(Story being edited… do come back.)
The story that led to my taking off traveling.
There’s lots of honesty, some swearing and a cat.
Definitely not suitable for work, unless you work in a brothel. In which case, get back to fucking work.
Here are some relevant photos.
Below: Me in about 1983 on my birthday in Toronto.
Below: My father, Victor Marshall Fenn (1923-2014), in Kuala Lumpur, Malaya in 1945, with the legendary Royal Air Force Squadron 136. He was around the same age as me in the above pic.
Below: Another of Victor suited up for flight in his Hawker Hurricane fighter during training in Bagotville, Quebec, circa ’43.
Below: And having a feed on his deathbed on his 91st birthday, around two weeks before he died of old age. Note the G+T on his bedside table. Damn, we miss you, old man, but we knew you were ready.
fenncast 