Having fallen behind I decided to do some “studying” at the local hub of the TPL today, little knowing I’d be in for an unexpected treat.

It’s not that I hadn’t faced some occasionally tense situations in the library before but that was some time ago, a branch away, and a whole bookshelf over. But you never lose that feeling of something being just a bit off. Like today.

His hair was a little mussed up and he could’ve used a shave but otherwise he seemed like a regular patron: small but muscular build, clean but nondescript clothes, a few small items on the table in front of him.

Maybe it was the fact that the chair he was sitting on was completely covered in a large plastic bag (hint: not library-issued), but right away it seemed that something was not quite right. The absence of people in his immediate vicinity appeared to signal something as well. Then there was the rocking back and forth and the vigorous shaking of the head, as if he was doing his best to avoid some dark impulses urging him to do something. Sometimes his whole body shook with the effort of restraint.

I found this display so distracting that it took me some time to register the pair of scissors that he had sitting in front of him. To be fair, a rumpled tissue was partially obscuring them on the table but I ultimately noticed them when he went to blow his nose. I was, however, already set up and comfortable, so what’re ya gonna do?

While occasionally picking up and holding his scissors in a way that nobody uses for cutting paper, he remained relatively calm most of the time. But when an old man stood in line for the washroom just behind him he gripped the cutting tool tightly and hissed over his shoulder, “Don’t you FUCKING stand behind me! Don’t you EVER FUCKING stand behind me!”

Me sitting beside him didn’t seem to bother him as much (or at least he hid it better).

Luckily the geriatric quickly shuffled off, the scissors were (temporarily) put back down, and imminent bloodshed was avoided, but I couldn’t help but think how exciting the place had become since my youth. They have 3D printing now, professional audio and video production studios, and the fully immersive experiences are really keen. Take that, books!

I haven’t even mentioned the guy with “Wing Chun” emblazoned on the back of his jacket, bold and bedazzled sunglasses riding a craggy mug, parading around the premises and complaining loudly about all the, “goddam inbred motherfuckers in this fucking place!”

I don’t want to spoil the ending for you so let me just leave you with a couple of things I took away from the afternoon:

1. I didn’t get stabbed. Nice.
2. Little bits of inspiration are everywhere. Sometimes they’re very subtle but if you pay close attention you might just spot them, even some place as subdued as the library.

… in which Section B discover that they’re being watched and listened to. Unfortunately, their discovery occurs just after they unwittingly reveal some sensitive information.

This morning I finished reading “Twenty-five years in the Secret Service” by Major Henri Le Caron (real name Thomas Miller Beach). While the focused history of Irish separatism in North America in the late 1800’s was mildly interesting, the book seemed to be mostly a recitation of names, dates, events, and places. Beach’s infiltration of various Fenian organizations was made to seem effortless, even predestined, and there was little to no discussion of any sort of tradecraft. Large parts of the narrative were outright dull.

But I did come away with the impression that the Canadian government of the time was reactive rather than proactive. For example, the second Fenian raid of Canada is described thus:

“Under the command of General John O’Neill, and a number of other gentlemen of high-sounding ranks, and distinctly Irish patronymics, the raid actually came off on the morning of the 1st of June, when about 3 A.M. some 600 or 800 Irish patriots, full of whisky and thirsting for glory, were quietly towed across the Niagara River to a point on the Canadian side called Waterloo!

“At 4 A.M. the Irish flag was planted on British soil by Colonel Owen Starr, commanding the contingent from Kentucky, one of the first to land. Unfortunately no Canadian troops were in the vicinity, and O’Neill’s command, which had by the next day decreased to some 500, marched upon and captured Fort Erie, containing a small detachment of the Welland battery. Matters, however, were not long allowed to go in favour of the invaders. In a very little time the 22nd Battalion of Volunteers of Toronto—a splendid band of citizen-soldiers—appeared upon the scene, and at Ridgeway, a few miles inland, there occurred a fair stand-up fight, in which the Fenians in the end got the worst of the day’s work. Ridgeway has frequently since been claimed by the Fenian orators as a glorious victory, but without justification. It is true that at first, flushed with their almost bloodless victory at Fort Erie, the Fenians advanced fiercely upon their opponents, and for the moment repulsed them; but in the end the Canadians triumphed, and succeeded in putting the invaders to flight, driving them back to Fort Erie a frenzied, ungovernable mob, only too thankful to be taken as prisoners by the United States war steamer Michigan, and protected from total annihilation at the hands of the, by this time, thoroughly aroused and wrathful Canadian citizens.”

The first Irish separatist raid had, according to Beach, been openly advertised and supplied by the U.S. government:

“This, which was the first invasion of Canada by the Fenian organisation, took place upon the morning of the 1st of June 1866. As I have already stated, the design had been flourished in the face of government and people for six months previously. All this time active preparations were proceeding, and thousands of stands of arms, together with millions of rounds of ammunition, had been purchased from the United States Government and located at different points along the Canadian border; while during the spring of the year, military companies, armed and uniformed as Irish Fenian soldiers, were drilled week by week in many of the large cities of the United States.”

It seems obvious, based on this historical record, that the Canadian government was either ill-prepared, overly incredulous, or too incompetent to deal with something that it had previously (and recently) encountered. Or maybe it was dealt with that way on purpose.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

I compared this to another book I’d finished recently, “By Way of Deception” by Victor Ostrovsky and Claire Hoy. Here an ex-Mossad katsa relates, among other things, how porous and welcoming Canada is, and how useful that is to foreign intelligence agencies.

It wouldn’t be the last time a thing like this has been brought up.

Considering that many non-state actors and proxies are in the mix these days, the idea that a large and liberal Canadian metropolis like Toronto might be teeming with the secretive interactions of opposing factions doesn’t seem so far-fetched.

It might be happening right in front of us. Would we even know what to look for?

… in which the agents of Section B debate the identity of their shadowy and dangerous nemesis.

… in which Brock has his first experience with the pod and a mysterious encounter with the agency.

You might not know it by the dearth of posts in the last few months but Toronto City Life officially passed it’s 15th year this January. I also turned 50 round about this time. Perhaps I was supposed to make a big hullabaloo about it, maybe produce some fireworks effect for the front page, throw together some cheesy and self-congratulatory retrospective, but that all seemed like a waste of time.

I was too busy living to reminisce for more than the few seconds it took to re-post some old photos and pithy one-liners on Twitter (or “X”, or whatever). Most of the pictures and paragraphs that I’ve produced lately are being put into a printed publication. The aim is to produce something that I’d want to hang on my walls — and that takes time.

I’ve also been putting a bunch of effort into /sectionb. While I hope that the story comes across as a fast and effortless narrative, producing it is often none of those things. I can safely say that I’ve put at least a few years’ worth of research and practice into the endeavour. The arcs are purposeful, the details are planned with care, and there’s substantive background material holding it all together. Even the tense and style needed some time to be worked out. I have to feel that I’ve done my due diligence.

There was also the added complication of moving beyond the keyboard in order to “write what you know”. It’s the foundational ethos of TCL and I’m hoping that the modest yet convincing success of this philosophy will translate into this project.

Granted, although I have an affinity for Cabo Verde (did you know that their unofficial national instrument is the electronic synth?) I’ve never actually been there. That’s a big part of the reason why Rebekah and Brock spend so little time there — but I try to keep such second-hand writing to a minimum.

I’m still making music and there are a number of /sectionb themes on the go, possibly for use in the next video. In previous episodes the music tracks were well synchronized but subtitle timing was a bit wonky so I had rethink my approach. Then I had to code it. Now I have to produce the actual episode.

On the same note, I still write software but these days it’s mostly for personal / agency use. As with the crypto stuff, I dabble deeply enough to (hopefully) add some authenticity to the Section’s modus operandi, especially as regards Dmitri’s home-made tech.

And, of course, the research and digging for the project never really stop; they just lead deeper underground.

The tl;dr to all of this is: I’m rarely bored, sometimes in up to my neck

Speaking from the safety of hindsight I can say that I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the ride so far and if there’s another decade and a half of this sort of thing lined up then I’m game. I’m sure it’ll get my blood pressure up at some points but if I can just remember that it’s all a part of the experience then I should be okay.

… in which a couple of the newest members of Section B reveal some things about themselves while the transpacific voyage of the Merle continues.

It’s been well over a decade since I bore witness to the unspeakable. I’d thought that it was behind us, forgotten and buried, gone and dealt with.

I was wrong.

This time around Sarah was there to experience the carnage with me.

As in the past, this year’s Santa Claus Parade had a heavy police presence and everyone looking over their shoulders.

A dour paramilitary presence added somber tones to the distressing gathering.

And, as before, there were crass displays of wanton debauchery and depravity.

It seems few people heeded my warnings. Although I doubt many more will do so next year, it’s my sincere hope that this message will reach at least a few and that the annuals horrors imposed on the city by this event can be alleviated, even if only slightly.

… in which Section B enjoy some much-needed rest, relaxation, and extended introductions.

Pieces of the Gardiner Expressway have been falling off for quite some time now but the deterioration of 65-year-old elevated road running along downtown Toronto’s southern edge is now unnervingly visible.