It’s now three months since we broke ground on this build way back in May. Half of the time we’d allotted has been consumed with the big stuff: earthworks, wells, foundation and basement, framing, roofing and chicken coops. The remaining months are, to put it poetically, like a fat Geordie in a lycra dress: squeezed in way too tight and at serious risk of collapsing in an ugly mess the minute things get too funky. Or, to put it another…
Triumph. Not just the name of my rather awesome motorbike, but also the natural state for a Jedi Knight. Behold the foundations of our new home. From here, I will plan and execute my inevitable domination of the world, or at least the Ontario niche alcohol and heritage farm products markets. The clock is ticking!
Back in 2001 we still lived in the UK in a rather uninspiring “executive” home in Newcastle. Not very much happened until one day, the postman delivered a Census Form. It was the first time I remember it happening, or at least the first time I got to fill one out as a real live adult. The man of the house, so to speak. Now perhaps I should have taken it a little bit more seriously because in 200 years…