I see that we’re still not allowed to visit Canuckistan until June, but that’s okay. Montreal is only worth visiting for the three weeks of summer in July anyway.
Here’s a recent pic of same:
I am going to be taking New Wife up there soon. She’s never been to Canada, and I love Montreal — other than the fact that it’s in Canuckistan, I could live there quite easily.
If I may digress for a moment — and I believe I can — there are quite a few places in the world similar to Montreal, where I could easily live but for the fact that the countries in which they’re located are completely fucked up.
The first example is Wiltshire, England, home to Mr. Free Market, The Englishman and a couple of other Bad Influences:
Of course, there’s meine schönes Wien:
…and Paris — the Paris I knew back in the early 2000s, not the refugee-infested shithole it’s since become:
All these places, and so many others, captivated me utterly when I was there and I remember thinking at the time, “I could live here.”
Then I’d come back home, and realize that I loved my freedom more.
And our TV is better.
Don’t get me started on guns…
…none of which I’d be allowed to own in any of the above European cities.
So Montreal can wait.
I note that some of the Euro airlines are going to mandate that passengers wear face masks for the entire journey, which seems somewhat excessive given that they’ve (finally) got round to installing HEPA air filters to clean the recirculated air.
The main danger of infection is not through the air, but in touching the surfaces inside the aircraft — given how shoddily these are typically cleaned, if at all.
Based on thousands of hours imprisoned in these winged cigar tubes, I would suggest that what people really need to do is carry many sterilized wipes with them, and clean as thoroughly as possible areas like seatbelt buckles, tray tables and armrests — the places that people touch with their filthy hands and (yes) feet.
Oh, and ALWAYS bring your own food, especially on long-haul flights (I wrote about my choices here). That way, you’re assured of eating exactly what you want and not being compelled by hunger to eat airline food [pause to let the nausea go away] and even have emergency food if you’re stuck on the plane or in the airport for longer than expected.
If you have to fly, that is. I don’t see myself doing so until next year. (Mr. Free Market has hinted at a high-bird shoot in Dorset in Fall 2021…)
Over at Instapundit, Gail Heriot has posted a decent summary of the England-Scotland alliance. But then there’s this:
In 1979, an effort to establish (or re-establish) a separate Scottish legislature via referendum failed. It did so, however, only because the Act authorizing the referendum required that at least 40% of the entire Scottish electorate vote in favor. While the referendum got more yes than no votes, turnout was poor. In 1997, another such referendum was held. This time it passed, a Scottish Parliament was established, and the process of “devolution” was begun.
In 2014, when an independence referendum was held, it came a lot closer to passing than union supporters would have preferred. Ultimately, Scottish voters went 55.3% to 44.7% in favor of sticking it out with England.
What interests me, and many others, is the fact that only the Scots voted on whether to leave or stay in the Union, which begs the question: why did not all interested parties — including the English and Welsh — vote on separation?
Had the population living south of the River Tweed voted, you bet there’s have been considerable support behind a “Toss the Jocks” movement — Mr Free Market and The Englishman claim that at least two-thirds of English voters would support expelling the porridge-monkeys in a heartbeat, had they been allowed to do so.
Such ravings should be taken with a grain of salt — especially when expressions like “Can we then finish what we started at Culloden?” and “Rebuild Hadrian’s Wall” are thrown into the mix. Nevertheless, we Murkins should not underestimate the depth of enmity that still exists between the Picts and the Angles even after all this time. It’s most openly expressed by the Scots, such as when supporting anyone playing England in sporting competitions, but the anti-Jock sentiments in England, while less overt, still run pretty deep.
We can talk about the Welsh and Irish situations on another occasion; but in the meantime, think of the situation as a (very) civilized Balkans, and you’ll get the idea.
Being inhabitants of an island or two, the Brits have always been very much a nation of travelers, but even I have to admit some surprise at the extent of it:
Up to a million Britons are STILL stranded abroad scrambling to return home after countries closed their borders
Indeed, even my Longtime Friends the Sorensons were until recently stranded while out of the country, and only just made it onto the last flight back to Britishland.
Now of course, the country they were stranded in was the Indian Ocean island of Mauritius, which admittedly does take some of the sting out of it (pics taken by Mrs. Sor):
(There were more pics, but they’re somewhat personal nay even indelicate, with half-naked Sorensons all over the place, so I’m not publishing them here…)
Here’s the beach near their hotel, lest anyone still needs proof of their dire predicament:
I suspect that Mr. Sor’s deepening panic came not from being unable to get back to Blighty but from the prospect of the hotel running out of gin — entirely understandable, of course, as the thought of being marooned Robinson Crusoe-like on an island with no gin… well, I don’t think I need say any more.
But they’re back home, self-isolating in their historic urban residence, and despite a ready supply of gin they’re not at all happy about being there, for some reason:
Note the “social distancing” of their neighbors…
I am completely hostile towards people who seem to be unable to get on an airliner without either being drunk, or getting drunk on the flight, and causing trouble either way. As with all things, as long as drunk people are quiet and keep their shit together, who cares? But then you get this kind of situation:
As Kenny would say at Knuckledraggin: straight up White trash, God bless ’em.
I can see the day coming when all flights are booze-free, and passengers suspected of being drunk (think: breathalyzers before boarding) will be denied their flight. Or, this may only happen in shithole places like Manchester UK or Las Vegas NV, which is where most of these incidents seem to arise.
Look: nobody enjoys a relaxing pint of gin more than I do, so I feel a little sorry for people such as Mr. Free Market, who routinely get completely whacked when flying — especially on the very long ones such as UK – Hong Kong or Australia – anywhere — because frankly, it’s probably the best remedy for boredom. But people like him may have to have their fun curtailed by louts such as the above prize pair, because at some point, a drunken asshole is going to pop the cabin door at 30,000 feet, with predictable consequences.
I have to say, by the way, that I myself always travel sober for the simple reason that the normal dehydration of flying + the dehydrating effect of booze has only one result:
…so a ban on booze wouldn’t affect me at all.
But it’s always the few idiots who fuck things up for the many, isn’t it?
As Longtime Readers may recall, back in late 2017 I spent an idyllic week at The Englishman’s holiday cottage in Boscastle, Cornwall.
What with all the storms, massive rainfall and such that have been hitting Britishland recently, I emailed him to see how Boscastle was coping — the place was flooded out not long ago, To assuage my concerns, he sent me a link to a livecam that shows the river on its way out to the bay. I’ve had it open on my desktop every day since, and watching it has the same effect on me now as being there did then.
If you go there, you’ll see that the post-flood drainage system seems to be coping well — I watched it mid-storm last week and the river barely rose a foot. (For reference sake, the cottage is that white house down the path which runs along the left bank of the river. )
Off-camera to the immediate right of the pic is where you’ll find outstanding fish & chips, and its proximity to the cottage meant daily visits for nom noms.
I cannot recommend this village, and The Old Store House cottage highly enough if you want to get away from it all for a week or so. If you do book the place, don’t forget to tell The Englishman how you heard about it — I don’t get anything from him, of course, but I would like him to know that his unbelievable kindness in letting me stay there has brought him some reward.