Let’s shove it up a Proud Boy today.

My gardener, Ali is a Syrian refugee. He’s a lovely man, and he and his family are making a go of things in Canada, and doing exceptionally well. His girls are doing so well at school. When I recently asked him what he thought of ‘Proud Boys’ he said that while his home country was not very tolerant of their lifestyle, he personally felt that people’s lifestyle choices are their own affair.

Ali’s English is sometimes not quite what it might be. He’s been here a few years now, but he still sometimes struggles a little. He has become firm friends with Sylvester, my mechanic and confidante, and I commented on it recently saying how pleased I was that they get along so well.

He replied, “Ah, yes. Sylvester. He’s a very good person. We get along like a horse on fire.”

Which reminds me, I must chat with his English teacher. I believe Mistress Meg is acquainted with him – Professor Longstaff. If you follow my Patreon as a Seahorse you’ll have read about him.

“But Ali,” I said. “Surely you don’t agree with Mr. Trump, embracing the Proud Boys.”

He looked at me with some doubt in his careworn face.

“As I said, Mr. Trumps lifestyle choice is his own affair,” he replied. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

I sometimes struggle to understand if Ali is teasing me.

“But what about all this “Stand back and stand by” business?” I said pressing on in what I was beginning to feel was a pointless exercise.

“’Stand back and stand by’? I thought they said ‘stand back and bend over’!” said Ali.

I gave up and left him to continue raking up the fallen leaves. Don’t you just love the fall? You can find some fun fall clothing ideas on my Pinterest HERE.

Don’t forget to sign up for my Patreon and help me keep shoving it up the Proud Boys… I think you know what I mean.

😊

Fiona

PS. Don’t forget the Fiona Dobson Playlist.  It’s sure to uplift and help you through the day. Enjoy it here.

Getting Astride Sylvester’s Boner.

What a creative group of people I surround myself with, I thought to myself as I sat on Sylvester’s boner. It was shaking this way and that, the vibrations rising up through my body in a very unsettling manner.

 

Sylvester’s workshop has all manner of strange things in it. He is quite the amateur inventor. He’d called me earlier that day, excited about his new development. Naturally, I hurried over to his workshop to see what the fuss was all about.

As I arrived Bernard, my photographer, was pulling up.

“He want’s me to photograph it,” he said as we entered the workshop. “Say’s it’s an historical moment.”

As we arrived Sylvester stood beside a large cube shaped object. I thought it might be a washing machine, though it was covered with a sheet. Suddenly, with a great flourish, Sylvester swept away the sheet revealing a strange device with the words “The Boner” skillfully painted over the front of it.

“Let me demonstrate my new invention,” he said, clearly expecting our excitement to match his.

I clutched my hands before me, teetered to and fro on my heels, and said, “How exciting!”

With that Sylvester brought a small basket of frozen chickens, probably about five, and emptied them into the chamber in the centre of the cube. He then released a valve and I could hear water filling the chamber and see steam rising.

Bernard started snapping off pictures, and I began to smell chicken cooking as Sylvester closed the chamber. There were spurting sounds, and something that looked like a cappuccino machine released steam from the side of the contraption. In a few moments a bell ran, and chicken broth was pumped from a pipe at the foot of the machine.

Then the device started vibrating and shaking, and a burst of super heated steam was released. It looked ok for a moment and then I noticed the look of panic on Sylvester’s face.

“Quick, Fiona, climb on the Boner. You sit on it while I get out my tool.”

“Sylvester…” I said uncertainly. “I’m not sure about this.” It seemed to be shaking and rattling quite dangerously.

“Climb on it or it may shake itself to destruction.” Sylvester was reaching into one of the colorful tool chests, trying to find his special tool.

I carefully climbed on to the Boner, the shaking going through my whole body. As I sat there I thought it was going to explode, and I must say my breath was quite taken away.

And then, quite suddenly Sylvester was there, between my legs with his tool. He jerked it this way and that and before long the shaking began to subside. At last there was a gurgling sound and a hatch popped open revealing two draws. Sylvester opened one, and brought out some perfectly cooked chicken meat. The smell filled the workshop with a delicious aroma.

From the second draw he drew out a tray containing all the chicken bones, completely cleaned of meat.

“It’s perfect,” he cried out. “Every bone has been extracted and the meat remains undamaged.”

“Goodness,” I said, feeling quite out of breath. “What a remarkable invention. I can imagine everyone will want a Boner.”

Sylvester said, “Imagine, a Boner in every kitchen!”

Bernard chimed in “People will be asking what on earth they did before they had a Boner!”

“Imagine, if you could find a way to extract the dark meat,” I said.

“I should think that would make it much bigger,” mused Sylvester. “Do you think there’d be a market for such a thing? It would be a much larger and more powerful Boner.”

“I can’t see that being a bad thing,” I replied.

So you can see it’s been a very eventful few days. Have a wonderful weekend!

🙂

Fiona

It’s spring! When was the last time you played around? Dressed? That’s got to be a good one for Playtime With Fiona!

 

Don’t forget, I’ve got many free videos for you on Youtube, and soundfiles on Soundcloud.

Did you know?

 

When you sign up for my Premium Program, you get a series of exercises, as well as the self hypnosis and educational information for Julie and myself, that’s sure to make all your crossdressing activities way more fun. One recent member wrote: “Your program like changed my life))) especially the initial encounter with the man who is now my bf)) thank you!!!”

Whether you want to just occassionally slip on some panties, or whether you’d like to pass, my Premium Program prepares you psychologically, physically and educationally for all you need to know. You can sign up today for just $10 a month. Join the many members who are finding more acceptance and happiness in this wonderful part of their life.

Sylvester’s giant pain in the …

Sylvester’s giant erection.

What a strange time it’s been. Today in Vancouver we have the strangest light, as smoke from forest fires up and down the west coast fills the air. Visibility here is really quite terrible.

With Covid, and forest fires one can only think that a plague of frogs might be next. It does leave one wondering why more people don’t take climate change seriously. It’s going to get hotter and drier in the coming years, and if we don’t want this every summer we might as well get used to reducing carbon emissions.

Sylvester, my mechanic friend, swung by earlier, and told me how his week’s been going. Not much better than mine I think.

“It took three of use, heaving and panting and sweating to get my erection up,” said Sylvester, my mechanic, sitting at my kitchen table and sipping tea from my finest bone china. Like many of my best friends he just appears in my kitchen sometimes. Like a big sweaty mechanic genie.

“I’m sure it did,” I said sympathetically. “Now, just tell me again, this ‘erection’, what is that again?”

Continue reading “Sylvester’s giant pain in the …”

The Dog Days Of Summer.

The long sultry days of summer are easing to a close, and the sun sliding from the sky a little earlier each day now. Here in Canada we’re experiencing a delightful Indian summer, as the last days of this season slowly ebb away.

This week I enjoyed a moonlight paddle in a kayak with one of our members who’s birthday fell on the night of the full moon. A small group of us paddled out in the night across English Bay, in Vancouver. It was a magical night. We sang The Volga Birthday Song ( https://youtu.be/1oXsRteMGy8 ) beneath the majesty of the BC coastal mountains as we drifted on the gentle swell of the inky black sea.

Perhaps it’s the easy going nature of people here, or maybe it’s the liberal nature of society that makes living in Canada so agreeable. Those of us in the gender queer space are generally well received, particularly on the west coast. So it’s really quite a downer to see Sylvester mooning about the place, and that’s not a sight for the feint of heart, let me tell you.

Continue reading “The Dog Days Of Summer.”

Sylvester has entered me!

As summer gently shimmys toward the exit door, and fall gets in the queue to get into the club of the passing year, we’re slowly seeing the weather change. Even Auntie Kittie has started wearing a sweater now and then, a matter of considerable relief to Max, who types up her material.

Auntie Kittie is often surprised how quickly Max gets it up.

“Max is such a dear,” she said the other day. “I’m so grateful he’s so good at putting it in. He’s so thorough.” and then added as an after thought,”… and so quick.”

The poor 20 year old lamb goes the color of a beetroot when he’s embarrassed, and Auntie Kittie will say such things in front of Sylvester and Mistress Meg. And it was Sylvester and Meg who were sitting at my kitchen table this very morning. Sylvester was telling us how in these troubled times we should all be finding ways to lift our spirits. Instead of worrying about the Corona Virus we should be reaching deeply within ourselves and fostering our creativity. Meg was a little skeptical.

I’ve been doing that very thing myself. I’ve been doing a little embroidery, making some of my jeans look a little more feminine by adding a few little designs. It’s really very simple and gives even the most masculine of trousers a nice feminine touch. If you’d like to change your favorite dungarees from the farm yard, or even the ones you wear when cleaning out the slag from the iron foundry this will do just the trick. Even your most stylish denim pants can be personalised and uplifted – and we could all use a personalised uplifting of our denim clad butts, I’m sure you’ll agree.

I leaned over the kitchen table and turned to Sylvester and said, “What do you think of this?”

Sylvester looked at my jeans as I did so, and said, “That’s really very impressive.  I think I should enter you.”

“Sylvester, I…” but before I could speak he went on, as Meg looked on, arms folded and unimpressed.

“I should enter you in the embroidery competition. It’s part of the end of summer cultural fair at the recreation center.”

“Oh, really I don’t think so,” I said. “Most of the people entering are really rather older than I am. They’re quite a conservative lot. I’m really not sure what they’d make of me. I can imagine it would be like that poor South African athlete who they didn’t believe was a woman.”

Sexy jeans – just add heels.

Sylvester looked a little doubtful. “No, I don’t think it would be like that.”

Anyway that’s what I’m doing. Sylvester tells me he’s working on a book. The Complete Idiot’s Guide To Being A Complete Idiot. A catchy title.

“Are you writing it or reading it?” muttered Meg, ever the acerbic wit.

It turns out that half the people in this competition I’m now entered in are young arts students. I thought they’d all be doddery old buffers like Auntie Kittie’s father, who’s staying with her rather than going into a care home. These days that seems a rather good idea. The old fellow is about 150 years old and sits smiling looking into the far horizon. He seems a kindly old fellow, though the dementia is quite complete and he has little idea of what’s going on. He seems cheerful, though.

I said to Auntie Kittie, the other day when I was round there, “He looks like he’s fondly remembering the things he used to do when he was a young man.”

She frowned and agreed.

“Yes, you’re probably right. He’s remembering flying aeroplanes and bombing Germany. He’s always been a belligerent old bugger.”

I suppose we all have our own journeys.

Have a safe, socially distanced week. The Republican convention should provide a few laughs this week… urgh, I can hardly wait.

Fiona

Being non-binary isn’t just about gender.

I think it fair to say that one of my favorite occupations after I run screaming from my office at the end of the week, is to relax and settle down for a quiet weekend on the water. This is the time when, after the gnashing of teeth and sobbing generally has subsided that I can put my feet up, watch one or two friends trying to look masculine and impressive, and lament the absence of my wife, still unaccountably travelling in Europe.

If there was a week that would drive one to a gnashing of teeth, and generally pulling one’s hair out in frustration, it was indeed the week that has just ended.  On the whole my clients at the advertising agency are a sweet and very receptive group of people. They accept my somewhat unusual approach to life, in exchange for some very sound advertising and marketing guidance for which I am grateful as it does provide me with a satisfactory income. Having said that, I despair at some of the clients. 

Continue reading “Being non-binary isn’t just about gender.”

A little something extra.

I realise I may be out of step with some of my members when I say this, and this is really just my own opinion, but I do feel quite comfortable limiting some of my social interactions as we go through the whole Corona thing.  I’ve taken the opportunity to trim out some of the less positive people in my life, and do more of the things I enjoy.

It’s a little bit like having the opportunity to fine tune one’s life a little. Reducing the negative people in my life, and engaging in the things I enjoy has become something of a goal. Sadly, Sylvester is having a more difficult time of it, being so outgoing and social.

Sylvester, for example, throws enjoyable parties, though sometimes they really do get quite out of hand. On one evening last year he had a rather unusual night during which one of his friends decided they were intent on cornering me and plying me with drink, in the hopes that they might do unspeakable, but delightful things to my body.

Continue reading “A little something extra.”

OK, boomer.

As I was saying to Sylvester just the other day, to have another language is to possess another soul.  The reason I say this is quite simple. For those of us older than millennials, we are in the process of learning a new language.

No longer can we talk about chairmen, manning the ship, or even manhandling the sails. Today we have chairpersons, we staff the ship and we manage the sails. The way we speak has rightly come to a point that change is not merely become a desirable goal; failure to change identifies us as dinosaurs.  As uncomfortable as that sentence makes me, I realise it is true.

The term ‘OK, boomer’ comes to mind. It encapsulates tolerance of a dinosaur that grazes idly in the village, but that everyone realises is going to die out sooner or later, leaving the world a better place for their eventual departure. So society changes.

Continue reading “OK, boomer.”

My hand on your flies.

My good friend Sylvester was looking very concerned.

“I really think I ought to get my junk out,” he said, sounding very distracted.

“Well,” I replied. “If you must!”

We were standing around a table in the greenhouse, in my garden. The smell of ripening tomatoes filled the summer evening air.  On the table was a neat little pine box, containing some beautiful lures which Sylvester has made, as he is such a keen fisherman.

I inspected his flies, and i must say it did make me think I should keep my hand in. You may not think this to look at me, but I really do love outdoor sports, including hunting and fishing. I find the gentle rhythm of fly fishing very calming. Helping Sylvester sort out his fly fishing lures, and discarding those that are damaged or ineffective, is a periodic task I help my friend with.

That however is not the main reason I am writing tonight. I wanted to thank the many readers who have messaged me and commented on the series I put out recently about women who love to feminize their partners. In answer to the many requests, yes there will be further episodes added. In the meantime, feel free to use this link to enjoy the episodes that are already posted.

I shall be writing before the end of the weekend. Now, let me help Sylvester sort out his flies. I’m sure he’ll appreciate my attention.

Fiona

Sylvester is checking out Amanda’s cans.

What a strange day it’s turning out to be. Our members are all out doing wonderful things. Julia in Holland, one of my favorite members in our Whatsapp Group, has been out and bought some beautiful summery things, and nearby I know Lenni is having a garage sale.

Julia has been doing so well. She, like many of my members in the Whatsapp Group, shares some of her experiences and activities with other members of the group. It makes it a very supportive community.

This afternoon a few friends will be stopping by as the isolation period begins to lift. Lockdown here in Canada has been well observed and the results mean we are now able to begin very gradually restarting 2020. I, like most of my friends, feel that having a glass of wine in the garden with one or two friends is much more comfortable than going out to a restaurant, for the time being at least. It also gives us the chance to have a bit of a barbecue in the garden. Sebastian is hoping to treat us to his sausage later on. I am wearing a denim skirt, tee shirt and a lovely floral mask, and keeping things very simple.

Sylvester and Sebastian arrived a little while ago astride his enormous chopper.

Taking off his helmet he said excitedly, “Amanda’s going to drop by later. She wants me to check out her cans.”

“I’m sorry?” I replied a little surprised.

“Her headphones,” he said. “She says they crackle. She wants me to see if I can sort them out. It’s probably just a loose connection. They were very expensive apparently. Mind you that was in 1993. Still, I said I’d check them out.”

“Oh,” I said doubtfully. “I see.”

I have told Sylvester on more than one occasion that Amanda is in a relationship with my neighbour, Marjory the competitive lesbian eater. Or should that be ‘the competitive eating lesbian’. Well, as I’ve mentioned before Marjory is apparently quite a big noise in the world of competitive eating, although like so many sporting disciplines they are experiencing something of a famine this season.

“You should be a little careful,” I said to Sylvester. “Marjory and Amanda are together, as inexplicable as it may be. I’m not sure that you should be hunting in that particular briar patch. You might get pricked.”

“I don’t mean to be pedantic,” said Sebastian cutting in. “But, I’m not sure you can hunt in a brier patch.”

In the interests of contextual accuracy I rephrased my doubts to Sylvester, saying “I’m really not sure you want that bird in your hand. Better to leave it in the bush.”

Sebastian mumbled something about Sylvester having big hands and added that there are plenty more fish in the bush. I decided I should let it slip past. Instead I shot them both a look of disapproval.

“OK,” I said. “Let’s try this again. I don’t think, Sylvester, that you should have your snout in that particular trough.”

I think I may have to go in a moment. Sebastian has just got a call on his cell and let everyone know that Rainbow will be dropping by shortly and wants to show us her jugs.

“She’s only just got them out of the kiln,” he said helpfully. “She want’s to show us her pottery. It’s come on so well recently.”

Have a delightful weekend and if you’re one of my American members have the very best of Independence Days. To all my members, keep it real and stay distanced and masked if you can. 

Fiona

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Unmasking the truth.

Like everything else, we can address the question of masks with style, kindness and our own values.

While sitting in my garden, enjoying watching Ali bent over working on some of the flowerbeds, I was surprised to see Sylvester (my mechanic) arrive and use my rear entrance (phrasing) sitting astride his enormous chopper.

He’s spent much of his time polishing up his chopper recently, but then haven’t we all? This lockdown can be a little tedious, can’t it? Sylvester does enjoy riding his Harley and keeping it pristine.

Maintaining social distancing he joined me in the garden and we sat and talked. He looked quite agitated. It takes a lot to phase Sylvester. Naturally, in my role as both friend and counselor I felt I should help.

“It’s Amanda.  What am I supposed to do about her?”

“Euthanasia?” I asked helpfully, adjusting the way my sun dress hung from my shoulders.

“Please,” he insisted, “try to be helpful!”

“What seems to be the problem, Sylvester?” I asked.

“Well,  I asked her if she’d like to come for a ride on my chopper,” continued Sylvester.

“But Sylvester, Amanda is with Marjory now,” I said.

“I know. But sometimes I like to take people on my bike. It’s fun.”

“Well,” I said, “I suppose it’s fairly harmless. Even though I understand you’ve ‘checked her fluids’ on more than one occasion.”

Continue reading “Unmasking the truth.”

I don’t want to have to beat off any aliens.

I’ve found a good way to maintain social distance and still be able to communicate with Sylvester and the various welcome, and less welcome, visitors to my house.  I sit at the kitchen window and chat through the window, while they sit outside with their own coffee mug.

I am not paranoid, but we’re learning to live with social distancing in a responsible way here in Canada. We respect the rules around isolation, because we’d like to get things back on track at the soonest reasonable opportunity. I know people’s views on this vary. This video accurately shows how easy it is to pass on a virus, and we take it very seriously here.

“I’d like to get out to a pub,” said Sylvester. “A glass of Alexander Keith’s IPA, with beads of condensation on a warm spring evening would go down pretty well.”

Continue reading “I don’t want to have to beat off any aliens.”

COVID19 Crossdressing News.

I looked at Sylvester skeptically, my arms folded and leaned back against the stove in my kitchen.

“Really, a quarantine reserve?” I said.

“Yes,” he said firmly. “Just enough food and supplies so that you don’t need to go out, should you feel sick. I mean, spreading this thing around the place hardly seems to be living  up to your civic responsibility.”

“Is it really necessary,” I asked. “I was planning to spend tomorrow morning at the nail spa.”

“Probably not.  Hopefully not. But perhaps. And if it is, then you’ll be a lot more comfortable with it than without it. It’s not urgent, but you may want to have a few things to hand.”

“I can imagine you’d have 200 cans of baked beans in yours.”

“That’s not fair,” protested Sylvester.

“Your flatulence isn’t fair,” I responded. “Besides, I think I’d rather die of flu than be gassed to death.”

“Besides, it only has to last a couple of weeks. By then you’ll be better. Or dead.”

“So you have 14 cans of beans, then?”

“And other products.”

“Well, if you get sick you be sure to come over here. I make excellent chicken soup. And bloody mary’s. And I have a good reserve to see us through, if Auntie Kittie hasn’t drunk it all. But you may have a point. If one does get sick, going out for supplies might be a little bit of a drag. I shall put a list together of things to get in.”

I took a pad of paper and started noting essentials. My list started:

Quarantine List for CORVID19 survival.

Foundation (I don’t like to look too pale).

Eyeliner (If you have to take a selfie and put it on social media when you are sick, it’s nicer if your eyes really pop).

Blush (it’s always good to have a little color in your cheeks).

Influenza safe lingerie (Be sure to be buried in this if things don’t go so well – crossdressed to eternity).

Pink N19 face mask (which probably doesn’t work but goes well with that nice polo neck I got on Amazon last week).

Sylvester interrupted me with a hurt look on his face, and said “I don’t think you’re taking this very seriously.”

“Quite the contrary. I have already set aside a very healthy reserve. I’ve also stocked up on hand sanitizer, cancelled a flight I don’t really have to take, and I am expecting to work a lot more from home in the future. So, I think I am very well prepared.”

At that point Sebastian and his sister, Rainbow arrived for our evening ‘wine and yoga’ class.

As I pulled on my leggings in my bedroom I asked Rainbow, who was also changing, what she thought about it all, and immediately regretted it.

“Well, I don’t think canned food is a good idea.  Everyone knows canned food is not as good as fresh, and probably has evil spirits in it. I’ve always found pineapple helps me if I have flu. That and some kombucha. I do have some crystals though.”

While a lemon might be perfect if this particular illness were more closely related to scurvy, I thought I might hold off on Rainbow’s advice. Scurvy is not something we see a lot of in Canada.

“So, you don’t go with Sylvester’s baked beans only remedy?”

“If we don’t get gassed to death he’ll blow us up when Sebastian sparks up a joint. I’m not sure which is the worse way to die!” she replied thoughtfully.

On a more serious note, here’s a great website for suggestions of what to gather should you feel the need – https://www.businessinsider.com/expert-how-to-stockpile-healthy-food-14-day-coronavirus-quarantine-2020-2

There’s a lot of spurious information floating around. It’s smart to be prepared, but not to panic. Probably the most valuable tool at present is a bar of soap for thorough hand washing. But if you do end up sick, be sure to have just the right night wear to hand if you end up quarantined for weeks. And with that, I’m off to buy some new nighties.

Got some suggestions for your Quarantine List for CORVID19 survival kit? Be sure to add them to the comments below.

There’s thrush in Marjorie’s bush.

I was a little surprised to see Ali in my garden this morning, spying over the fence in Marjorie’s direction, looking through an enormous pair of binoculars.  Now, you’ll remember Marjorie is Amanda’s lover.

It’s very cold at this time of year and much of the wildlife of the garden retreats into the foliage where it’s warmer. Ali takes a keen interest in such things.

I quietly crept up beside Ali and tried to see what he was looking at so intently.

“What on earth are you looking at, Ali?” I asked quietly, pulling my robe tightly around my body.

“It’s Marjorie’s pussy,” he whispered back.

A moment later Marjorie’s back door swung out and she came striding across the garden towards us, her impressive physique sailing toward us like a battle ship with sixteen inch guns primed and being brought to bare directly at Ali.

“What on earth are you doing?” she asked, arms crossed across her thinly veiled breasts and looking like thunder.

“I was watching your pussy,” said Ali.

Thinking I’d better diffuse the situation before the chill air exposed any of us further I invited Marjorie in for a cup of tea, and Ali joined us in the kitchen.

“I don’t much like being spied upon,” said Marjorie, as I poured the tea.  At that very moment Sylvester arrived and joined us in the kitchen. He placed hi enormous mug on the table beside our delicate tea cups, and smiled expectantly.

Ali piped up, “I’m not spying on you.  I was just checking out your pussy.” I do wonder about Ali’s language skills at times.

Sylvester smiled, and I shot him a glance hoping he’d get the message to behave.

Ali continued, “it was about to get the thrush.”

Marjorie looked livid.

“I’ve noticed they’ve been getting into your bush in this cool weather,” he added not helping himself very much.

I managed to calm Marjorie down, and assured her Ali meant no disrespect. It’s so easy to offend when dealing with such sensitivities. I suppose I have learned to be more careful in my language recently. Especially with all the talk about pronouns we hear these days. I do find that the best approach is to try and be as sensitive to others needs as possible. After all, in the end we are all just trying to get along as nicely and with as much kindness as possible. I do feel that is the approach that brings the best in good taste to our friendships and our relationships.

Indeed, I was feeling rather pleased with myself as we all enjoyed some Danish pastries and a lovely cup of tea and chatted. You’ll probably appreciate that this is one of my great skills. Bringing calm where there was agitation and disruption, before I arrived.

As I walked Marjorie to the back door when it was time to go she smiled at me and squeezed my hand.

“I’m sorry if I’m over sensitive, Fiona,” she said.

“Oh, don’t be so silly,” I said. I added, “Besides, in spring I can hardly wait to see your tits in the garden myself,” and closed the door behind her.

Have a lovely week.

Fiona

Christmas Wishes and the Can Pipes.

Some of you will remember that my mechanic, Sylvester, is a bit of an inventor. His last invention, the Boner, did ok and was technologically sound, but (ironically) never achieved the market penetration he’d hoped.

This morning I was startled to awake to a strange haunting sound coming from the direction of Sylvester’s workshop. At first I thought that the city was testing it’s Early Warning System, originally used to forewarn of a nuclear attack, but now consigned to warn of any of Donald Trumps family infiltrating Canada. I was however mistaken. The sound would come and go, like a ghostly melody drifting across a post apocalyptic landscape, or Detroit. Several residents of Huckleberry Close were congregating outside their houses looking worried, until the sounds faded away.

Continue reading “Christmas Wishes and the Can Pipes.”