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Lighthouse  Lighthouse SE

Well kiss me arse and call it poopsie, another year has slithered by, and Spring is is coming into vague focus in the old crosshairs. How can this be, I'm sure I don't know, but the best option still seems to be to sieze fortune by the fore-whatever, and the Devil take it where he likes it least.

It's about time I do a little revision on this damn site... The gent in the picture below is Michael Peters, Master Builder. Without him this project would have been doomed, and Dwightie would have either hanged himself, or worse, have fallen victim himself to Maritimer's Disease. This dread malady is a form of terminal angst/despair/rage induced by life in a Socialist Bureaucracy where the customer comes last always, and the damn government appropriates almost evrybodys' profit margin, just to make sure that the politically connected can ignore and thwart the taxpayer, and still make plenty of money to pour into certain coffers. 

Michael is (amongst many other sterling qualities) a product of the German Apprentice System, which insists that you know how to do a particular thing before the government will issue you a certificate of expertise (This is the mirror image of the Canadian system, which only requires that your tuition fee cheque clear the bank). So Michael actually knows how to build a house, amongst other innumerable things. We are completely satisfied with his efforts so far, and understand why his waiting list extends to the point that the Messiah will have to make His advent pretty snappy if he wants to get in the que...

Our house is pretty much finished. Kitchen cabinets and other interior storage stuff remain to be done, as well as the sun/gun deck, and a bit of painting. We are slowly bringing up furniture, paintings, and assorted other impedimenta. The guns (a three-pounder and a Cohorn mortar with adequate powder and shot for each) are on site and awaiting only their emplacements. We are ready for the next time Opera Winfrey's damn yacht sticks her ugly snout into our harbour. Maybe I'll build a furnace to heat shot, and bill it as a barbecue. Hmmmm.

The economy is certainly being naughty this year. All those financial emprires turned to a kitty litter box months past changing time. Tisk tisk. It's enough to worry Alfred E. Newman. But not me. I listen to my voices whenever they tell me not to be bitter, and to damn well clean my weapons and inventory my ammo. Again.

Michael Peters, Contractor    Michael Peters

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