None of us will forget where we were on that fatefull day, and the events are burned deep into our psyche. Little did I know as I arrived for work on that day that within a very short time the world that I knew would be gone forever.
Shortly after arriving at work I was sitting in my office preparing for a course I would be delivering that day when the phone rang. It was Christine, sounding somewhat distressed. "An airplane has hit the World trade tower. They think it might be terrorists". she told me. I was stunned but initially I thought that it was more likely to be an accident than a terrorist attack. As I started to express that opinion to her she interupted with "OH MY GOD!!! Another one has just hit the other tower". With that we both fell silent, too stunned for words, I don't think we said another word to each other for the rest of the call. It was clear that this was no accident and there were no words to describe the horror we both felt, her more than me due to watching it live on TV. Yet even without those visual images the shock in her voice sent chills up my spine. I don't know how long I would have sat there in stunned silence had I not been called to start the training course.
Training seemed the farthest thing from my mind, the subject matter seemed so insignificant, in the the span of that one phone call the World had changed. Even at this early stage with so little information you could feel that change. News of the event had started to spread around the office and everywhere you looked you could see the disbelief and confusion. We were 5000+ miles away from ground zero and yet we felt the impact within minutes, we felt it in our hearts, and even though we were isolated in the office, we knew that it was being felt the World over. It was as if the world was screaming, or maybe it was just my own screams that I could not utter that I could hear inside.
This was already the worst thing that had ever happened in my lifetime, the act itself was so dispicable that it was almost impossible to comprehend. I couldn't help but imagine the terror felt by the passengers, and the people in the buildings, and the people of New York. And yet there was still worse to come. News then came in that another plane had hit the Pentagon. I was already numb from the World trade center, and already my emotions were starting to overload. Then we heard that there were apparently at least 2 more planes, and for the first time I heard that 757's were involved. Please God don't let it be BBall's 757, I did not know which airports the planes came from or which route if any BBall was flying that day but I could not get my mind away from the possibility that he was in one of those remaining 757's. Already overloaded with emotions there was no room for these new emotions and I wanted to scream. The news sites were now being hammered and it became difficult to find out what was happening. Little did I know that this was a blessing.
Througout the rest of the day I struggled to finish the training course although any attempts at getting any real training done had long since been abandoned. We were now just trying to get through the day and hold in emotions that were trying to bust out of every heart and mind in the room. Every spare minute was spent trying to get news of BBall, or news of what was happening on the other side of the Atlantic, or simply trying to comprehend what was happening and to suppress the emotions that were desperately seeking a release. When news came through of the Towers collapse several people were no longer able to supress those emotions and the office was a mix of stunned silence, and the sound of crying. I can't explain it, but that silence was one of the loudest sounds I've ever heard.
Once the working day was over I was in a rush to get home, I had already had some tearful calls from Christine, alone at home trying to handle those emotions whilst witnessing horrors that so far I had been protected from. I was unable to get home quickly though, because those emotions were no longer willing to be surpressed and half way home I had to pull my car over and I began to cry, and those tears did not want to stop. Eventually I was able to compose myself and drive home.
I arrived home and hugged Christine as if our lives depended on it. Then as I watched the events of the day on the news I was hit by the full horror of what had happened. Despite all the emotions I had felt during the day I was not prepared for what I saw. Images that caused me to have anxiety attacks for weeks if not months after the event and that will haunt me for the rest of my life. Images that I will not describe here. We all saw those images and not a one of us will ever forget them, nor should we ever be allowed to forget them. For the first time I felt an emotion that had not yet surfaced, anger, such intense anger and yet it had nowhere to go and just had to share space with the fear, and the screams and the hate and the pain that I felt as my heart felt as if it would explode out of my chest. I felt a lifetimes worth of emotions that day, and along with those feelings I felt something else, I felt American. It did not matter that the events happened 5000 miles away, I felt for those people as if it were my own friends and neighbours in my home town, there was no boundary wide enough to lessen the sheer horror.
On that day I became an American, and every decent, caring human being the world over became Americans too.
My heart is very heavy. Today I buried a dear friend of nearly 30 years who was one of the great influences in my life. Wilton Beresford Smith was born October 3rd 1911 in Sleima, Malta, after a brief stay in India the family moved to England in 1916. After finishing his education he qualified as a Chartered Engineer and started up in business with a friend.
With the arrival of the war Wilton was called up, not into military service, but a civil one. As a specialist in electrical and relay engineering with expertise in wireless operations he was on the restricted list of reserved occupations. He spent the war travelling around Britain as a leading Government Inspector of Radar equiptment. As many of the installations he worked at were secret and all the material and matters relating to the inspections were classified, I often used to joke with him that he had spent the war as a secret agent. This joke always made him smile. He once told me that he used to spend hours watching the dogfights above his house in Croydon during the Battle of Britain. The early part of the war was both a sad time and a happy time for Wilton, his Father died in 1940 and he met and married his bride Zoe.
After the war Wilton was offered a government post but instead chose to go into the private sector. He joined Rediffusion as a section head working in their research division. During his time there he was sent to service the Television at Buckingham Palace where he was watched by a young Prince Charles who took a great interest in Wiltons work. He remained at Rediffusion until his retirement in 1977 aged 66.
Prior to Wiltons retirement his wife Zoe contracted a rare and virulent form of cancer and passed away which affected Wilton deeply. He found comfort through his friends and in the charitable works that he did in the background. After Zoes death he devoted the majority of his energy to his charitable works and to the charitable order of which he was a very active member.
It was through his charitable works that I met Wilton, in the early to mid 70's Wilton ran a football team for under privaleged children. As you may be able to surmise from my previous column entry I was one of those under privaledged children. Wilton loved working with children and was able to give us a very positive role model that some of those children lacked at home. He was able to bring joy to many children that had few reasons to know joy. Through this football club I went from being under privaledged to being very privaledged indeed. I was privaledged to meet the kindess and most generous man I have ever known. Someone who truly derived joy from seeing others happy.
Wilton really took me under his wing, I think he saw something in me that few others saw. I was a very difficult child to say the least. I had a very unhappy childhood despite a very loving Father. By the time I met Wilton I was a volatile child with a violent temper and a foul mouth. I was often fighting and had to be removed from the football field on many occasions for fighting, often with members of my own team. Wilton never lost patience with me and responded to my outbursts with love and understanding instead of judgement and scorn. Over the years he took me on holidays, gave me music lessons and encouraged my hobbies and interests. He treated my like an equal and yet allowed me to be a child. My Father taught me about strength and respect but Wilton taught me about kindness and humility. Wilton gave me the gift of a childhood, which is the most precious gift anyone has ever given me. I loved him like a Father and will miss him dearly.
Wilton returned to Malta for his 90th Birthday. He was still very active and had a mind like a steel trap. He celebrated his 90th Birthday in the town of his birth Sleima. Two days later he went for a swin in the morning, had some lunch and then rested on a sun bed by the pool when he peacefully drifted away.
He was my friend. His presence was to me Like perfume from a cherry-blossom tree, His voice brought calm, - it soothed like tuneful chimes A-playing slowly, sacred peaceful rhymes.
He was my friend. His handclasp steadied me. His grasp drew me there where I longed to be. His thoughts entwined with mine in rendezvous Like mated stars in yonder peaceful blue.
He was my friend, a friend worth more than gold, More than the stores of fabled Croesus hold. He brought me faith, contentment, hope and cheer. When he was here, then too, God's love was near.
Walter H. Bonn
Frugal
A special thank you to Paul Fitzgerald for his help with this column piece.
August 2nd 1979 a date that is permanently etched into my mind. This was the day that I heard those words that no child of any age, man or boy, is ever ready to hear. Words that would take me the best part of 10 years to come to terms with. Words that echo in my mind even as I write this column.
I have some bad news, your Dad is Dead.
As I type those words I feel those emotions coming back. This is going to be harder to write than I thought. In that moment my whole world fell apart. How could he be dead? I was so certain he was indestructable, and yet he was gone. My Father had been both a Mother and a Father to me for over half my life, he was my guide, my mentor, my best friend, and my hero. How could I live the rest of my life without ever seeing him again? In that moment I wished I was dead too.
All sons idolise their Father, I'd like to share with you the reasons I idolised mine, he truly was a special man. This has nothing to do with flight sims but may give you an insight to how I became the person that I am today.
My Father Ronald Charles Bush was a fairly normal guy. A builder by day and a very talented Magician by night. He was a member of the Magic Circle, International Brotherhood of Magicians, and London Society of Magicians. He used the stage name Ross Chandaue (Chandaue came off a perfume bottle and Ross was considered more American). Life was going pretty well, he had a good job, a happy family, and was well respected by his fellow Magicians. In 1969 all that changed when he fell off of the roof of a building he was working on. He hit the scaffolding and broke his back during the fall. The one consolation being that the scaffolding broke his fall as well as his back otherwise he would have certainly been killed.
It was here that his inner strength (and stubborness) started to show through. At the hospital he was told that the injury to his back was too severe and that he would never walk again. This was something that he refused to believe and his response was "I am not spending the rest of my life in a wheelchair, I will walk out of this hospital". They implored him to accept his fate so that he could come to terms with it and start adjusting to life in a wheelchair. He refused. This was a tough period for the family as my Father was an immensly proud man and would accept no help from the state during the many months that he spent in hospital. In those days things like compensation for accidents at work were rare indeed and pitifully inadequate if you did get anything. It was very tough on my Mother struggling to bring up 3 lively boys aged 6,7 and 8 on her own. Particularly with the prospect of my Father coming home in a wheelchair, needing to be looked after, and unable to earn a living.
True to his word my Falther walked out of the hospital. He needed 2 walking sticks and could not manage more than a few steps at a time, but he was walking. He had always been a fighter, he was a Champion boxer in the army, and this was one fight he was not willing to lose. Over the next 2 years he worked hard in order to be able to walk without the sticks. He also worked hard to hone his skills as a magician. He would be unable to do physical labour and so his ability as a performer would be his best option to support his family. During this period his eyesight was gradually getting worse. Over the years he had periods where his eyes would get worse for a while and then the deterioration would stop, only to start again several years later. Now they had got to the point where he could barely see. I would have to stand on a chair under the light holding a mirror inches away from his face for him to shave in the mornings.
For several weeks I noticed my Father pacing around the house backwards and forwards often. He would walk from the sofa to the coffee table and back a few times, then to the TV and back. He walked around every part of the house and in every room. Then one day I was walking to the shops and tried talking to him. I noticed that he seemed pre-occupied and then I realised that he was counting his steps. He counted his steps to the kerb, from one side of the road to the other, to the shops and so on. What I did not realise at the time was that he knew that his eyesight would likely soon be completely gone and was learning to find his way around his surroundings without his eyes. Out of the front door turn left, 8 paces turn left, down 7 stairs, turn right, 9 paces turn right 87 paces, stop, listen for traffic, down the kerb 6 paces up the kerb etc.
I still remember the precise moment that my Father went blind. We were eating our Sunday dinner when suddenly he dropped his knife and fork and started to walk away from the table. "What's wrong dad?" asked my older Brother, "I can't see." was my Fathers reply. With that he went to his bedroom and stayed there for 3 days. Fate can be very cruel and it seemed that fate had decided that he was going to be disabled. He had fought to regain the use of his legs and now his eyes had been taken from him instead. I always felt that to be far worse than losing the use of his legs. To never see your children grow up even though they are with you is unimaginable to me. His only memory of us was as young children, and sometimes this showed even when we were older. I think it was hard for him to see us as teenagers because when he saw our faces he saw bright eyed children. This was often reflected in our birthday and Christmas presents which were usually better suited to younger children.
Things were about to get worse, his complete loss of eyesight was investigated and found to be irreversible. The reason for his loss of eyesight was also discovered, he had Multiple Sclerosis. In those days the policy with MS was to not tell the patient. MS is incurable, at that time very little was known about it. What they did know was that it would attack, which would cause damage to the myelin sheath resulting in anything from loss of motor function, to blindness and deafness, ultimately even death. But usually it would attack, then go into remission, then later it may or may not attack again. They figured why tell the patient when it may not come back and it is untreatable anyway. You may be worrying the patient unnecesarily and all that worrying wouldn't change anything. Instead they told my Mother and passed the decision as to whether to tell him and the job of doing so to her. This was simply too much for her and so she went to the shops one day and just kept going. The next time I saw her was 8 years later after my Father died.
Please don't judge my Mother at this point, I don't, and no one else has a right to (other than my brothers who feel the same as I do). What you have to understand was that she didn't make a decision to walk out, but rather just couldn't face coming home. The Doctors had given her a burden that she just couldn't carry. The previous years had been very hard on her, coping with 3 kids and no money while my Father had been in hospital. Then just as there was a light at the end of the tunnel her hope had been cruelly taken away and she had also been given the news of the MS, that in itself was already too much, and the responsibility of telling him or keeping it a secret just tipped her over the edge. To this day the guilt of that moment still weighs heavily on her which is really sad because myself and my brothers forgave her a long long time ago.
My Father raised the 3 of us alone. His incredible inner strength shone through many times over the years. His eyesight was gone for ever, that was something he could not change, this fight was going to be a lot harder than his fight to walk. Although he could not regain his eyesight he could fight against the effects. Everyone thought that his time as a magician was over. Not so, he was not going to let his lack of eyesight get in the way. He shocked everyone by becoming a better magician depite being unable to see. He went on to bacome an AIMC (Associate of the Inner Magic Circle) this is the highest accolade you can acheive in the Magic Circle through skill. They did not take his condition into account because this was for the Elite Inner Circle and so could only be acheived through merit. He also continued to perform and performed (and gave lectures) for other Magicians. Despite all the obstacles that had been put in front of him he was able to triumph. This was one of the most valuable examples I have ever been given in life. Someone once said to my Father "It must be very hard being blind", my Fathers response was "I can't see, but I refuse to be blind". That is something I will never forget and that really sums him up. It does not matter what shit life throws at you, you are in control of your destiny. It isn't what happens that decides our fate, it is how we choose to deal with it that decides our fate.
On top of the MS he had coronary thrombosis and epilepsy, this made it incredibly difficult for him to bring up 3 kids alone, yet he made it seem easy. He raised us with good manners and a firm set of principles and taught us the importance of personal integrity. He also taught us strength and dignity by his own examples. He had so little to smile about and yet all my memories are of him smiling and laughing. I never once heard him complain about his lot yet he would have been justified in having a little gripe occasionally. That was not in his nature, those were the cards he was dealt and he just picked them up and played them the best he could. This was another very valuable example he gave me. I could continue to give examples of his strength, courage and spirit untill this article is as large as the site but I'm writing this through tears.
The most powerful example of his strength and character is the most difficult to write about because even 22 years on the emotions are as powerful as they were back then. Boxing Day (26th of December in case that day has a different name elsewhere) 2 years before he died he was sweating profusely and looked in pain, this was worrying as he was not one to show any sign of pain and he'd had a couple of heart attacks some time prior to this. We asked him what was wrong and his response was that he just had a bit of a temperature. After we went to bed we could hear sounds of an argument. We crept out of our room and listened in (something we often did when voices were raised). What we heard will stay with me to my dying day. We heard the following exchange between him and his Fiance Angie (my Father got a divorce several years after my Mother left on the grounds of abandonment).
Angie: You had a heart attack today didn't you Ross Dad: Keep your voice down the kids are still awake Angie: Didn't you!! Dad: Yes Angie: You should have said something we should have called an Ambulance Dad: What kind of Christmas would it be for those kids if they knew their Father was having a heart attack Angie: What kind of Christmas would it be if their Father dropped dead in front of them Dad: I won't die, not until Ross is 18, then I've done my job.
Two years later my Father agreed to go into hospital to have open heart surgery. He had needed it for over a year but had refused up until this point as it would have meant us being put into a Childrens home. By this time he had had 47 heart attacks, one of which brought on an epileptic fit which was the only thing that allowed them to get him into hospital, where he was finally told about the MS (which almost brought on another heart attack when he found out how long they'd known without him being told). We had become very practised at listening into his conversations with Angie. The night before he went into hospital we overheard the following.
Dad: You know I'm not coming out of that hospital, promise me you'll look after those kids for me. Angie: Don't be silly Ross, lots of people have had this operation. You will be fine. Dad: They didn't have what I've got, anyway, you know when your time is up and mine was up 2 years ago, I've just been hanging on for those kids. Ross is 18 now, I've done my job.
Before leaving for the hospital he hugged me and said "Goodbye son" that was the first time I ever heard him say the word goodbye and the last time I ever saw him. That night he was joking about being in bed number 13 in the hospital, the next day he was dead.
As I intimated in the opening of this column it took me nearly 10 years to come to terms with it and under unexpected circumstances. I was very depressed over the death of my Father for many years and chose many ways to escape the pain including drink and drugs. Due to my lifestyle, and a few circumstances outside of my control I became homeless and ended up living on the street. This wasn't too bad in the summer but winter was real hard, especially in the snow. The pain of prolonged hunger and cold is hard to describe (and fortunately hard to recall). The monotony and boredom on top is soul destroying. One day I was sitting in Covent Garden as I had done virtually everyday for the last year or so and I thought to myself "Is this it? Is this the rest of my life?" This was my lowest point, and in that moment I decided to end it. I walked down to the tube station with every intention of stepping off the platform as the next train was approaching. As I waited at the edge of the platform for the impliment of my destruction to arrive it dawned on me that I would soon be with my Father again. At first I looked forward to that moment and saw our meeting again in my imagination. His reaction started to occur to me. He wasn't going to be pleased to see me, in fact he'd likely knock me from one end of the afterlife to the other. After all he had gone through to bring us up and keep us safe he would not thank me for throwing that away. Then I thought of all the shit that life had thrown at him that he had dealt with without a single complaint, and here was me giving in over something that could be changed. I was no longer depressed, suddenly I was ashamed. Then I remember that lesson I had learnt from his example.
It does not matter what shit life throws at you, you are in control of your destiny. It isn't what happens that decides our fate, it is how we choose to deal with it that decides our fate.
At this point I came to the following conclusions. This must change. I must change it. I can change it. At the same time I realised something that completely changed my life. I was not unlucky to have lost my Father, I was so lucky to have had him for 15 years. Understanding that totally changed my outlook on life. I was still sad that he was gone but was now able to cherish my memories of him with happiness instead sadness. The road back into society and a normal life was a tough one, getting off the streets and the drugs took the best part of a year, and it took several years to become fully integrated back into society. But it was a battle I was able to win because of the example set by a truly great man. My Father.
Dearest Father, I love and miss you so much. You taught me so much and I was never able to thank you. I wish my wife and children could have met you, I know they would have loved you like I do and you would love them. If only you had lived to see me grow into the man I have become. I know you would have been so happy when I joined the Magic Circle and I missed you so much on that day. I hope that you would be as proud of me as I am of you.
Until we meet again. All my love Your son Mark Chandaue
I realise that in order to get help with a problem you have to first accept that you have a problem. I have been in denial of this problem for some time, even telling myself that I could give it up if I wanted to. But today I have come to accept the cold hard truth. My name is Frugal and I am a simmerholic.
It all started in the early 80’s when I was a fresh faced teenager unaware of the dangers I was getting myself into. I was just experimenting, nothing too dangerous, just B17 Bomber on the Intellivision. I thought it was pretty safe, I mean it wasn’t hard core, just the soft stuff. People will try to kid you that soft sims are safe and non addictive but don’t listen, soft sims invariably lead to hard core sims. The problem is that once you start these things it’s a slippery slope that’s hard to avoid. Inevitably you get in with the wrong element and they talk you into trying something a little harder and before you know it you are spending a fortune to feed your habit.
I progressed from B17 Bomber up to Psion Flight Simulator, having also dabbled with Sublogics Flight Simulator on the Apple 2. Then it was on to Fighter Pilot on the Spectrum, by now I was probably already an addict without even realising it. Later, having tried a cocktail of sims on the Spectrum I grabbed a commodore 64, this was where the addiction started to really bite deep. The problem with youth is that you think you are invincible and have no real concept of the harm you are doing to yourself. I was trying just about every sim I could get my hands on including Gunship, F15 Strike Eagle, F19, F117a to name but a few.
Then things got really bad, I got an Amiga. This is probably when I hit the point of no return. The problem is that the experience was being improved all the time with these new designer sims and at the same time you were building up a tolerance and so needed more and harder core sims. Interceptor really pulled me in deeper and then came the fatal blow – Falcon. I’d already experienced the AT version but this new version on the Amiga had a few extra ingredients that really made it hard to resist. This was a dangerous time for me I was even starting to mix my sims and worse still taking double doses of the F16 with both Falcon and F16 Combat Pilot.
In my sim crazed state I’d started to get some pretty outlandish ideas. What if we had real looking mountains instead of these pyramids? What if the terrain looked more realistic? What if we had clouds that you could fly through? What if we could fly co-operatively instead of just dogfighting? Now things were getting really bad and to my shame I started trying to get others hooked. Go on, just fly one mission, you’ll love it. Look at those graphics, don’t they look good, just fly it around for a while. Before long my Brother was sharing my habit.
It’s frightening looking back, I went through every sim the Amiga had to offer but by now I’d built up such a tolerance that they just weren’t enough. I moved on to the PC with a 486 in order to fly Falcon 3. Even though I was now starting to spend a lot of money to feed my habit I was oblivious to the problem. Falcon 3 was the best yet but it wasn’t enough. Sim after sim they fed my habit but they weren’t enough. Something was missing. Then came the Internet and things went from bad to worse. Now I was able to hook up with a bunch of unsavoury characters that shared my addiction. I was drawn into the underground sim culture. Suddenly it was Falcon 3 on kali with others and later Ef2000 on Kali and Kahn. Now as well as simming I’m spending a lot of time thinking, reading and talking about simming and it is not enough. Over the years things steadily progress with each sim getting better until suddenly it appears that those outlandish ideas that I had all those years ago are no longer outlandish but exist in Falcon 4. By now I am a hopeless case but it still isn’t enough.
This brings us up to the present day where my whole life practically revolves around my habit. Between the website and all the sim projects that I am involved in and time spent flying Falcon 4, Mig alley, Janes F/A-18, BoB and EECH my habit is kept well fed but it isn’t enough. Maybe one day I’ll beg Chunx to take me to Mirimar to fly the military F/A-18 sim but it still won’t be enough. Even a ride in a real jet won’t be enough because it will make me want more.
So can I stop? Sure I can, when I’m ready, I just ain’t ready yet, maybe I never will be.
If I could go back and do it all again would I do anything different.?
The British Government have now resolved the problem of Secret Nuclear Bunker staff failing to turn up for work due to not being able to find their way to the secret bunker.
Well this is completely off topic but this thread that my Brother (Charlie) posted in a Baldurs Gate 2 Forum cracked me up.
Limited Wish Spell. (BIG, BIG SPOILER AHEAD) (modified 0 times) Charlie
Tell me guys, did I miss something here? The L.W option - "Adv' like no other"...... what a waste of time! Firstly you're told the mound is near Trademeet when it's eight hours away in the Druid Grove. Now call me old fashioned, but if I asked someone where my local shop was and was told it was near location X only to top up with an eight hour trek in front of me I'd be peeved to say the least....I spent almost that amount of time poncing about in Trademeet looking for the place. Applying this logic I might just f**k off over to France because it's only a couple of inches away on my world map and therefore I can walk it. It's so close to England it won't take long. Anyway, that gripe over I then do my running around, lose an item, get back "home" only to be given a ....Oh... err...ummm. AAaaarrrgghh, the penny just dropped. Thinking about it now maybe I have no cause for complaint as it really was an adventure like no other....bollocks, bollocks and more bollocks.... I hate proving myself wrong .
Aaah sugar, I wasn't thinking straight until I started typing this and in the game I was intent on at least coming away with something. I topped Dennis and firm 'cos I decided the 30k XP was reasonable recompense for my (self inflicted) troubles. This action ain't gonna come back and bite me on the arse somewhere else is it? Please tell me this was Dennis' and gangs only involvement in the game, pleeeeeaaaaasssse. NUTS.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- One love, peace. Charlie.
Oh man Charlie, Capt. Dennis was actually your great uncle's best friend's dog's former owner and is quite important to the game. You actually needed to give him a special potion that you pick up in the last moments of the game, only he can turn it into an antidote for a poison that kills you near right near the end. Guess you've stuffed it now. But have no fear there's a troll next to the troll mound near trademeet that can do the same thing. . . .
01-30-2001 12:02:16 P.M.
RE:Limited Wish Spell. (BIG, BIG SPOILER AHEAD) (modified 2 times) Charlie
Yorick. The Troll near the Troll mound near Trademeet that incidentally ain't that close to the Troll mound with the Troll near it can also stuff it?...shit! Is this close proximity Troll closer in proximity to the Troll mound than the proximity of the Troll Mound is to Trademeet which is not in close proximity to the Troll Mound at all. I really need to talk to this Troll as it may be that he sold the dog that was sold to my great uncles best friend to Capt' Dennis in the first place....man I'm in trouble.
Sussed it...gonna use a limited wish spell and wish I never wished for a limited wish in the first place. Do you think that if I wish hard enough my wish that I will keep limited to a limited wish will work?... I wish it would.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- One love, peace. Charlie.
