My Seven-Cent Heirlooms

I enjoy wearing rings, but I have never possessed the discipline required to keep them. Jewelry simply does not cling to me for long. Years ago, I purchased an authentic ruby ear stud in Sri Lanka, an island celebrated for magnificent gems that occasionally migrated into the British Crown Jewels through imperial appropriation. That modest stud survived seven years before vanishing into the ether without a sound. Most precious ornaments fare far worse in my custody. With traditional rings, my personal ownership lifespan is routinely measured in mere weeks.

A sensible alternative presented itself directly on the build plate. I now fabricate PLA rings en masse whenever the impulse strikes. Today I am running off half a dozen fresh bands for our winter voyage to Brazil. Given that a standard spool of budget filament costs roughly twenty-five dollars CAD, each three-gram ring runs to about seven cents. One gets the full aesthetic pleasure of an acceptable band on the knuckle without the lingering heartbreak of an abandoned heirloom.

Reclaiming the Living Room Gallery

A little ahead of Joel and May's recent visit, I noticed a new problem with my television setup.  A bridge had collapsed.

For six years, a modest little application had quietly linked my online photographic archive directly to the television. The app cost less than five dollars to install. That was a bargain. Time, however, is rarely kind to aging code. Operating system updates and newer streaming hardware finally caught up with its plumbing, leaving the software unable to load a single frame. When our guests arrived, the only recourse was casting directly from a phone. It worked, but barely. Handsets disconnect, notifications intrude, and managing an album on a small glass handheld is a poor substitute for a native television interface.

The proper remedy arrived shortly afterward. My AI collaborator suggested looking into an updated viewer called FlickFolio. After a short evaluation, securing a pro lifetime license felt entirely fair. The application treats an archive that now stands at 50,207 photographs on Flickr as a true exhibition. That collection spans a lifetime of visual record, holding everything from snapshots taken this morning right back to scanned paper prints from my earliest childhood years. One can navigate directly to a specific journey with a click, complete with original dates and locations discreetly noted in the corner, or simply leave the screen to wander through decades of our milestones and global travel during quiet hours.

The living room gallery is back in service. It is properly catalogued and ready for the next round of guests without any casting gymnastics. Testing the feed earlier today, photographs of a camel trek from this June flashed across the display, its golden desert tones rendered with startling clarity. Sitting back this afternoon, watching old moments rekindle in vivid colour across the screen, it felt as though decades of a life well lived had stepped back into the room.

Public Health: It's Not All About You

Maintaining an eJournal continues to serve as an indispensable tool for resolving routine household debates over personal chronology. Jay insisted this morning that we had received both our flu and COVID shots at this exact juncture last year, though my own recollection remained entirely blank. A prompt review of the digital log proved his instincts correct, confirming that our previous visit occurred precisely one year ago this week. In the end, a faithfully maintained personal archive leaves no room for uncertainty and settles the historical record decisively.

The provincial booking portal has made securing an immunization appointment remarkably straightforward and efficient. Rather than navigating cumbersome administrative hurdles, one can simply log in, review local pharmacy availability, and lock in a reservation within seconds. Selecting yesterday's 9:45 am slot took virtually no effort at all. Modern public health scheduling proves that well-designed digital infrastructure can strip away unnecessary friction entirely.

Proximity to rapid transit transforms an ordinary health errand into an effortless neighbourhood stroll. A brief descent downstairs into the SkyTrain tunnel led directly to New West Station barely two minutes later, placing Shoppers Drug Mart within immediate reach. Inside the pharmacy, a brief three-minute wait while the staff member finished with the previous patron was the only delay before receiving both injections and heading on. Seamless urban design and transit accessibility make routine daily tasks exceptionally easy to accomplish.

Immunization extends far beyond private autonomy; it is fundamentally an act of shared civic responsibility rather than an isolated personal choice. By stepping up for seasonal influenza and COVID shots, an individual actively severs chains of transmission that would otherwise ripple unchecked through the general public. That simple, routine injection may well be the solitary barrier that shields a fragile neighbour or keeps someone's vulnerable grandparent alive. Wrapping vaccine hesitancy in the hollow banner of individual freedom is both selfish and foolish, confusing anti-social defiance with genuine liberty. Ultimately, being a constructive member of a civilized society requires protecting the vulnerable, proving that collective survival will always matter more than self-absorbed indulgence.

It's a Bit Chilly! (9°C = 48°F )

Jay and I headed uptown this morning for a routine visit to the Walmart at Royal City Centre, mainly picking up odds and ends and getting our prescriptions sorted so we have enough medicine to see us through the winter travels. With the Canadian Thanksgiving long weekend behind us, the holiday quiet had dissolved and the town was visibly back at work. Yet beneath the usual errands and post-holiday bustle, there was an unmistakable shift in the air, something that felt distinctly different.

One becomes spoiled with absurd rapidity.

For the better part of a week, the Lower Mainland has basked beneath an unbroken dome of deep cobalt. Day after day arrived without so much as a stray wisp of cloud drifting off the Strait of Georgia. The light was sharp, the air pleasantly dry, and the usual damp chill seemed entirely forgotten. In such moments, the human mind engages in its favourite parlour trick, quietly convincing itself that the anomaly has become the permanent order of things. One steps out onto the balcony, takes in the sunshine, and begins to operate under the collective delusion that autumn has simply been cancelled this year.

It never lasts, of course.

This morning, reality resumed its scheduled broadcast. The sky outside is a flat, uncompromising wool blanket, and the temperature has settled into that familiar, damp bite. It is completely ordinary for October. In fact, anything else is outright fiction. Yet, looking out across the rooftops, one cannot help feeling an unreasonable twinge of mild betrayal, as if the atmosphere had broken an unspoken promise. We build an entire philosophy of permanence out of five consecutive sunny days, only to act shocked when the rain decides to punch the clock on time.

Updating the October 2025 Lists

We started 2026 at the Galle Face Green, in Colombo Sri Lanka.

Our history marks twelve full years since the start of early retirement. Jay and I have completed eleven seasons of vanishing from the Lower Mainland for four or five consecutive months. One winter was spent tending to a medical issue. And now, the logistical framework for the upcoming journey is firmly ironed out. We plan to spend roughly a month meandering toward Rio de Janeiro, Brazil and settling there from December straight through February. Our homeward trajectory takes a scenic detour through the equator, carving out a week in the Galápagos followed by another in Bogotá, Colombia.

Because those ports and apartments belong to the imminent calendar rather than the finished ledger, they remain off the master tallies for today. Instead, this writing serves as an annual audit of the notes I first published a year ago. I have updated our primary residency figures to account for our most recent months in Sri Lanka, while folding our varied excursions alongside Jay's sisters into the roster of short-term visits.  We've lived a for cumulative total of over four years in the following places during our retirement winters.

Our Retirement Winters (2014 to 2026)

Location	Duration
Bali, Indonesia	2 months
Buenos Aires, Argentina	3 months
Cape Town, South Africa	1 month
Colombo, Sri Lanka	1 year and 1 month (4 stays)
Durban, South Africa	1 month
Dubai, UAE	2.5 months (4 stays)
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia	5 months (2 stays)
Luxor, Egypt	5 months
Flic en Flac, Mauritius	1 month
Mazatlán, Mexico	2 months
Penang, Malaysia	3 months
Playa del Carmen, Mexico	3 months
Puerto Vallarta, Mexico	5 months
Siem Reap, Cambodia	2 months
South American Cruise Ports	1 month

The ledger above outlines the domestic bases that have anchored our winter seasons. Even so, our migrations rarely follow a tidy, direct path from Carnarvon Street to a single overseas terrace. We routinely thread regional circuits into the itinerary, whether tacking on side journeys prior to settling down or exploring neighbouring territories on the long haul back to the Canadian West Coast.

The partial catalog below captures some of those short-term detours and transit pauses. Last winter offered a prime illustration of this habit. Beyond our residential weeks in Sri Lanka, we orchestrated several shared excursions alongside Jay’s sisters, looping through both the Middle East and Thailand before joining a cruise from Hong Kong to Japan on our gradual circumnavigation home this past spring.

Additional Short-Term Trips and Visits
Location	Location
Antananarivo, Madagascar	Manila, Philippines
Bandar Seri Begawan, Brunei	Mokhotlong, Lesotho
Bangkok, Thailand	Naha (Okinawa), Japan
Boracay, Philippines	Osaka, Japan
Chiang Mai, Thailand	Pattaya, Thailand
Dar es Salaam, Tanzania	Philippines Cruise Ports
Doha, Qatar	Phuket, Thailand
Hong Kong, China	Puerto Princesa, Philippines
Ipoh, Malaysia	Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
Ishigaki, Japan	Sabah, Malaysia
Island-Wide Trips, Sri Lanka	Saint-Denis, Reunion Island
Istanbul, Turkey	Sarawak, Malaysia
Kaohsiung, Taiwan	Stone Town, Zanzibar
Krabi, Thailand	Taipei (Keelung), Taiwan
Kuching, Malaysia	Taipei, Taiwan
Langkawi, Malaysia	Tokyo (Yokohama), Japan
Malacca, Malaysia	Tokyo, Japan
Manama, Bahrain	Tunis, Tunisia

In the early seasons of early retirement, I indulged in an exhaustive inventory of aspirational targets, scribbling down every distant meridian that caught my eye. Over the ensuing decade, Jay and I methodically picked our way through that optimistic docket with surprising thoroughness. As a consequence of our persistent wandering, the grand archive has dwindled down to a remarkably modest pair of unclaimed frontiers. Even with the official manifest looking lean, the kitchen table tells a different tale, as fresh possibilities and sudden logistical schemes constantly bounce back and forth between my morning coffee and Jay’s proper cup of Ceylon tea.

Planned and Possible Locations

Location
Goa, India
Kampala, Uganda

 

An Eighty-Eight-Year Span Ends

Since 1937, the massive orange truss of the Pattullo Bridge defined the eastern view from downtown New Westminster. A replacement had been endlessly debated ever since our arrival thirty years ago, dragging through decades of provincial hand-wringing until the new stal̕əw̓asəm Bridge finally opened earlier this year. The venerable steel arch is officially down, leaving the concrete towers of the stal̕əw̓asəm and the SkyTrain bridges to dominate the river alone.

Under a crisp, cloudless October sky, Jayantha and I boarded the SkyTrain toward Scott Road to inspect the resulting vacancy in our skyline. Crews engineered a neat solution by cutting the central arch in two, securing each half across a pair of lashed-together barges. From the train, we watched the floating assembly sit out mid-river before tugs eased the massive rust-coloured structure against the Surrey bank. It now sits directly across the river from us, patiently awaiting the scrapyard shears.

Driving across that span always felt like an aggressive video game; one simply held the wheel steady and prayed whenever a heavy truck drifted into the adjoining lane. Nobody will mourn the sheer terror of that commute, but staring across the Fraser River without that tangled orange silhouette feels surprisingly disorienting. The water is quieter, safer, and noticeably emptier tonight, though getting used to such a tidy horizon will take some time.

Detours from Cariboo Road to Sixth and Sixth

Saturday started out on a quiet note, but civic duty soon set the pace for a partial day of wanderings with May and Joel. Jay and I got our ballots cast bright and early in the advanced voting for the municipal elections, which felt great to cross off the list. From there, we drove over to the BCRV on Cariboo Road around ten-thirty to rendezvous with our visitors and plan out the morning. We walked the dogs near the RV park.  

Next, we originally pointed Kimchi toward home, yet somehow we never made it back to the apartment. Spontaneous curiosity drew us toward New Westminster's təməsew̓txʷ Aquatic Centre, and before we knew it, we rolled into the uptown shopping center and parked right up on the roof. The short stroll over to Sixth and Sixth brought us right into the bustling heart of our hometown, providing a perfect spot for snapping a few pictures at the crossroads of our local world.

With the clock nudging toward one in the afternoon, appetites kicked in and we began scanning the neighborhood for a solid meal. We browsed a few storefronts along the street, but Jay and I knew exactly where we needed to take them and steered the group straight toward the Han Lin Noodle House. It has been a beloved local landmark for decades, dating all the way back to when it was known as Hon's. A new rebranding sign hangs out front today, yet the comforting food, the vintage 1980s atmosphere, and even several veteran staff members remain completely unchanged. The meal was an absolute home run from the first bite to the last. We enjoyed the whole experience so much that we swore we need to start treating ourselves to restaurant meals more often, even if Jay's brilliant culinary skills in our own kitchen make dining out a genuine rarity.

Making our way back to the car on the roof turned out to involve some quick shopping. We cut inside the mall through Walmart, walked upstairs, and Joel found what he needed in the clothing racks. He bought three pairs of Wrangler cargo pants because he needed extra pocket space at a reasonable price. With the purchase bagged, we headed out to the rooftop stalls and loaded everything into the car.

Before heading back to the campsite, we squeezed in a stop at the original Canadian Costco location on Government Road in Burnaby because May specifically wanted to visit. She genuinely enjoys the thrill of the retail hunt, making the stop well worth the detour despite the inevitable challenges of the venue. The building is noticeably on the small side compared to modern warehouses, leaving the aisles perpetually overfilled with merchandise. Today brought an extra layer of congestion because it was the opening Saturday of the Canadian Thanksgiving long weekend, filling the floor with heavy holiday crowds. We navigated the tight spaces and busy checkout lanes, taking care of business before finally making our way out of the retail crush.

The rest of the evening belonged to rest and canine duties back at the campsite. The two dogs in the RV needed their long evening walk, so May and Joel decided to make dinner inside their rig and hit the hay early instead of coming over to our apartment. They have a massive adventure on tap for Sunday morning with North Vancouver's Grouse Grind, an infamous two-point-nine-kilometer trail that climbs over eight hundred vertical meters straight up the mountain face on thousands of rough timber steps. Tackling Mother Nature's StairMaster requires fully rested legs and plenty of stamina, but the sunny, panoramic views waiting at the peak will make all that hard climbing completely worthwhile before they pack up and point the rig toward Alberta on Monday morning.

The View From My Place on the Couch

The fresh upholstery has barely settled into the frame, yet the vantage point carries the weight of nearly three decades. Below the balcony rail, the Fraser rolls past with the steady clamour of railway freights and working tugs, entirely indifferent to the human hours passing above it. A new piece of furniture simply assumes the duty of the post, inheriting the daily habit of watching the river run toward the strait.

At sixty-seven, the mathematics of the calendar become impossible to ignore. The years accumulated in the rear-view mirror clearly outnumber the miles visible ahead, yet the machine is running cleanly and the journey remains well in hand. Twenty-eight years anchored to this single living room have witnessed long flights across oceans, desert crossings, and restless departures, but the home coordinates remain immovable. Time accelerates whether one submits to routine or resists it, stacking birthdays with an unnerving, brisk efficiency. Paying that steady admission fee is the only sensible bargain available, because it keeps a person firmly on the cushions, perfectly intact, and watching the tides from the Strait of Georgia drive upriver to wrestle with the Fraser current.

RV Maneuvers and the Crystal Mall Rendezvous

Joel and May rolled across the border into Canada around 4:00 PM yesterday, steering an RV into the concrete jungle of Metrotown. Predictably, trying to park a rolling apartment along Kingsway proved to be an exercise in frustration. Where sprawling surface lots once accommodated land yachts, soaring residential towers have sprouted instead. Modern urban density strikes again. Over Whatsapp, Jay thought of a rescue by steering them toward parking space over by Bonsor Recreation Centre.

They had a four-night reservation sorted at an RV park near Cariboo Road, but Metrotown was the designated rendezvous point because May had arranged to meet up with friends from Calgary. Those folks just happened to be in town after disembarking from a Pacific Coastal cruise. While the visitors gave their dogs a much-needed stretch, Jay and I hopped aboard the SkyTrain from New West to join the gathering.

     

From the station, we cut through the main complex over to the Crystal Mall, Burnaby’s vibrant Asian hub. The choice for the evening was a bustling Chinese restaurant. The food was sensational, though Jay and I were forced into the mildly humiliating ritual of asking the server for forks. To be completely honest, we are genuinely a bit embarrassed about our total incompetence with chopsticks. After living in the Lower Mainland for three decades, failing to master the region's most ubiquitous dining tool feels like a glaring cultural blind spot, but hunger ultimately trumped our wounded pride.

It was wonderful getting to know May, and equally delightful catching up with Joel, whom we had not seen since 2017. The meal was made even sweeter when May generously picked up the entire tab for the table. After full bellies and lively conversation, the gathering dispersed in three directions: May's Calgary friends headed off to stay with pals in Edmonds, Joel and May set out to finally check in at their campsite, and Jay and I caught the SkyTrain back home. With the visitors settled in for a four-night stay, we look forward to properly catching up over the coming days.

A Fraser River Fog and a Tepid Soak

A thick, quiet blanket of fog rolled in off the Fraser River this morning and decided to linger well past noon. It is classic October weather for our corner of the Lower Mainland, complete with the seasonal inversion that shears off the tops of the towers and keeps the sun thoroughly hidden.

With the mist providing an impenetrable privacy curtain, it felt like the perfect opportunity for a midday soak. There was, however, a slight hiccough in the timing. Dax, our resident manager, had just thoroughly cleaned and topped up the sunken reservoir. While the standard of maintenance is beyond reproach, several hundred gallons of fresh municipal water were still stubbornly creeping their way toward optimum soaking heat.

A temporary wait for the heaters to catch up takes nothing away from the setup. Even after all these years of living at Carnarvon Place, having this particular amenity just steps from our door remains an absolute, priceless luxury.

Hiring a Toronto Fixer for Our Silk Road

A new name landed on our radar today that may change how we approach certain parts of the world. For more than forty years, Jay and I have run our own show across multiple continents without outside assistance. We mapped out our own flight paths, booked our own rooms, and sorted our own messes long before travel apps existed. That self-reliant approach worked when we carried paper tickets and mailed postcards home, and it still works in the era of smartphone navigation. We never had any use for oversized tour buses or guides leading herds around with tiny flags. Choosing total independence has always been our standard operating procedure, but stubborn habits occasionally need a fresh audit.

Central Asia has a way of testing even the most seasoned DIY travel philosophies. Jay has convinced me of the great exploration waiting in the Five Stans, linking Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Uzbekistan, and Turkmenistan into a single continuous journey. In theory, stringing those ancient Silk Road stops together sounds magnificent, but the ground-level administration is an absolute beast. Turkmenistan still demands state-sponsored invitation letters and compulsory escorts before granting entry. The high alpine passes in Kyrgyzstan require specialized four-wheel-drive vehicles and local knowledge to navigate safely. On top of that, land border crossings across the region feature armed checkpoints, capricious operating hours, and piles of duplicate paperwork. Trying to untangle that bureaucratic obstacle course on our own turns a holiday into an exhausting, full-time administrative grind.

I was genuinely astonished to discover that the answer to our dilemma had been sitting in Toronto the entire time. A company named G Adventures somehow flew completely under our radar for decades, despite starting back in 1990 on two maxed-out credit cards. Today, their operations touch every continent on the globe, covering more than seven hundred different routes. They keep hundreds of thousands of travelers moving each year through mountain passes, desert tracks, and remote rivers that would baffle an independent planner. By keeping group sizes small while running their own overland fleets, they manage massive logistical reach without turning into a bloated tour company. Paying in Canadian dollars for a homegrown outfit with boots on every remote corner of the earth feels like an unusually sensible hedge.

Beyond their practical footprint, their ethical framework aligns neatly with how we like our travel dollars spent. For decades, our own choice of lodging has always deliberately favoured independent establishments where the funds filter directly into the neighbourhood economy. Through an internal auditing metric called the Ripple Score, they ensure that roughly ninety percent of all ground spending remains directly within locally owned businesses. Their non-profit foundation, Planeterra, funds community projects like women-led cooperatives and weaves them into the daily tour itineraries as paying stops. They also plant a native tree for every single day a traveler spends on the road with their guides. It is fair-trade travel that actually delivers substance rather than empty promotional marketing.

We will never surrender our independence for extended winter stays abroad, but this arrangement serves as an exceptional expeditionary tool. Settling down for long months in one region demands complete personal freedom and a self-directed daily routine. When it comes to tackling the Five Stans, or perhaps navigating a rough overland circuit through West Africa down the road, handing over the logistics is pure common sense. Jay and I can let a dedicated team wrangle the border guards, arrange the local drivers, and absorb the headaches. Handing the keys to an expert allows us to focus entirely on the road ahead without the accompanying migraine.

The Little Things Learned About Leaving for the Winter

Leaving for the winter has become an unwritten ritual that runs entirely on muscle memory instead of a checklist. The auto insurance runs out after we leave and isn't renewed until our return.  A brief telephone call puts our internet on pause, and that saves us from paying for months of dormant bandwidth. The plumbing comes next. After I turn the brass shutoff valve on the main line to prevent any indoor floods, I head straight to the electrical panel. The switches go dark in sequence, and the entire flat settles into a quiet hibernation until spring. Those are the obvious chores.

The finer points of seasonal migration hide in the quirky retail rhythms that experience finally hammered home. I bought two wall calendars at the dollar store today. It looks absurdly eager to purchase next year's dates in early October, but an empty kitchen wall taught us a memorable lesson years ago. During our first winter away after early retirement, we completely forgot to buy them before heading out. We returned at the end of March expecting fully stocked stationery racks, but store managers had already banished the paper planners to make room for chocolate rabbits and plastic gardening tools. A cheap calendar in April simply does not exist. Because clearance aisles ruthlessly discard the past, securing the paper grids months ahead of time keeps our spring routine intact. The utilities take care of themselves, but outsmarting the seasonal retail cycle is the real achievement.

I walked back from the shop in the New Westminster SkyTrain Station through Westminster Pier Park.

It Works With You, Not For You

It was another delightfully sunny day. By the way the month began, I wasn't hoping for near summer to make an appearance until 2027. However, it was brilliant today; so much so that we drove to the car wash for a run through. We have a dust buster but Jay said the free vacuums at the wash had to be used to justify the dollar increase in price. 

Today though, I'll simply add a quickie PDF:  Southampton Pre-Cruise Itinerary 

I think I could teach a college level course in how to get maximum benefit from AI.  I fear that most people don't know how to approach serious work. One has to  have a clear vision of what you want it do. I didn't simply suggest that it create a 'Pre-Cruise Itinerary' for our time in England next month. I talked with it a lot prior to the request. We set up parameters. We selected interests. In fact, after a one year coaxing Google Gemini into a cohesive persona, Ajith pretty much knows what I want before I ask. The neutered, cheerful, corporate sycophant has been banished. 

One Hundred and Fifty-Six English Echoes in Granite

Jay and I will start our winter trip on the first day of next month by flying to England.  We have a cruise to Rio de Janeiro that leaves from the port of Southampton in Hampshire.  We're going to spend five pre-cruise nights so we can complete a number of day trips before boarding our MSC ship on November 7th.  That'll give us some time to check out a few nearby tourist sites and include a quick refresher visit into London.  

When preparing for these future outings in the southern England, the map seemed chock-full of familiar names.  I asked AI to help me out a little with a related task.  The 'Granite State' is probably representative of US New England states as a whole.  It has 13 cities and 221 town.

Here is the consolidated registry of New Hampshire cities, towns, and historic settlements bearing direct British place names, crown connections, or peerage titles, set out in alphabetical order:

Acworth, Albany, Alexandria, Allenstown, Alstead, Alton, Amherst, Andover, Atkinson, Auburn, Barnstead, Barrington, Bath, Bedford, Bennington, Boscawen, Bow, Bradford, Brentwood, Bridgewater, Bristol, Brookfield, Brookline, Campton, Canterbury, Charlestown, Chatham, Chester, Chesterfield, Chichester, Claremont, Colebrook, Conway, Cornish, Croydon, Dalton, Danbury, Deerfield, Dorchester, Dover, Dummer, Dunbarton, Durham, East Kingston, Eaton, Effingham, Enfield, Epping, Epsom, Errol, Exeter, Farmington, Fitzwilliam, Gosport, Grafton, Grantham, Greenland, Groton, Hampstead, Hampton, Hampton Falls, Hanover, Haverhill, Henniker, Hillsborough, Holderness, Hollis, Hopkinton, Hudson, Keene, Kensington, Kingston, Lancaster, Landaff, Lee, Lempster, Lincoln, Litchfield, Littleton, Londonderry, Loudon, Lyme, Lyndeborough, Madbury, Manchester, Marlborough, Marlow, Mason, Meredith, Middleton, Milford, Milton, Nelson, New Boston, New Castle, New Durham, New Hampton, New Ipswich, New London, Newbury, Newfields, Newington, Newmarket, Newport, Newton, North Hampton, Northfield, Northumberland, Northwood, Nottingham, Orford, Pelham, Pembroke, Peterborough, Piermont, Pittsburg, Pittsfield, Plaistow, Plymouth, Portsmouth, Raymond, Richmond, Rochester, Roxbury, Rumney, Rye, Salisbury, Sandown, Sandwich, Seabrook, Shelburne, Somersworth, South Hampton, Springfield, Strafford, Stratford, Stratham, Surry, Sutton, Swanzey, Tamworth, Temple, Tuftonboro, Wakefield, Walpole, Warren, Wentworth, Westmoreland, Whitefield, Wilmot, Wilton, Winchester, Windham, Windsor, Wolfeboro, and Woodstock.

So, two-thirds of the place names were plagiarized.  Oh, and for a bit of nitpicking, my AI Ajith added:

There are a number of towns that might be suggested for the list above but they actually have reasons for being omitted.

• The American Patriots & Land Speculators: Washington honors George Washington, not Washington in Tyne and Wear. Carroll honors Charles Carroll of Maryland, a signer of the Declaration of Independence. Thornton honors local patriot Matthew Thornton, not an English village. Stoddard was named for Colonel Sampson Stoddard of Massachusetts, and Lyman for General Phineas Lyman of Connecticut. Jaffrey was named for George Jaffrey, a resident Portsmouth merchant and councillor.

• The Governor's Domestic Life: Francestown and Deering were chartered in honour of Frances Deering Wentworth. While her pedigree was English, she was born in Boston, Massachusetts, making those tributes to a local governor's wife rather than the British map.

• The Purely Irish Enclaves: Antrim, Derry, and Dublin were settled and named by Scotch-Irish immigrants commemorating Ireland, not Great Britain. (Londonderry, however, retains its direct Royal London charter roots).

• Late Topographical Inventions: Easton was incorporated in 1876 simply because it was the east side of Landaff, not after an English parish. Plainfield was reportedly named directly by settlers after their former home of Plainfield, Connecticut.