Speculation as to the rather sudden erection of this structure was, as usual, pretty rife because the “wooden hanger” was the first of its type to been seen in the valley in living memory. It has a string of gunship-like portholes along its length but no window to peer in or out looking onto the street. Such construction is usually strictly prohibited on the island, in accordance with various eco-architectural protection ordinances.

Faulty Factory?

What fanned the rumours was the fact it happened so quickly and work often took place by torchlight after dark—in the depth of winter. Being such a blatant building on the main inland donkey highway, it must obviously have received clearance from somewhere? Conjecture was fairly unanimous that this had required some unusual financial transacting, which in turn led to theories about the type of industry that would occur within the new factory—naturally gossip supposed a business that was below legal radar.

Turns out that special license was passed so that a local carpenter, Adonis, could store his otherwise unsightly piles of lumber (which would previously partially blockade the main road), while permanent permission for his shop was being dragged through the sluggish layers of dawdling civil bureaucracy. In a red-tape decision that for once made sense, yer man’s wood supply would be protected, while the owner himself could earn a living under the same timber roof.

On a rare trip into the big city it was nice to see crowds enjoying a winter afternoon at one of the few open watering holes. Proof that there is life outside of outer Kaministan even at this time of year. (Attracted I suspect, by the home made cheese cake that Alexis had brought for Rolf).

Winters crowds

A Scotsman and an Irishman in a bar

Sitting in a bar the Scotsman says, “As good as this bar is, I still prefer the pubs back home. In Glasgow , there’s a wee place called McTavish’s. The landlord goes out of his way for the locals. When you buy four drinks, he’ll buy the fifth drink.” 

“Well, Angus,” said the Englishman, “At my local in London , the Red Lion, the barman will buy you your third drink after you buy the first two.” 

“Ahhh, dat’s nothin’,” said the Irishman, “back home in my favorite pub, the moment you set foot in the place, they’ll buy you a drink, then another, all the drinks you like, actually. Then, when you’ve had enough drinks, they’ll take you upstairs and see that you gets laid, all on the house!” 

The Englishman and Scotsman were suspicious of the claims. The Irishman swore every word was true. 

“Did this actually happen to you?” asked the Englishman. 

“Not meself, personally, no,” admitted the Irishman, “but it did happen to me sister quite a lot.