beat just about everything. Wide awake at 01:30, tossing and turning and all of that. I really was having it all.

Nevertheless I did still manage to go off on my travels, but you won’t be interested in them, because such was the nature of my bad night that it will put you off your supper.

The torrential rainstorm that we had didn’t help matters much either. And it was so humid that the washing that I had hung up under the verandah seemed to be wetter than when I hung it out.

I wasn’t in the mood for breakfast, having had a good meal before going to bed (and don’t large packets of crisps go off with an enormous bang when you kneel on them by mistake in the dark?) and so I did some stuff on the internet;

Despite the pouring rain, I emptied out Strider and tried to sort out everything – but that was quite a maul and wasn’t the work of 5 minutes either, so I was quite exhausted afterwards.

Pausing only to take a shot of my cabin and the lake (which, due to the weather I was not able to enjoy) I went up to the office to hand in the key.

Free coffee was on offer there and seeing the expense that I had had to incur, I took full advantage. And quite rightly so.

And then I headed off into the doom and gloom.

The drive to North Sydney, beautiful though it is, is one that we have taken on many previous occasions so I didn’t stop to take any photographs.

And at the ferry terminal, my luck was in. There were still spaces free on Friday’s overnight long-distance sailing to Argentia. And so we are now booked aboard.

It might sound expensive to some (and it certainly did to me) but you need to look at it in perspective.

I would have to pay a ferry fee for the short (ie 9 hour) crossing anyway, and that’s not cheap
I would then have a drive 900 kms instead of 130 kms – and imagine how much extra fuel I would have to buy for a rather thirsty Strider.
I’d be looking for at least one, if not two nights in motels and you’ve seen what motel rates are right now.
I’d be whittling into the victuals along the way
I’d be quite worn out at the end of it all
And not least – this is a ferry crossing that i’ve been wanting to make for quite a while

All in all, it makes good financial and personal sense to travel this way.

Next thing to do was to organise accommodation for tonight.

I like the privacy of motels, but not at the price that they want to charge right now. So I phoned up the cheapest B&B in the book that I had picked up yesterday.
“Sorry, we’re full”
“That’s a shame. Do you know anyone else with a spare room?”
“No I don’t … ohh – wait a minute – if you just want a basic room with just a bed in it I can fix you up. Is $55 for cash with breakfast okay?”
Do bears have picnics in the woods?

Off I went to the shops.

As you all may remember from previous excursions, food in northern Newfoundland and Labrador is shockingly expensive, and if I’m going to be spending a week or two out there, I need to stock up.

The Atlantic Superstore, the Dollar Store and Walmart all did the business and for about $100 Strider is now full of tinned and packet goods to last a couple of weeks.

Bread will be an issue of course, but we have packets of crisps if we can’t find anything on the road.

But I made a startling discovery at the Atlantic Superstore. Their “own brand” od wine gums don’t have gelatine in them. There’s a few packets missing from their stocks right now.

I had a very late lunch on the car park by the ferry terminal, and then went for a coffee at Tim Hortons where, shame as it is to admit it, I fell asleep.

Rousing myself from a dangerous slumber I decided to head out for my digs. The address wasn’t on the SatNav but Josee’s mobile phone picked it up (that was a good move on her part to lend me that).

The street signs were confusing though and I ended up going three times round a roundabout before I fathomed it out.

The cheapest digs so far, and seem to be the nicest too. It seems that I have the room of a student who isn’t due back until tomorrow. So I’m not complaining.

I settled myself in and promptly crashed out again, only to be awoken by the aforementioned student who has returned unannounced a day early.

I would gladly have shared half my bed with her, but the landlady rather unfortunately rose to the situation by ushering her off to a spare bed put up hastily in the office, which rather disappointed me – but you can’t win a coconut every time.

So I’m going to have an early night and try to sleep the Sleep Of The Dead.

Heaven knows I need it.

Tuesday 29th August 2017 – AND SO …

… having had a reasonable night’s sleep last night, it took the alarm to summon me out of my stinking pit this morning.

But I’d been on my travels last night too. There had been a court case and this big gorilla of a man had been found guilty of several violent offences and sent to gaol. He was accompanied from the van by a policeman and a policewoman, neither of whom could be called “powerful” by any means and the inevitable happened – that he broke away from them. We then had this stand-off in that he couldn’t run away but they couldn’t lay hold on him and they were dancing around this car park for quite a while.
A little later I was in my house and I had visitors. Someone knocked something through the window (we were only 6 floors up) and I asked what it was. “A stuffed toy thing” was the answer. When I went down to let them out I picked up the stuffed toy – a stuffed cat as it happens – and began to stroke it, and it transformed into a real kitten. I went for a walk around the town, which was similar to the “old town” of Granville, all the time stroking this animal that I had against my shoulder. Under the archway where people were passing, they suddenly closed it off and a group of schoolchildren led by a teacher came there. He was giving them a talk about the history of the place but they were all distracted by me and my cat.

As it grew light, I nipped out to Strider to pick up some stuff and there dieseling down the Bay of Fundy in the distance was a nice big ship.

Saint John is quite an important port, not just for bulk carriers and containers, but also for oil tankers due to the presence of the huge Irvings oil refinery on the edge of town.

I was quite optimistic that we might have a good ship-spotting morning here today as I went on my errands.

And I wasn’t wrong either.

Heading into town and down the big bank, I noticed a huge MSC container ship in the harbour.

This is the MSC Kim, all 41,000 tonnes of her. Built in 2008, she’s 265 metres long and 32 metres wide. She’s come in from a tour around the Gulf of Mexico, last stop being New York.

Her claim to fame is that when she was unloading in Antwerp a couple of years ago after a trip from Ecuador, Belgian police discovered almost half a tonne of cocaine in her cargo.

But this was far from being the only excitement here on the docks.

While the Silly Brits are busy selling off their heritage in order to raise cash to pay off the massive debt that the country has, other countries are happily snapping up the bargains.

Here on the quayside recently unloaded is a fleet of AEC double-deck buses to add to the ones that we have seen parading around the streets of Montreal.

Won’t be long before the Brits have nothing left to sell, and then the fun will begin.

And that’s not all either.

The way that the Canadian government works, railways are a thing of the past in the country. Seeing a Canadian train is a rare event.

And so no-one was happier than I was to catch a train of three locomotives, two power cars and a partridge in a pear tree go clanking through the port pulling a load of oil tankers

From there, I went off to pay the insurance for Strider. And here we had some bad news – and some worse news.

It seems that I’m not entitled to a No-Claims Discount, having a foreign driving licence. That’s pretty miserable.

And secondly, there has been a substantial (and I do mean substantial) hike in insurance premiums over the last 12 months.

I bought Strider because it worked out cheaper than hiring a car for two months – and it still is, but the gap is narrowing rapidly again. I need to think of another plan.

Licking my wounds I went off to Service New Brunswick to join the massive queue for the new licence tags. Luckily they haven’t increased in price – that’s the only consolation that I can offer.

The insurance company offices are close to the Irvings refinery and I’d seen a tanker unloading there.

And so off i trotted to find a suitable vantage point to take a pic of her.

She’s the Palanca Luanda from the Marshall Islands where they have more ships than people (due to the 3% Corporation Tax rate). 11,000 tonnes and built as recently as 2012.

She’s come in from a trip down to Baltimore and Wilmington.

Having had a dismal morning I wandered off.

I stopped for lunch at a petrol station on the way to Moncton. In the gorgeous sunshine and warm weather I had a little snooze too, and then fuelled up.

Strider’s fuel consumption has improved a little, which is good news, but only to be expected after he’s had his overdrive fixed, but not enough for me to ever recover the money that it cost me.

But then, off to Moncton.

Missing my turning into the Value Village car park so turning round in the Costco car park up the hill and not being able to find the (only) exit, which then decanted me back the wrong way and I had to turn round again.

But at least I had some luck. A tin opener, a knife, fork and spoon, a proper pyrex microwave bowl and a couple of books.

But nothing at the Salvation Army shop, nothing at Home Depot and I didn’t even bother with Princess Autos.

I was back on the road – the old road out of town across the Tantramar Marshes.

On the outskirts of Memramcook I found this beautiful girder road bridge, so I stopped for a photograph.

There’s a vestige of the extant Canadian railway network behind it too – the line from Halifax to Montreal which runs passenger trains a couple of times per week.

And here we have a calamity.

The motel where I had chosen to stop – it’s now private flats and apartments. Two others were closed down, one in Sackville wanted me to buy the building, not stay for the night (I didn’t pay that much in Labrador!).

So I moved on to Amherst.

The cheapest place was fully-booked, and the only rooms on the town were, well, even worse than in Sackville.

But then this is what I have a mobile internet connection for.

A room was available at a slightly less ridiculous price at Pictou – only 90 minutesdrive down the Trans-Canada Highway. But at least it’s in the right direction so equipping the ship for silent running, off I set.

90 minutes later, I was there or thereabouts. But the motel wasn’t where the satnav said that it was. And so I spent another half an hour doing some detective work and I eventually arrived there, beaten, bedraggled and bewildered.

And I know now why the room was free. A genuine 1950s design, with furniture, decor and musty smell to match. Had I not been thoroughly exhausted, I would have walked away.

But at least we had a microwave so once I’d figured out how to use it, I could cook some of the pasta meal that Rachel had prepared for me.

And grateful I was too.

Saturday 26th August 2017 – WHAT A DAY!

And I’ve slept through most of it, I reckon.

Despite my early night it took me quite a while to drop off to sleep and then, once I’d gone, I stayed gone until the alarm went off.

Mind you, I’d been on my travels during the night. I’d been arranging a convoy of driverless lorries to travel along the road somewhere, and having assembled that, I went off to somewhere else to assemble another convoy to attach on behind it as it passed by. But while we were all waiting for the first convoy to arrive, I noticed that it was running on a parallel road and that had me all in a panic because I didn’t have a header-lorry to lead this convoy so it had absolutely to attach itself to the first one otherwise we would be stuck. So I was dragging this convoy behind me as I was dashing down side roads trying to connect up with the first convoy.

As a result of this I was late leaving the stinking pit and didn’t have time for breakfast. I did however manage to grab a big glass of my almond milk.

At the tyre depot there was just Rachel and me in the office and Darren and his father in the workshop. And you’ve no idea how busy we were.

We had to give someone some very bad news today too. They had just bought a car that had just gone through a safety inspection and they wanted Darren to check it.

You’ve all heard me talk and you’ve all seen photos about what kind of bodywork is or isn’t acceptable in Canada, so for Darren to turn round and say that this car shouldn’t be on the road at all gives you some idea of how bad it really was.

After we finished at lunchtime we went to the shop. Saturday is a good time to go as there are lots of reductions and rachel has a big freezer. We loaded up quite a bit of stuff.

I hadn’t eaten at all so far so I was starving by now, and so I made myself a huge pile of butties – and then I fell asleep for a couple of hours.

I managed to pull myself together and start to clean out Strider. But I didn’t get very far. I didn’t have the enthusiasm.

The OSB shelf in there has collapsed and all of the contents decanted all over the floor, including the rice and pasta.

And I clearly can’t have been feeling myself either because although I had given Rachel some stuff out of Strider, there was another lot in a plastic bucket that I had evidently forgotten to bring in.

Too late to bring it in now though – the extreme cold had shattered a couple of the glass jars and we had jam and tomato sauce all over the stuff and in the bucket – so that all needed to be washed off.

That much exercise totally wore me out and I was back on my bed and fast asleep. And that’s were I stayed until Rachel summoned me for my stir-fry tea (which was delicious).

Now I’m back in my room and it goes without saying that I can’t sleep.

But then isn’t it always like that?

Monday 21st August 2017 – I DID MANAGE …

… to go to sleep last night – to such an extent that I was away on my travels.

I was in Winsford having to go to Northwich and there was a choice of two routes to take. And they were the same distance too so I couldn’t decide which one to take, especially seeing as I was going on foot. But eventually I arrived there and came out of a building that might have been the railway station (but which isn’t). On the left was some kind of 1960s tower block which the town council was using as its headquarters and to the right was an old Victorian building rather like a school which was owned by the Council and which had been their previous HQ but was now derelict, and there was some scandal about the deal which had led to the Council vacating the building and leasing the more modern one for a fee which many people considered to be excessive. I was in a crowd across the square watching this old building, in the company of none other than Liz Ayers – and how many years is it since she’s been on a nocturnal ramble with me? I saw a movement over the roof of this building and couldn’t explain what it was – something like a shadow but I called it a light, which it most certainly wasn’t. But as I said it, six red lights appeared in the sky quite low down just underneath the fullish moon. “Space Laboratory” immediately came into my mind. I tried to explain this to everyone but as they all turned to look, some old woman on a broomstick – a witch – came flying out of the moon.

It was a very restless night last night with me tossing and turning so much, but I was asleep yet again when the alarm clock went off. Sleep is one thing – crawling out of bed is quite something else.

But I had a quick breakfast, made my sandwiches and went with Rachel into the office.

Making myself useful, I cleaned out the bathroom from top to bottom and threw away tons of stuff that had accumulated in there. Now it’s quite clean and shiny, but it did take ages and I had to sit down for a while afterwards.

Having gathered my strength I went round with Rachel to Bob’s house and finished off the vacuuming now that I had located the bags. And we did some general tidying up too.

I hope that I’m still in this kind of mood when I return home.

We had a knotty accounting problem to deal with this afternoon. Ellen is still running the accounts on the basis of Canadian 19th Century accounting, poor Rachel is struggling to understand it and explain it to me, and I’m trying to do it with British 21st Century accounting principles based on Ellen’s templates and Rachel’s explanations. And so between the two of us we ended up in a hopeless tangle.

But we sorted it out eventually once it suddenly clicked with Rachel and she could explain it to me.

In the meantime I’d crashed out, woken up, and gone for a walk around the old railway station site for some fresh air.

Amber and her boyfriend brought me back here where I promptly crashed out again. But a shower brought me round and a nice tea of the rest of the salad and soup from Saturday made me feel even better.

Now I’m having an early night and I hope that I’ll feel better in the morning. Because my legs have swollen up again and that has depressed me mightily.

Sunday 20th August 2017 – NOW HERE’S A SURPRISE!

Despite having had an early night last night and despite having crashed out for a while during the day, I slept right through until the alarm went off this morning.

I don’t even know why I had an alarm seeing as it’s Sunday – but there we are.

But a nice early start gave me an opportunity to catch up with a couple of things that I had let slip over the last few days and prepare myself for brunch.

Toast, beans, hash browns and home fries with plenty of coffee – what a way to start the day. But then we had work to do. With Ellen being in hospital, Bob is finding it difficult to manage and so while he was out visiting her, Rachel, Amber and I had a major blitz on his house for a couple of hours.

And we would have done much more had we been able to find some vacuum cleaner bags and stuff like that. But imagine me cleaning someone else’s house! I have enough problems cleaning my own!

That having been organised, the three of us set off for Woodstock. And by the time we got to Woodstock we were half a million strong … “here we go again” – ed … so it was pretty crowded in Rachel’s car.

The vegan range of food products in Sobey’s has expanded even more so I bought a fair bit of stuff to keep me going for the next week or so until I hit the road. After that it was the Walmart but there was nothing there that I needed.

By now it was supper time so I invited Rachel and Amber for a meal. Still a dearth of vegan food in the restaurants here but one place rustled me up a couple of vegan wraps and more home fries.

Not exactly what I would call “adventurous” but at least it shows an awareness and a willingness which is more than you can say for some places.

More tidying up here when we arrived. Last night a bear had attacked the dustbin and there was rubbish strewn all over the driveway. Amber and I attacked that and cleared up the mess while Rachel put the shopping away.

Another surprising thing is that back in Europe the broadcasts of the Welsh Premier League are blacked out for those living outside the UK. But here in North America they aren’t. I don’t understand that. So I took advantage by starting to watch yesterday’s TNS v Bala Town match.

But after about 15 minutes I was obliged to give up. And 5 minutes later I was flat out on the bed. I crashed out for a good 90 minutes, and crashed out completely too.

Now of course I can’t go back to sleep.

I just can’t win, can I?

Saturday 19th August 2017 – WE PULLED …

… into the Sainte-Foy coach interchange about 15 minutes early having missed out on Longueuil on our way down.

Not that it did us much good because the café was closed up.

I can’t believe the commercial opportunities that people are turning away these days – and then they are complaining about a recession when they have captive clients and they are turning them away.

But enough of my rant for the moment. The wait of 45 minutes was quickly over as the bus out of the city down the Gaspé puled in early too so we all clambered aboard for the next leg of our journey – alighting at Riviere-du-Loup.

A two-hour wait here even though the bus was already in and waiting. No electricity either and a “confused” internet set-up too.

I curled up on my seat and tried to sleep, but not that it did me much good because I couldn’t drop off very easily.

With arriving 15 minutes early in Florenceville I had to wait 5 minutes for Rachel and she drove me down to the tyre depot. With Ellen being ill, Rachel is having to work today.

It was quiet there today – Darren and Hannah are away tractor-pulling in Bowling Green with Perdy in the Pink, but there was plenty of coffee on offer. And I needed it after my overnight Odyssey.

Amber and her boyfriend were going back to the house at lunchtime so I cadged a lift, made myself some toast and coffee and then had a nice hot shower.

And, as you might expect, crashed out completely. According to the fitbit I’d had 1:06 of sleep during the night on the bus.

Rachel was back at teatime and we spent a long time putting the world to rights, and then made a mega-soup for tea. We were joined by one of her friends who is helping out with the accounts at the moment while Ellen is indisposed.

She had made a really good salad that went down a treat too.

But I wasn’t up for long. It’s cold and wet outside, not at all like a Canadian summer, and I was feeling quite tired so I made my excuses and had an early night.

Tomorrow is Sunday and the legendary Taylor breakfast brunches. I need to be on top form for that.

EPIC HALL

The Poisoned Pen (or Poisoned Chalice, more like) – or my relentless struggle against reality