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[Flying followers of a little green vegetable. (8)]

Flying followers of a little green vegetable. (8)

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Well, when I eat lima beans I get this flying cloud of methane following me around....   Anyway, the chemical composition of methane is CH4, and on Channel 4 last night  there was another episode of the Undateables, which makes me nauseous and light-headed when I watch it, so I'm going to guess DOWNFALL.

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Concerning the last solution:

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A = la, E = mi, SEK = Swedish Krona symbol

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Just to keep everyone on the right track...

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Krona!  Good job.  Except A, E, and Krona are all just clues.

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And now das Über Klüe, the last one that I'll give (do not read if you don't want the answer to be obvious!)

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What would A and E be to vocalists in ABBA?  How would the currency traders -or indeed a North American cryptic clue maker who has little exposure to anything Swedish except for a bed frame and some lamps that work intermittently - refer to the currency of their fortune?

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I symbolically affirm what Atelier, the guy with all the real power, has already dictated.  If AGS were a constitutional monarchy, I'd be the Queen....

Nice looking prospective entries, btw!

Something to do with....

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notes?

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Are the notes currency?

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The notes are notes.  But the wallet represents currency, yes.

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[Best Pioneer:]

These are always fun when there's only one other entry!

Best Pioneer: Sinitrena for her unnamed female explorer.  It was very satisfying that her motivation was not fame or recognition: most refreshing!
Best Plot: Sinitrena for rewriting history, very plausibly, in women's favour.  The twist at the end was wonderful (see below).
Best Atmosphere: Sinitrena for a sense of empowerment that she depicts in her main protagonist.
Best Ending: Sinitrena - LOVED the journal burning.  It just said so much about the nature of pioneering (see below, again).
Best Background World: Sinitrena for wonderful sweeping expanses of empty beauty.
Best Writing Style: Sinitrena for poetic descriptions (although her spell check made some interesting choices along the way )
Most Ruminative: Sinitrena for burning her journal.  She freakin' burnt it!  If that's not a statement for living in the "now", and not dwelling on things past, I don't know what is.  Pure awesomeness.  But really, it's the ultimate mindset of the true pioneer, isn't it?  It's not about what's behind you, but what's in front of you.  The future is everything: the next mountain, or the next horizon.  Beautiful.

E for Effort, guys. :-  Now I've got to dodge the Bump Police to keep this thread alive.  If I get busted I hope you lot can at least cobble together some bail money for me.

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I picked ABBA because they were Swedish and because they were musicians.

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I've always wanted to beat Sinitrena on word-count.

Fires of the Horizon

   The rolling heartbeat of the ocean waves died in the eerie stillness of the harbour's waters as the Libertas trimmed her sails to make a final approach to the quay.  The still air clung to the smell of the sea, no longer fresh from the churning gusts, but ripe and stale and foul.  There was a hint of spice and fragrance, wafting over the bay from the town, which served only to stoke the stench to a more sickening level.  But Pertinax was raised on the foulness of town air, and leaning eagerly over the ship's railing he breathed it in deeply as a man who had been away from home too long.

   â€œAye,” the Captain agreed, striding over to join him, “she smells like a sugared shit, she does!”  He gave Pertinax a friendly slap on the back, then drew him close so that they would not be overheard by the crew scurrying about them.  “Stay on, Pertie,” the Captain crooned.  “There's a dozen towns with a sweeter stench between here and the Wending Sea.  This Ciscomaer is but an inside-out sewer at the edge of the known world.  Stay on, and we'll put you off at the port of your choice, with double the pay.”  The Captain whispered the last bit emphatically, so that none of the other crew could hear.

   Pertinax stared out at Ciscomaer, its squat white houses huddled close against the looming backdrop of barren, wind-lashed mountains.  It was more of a village than a town, which made the strength of its smell all the more sad and impressive at the same time. 

   â€œI won't be lingering,” Pertinax said curtly.  He knew the Captain meant well.  Indeed, they had become good friends over the past several months.  They both knew the old songs, and joked in the old tongue, and they both loathed the Empire with all the fire and venom that their souls could muster.  But he, Pertinax, was no seaman, and no pirate.  He lacked the guile that was the difference between the Captain's profitable smuggling business and a public death on a gibbet.  No, he, Pertinax, was a builder by trade, and it was in his nature to build, not dance gayly around tax-collectors and armed blockades.  And if Ciscomaer was the gateway to the last corner of the world not under imperial writ, then it would be here that he would build a new life.

   The Captain shook his head.  “Pertie, my boy!” he pleaded.  “Our people are scattered like farts in a wind storm.  Their bodies bound in hateful bondage, their language smothered like embers under a stream of piss, their souls trampled to pulp under the iron shod hooves of the imperial host.  Your own family will work the lime quarries until their eyes bleed and their limbs are ground to stumps.  Sail with us!  Such a havoc I could wreak on the imperial shipping lanes with a crew of men with your inner strength.  We could break the very spine of the imperial customs revenue scheme, force the Emperor to raise taxes, sow the discontent that will shortly bloom as revolution, and make ourselves filthy rich in the process.  Join me!”  The Captain got a bit carried away, drawing glances from nearby crew members.  They were mostly mercenaries, or worse, the whole ship being a melting pot of ne'er-do-wells and scoundrels of every hue and nation.  The Captain dreamed of an army of his blood-brethren, but all he commanded was an adoptive mob.

   Pertinax was silent for a moment, then spoke slowly and deliberately.  “There is no homeland anymore, no shining walls nor emerald fields.  My future, our people's future, is in the Gleaming Realm.”

   The Captain shook his head again.  “Do you really think it exists?  Beyond the pale of the Endless Desert?  A land unpopulated, just waiting to be taken up?  With gold flowing down the mountain streams, and rich soils unploughed?  If it were even half as great as the claims, men of all cuts and colours would have already seized it, and would defend it to the death.  No, this enterprise is worse than madness.  It is fantasy!  It is delusion!”

   But Pertinax looked resolutely beyond the town, to the towering heights of barren rock.  They sang a siren's song to him, beckoning him to fill their lonely emptiness with a nation risen from the dust.  He was the vessel of his people's hopes and dreams, a seed upon the wind of despair that might yet sow such greatness if only it could span the desolation and find a clement plot.  The future was before him, the past behind him, and Pertinax's mind was resolutely set on pushing forward.
   
*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

   His name was Spero, a squat man with eyes that burned with a messianic fire.  He was the latest in a long line of self-proclaimed guides, trying to recruit a party large enough to beat off the predatory bandits in the Near Desert.  Every year or so there accumulated enough prospective settlers in the town that one of these guides succeeded, and a train of donkey carts would stream out of  Ciscomaer in search of the Gleaming Realm.  Pertinax listened impatiently to see if this was the man to follow.

   â€œ...a plague of thieving locusts, preying mercilessly upon the righteous pilgrims.  But like insects they can be crushed, if only we could cross the Near Desert in strength!  How much longer will we lose our tools, seeds, and last savings to these crawling parasites?  We must band together to thwart their rapacious designs!  We must band together as brothers of a common blood!  We must band together in pursuit of the Gleaming Realm that was promised to us in the prophecy!  We must band together now!  Follow me!”

   A murmur of support rose up from the gathered company at each sentence, building to cheers by the end.  Pertinax approved, and hollered his support.  He had been stuck six months in this dreadful town since barely escaping the desert bandits with his life.  Since then he had toiled day and night to save enough money to try again.  Only this time he was going to be smart about it, and join a company able to withstand the petty villains of the Near Desert.  His heart leapt with excitement as man after man stepped forward to shake Spero's hand and sign his name to the expedition's roster, each to increasing applause.

   His friend Ratio nudged him in the ribs.  “This Spero guy,” he said chuckling, “he really cracks me up.  Used to sell chicken feathers before he started having visions.”

   Pertinax frowned.  “I don't need a great leader, just a convincing one.  Look at all the men signing the roster!”

   Ratio shook his head.  “A large party won't get attacked by thieves, yes.  But it will still starve to death if it gets lost in the Endless Desert.  Trust me, my friend, you are best off with a guide that is sane.”

   â€œThe sane ones can't recruit half the numbers needed to scare off the Near Desert bandits,” Pertinax pointed out.

   Ratio shook his head as more cheers rose from the crowd, as another man signed up with his whole family in tow.  “Pex, buddy.  You gotta think this through.  It is desperation that is leading these men to sign up now, but it will only lead them to greater desperation in the Endless Desert.”

   â€œI've already lost so much time,” Pertinax whispered, taking a step forward.

   Ratio grabbed him by the arm.  “In six months there will be another expedition: the numbers of our blood-brethren swarming into Ciscomaer make it inevitable.   Wait six months and you will save years of hopeless wandering and suffering, or worse.  Mark my words, you will save time by waiting.”

   Pertinax tried to shake Ratio's grip.  “You just want me to finish those houses.”

   Ratio's grip tightened.  “We're partners, you fool.  We've both of us made our fortunes back in mere months.  Our people are streaming to this miserable port like cattle to a salt-lick.  And where are they going to live while they prepare for the great trek to the Gleaming Realm?  In houses built by you and sold by me, that's where!  Don't throw it all away just yet on such a long-shot as Spero Supera.”

   But Pertinax shook free of his friend's grip.  “I don't want to live here, making a quick buck off the pioneers passing through to build our nation anew in the Gleaming Realm.  Being merely suffered by the local Ciscomaerians who gouge us with inflated taxes, and spit on in the street.  And how long before the Emperor decides to clamp down on this expanding free-port?  Our real-estate investments won't be worth the paper the deeds are written on then.  No, I will quest for the Gleaming Realm with my blood brothers.”

   Ratio and Pertinax parted ways, and the crowd cheered the latest man to sign the roster.

*   *   *   *   *

   â€œ....Of course, we'd need to find a waterfall or cascading stream to make it work,” the old man muttered, looking hopelessly around at the desiccated shrubs and pillars of stone that were the only punctuation in the otherwise dust-caked monotony of the Endless Desert.

   â€œDon't start on about water again, father,” his daughter Veraetta sighed.

   They trudged onward awhile in silence, but for the rasp of their breath wafting through their dust-choked throats.  Pertinax closed his eyes and focused on putting one foot in front of the other, for the day was still young and there remained many hours before the unbearable heat of the afternoon would force them to break their trekking.  The boney donkey pulling the light cart next to him brayed in protest, but the old-man pulled on his bridle to silence him.

   â€œMaybe we could build a dam to make a mill-pond....” the old man ventured after a spell.  Veraetta and Pertinax exchanged looks acknowledging the futility of trying to stop him.  The old man, a miller by trade, was wedded to the dream of setting up a mill in the Gleaming Realm; first a sawmill to help build shelters for the early settlers, then converting it into a grist-mill to grind the vast piles of grain that would be reaped from the bountiful fields.  The mill itself would be white-washed, he had decided, to make it look clean but also to reflect the heat.  The old miller wanted to erase all memory of his hardships in the desert as soon as they were ended.  And there would be a hedgerow around the yard, like the one around the lord's manor where he had grown up.  And a small garden with a bower under which he would take his tea in the heat of the afternoon.  And there would be a two-tiered trough by the roadside, offering free water from his well to all passers-by, for men and beasts respectively.  And....

   There was a jarring crack as one of the wooden wheels of the cart broke upon a rock on the track, tipping the cart over and the donkey with it.  Pertinax was only barely able to pull Veraetta clear before the contents of the cart spilled out: sacks of cloth and clothing, blankets, a light trunk of personal items, a kit of hygienic necessities, a dwindling pack of food supplies, a large leather flask of water, a sundry assortment of tools.  And then the great millstone flipped upright from its place in the upturned bed of the cart and started rolling back down the slope they had just climbed.  Men shouted in warning behind them and desperately pulled their own beasts and folk aside lest they be crushed by the remorseless stone wheel.

   â€œNoooooo!” the old miller shouted, leaving donkey and possessions behind to limp after the receding wheel.   

   â€œFather!” Veraetta called, starting after him.

   Pertinax just stared at the mess of the cart and the whining donkey on the ground.  The rest of the party lumbered past unspeaking.  Reluctantly Pertinax lowered his own heavy pack to the ground, grimacing at the effort it would require to pick it up again.  He released the donkey from the tangled harnesses that tethered him, and assessed that it was not too hurt to continue on.  Pertinax used what he could of the harness to lash the family's possessions to the back of the donkey.  He used the tools to pry loose as much timber from the ruined cart as he dared stack on the donkey's back, for it would be useful as firewood in the chilly desert night.  He took for himself one of the hitching shafts to use as a walking stick, at least until it got cold tonight.  The donkey staggered slightly under the weight, but still stood.  He hitched the beast to a skeleton shrub next to the track, then set off back down the hill for the old man and his daughter.

   He found the old man weeping next to the stone that had finally come to rest at the bottom of the slope.  His teary daughter rested helplessly on her knees next to him.

   â€œWe must move on,” Pertinax said bluntly, dismissing the magnitude of the man's broken dream in favour of the greater gravity of their peril if they gave in to sentimentality.

   The old man stared bitterly up the hill.  At length he spoke: “help me right it.”

   It was against Pertinax's better judgement, but Veraetta looked at him pleadingly.  He stooped down and heaved, and with the help of the old man and his daughter they were able to get the stone wheel back on its edge.  The old man turned his back to it, and for a moment Pertinax had hope that he might leave this one dream on the roadside for the greater good.  But then the old man bent his knees, pressed his back against the wheel, and got it slowly rolling once more.

   â€œFather....” Veraetta spoke faintly.

   â€œGo,” the old man said flatly.  “Take what you can salvage, and stay with the group.  I will meet you in the Gleaming Realm.”  He began to slowly, determinedly push the millstone back up the slope, inch by painful inch.

   Veraetta sobbed as Pertinax dragged her up the slope to obey the old miller's final wish.

*   *   *   *   *   *

   The donkey collapsed three days later.  The sound of the hot sand searing its flesh was audible, but the beast was too weak to even whimper.  Veraetta sat down on top it, staring sullenly into space. 

   â€œOnward!” shouted Spero, their diminutive leader, from a saddle atop the last surviving donkey.  He waved his tasselled willow whip-cane in the air to urge them on.   â€œThe map says the next watering hole is but four short miles ahead!”  What remained of the party trudged wordlessly after him, through a desolation so flat and empty that but for its pale colour it could have been a giant cooking pan.  The air choked like an oven, and shimmered along the horizon like steam.  The last of their dwindling companions walked by, and then Pertinax and Veraetta were alone with the dead donkey.

   â€œI'm not going to make it,” Veraetta rasped, folding her hands on her lap.

   â€œWe must make it to the water,” Pertinax stated simply.

   â€œThere is no water,” she replied.

   â€œSpero's map says-”

   â€œSpero's map said there was water ten miles back, and fifteen miles back, and twenty miles back!” she spat, or would have if her parched throat could muster the saliva.  She returned to staring sullenly at the horizon.  “There is no water.”

   â€œHave a drink,” he suggested.

   Veraetta took out her flask and upended the last few drops onto the concrete sand, where it evaporated instantly.  Then she tossed the empty flask aside and lay down, arched-back over the dead pack animal.  “Leave me to rejoin my father,” she whispered.

   Pertinax stared.  The tools would have been useful, but the rest of the donkey's load was just dead weight to him.  He turned to squint after the receding company, shimmering like spectres in the heat.  His dream lay to the north, through the flameless fires of the white hot coals on which they trod.  But he was growing quite fond of Veraetta.  If he would admit it to himself, he even loved her.  This was the ugliest in a long line of ugly choices.

   Pertinax retrieved the emptied flask from the ground and then bent down over the woman.  Through a supreme effort he was able to hoist her bodily over his shoulder.  She moaned and slapped at him weakly, but her strength was gone and he was nauseously aware of how incredibly light she proved to be.  Still, with his own pack as well it was an impossible burden to carry for long.  He would carry her four miles, he decided, after which they would either find water or death.  Setting his sights upon the dancing horizon, Pertinax began to walk once more.

*   *   *   *   *

   A thin plume of white-steam snaked skyward in front of him as he passed through a forest of stone cones of tessellated colours, some towering three or four times the height of a man.  The place smelled of brimstone, like entering the very bowels of the Beast himself.  As he drew closer, Pertinax could see ahead that the plume was actually emanating from several same such cones.  He lurched onward toward them, stumbling under the weight of his load.  He had considered leaving his pack, but that would merely invite death of a different type, for it contained only the food and supplies he deemed absolutely necessary to survive this trip.  Stubbornly, he persisted.

   At the base of the cone with the largest plume there lay several men, among many more skeletons.  A little stream bubbled out of a hole in the cone to make a shallow puddle at its base.  One of the men waved weakly at him as he approached.  “The water is foul,” he whispered.  “The company is making for the next watering hole, but we have run out of water.”

   Pertinax gently laid Veraetta in the meagre shade of one of the cones and then went to investigate.  “These men are already dead,” he said, kicking at them with his toe.

   â€œThey drank the water,” the man shrugged, before flopping hopelessly to the ground.

   Pertinax cursed.  He took out his own flask and drank the last few drops.  He had offered it to Veraetta, but she had just ranted about spitting it out, which served no one.  Then he bent over the tiny spring and filled both flasks with the foul smelling water, wincing as a few drops spilt down the side and burnt his hand.  Gingerly he carried them in the folds of his cloak back to Veraetta.

   â€œHere,” he said, offering her one.

   â€œFuck you,” she whispered.

   â€œIt's poison,” he told her.

   â€œYeah right.”

   Pertinax left the flasks next to her and set up a tent as best he could using his pack, the stone cone, and a light blanket he had kept to ward off the chill of the desert night.  Then he sat down next to Veraetta and put her arm around her.

   â€œI would have liked to see that white-washed mill,” he told her.  She merely nestled into him.

*   *   *   *   *

   Pertinax awoke to the setting sun, throat burning.  He looked at Veraetta's parched lips, and decided that now was the time.  He took a long draught of the now luke-warm poison, shuddering despite himself because it tasted even worse that it smelled.  Veraetta awoke to the sound of him choking on the foul fluid, then eagerly hoisted the other flask to her lips.  After they knocked their flasks together in good cheer, and then settled in to watch the dancing colours of the sky bring on the night.

*   *   *   *   *

   Veraetta hammered the sign post into the concrete sand.  They had walked all the way back to the donkey to collect the tools to do it, using material that had been cast off along the track to fashion the sign.  She smiled at the accomplishment, then turned to hold his hand as they strolled back towards the hotsprings in the refreshing cool of the evening air.  In the dark Pertinax could not see the rising plume that marked their location, but they were so incredibly pungent that he was confident that he could navigate there by smell alone.

   â€œWe'll dig a cistern,” Veraetta decided.  “Maybe we could use some of these tools to fashion some rough bricks from the ground -it's as hard as concrete anyway.  Then we could cover it over with some arches, to give the water a place to cool down.”  The water reeked of volcanic elements, but once cooled it could be drunk.  In remarkably short order they had both recovered their strength, the water apparently agreeing with their constitutions if not their taste and olfactory glands.

   â€œWe'll signpost the trail as best we can, so that others can follow,” she continued.  “We'll have to go back to scavenge as much as we can from the trail side, so that we can build a shanty to nurse stricken travellers back to health.  Oh....” she said, suddenly thinking about what she might find next to a millstone back along the wending trail.  “Well, it must be done.  Think of the others we can save!”  She skipped with excitement.

   Pertinax was quiet for a long while as they strolled together.

   â€œWell, what do you think?” Veraetta said at last.

   â€œWe need food,” he said.  They had supplies for just two more days.

   â€œThere are dead beasts littering the trail side for miles,” she said.  “Dried out and preserved for the ages.  Just add water,” she smiled.

   â€œWe can't go back,” Pertinax said.

   Veraetta stopped.  “I need to do this.  For the memory of my father.  For the next band of weary pilgrims that follows in our footsteps.  Can't you see that we can make a real difference for the greater good?!?”

   Pertinax stared at her coldly.  “We'll make some signs,” he conceded.  “And then gather as much water as we can in the flasks of the fallen.  We have to move fast if we are going to catch up with the company.”

   â€œWith Spero?!?  He led half of our party to their deaths, while he rode that ass like a petty chieftain!”

   â€œI don't care about Spero,” he said.  “I care about our people making it to the Gleaming Realm.  That's what it's all about.  That's what it's always been about.  I have to keep going.”

   â€œFuck you,” was all she said back.

   â€œCome with me,” he begged.

   â€œFuck you.”

*   *   *   *   *   

   Pertinax passed another trail-side grave.  There were no markings, but the pile of stone was unmistakable.  It was larger than most, and there was a  tasselled willow whip-cane lovingly placed on top of the cairn.  Pertinax spat, and kept walking.

   The graves stopped after that, and there were only desiccated corpses, strewn where they had collapsed on their very last step.  On the last one he found the tattered map, but could make little sense of it.  He trudged onward.

   Days passed as he crossed through chasms and over endless salt-pans of what must have been dried lake beds.  From what few heights he could climb he searched in vain for any sign of water.

   His strength began to fade, and his water ran low.  There was nothing to eat, nothing to drink.  In desperation he finally sloughed his pack, but still his shoulders felt the phantom weight pushing down towards the searing ground.  His head began to swim as he stumbled onward, ever onward.  Through the shimmering waves of heat he could make out the ghosts of his company, or others, all lurching unsteadily like himself: his blood-brethren, careening here and there as if buffeted by outrageous forces beyond their control.  They were pushed this way, then that.  They were bowed and bent.  But they were not broken.  Even in death their spirits crawled onward, so that at least their souls would reach the promised paradise at the end of the endless path.

   And then at last, when a kind of calm semblance of coherence steadied his mind, when he knew clearly that the end was upon him, he saw it glimmering on the horizon through the fog of heat.  Like a glorious dream beyond the frustrated reach of the wakeful mind, it shimmered like a palace on the clouds.  It was the Gleaming Realm.  Pertinax took the last few steps of his journey.

C'mon lets go and play!

I'm about halfway through, but should just be able to squeak by before the deadline barring any free-time destroying disasters.

Not that I'm not curious about where all this is going but....

A swallowed E in ABBA's wallet (7)

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AGS Cryptic related

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Without a word count it is impossible to be sure, but I think....

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Putting a mirrored "draw" down the middle of "ass" (ie over the middle s) produces the word "awards", and "sag" suspiciously is an anagram of some sort of adventure game creating software....  I can't say exactly the significance of the date, or the clue that scrambles "sag" and puts it in the front, but I feel pretty confident in guessing "AGS Awards".

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All right, hintsies time:

Not too much of a hint....

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Mandle has the ELU bit correct (but that was probably pretty obvious....)

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Bit more of a hint....

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In Soviet Russia, puzzle solves you!

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Das über hint (Don't read if you don't want the puzzle given away!)

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For "Kingdom" you're looking for a suffix that denotes domain or jurisdiction

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We had similar travails with a raccoon 4 years back.  We had to drive it 40km away to be sure he couldn't make it back.  Good luck with that river barrier!

Well, the idea behind one of those jokes, anyway.

You're thinking too much.  It's more of a ...joke clue.

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See, and I was hung up for the better part of today on "unlisted" meaning "not tipped or leaning".   Truly there is wisdom in crowds.

Edit: Soviet Russia's kingdom of the English Lacross Union (6)

AGS related.

Ahhhhh, life. 

6:20 - Wake up and go wake up 6 year old for school.  Shave, get washed up, dress.
6:40 - Wake up child again, trying to avoid waking up 2 year old who sleeps on lower bunk (in darkened mine-field of toys and clutter)
6:50 - Fix breakfast for both kids because they are both up .  Then make your own lunch for work (perhaps remembering to feed yourself breakfast as well)
7:10 - Send six year old upstairs to get dressed, brush teeth, etc. for school.  Argue about the precise time.
7:12 - Negotiate with two year old about staying home with mom (still asleep) or getting dressed to walk his sister to the school bus. (stress first option, which is never the one he chooses)
7:17 - Fight with both kids about what they want to wear.
7:25 - Make sure six year old's lunch is in backpack and discover hidden notes that demand urgent action (pizza form, milk orders, trip form, etc.)
7:27 - Get kids into snowsuits without murdering anybody.
7:29 - Curse about lost mittens again: why aren't they in coat sleeves or coat pockets?!?!?
7:30 - Dash for bus, carrying 2 year old because he doesn't want to walk.  Temperature is -24 degrees centigrade without the wind chill.
7:31 - Bus is due at stop one block from home.  Bus is late, kids begin to whine.
7:34 - Tears begin to freeze
7:41 - Just as we start to walk back in frustration the bus finally shows up.  Driver excuses delay, but as daughter is first on bus, there is really no excuse. 
7:43 - Foist grumpy two year old on groggy and grumpy wife.
7:44 - Get into car to go to work
7:45 - Boost car battery using wife's car.
7:46 - Drive towards work.
7:48 - Return home to turn off wife's car, which is still running.
8:10 - Arrive at work and check e-mail.  Too many to read, so just select ones from people with names starting with A through G
8:30 - Work.  Work is ok, except it's so busy that there are few opportunities to eat or use the toilet.
3:40 - Leave work.
4:00 - Pick up son (wife picks up daughter).  Son goes with me to skating lesson, daughter with wife to gymnastics.  Apparently they eat dinner at 3:30.
5:00 - Skating lesson commences.  Boy has inevitable tantrum.  Dilemma: leave him to build character on the ice, or bend to peer pressure to do something....
5:30 - Skating lesson ends. 
5:40 - Arrive at play centre.  Play cars with two year old.  Cars is stultifying, but it's quality time with the boy.
6:40 - Wife and daughter arrive.  Be a family for twenty minutes.
7:00 - Wife goes to work.  I take kids home.
7:10 - Fight with daughter about her trivial five minute homework.
7:20 - Make her lunch for the next day while she finally starts.
7:25 - Fix snack for story time
7:30 - Story time
8:00 - Fight with two year old about pyjamas, and teeth brushing, and going pee before bed.
8:10 - Bedtime songs
8:20 - Sleep time.  Both kids still wide awake.  Daddy opens computer anyway on antique one-piece steel school-desk that I found abandoned on the roadside, but now resides next to the bunk beds in the nursery.  As long as kids stay in bed, I can catch up on forums and news.
9:00 - Argue with kids about merits of sleep.  Two year old wants cuddle.  DANGER: if you oblige for more than five minutes you will fall asleep too!
9:30 - Daddy goes downstairs whether or not kids are asleep yet.  If they are not, there will be tears.
9:35 - Daddy gorges on whatever leftover food there might be.
10:00 - Barring any higher priority task (work reports, snow shovelling, etc.), actually open AGS.
10:20 - Inevitably a child is awake and crying.
10:30 - Continue AGS or get distracted, since it's getting late.
11:30 - Wife comes home and complains about shelf that still hasn't been built.
12:00 - Bedtime.

This is only Monday.  It's still the same basic schedule the rest of the week, except the evening activities change!  For me there're meetings of my volunteer association, weekly grocery shopping obligations, cooking dinners every other week, working a brief evening shift (Wednesdays); for kids there are sports practices, swimming lessons, play groups.  On weekends there's hockey, church, house cleaning (church alternative ), errands, play dates, more skating, homework, visiting relations....  Honestly, if I had even a tenth of the time I had back in the day to devote to AGS, I'd be trout-smacking you folks with new releases every other week.

I've noticed recently that sometimes a forum page will just load endlessly.  My pet conspiracy theory is that it is the Guardians of Peace stirring the pot once more....

Spoiler

Region?

There are many faiths with names, but an unlisted one might just have the generic "religion" stamp.

When you hide the main link in re-li-gion, you are left with region.

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