Continuing my series on espionage, specifically as it relates to Toronto, we come to Station M.

Station “M”, which stood for “Magic”, was ostensibly located in the basement of Casa Loma which now hosts a related historical exhibit and similarly themed escape room game.

While some sources claim that Station M was actually located in Casa Loma’s stables and carriage house, its exact location remains hush-hush. This secrecy, along with the existence of a nearly quarter-kilometer (800 ft.) subterranean tunnel connecting the main building to these outer structures, only adds to the ambiguity.

I’ve been to the castle a number of times, including for a fancy wedding reception, but until recently had no idea that this “subterranean” operation existed. Next time I’m there I’ll be sure to do a bit more exploring!

Station M operated hand-in-hand with Camp X during the second world war to produce covert gadgets, forged documents, counterfeit currency, convincing local dress, and anything else that might assist Allied spies on their overseas missions. Think “Q Branch” from James Bond.

In fact, it’s been suggested that Station M is where Ian Fleming got his inspiration for the fictional support division mentioned in his works.

Fleming is reported to have spent time in Toronto, traveling daily to the Camp in Oshawa from his Avenue Road accommodations. While the amount to which Fleming was inspired by his experiences here is speculative, the fact that he resided across the street from St. James-Bond Church during this period seems to suggest an alternative, if only subconscious, explanation to Fleming’s own claim about appropriating the name from a bird expert. Maybe this official explanation is simply a misdirection based on a happy coincidence. After all, this is the world of espionage we’re talking about.

All festive’d up @ Casa Loma

I guess it’s fairly obvious, isn’t it?

After a while a blog becomes like a part of your body; it’s hard not to want to scratch it regularly. For me, every other day seems to work okay but a week — well, that requires one big-ass scratch.

So, in lieu of a bunch of back-dated posts, here’s a digest of what’s been keeping me busy for the past week:

1. I’ve started a new blog. Kinda. The first part is the domain registration and the setting up of all the hamster wheels and such. Then the blinking buttons and knobs and switches get put in, and finally you have the beginnings of a blog:

   RayJohnBlog.com

   Did I explain that correctly? What I mean is, you won’t see much but an empty blog sitting there, so don’t get all excited. But I don’t expect to take too long until launch — I’ve got an adequately pointy and antagonistic theme picked out and I’ll be keeping everything else pretty simple at the beginning.

   K, so who’s Ray John? I am. He’s an alias, a moniker, a nom de plume.

   Actually, he’s a bit more than that. Ray John is a personality that I hope to develop into results like money, loose women, and fame. Not necessarily in that order. Of course, since I’ll be penning him, and even more importantly, since I’ll be the face (and perhaps voice) of Ray John, he’ll have to be some well established part of my psyche that has plenty to say. So if you can sit through this drivel, you should be okay with Ray’s stuff too.

   I’ve known two Rays in my life; one saw my younger sister for a while and ended up being the assholiest of jerks, the second was a developer I worked with who was a thoroughly enjoyable fellow. Neither Ray was the inspiration here … I don’t even particularly like the name Ray to be honest. The name comes from “rage on”, the underlying idea that started me down this slippery slope. The combined name “Ray John” works phonetically, sounds like a ubiquitously ticked-off middle-class white dude, and also uses the most common spellings of  both names. The thing was hardly spontaneous; sorry if that bursts anyone’s bubble. You can go right ahead and pretend I beat the name out of a three-headed purple dragon named Elvis if it adds to the mystique.

   Since Ray is also a Torontonian I’ll be syndicating some of his blog on TCL. Ray’s blog topics won’t be limited to Toronto, however, which is why I needed to make this split. Besides, I want to give him room to breathe and grow.

   Be sure to check out “The Ray John Blog: I Got Beefs” just as soon as I post a big honkin’ link to it at the top of the sidebar.As for Toronto City Life, why, we’re just getting started here. ;)

2. Got me my first fully independent contract (and I gave myself a generous raise too). Okay, so technically the second contract, but who’s counting? I started on a portfolio site but didn’t have a chance to add any content before I landed the gig. Meh, maybe next time.

   Still, great excuse to get me a new ‘puter. Nothing fancy, mind you, but she’ll crunch the numbers I need crunched.

   

3. A couple of nights ago I notice a “drip drip” coming from somewhere around the bedroom when the upstairs neighbours were running their water. By yesterday afternoon, the leak had broken through the ceiling in my closet.

   
   I’d assumed that the water must either be coming from the shower or sink … it ran too long for it to be the toilet (thank God!) The plumber initially agreed with my assessment but after poking his head through the ceiling for about an hour, running the neighbours’ faucets, man-handling the pipes, etc., he concluded that it was the grout in the shower upstairs that was the source of the leak.

   Seems like older buildings like mine had grout applied right on top of drywall so once compromised, the thing just turns to mud. In this case, however, it isn’t merely the grout that’s coming away, the whole corner of their shower is apparently all puckered up and ready to fall off. Minor miracle that I’d just noticed it now, in fact.

   So, good news is that, for me, it means minor drywall work in my closet. And I learned how to fix common water pressure problems too! For my neighbours, it means that their bathroom (and especially shower), will be off-limits for a while.

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I probably looked like someone preparing for an assassination. But I had a purpose, dear reader. Yes, a master plan. A secret master plan.

That’s right, I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss why I looked like I would be involved in a Bourne-like plot, but I could see how my behaviour could be construed as such.

I stood at the each location, gazing across the street to check the sightlines. Then I’d go to that location and gaze back from there. Suspicious. And, being the proud papa of a short new cut, along with my daunting shades, I probably looked the part of someone who might use those sightlines for nefarious purposes.

And I was on a mission.

Determined to hit as many of my ten destinations as I could. I managed six. Well, seven if you count the bendy CN Tower. I’m not sure if I’m counting it just yet; we’ll see which way I’m leaning later on. But I trekked the hell out of those streets. Up to the steps of Casa Loma…

…down to the most prominent building on Queen Street…

…onward to the CBC where I had a shouting match with Glenn Gould…

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