On a cold, rainy day in the early 1970's, an event in Hanover Ontario took place so profound that the world is still reeling, and the consequences little understood. So profound that, to invoke Plato, "the walls of the city shake" (well, shook, I suppose). You may guess what's coming next:

In 1973, the Hanover Curling Club, in a fit of determination, speed and grace, eliminated Durham from the Grey-Bruce Brier. In Durham's own rink, no less! It was an age of miracles.

Oh, and I was born.

After floating around the planet for a number of years, in 2003, my wife and I alighted in the Hespeler area of Cambridge Ontario. Almost immediately, we discovered that the drinking water contains a great and mysterious source of fertility. Our son was born in the summer of 2004.

As well, on the Thanksgiving weekend of that year, after enjoying a bountiful meal and copious glass of wine, we were whisked out to a farm, whereupon almost by magic we were party to an event sublime, yet far reaching in its day-to-day consequences.

We acquired a small dog named Jake. Now, six years later, he's a big dog named Jake, with a goaty sort of odor and a white muzzle because he just randomly stuck his big stinky black face into a bag of flour I've been using. He's irrevocably and irretractably part of the Hood-Morris clan.

Damn you Peller Estates. Damn you to hell.

Sorry Jake. And sorry Peller Estates. I shoulda read the fine print: "Over-consumption of this product may lead to pet acquisition".

Since then clan Hood-Morris has been doing a great many things. Yessir, a great many things. Many things that are great.

Yep.

Oh, would I care to elucidate? Maybe. But perhaps you can glean the bumf about us through these here writings. And I promise to shed further light on both local history, politics and civic affairs. As well, I will get to the bottom of the Cesar Milani mystery.

Pip, pip, cheerio!

Greg Hood-Morris