#Bark Blowers near me

[twoguysbarkblowing]

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[stormdancer]

Shiva, Roan, and the Intake Manifold

(( Completely unrelated to the Hill Warband story, just a slice of life short, inspired by the IC fact that Traikill is taking care of one of her soldier’s (very) young cubs, while the warband is on patrol. ))

“Alright, you monsters, come on, let’s go. Fall in line.”

One of the monsters in question looked up at her uncomprehendingly, while the other continued chewing on the tail of the first.

This was about what Traikill had expected.

She sighed, and pushed back from her desk. Standing, she took a moment to stretch, rubbing firmly at the broad scar on her right flank. Sitting still for too long always made it tighten up, and forge knows she’d been sitting too long!

“Shiva! Roan! On yer paws! C’mon cubs, we’re moving,” she growled, finally getting the younger male’s attention. He stood up, and was immediately pounced by his older sister, tumbling him to the iron decking of her floor again.

She sighed, shaking her head, and reached down to pick them both up. “Come on, you two,” she muttered, as she cradled the twin cubs in her arms. “We’re gonna go poke some folks on th’ heavy deck. See why th’ blazes Heft ain’t got their supply yet. Don’t that sound fun?”

Shiva’s response was a curious babble, while Roan tried to remove a rivet from the leather padding on her armor. Traikill rolled her eyes, then walked out into the hall, leaving the door to her small office open. “Alright you two, I’m not gonna carry you,” she muttered, setting them both down and starting off down the hall. The two cubs scampered after eagerly, shifting carelessly from two legs to four and back again.

“Goin’ to th’ Heavy deck,” she said to the assistant, who sat behind his own desk, in front of the short hall. He had already lifted both feet and his tail out of range of the cubs, which made her grin. “Yer learnin’!” she chuckled. “I’mma get chow an’ come back after, want anything?”

“No ma’am, thanks. I’ll tell anybody comes calling to take a hike around the ahh! No, don’t...” he protested, pulling Roan off the pull-handle of the desk’s drawers, which the cub was industriously using as a ladder.

“Cubs! Move out!” Traikill barked, and started out again, with the two youngsters scrambling after, as often chasing her tail as each other, but still managing to stay close.

The afternoon sun beat down on the iron decking of the repair bay, encouraging detours through the shade provided by the towering war machines that were scattered through the space. Some were in for repair, others under construction.

She paused, looking up at one of the tanks. The shrouding and armor had been removed from a portion of the engine bay, a few pieces already removed and stacked on the tread. “Ain’t she a beaut?” she said to the cubs, chuckling as they stared up at the great weapon of destruction, and then immediately began attempting to scale it, clambering rapidly over bogey suspension and drive gear, and into the engine compartment.

“Yah, tha’s perty much how I was about ‘em,” she agreed, leaning on the heavy frame rail, watching as Shiva worked her way up along a suspension arm. With the firebox cold and weapons safed, she knew there was no real danger, short of the potential for pinched tails. “C’mon, I got shit t’ do, though...”

There was a flash of movement that made her glance down just in time to see Roan’s tail vanish into darkness. “What th’… shit, cub! Get outta...” she growled, lifting herself up onto the tread and reaching toward the pipe just as Shiva followed, darting into the darkness, chasing after the echoing giggle of her vanished brother.

Traikill knew these engines well, and she exhaled slowly. “Slag take it...” she muttered, and leaned over, reaching an arm up into the intake manifold. “Come out, dang ya!”

The answering babble and giggle was a sound she knew far too well – there was no way either of the two hellions was coming out any time soon. She leaned over and peered into the darkness – a pair of bright eyes glittering back at her. The intake pipe for the manifold had been a snug fit for cubs, but the airbox was a cozy den for the moment.

She flatted her ears back, then climbed down out of the engine. She took a deep breath, her tail lashing, then bellowed “Repair deck CHIEF!”

A young Charr appeared almost instantly, peering around the back end of the machine. It took just a quick glance at her demeanor to keep him pinned right where he was. “Uh, can I help you?”

“Get the chief here,” she said, in tones that made it clear she expected immediate results.

Wisely, the youngster vanished, a “Yes’m!” wafting in his wake.

She leaned against the tank, and sighed. “If yer mother dies in th’ desert an’ leaves me stuck with you two, I’mma go down there an’ murder her all over again,” she growled, at the soot-caked pipe. “You little shits gonna come out, or am I comin’ in after?”

The only answer was a clank of something against the insides of the machine, and an excited squabbling babble. “Ai’ght,” she growled, then pushed off as the yard chief came trotting forward.

“Centurion,” he said, giving a quick salute as he came to a halt. “How can I help you, ma’am?”

“Assemble the work group responsible for this engine,” she growled.

He opened his muzzle, clearly considering protest or questions.

She held up a paw to forestall them. “It’s a learnin’ opportunity,” she said, with careful calm.

“Ah,” he said, flatting his ears back and looking over the work, searching for what fool thing some apprentice engineer had screwed up. “Slag. Yes ma’am. It’ll take a few minutes, they’re on break...”

“I kinda gathered as much! What with them not bein’ here!” she snarled. “And they still ain’t here so why th’ blazes are you?”

It was indeed a few minutes before the group was assembled, standing in what she supposed they thought was supposed to resemble a line. Three males, two females. One of them was still doing his best to chew and swallow a too-large piece of meat. So she stood, patiently, and waited, staring pointedly at him. He at least had the decency to look embarrassed, and also avoided choking when he swallowed. The yard chief stood some distance away, watching apprehensively.

“This is yer work?” she asked, pointing at the engine.

Heads bobbled in agreement. One of them recognized the irritated tilt of her ears, and spoke up “Yes ma’am!”

Mollified slightly, she nodded. “And so you are familiar with basic protocol, yes?”

This time there was a nervous chorus of “Yes ma’am”.

She stalked over to the tool rack stationed near the work area. “What is this?” she asked, holding up a wrench.

“A wrench, ma’am. Number 18, used in removing standard armor plating, along with certain portions of the drive system.”

She nodded, pleased. “And this?” As she held up the conical, folded-metal shape, she saw the yard chief’s ears flat back and eyes narrow. He knew.

One of the males twitched his ears back as well. “Airway and exhaust baffle ma’am.”

“And when would regulations require this be in place?”

There were a couple of uncomfortable swallows. “When a machine is in for refit, repair, service, or general storage,” spoke up one of the females. Every one of the line were trying their hardest not to look at the dark void of the manifold where the baffle was clearly not located.

“Tha’s correct. You,” she growled, pointing at the largest one in the group. “C’mere.” When he stepped forward, she gestured encouragingly, and moved to the engine. “Give a listen here. Tell me whatcha hear.” Inside, the two cubs were babbling and muttering to eachother, and she could hear the tell-tale thunk of the blower cage being shoved.

The male leaned forward, ducking his head and hunching his head slightly as if expecting a blow. His ears perked, and he tilted his head. “Ah… sounds like… a cub ma’am. Two, I guess.” He grimaced unhappily, and stood at something she suspected he thought would pass for attention.

“Not my cubs,” Traikill pointed out. “B’long t’ one of mah soldiers, deployed south. If th’ mother of those cubs was here right now, at least one of you lot would be in th’ infirmary by now.”

“I could reach up in there, and get them out?”

She smiled. “Why tha’s a fine plan. You got good long arms. How ‘bout you do that?”

He did so. “Ah, gotcha,” he said. “Okay, come on… ah… hey… hey hey, no, let go! Ow, no, just… OW!” He yelped and withdrew his soot-streaked arm, giving a shake of his hand that sent blood in a graceful arc. To his considerable regret, some of that arc included Traikill.

“We can disassemble the manifold ma’am!” called one of the younger of the group.

“What you slag suckin’ idiots is gonna do, is yer gonna stand...” She frowned, searching for a spot that was certain to remain in full sun for the next half hour. “There.” She gave a nod toward the older Charr, still watching. “Chief, could I trouble you fer a cart, please?’

“Yes ma’am, comin’ right to you.” He trotted off quickly, and returned shortly with a broad wheeled cart, which he pushed into place.

“Thankee. Go find shade. Don’t lemme keep ya from yer work.”

“Not a worry ma’am, I look forward to seeing how this works out.” There was a malicious gleam in his eye that she found she approved of heartily.

Setting to work, she quickly worked through the removal of pipes and supports that would block removal of the manifold, then set about the unbolting of the multi-piece cast iron itself. Each item was carefully set on the cart, with the nuts, bolts and fasteners involved either set alongside them or partially screwed into the hole they came from. Her own teachers and mentors would have been pleased.

Some half an hour later she heaved the final piece out, revealing the ducts and blower fan, and two cubs. Now soot-black, they were curled up together, fast asleep. She put the duct on the cart with the rest, then picked the two cubs up and snuggled them in her grease, rust, and soot-streaked arms.

She stood there for a long moment, glaring at the somewhat bewildered and considerably uncomfortable engineers. Then she turned her head to their instructor. “Have you told them the rat story?” she wondered.

“Not often enough, apparently,” he growled. “Thank you Centurion. For not maiming any of them, I mean.” Unsaid, but made clear by the upward tilt of his head, the baring of his throat, was his inclusion of himself in that list.

“I got shit needs gettin’ done. Tell ‘em again,” she growled, then stalked off in search of one of her Legionnaires – he had better provide a good explanation why his supply caravan wasn’t under way yet. And then there was the matter of cleaning up.

[charaday5e]

Sharpshooters, ep01 part 2

https://www.dicelogger.com/9de06326-bd1e-40a4-981d-63a94089eac5 They head off through the woods and reach the ridge by mid day. Goblin guard towers are visible, speckled over the ridge. Curtis starts playing a song and urging the others to rest and eat rations. (Inspiring Leader, +4 temp hp) "What's the line of attack?" barks Kilgrim, "How do we enter Goblin territory and find the prisoner?" "Gobos aren't really people, ya know. I say we kill them all" squeaks the rogue. Curtis says with a look of disagreement, "That's a little too blood thirsty for me. I say we scout their movements for a while and see if we can find this Rogen fellow. Then we can try to sneak into their ranks at night, before they suspect anything, we can be half way back to town." It becomes obvious to everyone else that Sindra has gone rogue. They quickly muster to catch-up with her. Sindra fires the first shot, but it sails way past the goblin guards, landing with a 'plunk' on their tower. Taking a beat and realizing that she has alerted them of her presence, she circles back to rejoin the party. Attempting to hide, she trips over a branch but then catches her footing, "Hey guys. I should say, 'Oops', I guess" round 1 Kilgrim steps up, now he's out in front. He raises his bow and fires, hitting the lead goblin. "Here they come!" Although he is nearly 100 feet away from his target, his arrow flies true, and lands right between the eyes. Curtis bolsters his friend Dagget with some words of encouragement. Dagget pegs a goblin guard in the shoulder, wounding him but not killing him. Five goblin guards all knock arrows into their shortbows but firing into thick foliage at such a great distance and none all but one miss. The one goblin gets a lucky shot but only nicks Kilgrm (9hp) round 2 Sindra fires a bolt, while leaping out from behind a tree, killing the middle goblin in just one shot. Curtis says some inspiring words to her and then flicks his hand crossbow, finishing off the wounded Goblin. Dagget outright kills the fourth goblin in one hit. The remaining two goblins drop their bows to regroup. One raises a gnarled goat horn to his mouth and blows, calling for reinforcements. The last goblin climbs down from the tower and pulls out his shortsword and shield. round 3 Sindra kills the horn blower, before he can don his shield. The final goblin charges forward but only makes it across the expanse about half way. round 4 Curtis leaps out in front and lets a bolt fly, killing the last goblin in this squad. round 5 Kilgrim speaks up, "Everyone hide, this is not a fight we can win in this position." He moves further away from the ridge, gaining cover in the trees. Six goblin fighters crest the hill, fresh for the fight while the rest of the team does their best to find cover round 6 Sindra aims for the middle goblin, firing a bolt directly through his neck, severing his spine. His body drops lifelessly and the other goblins look very confused. Kilgrim's arrow kills the lead goblin effortlessly. Eldar peeks from behind a tree and gracefully lets a out a fire bolt. Even though it's at nearly maximum range, it sails through the air and violently immolates the third goblin on the ridge. At the top of the ridge, the three remaining goblins fire shortbows randomly towards the shooters, grazing Curtis (11hp) round 7 Sindra, now standing out in the open, blasts a bolt into a goblin's face, exploding his entire head. Not to be outdone by the newcomer, Kilgrim stands in front and hits bulls eye on a goblin directly through his heart and then out his back. Dagget pulls back his bow, looking for inspiration and kills the last Goblin in one hit. The group looks around at the other members of their team, with a new found appreciation and admiration of each other's skills. round 8 Kilgrim speaks up, "I'm hit, not too serious. I'm in favor of a tactical retreat." “Are you kidding? We are killing them dead. If we retreat now, then Rogen will surely escape.” “Guys, I don’t know about you” speaks up Eldar, “I’m quite impressed with your teamwork and passion, or should I call it drive, but I’m a merc for hire, I don’t think our contract covers taking on an army of goblins, and in their territory, I might add.” Dagget raises a finger and everyone takes notice. Kilgrim says in a whisper, “We are being surrounded. It’s too late, take cover." Curtis hides with Dagget and gives him his last bit of encouragement. Everyone is hidden. Three squads of goblins show up. Shortbow squad takes point on the ridge. Left flank has shortswords and shields but must close the gap. Right flank is mixed, three with bows, and three with shields and swords. They are not hiding now, rather their voices rise in a war chant as they charge. round 9 Sindra exposes herself to the Shortbow squad, aiming for the middle goblin and shooting a bolt through his neck, killing him. Kilgrim swings around and aims for the closest lead goblin in the Right Squad, with sword and shield, just grazing him, but a hit all the same. Eldar follows his lead and steals his kill, burning him with a firebolt and lighting up the Right flank of the forest. Dagget hits a shortbow goblin in the Right squad, also just grazing him. Curtis hits the same goblin, finishing him off with a crossbow bolt. The Shortbow squad on the ridge fire at long range at the rogue, three arrows sink into her trunk, she goes down with a ‘thud’. (0hp) Two shortbow goblins in the right squad, within close range, fire arrows at Kilgrim that whiz past him. Goblins on the left flank move closer. Two sword and shield goblins in the right flank move closer still. round 10 Sindra bleeds out. She sees "the light" and turns her back on it. All of her hatred and the years of revenge in her heart, bubbles up to an emotional climax, she gasps loudly for air and begins coughing on the forest ground. (critical death save, 1hp) Kilgrim returns fire to the right flank shortbow goblin, hitting him but barely slowing him down. Eldar tosses a firebolt at him that burns the goblin to a black char. Curtis runs to the rogue's side, "Are you still alive." She rolls onto her back and smiles, "I bet I looked heroic taking three arrows for the team." Curtis uses magical healing on Sindra. (8hp) Dagget fires an arrow killing the last shortbow goblin in the Right flank. Curtis ducks an arrow heading straight for his face, dodging quickly, but not quick enough, it lodges solidly into his body leaving him extremely wounded. When another near decapitation is dodged, he is hit with a second arrow. (2hp) Curtis cries out in pain and Dagget takes note. The remaining two goblins strike wickedly as they reach Kilgrim, downing him immeidately. (0hp) round 11 Sindra fades into the leaves, escaping detection for now. Kilgrim attempts to hold on to life for a little longer. Eldar sends shooting flames at the right flankers, killing one and leaving the other hanging onto his life by a thread. Dagget's rage sends a speedy arrow through the last flaker's chest sending head and arms into differnt directions. Curtis, now looking around for the rogue runs to Kilgrim's aid and casts his last bit of healing. Kilgrim is looking much better now. (11hp) Shortbow goblins get closer and reposition to get a clear and closer shot on the party who are now in the right flank. The six other goblins, from the left flank are charging and shout angrily as they can't reach their targets yet. round 12 Curtis says, "Hey wiz, take this potion off my belt, then blast those goblins." Kilgrim stands up and puts on his shield and pulls out his rapier, "I'll come with you." As he marches out in front. Eldar moves to grab the potion and stands beside Kilgrim. Magical fire sprays from his hands once again, just wide enough to encompass just five of the goblins, singeing them all to death. Curtis drinks his last potion. (8hp) Sindra jumps out from nowhere and explodes the last goblin in the left flank. A hail of arrows come crashing down, at random targets. One hits Dagget. (10hp) round 13 "Let's let 'em have it", yells Sindra as she launches a bolt at the middle goblin, killing him where he stands. Kilgrim shifts North to stand out in front, with shield held in a full defensive position. Eldar burns to death the lead goblin with a firebolt. Dagget kills the next one dead. Curtis manages to hit one at long range but leaves him standing. Arrows bounce off Kilgrim's shield. round 14 Eldar finishes off the wounded goblin with a firebolt. And Dagget's last arrow kills the last goblin true. https://www.dicelogger.com/9de06326-bd1e-40a4-981d-63a94089eac5

[ponyboys-workdays]

16-week catchup

This is to catch up and summerise the basic training Pony has started doing during the 10 weeks he has been with me. 

Surfaces

Dirt  ✔

Grass ✔

Gravel, Loose and Packed ✔

Sand

Tile ✔

Concrete ✔

Granite/Marble

Slippery Surfaces ✔

Puddles/Water/Fountains ✔

Carpet ✔

Metal ✔

Grates (where the dog can see through and may be fearful of falling) ✔

Moving Floors  ✔

Bouncy floors  ✔

Animals

Small animals ✔

Birds ✔

Cats ✔ (needs more work)

Farm animals

Cows

Horses

Reptiles

Massive dogs (Seen but not directly played with)

Large dogs ✔ (Needs extreme work with dogs in general!)

Little dogs (seen but not directly played with)

Equipment

Collar ✔

Leash ✔

Crate (Wire, Metal, Plastic) ✔

Harness

Vest ✔

Boots

Cooling Coat

Sweater ✔

Head Halter

Basket Muzzle ✔

Smells

Pizza ✔

BBQ/Grilling ✔

Food Courts

Exhaust (Bus/Truck/Car) ✔

Gas Fumes ✔

Paint ✔

Rubbing Alcohol

Dog Food Besides Your Own ✔

Something Rotting

Scents Commonly Encountered at Job

Things

Bouncy Houses/Blow-Up Displays ✔

Full-Wall Mirrors ✔

Nerf/Water Guns

Vacuum ✔

Stairs ✔

Balloons

Umbrellas ✔

Hula Hoops

PT/Gym Equipment

Soda/Vending Machine (money in, heavy thing falling)

People (Over 100 before 12 weeks, over 200 by 16)

Babies ✔

Toddlers ✔

Pre-Teens ✔

Teens ✔

Young Adults ✔

Men of All Sizes ✔

Women of All Sizes ✔

People of all Races ✔

People Wearing Hats/Coats/Hoodies ✔

Police Officers

EMTs

Firemen

People With Odd Gait ✔

People in Wheelchair ✔

People with Medical Equipment ✔

People with Varying Disabilities ✔

People of Varying Ages ✔

People with Varying Hair Lengths ✔

People with Head Scarfs/Face Covering ✔

People in Costumes

Events

Sporting Events ✔

Birthday Parties ✔

Holiday Celebrations

Church Get-Togethers NA

School Events  ✔

Seminars

Street Fairs ✔

County Fairs/Rodeo

Grooming ✔

Physical Exams

Car Rides ✔

Places

Dog Shows

Vet Office ✔

Zoo

Bowling Alley

Skating Rink

Movie Theater

Farms

Woods ✔

Boats

Buses

Sounds

Thunder ✔

Fireworks ✔

Gun Shots ✔

Barking Dogs ✔

Diesel Engines ✔

Music ✔

Burning Wood ✔

Crying Babies ✔

Engines Starting ✔

Hunting Calls ✔

Banging on Pots/Pans ✔

This list is from Anything Pawsable by Kea Grace

TRAINING LOG

Owner Trainer’s Name: Kricket

Dog’s Name: PonyBoy

Breed: Pitbull / Mastiff mix

Gender: Male

Age: 16 weeks

Week of:  Jul-31-17 to Oct-5-17 Hours 60(home) + 5(outings)

Health: Pony is of good health. He weighs 30 pounds, nails are kept trimmed, eating drinking and sleeping regular ammounts for his age. His biggest issue is that his right eye has a constantly visable third eyelid, as well as a constantly-dialted pupil. 

Problems: He barks at strangers to get attention. This is, by far, the biggest isseue i have at the moment. He has also only met 7 dogs.

Outings: Weekly trips to school to see the sports games. Visit to Ellens house, multible visits to the park, 4x visits inside stores, 10+ car rides, Visit to Jodies, visit to icecream shop, played in a river. Multible training sessions in rain + storms + dark.

Socialization: over 200 people including mailmen and disabled people. Bringing him to the police sometime this week. 7 large dogs, various colours and shapes. Has been around carts, blow ups, listens to desensitzation videos. Has been around fish and chicks, birds, chickens, mice, gophers, and cats. Has been near bikes, buses, and roadwork. Has been near a OFF cainsaw, and leaf blower. Has been around walkers, cains, crutches, runners, cars, motercyles, and 18 wheelers. Has walked over moving see-through floors, and has learned to like grates. 

Obedience: Knows Sit, Hello, Come, No, Down, and ‘Get Ziggy’. Learning Leave it, wait, and no-pull. Sits when asked to on walks, and dosen’t hop up on strangers about 85% of the time. Will also wait to go great people untill i tell him to. 

Service Dog Tasks: He is learning the base of tactile stimulation, retreval, and deep pressure therapy. These are not refined yet! Simply the bases to teach him easier later on. 

Manners: Sits nicely while waiting to cross the road. Drops things when asked, if you’re holding it. Will stand/sit calmly while being pet,but jumps when the person tries to walk away. Sits for leash (not well though), and sits before going through doors. Dosen’t bite hard, but still teaching him not to mouth.

Comments: I need to focus on teaching him not to bark when he wants attentions from strangers. I also need to get him around other dogs; i am already working on setting up doggy playdates now that he is fully vaccinated. I will be bringing him to the police and fire station this week hopefully. 

This training log is from IAADP training section.

[homebuyerresources]

How to research a neighborhood before you buy

Think you've found the perfect place to live? You might be right. Or maybe not. No matter how much you like a locale, at first sight, you should carefully research a neighborhood before buying a house. It's better to identify possible issues before committing rather than discover hidden problems after buying a house.

Here are five things to explore when searching for a neighborhood's dirty secrets.

Homeowners association rules

Any community, whether of detached houses or condominiums, might be governed by a homeowners association (HOA) empowered to collect dues and make rules. HOAs exist to protect the community and property values, explains Frank Rathbun, a spokesman for the Community Associations Institute in Falls Church, Va.  "Some people have the mindset that 'my home is my castle,'" Rathbun notes. "If that's your belief, all the way down the line, you might want to think long and hard before moving into a common-interest community."

To find out about an association, contact the board or management company or ask your real estate agent to get the information for you.

Rathbun suggests asking the following questions:

·         How much are the HOA assessments and when are they due?

·         Are there restrictions on renting?

·         What are the architectural guidelines?

·         What are the rules with respect to pets, flags, antennas, satellite dishes, clotheslines, fences, patios, and home-based businesses?

While HOA guidelines can help preserve property values, they can also contribute to the true cost of home ownership. Find out your responsibilities and restrictions and make sure you're comfortable with them.

Environmental problems

Why is it important to identify key environmental problems? Asbestos, leaking underground gasoline storage tanks and unexploded military ordnance are just three of the hazards that lurk in some neighborhoods, says James Budrow, owner of Sacramento Inspection, a home inspection service in Sacramento, Calif.

There can also be serious environmental hazards within a home. To find out about such dangers, you could conduct painstaking personal research on government and private websites, or, Budrow suggests, you can purchase an environmental hazards report based on an automated computerized scan of those databases.

Expect to pay at least $50 for a limited report and $100 for a more comprehensive one. Some inspectors offer a discount if you purchase a report with a home inspection.

Sex offenders near me?

If you're concerned about living near someone who's been convicted of a sex crime, check out the Dru Sjodin National Sex Offender Public Website, coordinated by the federal government and local law enforcement agencies. This portal lets you search state databases of registered sex offenders by name, ZIP code or locality.

Be aware that "not all sex offenders have been caught and convicted" and "most sex offenses are committed by family, friends or acquaintances of the victim," according to the California Department of Justice website.

Local infrastructure

What are the types of infrastructure to be concerned about? Aging roads, bridges, levees, schools and other public structures can be a hazard anywhere in the U.S. While it's not easy to get information about specific risks, a few resources might be helpful.

One is a "report card" published by the American Society of Civil Engineers. These reports "give you a snapshot of a general nature that will give you a sense of the condition of the community you're moving to," says Jim Jennings, spokesperson for the organization.

To find a report, search the organization's website at www.InfrastructureReportCard.org.

Other resources for this info include government agencies, local newspapers and community websites.

Noise pollution

Most cities have ordinances that govern how much noise is permitted and when. But that doesn't mean those neighborhoods are free from noise pollution due to late-night parties, barking dogs, highway traffic, leaf blowers, nightclubs or bars, motorcycles and more. Unless you're willing to risk alienating your neighbors, you might be stuck with any sources of noise that don't specifically violate the law.

To find out about a neighborhood's noises, ask the residents, call the local police department and spend as much time as you can in the area on different days of the week and at different times of the day.

Remember, just because a neighborhood looks nice and quiet on the surface, doesn't mean some dirty secrets aren't lurking below it.

Originally published on HSH.com

[cosmosogler]

oh yeah, my bug bites aren’t healing either. i forgot about those until i went outside with the dogs this afternoon and got five more. my feet and ankles are covered in them. i’ve got a few up on my calves and knee now too. it’s miserable. at least the dogs don’t lick near the itching cream when i put it on. i’m going to have to start putting on bug spray before i go outside.

today i woke up a long time before my alarm went off. i just laid there, not really warm or cold, not really too comfortable but unwilling to move. i always wonder if i forgot to set my alarm when that happens. i’ve been waking up before my alarm a few times this last week... i guess i don’t need 8 hours of sleep any more? i always turn on the snooze once before i get up anyway. especially since my leg seems to have a pulled muscle and my foot is sore and my stomach has been cramped for a week. 

i’m usually not awake for too long before eve comes in to check up on me anyway. and if i don’t get up she barks at me and then wiley starts jumping on my bed because eve might want to play with him if she’s making noise.

eve goes to bed before i do and gets up before me. well, she sleeps most of the day or stares off into space while laying down. she seems alert and almost energetic when i get her to get up and go outside though so i’m not too worried.

i spent too long on tumblr this morning and was a little late getting to gramma’s. that was ok though. she set out some stuff and i baked a fruitcake mostly by accident and with lots of nervous spills. then we dyed some eggs. i took pictures and put them on snapchat. then i put together some candy arrangements and egg baskets. i put pictures of those on snapchat too. i texted with will a little bit; he is interested in getting his fire emblem game back. i meant to come back to it, but i couldn’t figure out a way to beat one of the levels without any deaths. it was kind of a dice roll whether or not i’d get to the new character (on the other side of the field) before she died and i didn’t like how frustrating the rng was. and i didn’t like the level up system. so it was hard to continue playing.

anyway while gramma and i were spreading frosting on some mild-flavored sugar cookies i got snapchat texts from some of the cousins with stuff like “i wish i was there” and “you should set up an egg hunt” (from my brother). 

for lunch i had some of the potato salad that gramma made and a tiny cup of instant mac and cheese. and like two bites of the fruitcake, which i quite liked. the recipe called for 1/4 cup of brown sugar to be sprinkled on the top before you put it in the oven. gramma gave me a tupperware with a little bit in there and said “here’s the brown sugar” so i started sprinkling. after a few minutes she said “did you measure what you needed?” and i realized that i had put way more than a quarter-cup of brown sugar on the cake. 

so we just didn’t make frosting for the cake. i was worried it would be too dry without the homemade frosting, but it actually turned out really well. grampa liked that it was less sweet.

lunch didn’t make me sick, really, but i got very full very quickly and could not finish my two big spoonfuls of potato salad or the tiny cup of mac and cheese. i really liked the potato salad. i will try to have more tomorrow. gramma kept trying to get me to eat the candy and eggs and cake and cookies and i told her i was going to throw up if i ate even one more bite. she stopped offering after that. i didn’t mind the offers, but it was a relief to stop having to turn her down every few minutes.

dogie just came in to say hi to me. she usually likes to poke her head in the doorway, and i’ll say hi, and then she’ll turn and walk away. but she let me pet her this time before she left.

after we finished the cookies i took out the trash and we cleaned up the kitchen and then we watched an episode of mash, which is one of those doctor shows except from 1979. oh and we saw some commercials with a bunch of old celebrities. i think it was an infomercial because it went on for like five minutes. while gramma knitted and the show was on i played the paper airplane game for a while. 

after the episode was done i got ready to go home. gramma asked if i’d lost weight. i said yeah and she said it looks good. i told her it was because i can’t hardly eat and she said yeah that wasn’t the best way to lose weight. she said she’d lost weight too and i said she always looks great, and then i fussed over the bruises on her arms. she said having bad kidneys causes all sorts of problems and shrugged. i told her to take a rest and she said she wouldn’t do anything for the rest of the day, so i hugged grampa goodbye and went home.

i always talk to gramma more when we’re at the house, but if we’re anywhere else i tend to have longer conversations with grampa. 

when i got home dad had painted about a third of the hallway. i offered to help after he took a break but he didn’t pick it back up for the rest of the day. tomorrow or monday i’m probably going to end up painting the doors though. we’ll need to take off the handles first.

dad got a new sprinkler for wiley to play with. i took eve and him out to get wet and eve was pretty interested in the water until wiley jumped on top of the thing and almost knocked it over. so i found the multipurpose hose head and sprayed them with that instead. eve likes the mist and the gentle spray and will play and snap at the water and zoom around, but wiley goes all out. he almost knocked me into the pool. once they were good and wet i turned off the hose and gave eve a good comb. i always wonder if the horse comb’s teeth hurt, but eve seems to like it. she stands still until i am covered in her shed hair at least. i dried her off and let her go inside. she likes being dried by the towel more than she used to.

then i went to collect wiley and he pawed at the hose and cried so i turned it back on for a few minutes. he also stood still while i combed him afterward. he doesn’t shed, but i always end up with hair on the comb so it’s gotta be pulling his fur out. but he always stands real still so i can brush him. he also likes the towel.

then i fed them and after that i played ball outside with wiley for a little bit and hung out by doge while dad got out the blower and cleaned the patio. when i came inside i found like five more bug bites on my legs. my brother was going to go for a walk with his girlfriend, and he laughed at me when i suggested he bring wiley along.

for dinner mom made enchilada burritos. she said they were supposed to be enchiladas but she ended up not feeling like going the whole way. so they were burritos with enchilada sauce. i could only manage one and a few spoonfuls of rice. they were pretty good though.

later in the evening i had two steamed custard rolls that my sister had bought at the asian market some time ago. i didn’t want to get the steamer dirty for just two rolls though so i microwaved them as per the directions. that was a mistake. i also got super sick.

with dinner i had a glass of ovaltine milk. the milk always gets me pretty full, even just a cup. i know it makes me sick, but i drink it anyway because it tastes good and it’s got all those vitamins that i won’t get from, like, pasta.

i feel like i did something else with my evening, but i mostly watched bits of videos on animal intelligence and looked at old friends senior dog sanctuary stuff. they are making a documentary! it is on kickstarter. 

oh yeah! i took wiley for a walk. i brought my ipod along and tried not to die when wiley wanted to chase the rabbits. my core muscles hurt so bad when he pulls... he almost got off his leash when he pivoted around a tree. i don’t think he was struggling with the intent of getting off the leash though, i think he was just surprised at getting yanked by the tree. he is generally well behaved on walks.

i didn’t draw at all today, but i kept pretty busy and i feel good and worn out from all the stuff i did instead. it is still, of course, 12:40, and so i will not be going to sleep early. i will try to be in bed before 1 tonight though. last night i ended up not settling in to sleep until close to 2 between talking to dad and having to get up to use the restroom a second time as usual.

does anyone want to battle pokemon? my hail team is crying to be used. i’ve only been practicing with my trick room team recently to prepare for the competition.

[thesinglesjukebox]

BETTA LEMME - PLAY

[6.43]

Roll another phat one, Dave...

Alfred Soto: The week's not over, plenty of time to review songs with hooks this obnoxious. [3]

Edward Okulicz: Da Hool's "Meet Her at the Love Parade" is such an obvious song to interpolate I can't believe nobody has done it before. It has a still-distinct sound, a hooky bit to repeat and a (comparatively!) boring bit to throw away to make it sound as fun on the radio as it was in the club. Betta Lemme has taken a fairly sophisticated and beloved bit of trance history and dumbed it down so effectively that it would make the Vengaboys sound like the epitome of subtlety by comparison. Of course, its cartoon carnality is nowhere near as fun as the airheaded confections it reminds me of, but that barked "I want to play" chorus is infectious. [7]

Will Adams: "I want to play," and play she does. How else to describe a song that combines the post-verbal chorus of ATC, the brashness of Haiku Hands and the suggestive, circular hooks of Vengaboys' "Up & Down"? I could do without the parts where she sounds like Poppy, but overall this -- like our most recent visit with Sofi Tukker -- manages the impressive feat of delivering fun, disposable Europop without turning it into Deep House Dish parody. [7]

David Moore: Imagine the delight when my son pulled the trigger of the battery-operated bubble-blower we bought him on vacation and out came "Boom Boom Boom Boom," followed by peals of manic laughter from three-quarters of our family (sorry to the remaining quarter). The Vengaboys were big and loud and shameless, so relentless in selling their big-tent Eurocheese that you could even convince a kid that they were just talking about a sleepover -- which they were, technically. Betta Lemme gets at the earworms and the goofy synths but misses the sincerity -- if you're gonna do stupid shit, do it with integrity. I for one can't imagine anyone putting this song in a beach toy. [6]

Leah Isobel: Great pop music is always a little self-reflexive, and "Play" presents us with a perfectly circular set of referents. Betta Lemme's recorded output to this point has been on the more chilled end of the dance-pop spectrum, even at its most bombastic, so when she asserts that she doesn't usually come to parties, you believe her. But Danny L Harle's banging Eurotrance synths prove impossible to ignore, replaying in her he-e-ead until she can't help but integrate herself into the groove. The joyful scream she lets out as the last third of the song fires up gives the game away. She's decided she wants to play, on the dancefloor and in your earbuds; you'd better let her. [9]

Jessica Doyle: It's a trifle, sure, but a Eurodance-infused trifle with an Icona Pop glaze. I couldn't eat too many in a row, but one is pretty yummy. [6]

Scott Mildenhall: Assuming that Betta Lemme wasn't looking to inspire the Proustian rush of expectation that Lucy from Bedford is about to shout out all the Sunday night ravers in the Somerfield massive and ask for a bit of Rui Da Silva, then she's succeeded at even more than she intended. [7]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[ecotone99]

[RF] Whistle-blowers (A WikiLeaks Fanfic) Chapter 2

The Solitude Before the Tempest Toss

In a concrete dungeon of four, hard, scream-proof walls, cut off from the world, & alone, lied a tortured & broken soul, on an equally hard surface – though it felt harder. A nightmare made reality. The aching body & weary mind belonged to Chelsea Manning, while the boiling blood & the fighting spirit belonged to us all.

She awoke from a restless sleep, finding herself in the same position she had been in, when she first closed her eyes. Her body had naturally fallen into the recovery-position shortly after being, almost literally, thrown into her cell. The narrow surface of her bed only barely accommodated her slender form. Chelsea’s way of coping with being shut-in for 22 hours a day was to sleep. Unfortunately, in a room that knew no change in light or sound, it was hard to keep abreast of time at the best of times, but when frequent napping was used in order to best manage the torture of solitary confinement, all sense of time was lost.

She alternated between sleeping & exercising while in her cell, but her mind was still not stimulated enough most of the day… or night.

She was wide awake now, but did not alter her position. The less she moved, the bigger the room appeared to be. She tried thinking of ways to distract, or entertain herself. She didn’t want to relive past memories, as if playing home movies in her head, as the current situation has a way of imprinting itself on a memory whenever said memory is recalled for perusal.

Her own brain took her by surprise when a song floated in from an unknown corner of her mind. It was the type that wouldn’t be satisfied unless sung aloud. So, after some time of the same tune going round and around, like a goldfish in its bowl, it finally rose up her throat & sprouted through her lips, like a rose’s blossom. And it was as sweet as one in too. The tune lifted into the air & expanded into every nook & cranny of the small room, until all the space had been filled, after which it burst forth into the hall, almost drowning out the approaching footsteps.

The only time anyone even got near her door was to either feed and water her, or let her out temporarily at a set time every day, if she had “behaved”. They never came if you called, cried, or screamed, no matter how loud, or for how long.

A skeleton-key jingled for a moment & then clanked within the lock, before creaking as it turned, signalling its opening mechanism. Next, the bolts around the doorframe were unfastened. Normally when this happened Chelsea would spring to her feet, not wanting to waste any of what precious time she was allotted outside her cell in a day, even though it was only 2 hours. During those 2 hours she was allowed to make personal phone calls & attend to hygiene needs. On those occasions the guard would usually tell her, through the door, to assume the conventional pose: facing the far wall, with her hands behind her back. But not this time.

The hard door swung open & the heavy boots stepped in. What could only be the prison guard, though Chelsea made no effort to confirm with even a passing glance, did not move from that spot. He had come in, no doubt, to bark at her for singing, & who knows what else. It was always something, even if it needed to be invented. But not this time. This time, there was nothing. Again Chelsea was taken aback by this remission in routine. Curiouser & curiouser. Her eyes tentatively peered out from under their lids in order to scrutinise her intruder, who appeared to be studying her in return.

He was of tall, solid stature & in his thirties. His facial composition was plain & not one to reveal much. His expression was like that of a man looking at a woman in the prone position. She didn’t know him, but this was not unusual. There was a high-turnover rate among guards.

“Don’t stop”, his bassy timbre bellowed, without warning. The abrupt command gave her a start. She hadn’t noticed that she had stopped singing. The tune had continued playing uninterrupted in her head regardless. She obeyed & resumed her tune from the point at which it was playing in her head. She watched his face as she did so. What it expressed was an incongruity with its surroundings, caused by her song, which was a sound, an expression of its own that too was discordant with its time & place.

The drudgery of patrolling, & with it, it’s attitude of resolute solemnity was slowed to a halt, & in its place materialised an appreciation of her authentic beauty. He was mesmerised by her. Her eyes lowered to his pants, as if her stare could coax his rigidity out of its flaccid state. Almost unconsciously she began to slowly turn her lower half away from him, while arching her back, gradually lifting her arse. After it was fully distended, she began bucking her hips, just as slowly. First in, then out. In his eyes the subtle signs of arousal had transformed into a blazing fire of desire. Her own body began to respond to the light, rhythmic caresses of her garments against her intimate areas. She had to start taking sharper intakes of breath between notes. In has pants, his member was swelling, until it strained against the fabric that secured its length in place. It snaked along the front of the left side of his hip, hugging it. Spurred on by want, he approached her writhing body. She bit her lip. He licked his. Her song was transforming into a series of sighs and breathy moans. His bulge was very close to her arse. She could almost feel the heat emanating from it. He had stationed himself there, almost barely able to contain his yearning, yet he was not willing to advance further, lest his occupation was made forfeit. So that is where he remained. His heavy chest heaved. Her movements picked up in speed, testing him. His desire mounted, but physical contact did not follow.

This was the man Chelsea had been waiting for – one who desired her, yet had the self-control not to act on that desire, despite her invitations. Other guards, in the past, had either been one, or the other, but now she had found her perfectly balanced man. A man who had principles, strength, could stand for something, while wielding a burning passion.

Chelsea let out one last sigh, but this time one that signalled despondency. As if deflated, her bottom sunk back into its original position – motionless. Her wanton expression drained from her face, leaving a look of peaceful dejection in its place.

“Is something wrong?” the hormone-logged male inquired.

“I have no speech”, Chelsea responded, being deliberately cryptic.

“You have a beautiful singing voice. I never knew.”

Chelsea blushed “I don’t share it with just anyone.”

“I guess I’m lucky. It’s enough to drive a red-blooded man insane.”

“I’m glad you kept your composure, it means you can stay. And share in… well, what we shared together. But I warn you it may not be as easy next time” She winked at him.

“I don’t know if that’s a bane or a blessing.”

“See it as a potentially fatal perk”, she giggled, evilly.

“Man, you’ll get a guy in trouble.”

“Can you do me the tinniest of favours?”

“Let’s hear it”

“Say my name”

“Your name?”

“Mmh.”

“Chelsea.”

Her name glided off his tongue, sending shivers down her spine. She relished the short, but sweet moment.

“Was that okay?”

Still reeling from the pacifying effect it had had on her, she responded: “Yes, thank you. I just wanted to feel human again, connected with myself again.”

“Happy to oblige.”

“Outside, the most visible trans-woman is Caitlyn Jenner. And I’m here. Invisible & muted. I have no online access, no journos can visit, & even if they could, I would be legally unable to talk, comment on, discuss, or even look at any of the material I helped leak.”

“You should have left this country when you had the chance.” He added, nonchalantly, as if it was a matter of fact. But she had never considered it before that moment. She had felt safe in her own country for some reason. Now she knew better. She was coming to a realisation. One of her original charges, for which her country threatened to kill her, was: ‘aiding the enemy’ – what enemy? It wasn’t a war, it was a massacre, the victims having no way of defending themselves. The butchers were the enemy – the same that had locked her up. Only villains lock up heroes. If only she had left the country when she was still free, as the guard had suggested. Then she would be free to talk about everything to an unbiased press.

Chelsea decided that it was now, or never. “Could you help me get a message out?”

“No, I’m sorry, Chelsea.”

His hormone levels were evening out again. He was sobering up. She would have to find that sweet spot again.

Coyly she asked: “Tell me your name?” No! No sooner had the words left her mouth, she had realised her mistake. She had made too many requests in too short amount of time.

“I’m sorry ma’am, that won’t be possible.”

Ma’am? Oh no, she thought. Her mistake was confirmed as one. The delicate spell she wove was in danger of breaking. His eyes shifted downwards. He was shaking his head & began shifting his weight away from her. She was losing him. Panicked, but with the need to act quickly she considered all her options. She had exhausted the sex-appeal option, since, if she had reintroduced that now, she would be viewed as inauthentic & manipulative. She could not make any movement that rose her from her position without rousing his defences even more than they already were. She finally decided to do what came naturally: turn her face away from him and begin sobbing.

“I’m really sorry, ma’am.” He drummed on.

She could feel his discomfort go up a notch. He began a more conscious retreat, but before committing 100% to this action, she undermined his agency with: “Just go. Please just go” she sniffed.

Shortly afterwards she heard the door shut behind him. As he was locking it back up, she threw away her inhibitions, her composure & vaulted out of bed & sprinted to the door, after which she began imploring him, overwrought:

“Promise me just one thing: look me up. When you get home, look me up. Look up Julian Assange. Follow WikiLeaks on Twitter! Follow Edward Snowden! Follow Suzie Dawson! Follow Jen Robinson! That will give you all the info you need. Please at least recommend this job to friends you trust! Spread the word! Please!”

His bolting of the door had been completed. He walked away without another word. Had he been listening? Only time would tell.

submitted by /u/SnowAssMan [link] [comments] via Blogger http://bit.ly/2GyBN0r

[roberthaysauthor]

Birch trees, Rivers and God

Only God can make a tree. We all know this, because the poet told us. I don’t  get contentious with poets, and I never try to second-guess God. But I do wish I could speak with God about one of his creations, the river birch.

Don’t get me wrong. The river birch is a beautiful tree. Its tawny, paper-thin, peeling bark—think Hiawatha in his canoe—and gracefully weeping branches make it a favorite of suburban landscapers. It seems they always find space for a clump somewhere on any land they scape. Always a clump, never a single tree.

I’m not a professional by any measure, but I’ve always enjoyed landscaping my own yard. Nothing too exotic and never anything that costs a lot of money. Redbud and dogwood trees transplanted as seedlings, boxwoods rooted and multiplied, an occasional shrub—weigela, mock orange, flowering quince, butterfly bush—bought on season-ending sale at the garden center.

A couple of decades ago, though, I allowed myself the luxury of a clump of river birch trees for the front yard. They were mere saplings, three of them, and didn’t have to be hauled in on a truck and planted by a professional. I did it all myself.

Now, in case you don’t know, river birches grow pretty fast. In no time those little saplings were fifteen feet tall, with branches hanging over the roof of the house. And tiny leaves that fell in the autumn and stopped up gutters. And small limbs and twigs of dead wood that littered the yard after a few hours of strong winds.

They were pretty trees, mind you, although at times I began to think they might be even prettier somewhere along the bank of a gently flowing stream. Surely there is a reason they call them river birches.  

But I hadn’t seen anything yet.

The next few years’ growth was truly remarkable. Not only did they become big trees, but they also began to exhibit the characteristics of gender. The largest, strongest, straightest tree was female. She began to produce seeds.

If you’re not familiar with the seeds of river birch trees, don’t confuse them with gaudy propagators like the acorns of mighty oaks, whirly-gig maple seeds, or the hard, spiked balls that drop from sweet gum trees. Just think of oatmeal. The kind you have for breakfast, dry, before it’s cooked. And a dark butterscotch color.  

These begin in clusters that look like little green worms dangling from the tips of the branches. They soon turn brown, and after that begin to disassociate themselves from their mother. The little worms break apart as they fall, each raining down scores of separate seeds. The butterscotch oatmeal soon covers everything within shouting distance of the tree from which it sprang.

I tried to apply the very obscure (which is why you probably never heard of it) Rosco’s Equation for Estimating Numbers of Tree Seeds to calculate how many seeds our single mama tree produced. Rosco’s Equation is complex. It involves things like squaring the hypotenuse and dividing by pi or something like that. It is possible I didn’t work it out correctly.

No matter. I’m pretty sure my finding of 2.87-trillion seeds isn’t far off. It may be a bit conservative.

I brought out the leaf blower this morning to clear the river birch seeds from our driveway. It whips up a powerful velocity and I felt like dancing as I watched a stream of butterscotch oatmeal flow down the driveway toward the street. I would have, too, but you know how neighbors talk.

Anyway, I had barely blown the whole lot onto the edge of the street when I saw a city street-sweeper down the block, heading my way. It’s illegal to deposit trash in the street, and here was my horizontal mound of dark oatmeal standing in vivid contrast to the white concrete. Would the sweeper operator take time to play arresting officer?

He didn’t. But he also didn’t sweep up my river birch seed. Instead, he veered away from the curb just far enough to leave my seed exactly where my blower deposited it.

So, OK, there it sits. What now?

It is likely to rain tonight. There will be enough water to sweep my seeds right down the street and into a storm drain halfway down the block. From there, who knows?

But I’ve been thinking about this and I have a theory. Incomplete, but taking shape. See, I live in Champaign-Urbana, Illinois, home of a world-class university and a very large Kraft food factory that turns out tons of Velveeta. Neither of these enters into my theory.

It so happens that Champaign-Urbana, rising above the flatness of the Illinois prairie, sits astride our own sort of mini continental divide. Drainage from the east side (Urbana) carries water off to the Salt Fork or the Embarrass River, thence to the Wabash and ultimately the broad Ohio.

From the west side (Champaign), where I live, water drains into the Kaskaskia River or maybe the Sangamon and flows southwest, eventually into the almighty Mississippi. And in my mind’s eye I can see the seeds from my river birch tree getting swept down those rivers by the runoff from tonight’s rains.

And somewhere, miles downstream, there is an eddy, a quiet pool near the bank, into which the seeds will be drawn. They will sit there on the water until the river level subsides a bit, then sink to the bottom or stick to the muddy shore. A year from now, a new clump of beautiful river birch trees will have taken root and begun to grow.

I hope there’s a female or two among them. Grow and prosper, little river birches, and let your countless seeds fall where they may. You’ll be much less of an irritant there than in my front yard. And maybe this is what God had in mind, all along.

[lukepracticescollaboration]

Shoot Day 3

Started nice and early, got into the swing straight away doing the underwater scene. we had a green box with a cushion on top that my dad lay on and we moved the camera around him, filming in slow motion with a blower on his hair. My Dad is such a dude, he is 69 years old and he was on that box flailing about until he could not breathe in all kinds of uncomfortable positions. He had cracked some ribs about a month before and at one point he yelped in discomfort, I asked if he was alright and he shrugged it off and got on with it. He told me a few days later that he re-cracked a rib in that moment.

We sailed through shooting the underwater scene and Ellie did great puppeteering the Whale puppet, even wearing my green body sock, though I’m not sure she needed to, she insisted.  Shooting for the rest of the day went very smoothly, occasionally waiting for the other group to finish using a lens. I had learned over the previous shoot days that I should utilize the members of the group that were interested and let the others be. In the hectic demands of a shoot, I did not need the added task of pushing people to do things and pay attention. I found very early on in this project that when one girl pulls out her phone, it is very contagious, and they are gone. There was one point near the end of shooting the underwater shots of my dad on his green box that he needed to sit and catch his breathe. I remember nudging him and pointing around the room at everybody tapping away on their phones, we shared a chuckle, but this was a constant problem throughout shooting and by the afternoon on day 3 it was ridiculous, bar myself, Phoebe and Ingrida, everybody else had lost focus completely. We got on with it though, I was shouting silence before every take and calling for the clapperboard. I found it easier to work around their lack of focus than to manage it.

We managed to get all our shots and pick up the extra ones needed, even finishing 15 minutes early. I was exhausted but very happy that we had got it all done.  A few of us took my Dad up to the German Christmas market for beers and bratwurst to show our appreciation for his efforts.

A special mention has to go to Phoebe, she worked so hard on camera duty. It seemed that I was constantly barking instructions at her and she soldiered on, working things out with me, offering suggestions, constant communication and never being distracted. She was indispensable over those 3 shoot days. Ingrida was also a great, always there willing to help on any task. Then there was Ellie’s organisation that kept us on track.