‘Just one of those things that happens on a day like this,’ one of the fireys says, staring at what was the back door of the car.

An Irish pub, McCaul’s serves the Guinness, Harp and Bass you'd expect plus a rotating lineup of raspberry framboises and coffee porters.

[…] Fort Camosun had swelled herself from being a little Hudson's Bay Fort, inside a stockade with bastions at the corners, into being the little town of Victoria, and the capital of British Columbia.

“I understand thee,” said the King, “and the Holy Clerk shall have a grant of vert and venison in my woods of Warncliffe.”