#Best Place to Eat in Sussex

[gregorovitch-adler]

Key

"Happy Birthday, John," Sherlock said, as he cut the cake and held out a piece for John.

John took it from his hand and began to eat. "Mm. It's perfect. Where did you get this from?"

"From that shop down the street." Sherlock sat down on the sofa in the sitting room.

John took a seat beside him, letting the cake lie on the coffee table. He turned to look at Sherlock with his brows raised.

"Where's my gift?" he asked and bit his lower lip to refrain from laughing.

They'd been a bit relaxed for a few months, ever since they had decided to retire from the casework.

Sherlock's presence had always been comforting. Just seeing him every day was proof enough for John that life was still worth living.

They'd had a discussion about wanting to move to a different place after retirement approximately a year ago.

Sherlock didn't treat John's question as a joke, though. He lifted himself a bit from the sofa to retrieve something from his back pocket.

"Here," he said and handed a small box in a blue gift wrap.

John took that box with a smile and placed it on his lap to open it.

His brows automatically furrowed when a pair of keys made an appearance in the box.

"I'd been looking for a new place for quite some time. Almost a year," said Sherlock in a quiet tone.

John looked up at him with intrigue.

"I really liked this place in Sussex, which is near the countryside. Got these only yesterday from the agent."

"You didn't tell me?"

Sherlock hesitated. "I... wanted it to be a surprise,"

John grinned. "It's the best gift ever. Thank you."

Sherlock gave him a small smile.

John held out his arms and wrapped them around Sherlock. Sherlock hugged him back, and John was looking forward to the rest of the days in their life with an uncontrollable smile on his face.

***

Sherlock September Challenge by @onesmallfamily

Prompt: Key

Tagging: @helloliriels , @topsyturvy-turtely , @gaylilsherlock , @lisbeth-kk , @keirgreeneyes, @clueless-mp4, @calaisreno , @kettykika78 @a-victorian-girl , @peanitbear .

[saintmeghanmarkle]

The Telegraph's review which includes thoroughly disrespectful paragraph about Queen Camilla by u/Von_und_zu_

The Telegraph's review, which includes thoroughly disrespectful paragraph about Queen Camilla Omid Scobie’s Endgame is ludicrous propaganda for Team Sussex... The reporter’s much-trailed study of the Royal family is laughably partial, devoid of insight and bizarrely misogynistichttps://archive.ph/mJGXXIt begins with a spot on observation:"Hell hath no fury like a royal reporter scorned. Omid Scobie’s Endgame is billed as the real story of what has been going on inside the Palace walls. But what runs through its 400-odd pages is Scobie’s sense of burning indignation that he was shut out." This indeed seems to me like Scoobie in a nutshell. Edit: This also reminds me of the effect of grey rocking the UnSussexfuls -- burning indignation that they have been ignored.Then it goes through some of the mean spirited nasty things he has to say about the main characters in this drama. But then it provides this excerpt about the Queen, and I must say, this is so off-putting, I really cannot believe anyone even pretending to be a serious journalist or author would publish it:" As for the Queen, is that a tone of misogyny I detect in Scobie’s prose? “Camilla,” he writes, “might not have stood on the barricades in the ’60s, but she did enjoy the sexual freedoms ushered in by that radical generation.” “Some who knew Camilla” have described her as “the sort to throw her knickers on the table”; he quotes, from one of the tabloids he despises, a housekeeper saying that she knew when Camilla had been to stay with Charles because there would be knickers all over the place. “Camilla’s undergarments making yet another appearance,” Scobie adds."Later, the review includes this: There is little gossip to be had here, unless you count Scobie regurgitating a rumour that one of Charles’s bodyguards found him with Camilla “doing what Lady Chatterley enjoyed best” in the garden at Camilla’s grandmother’s house. He caveats the story by saying it is “an old (but probably false) fable in royal circles”...It futher includes this paragraph that says to me that the UnSussexfuls really have no respect or regard for the Monarchy which was the life's work of the late Queen and his father and provided them with the titles to which they so desparately cling:There is a lot of petty detail, but Scobie’s target is bigger than any one individual. It is the monarchy itself, described here as “a desiccated system”, “a cratered Firm”, “an unstable family business” and “an institution in decline”. The family is “debilitatingly out-of-touch, even expendable” because it hails from “an incredibly shrinking, old-fashioned world of land barons, polo fields and posh formality”. “The rot has set in,” Scobie warns, “and it’s eating away at the monarchy’s undergirding.”Surely, this really must be the end of the Monarchy insofar as it heretofore included Harold and Madame. I hope as it goes forward, it does so without reference to them.​​ post link: https://ift.tt/2XpNaPi author: Von_und_zu_ submitted: November 28, 2023 at 05:06AM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit

[clumsybearstudio]

Knucker vs Princess

Scene from our indie game Hugry Horrors

Wishlist on Steam

Knucker Facts

The Knucker is a legendary water dragon from English folklore, particularly associated with Sussex. This creature is said to dwell in deep, water-filled holes known as “Knuckerholes,” the most famous of which is located near the town of Lyminster.

Key Facts:

1. Origin: The term “Knucker” comes from the Old English word “nicor,” which means water monster. These creatures were often believed to inhabit watery areas like rivers, ponds, or wells.

2. Appearance: Descriptions of the Knucker vary, but it is typically depicted as a large, serpent-like dragon. Some stories describe it with a long body, sharp claws, and huge wings, though it may also be portrayed without wings in some versions.

3. Behavior: Knuckers are notorious for terrorizing local villagers by stealing livestock, destroying crops, and sometimes even demanding sacrifices of young maidens (classic dragon behavior, of course). They were often portrayed as both cunning and dangerous.

4. Legend of Lyminster: One of the most famous tales involving the Knucker is from the town of Lyminster. According to legend, the dragon terrorized the town until a local hero, Jim Puttock (or sometimes a knight), defeated the creature by offering it a poisoned pie. After eating the pie, the Knucker supposedly died, saving the town from its wrath.

5. Knuckerholes: These mysterious, deep, water-filled holes are still a source of curiosity. The best-known Knuckerhole is in Lyminster, but others are said to exist across Sussex. These areas were often regarded as dangerous and mysterious places.

6. Cultural Impact: Although the Knucker is not as widely known as other mythological creatures like the Wyvern or the Lindworm, it remains an integral part of Sussex folklore. Various local tales, art, and even pub names (such as “The Six Bells” in Lyminster) keep the legend alive.

[mariacallous]

Day 127 of J.Crew Hamlet and Prince Harry’s memoir has finally dropped. It needed to. I feel like I’ve had babies I’ve been less organised for than this particular arrival. There have, it is fair to say, been one or two thousand pre-publication spoilers for Spare, each of which a lot of people have consumed without really meaning to. There’s something about it having all taken place over the turn of the year that reminds you of eating nothing but Christmas food for days and days and days. After about a week of it, you do find yourself screaming: “I never want to see this stuff again! Can we please, PLEASE have a Chinese or a curry?” That said, I do still have one box of mince pies and one royal tell-all left, and I think we both know I’m going to get through them. It’s called duty – look it up.

Anyway, on to the reaction. As I type this, Harry’s entire home of Montecito is under evacuation amid floods some will no doubt choose to see as biblical. We can only guess how the book has gone down in Windsor Elsinore. Some judge that Harry has opened a hail of literary gunfire on a royal family whose courtiers constantly emphasise are limited in the ways they can fight back. Maybe this is a metaphor. As one of the more eye-catching passages of Prince Harry’s book reveals, during the conflict in Afghanistan he killed 25 Taliban fighters out of his $50m helicopter, a form of warfare which even the most committed Taliban-loathers among us always had to admit was a bit asymmetric. Then again, the Taliban won in the end, so we should certainly consider the possibility that the monarchy will be the last ones standing in the rubble when Harry’s barrage ends.

But will it ever end? Hard to say. Marvel franchise-wise, we could be in only Phase Two of Harry and Meghan. The banter option would obviously be for all four Windsors ahead of the Duke of Sussex in the line of succession to now abdicate en masse, leaving a note for King Harry and Queen Meghan reading: “Fine – you two do it. ENJOY!” Failing that, perhaps Prince Edward could lighten the national mood by staging It’s A Royal Knockout 2, the hotly anticipated sequel to his own accidental attempt to kill the franchise in 1987.

As for Harry’s book itself, it’s something of a prince’s egg. The genuine, heart-rending pain and isolation of this bereaved child is mixed in with bonkbuster scenery chewing, hammy woo-woo and palace quarters one-downmanship – so much so that it starts to feel like Harry and his ghostwriter have invented an entirely new genre: tragic camp. One minute you’re reading some more unspeakably sad evidence of the needless damage done to a troubled child; the next you’re doing an ironic deep-dive into the circumcision/frostbitten penis status of princes that might as well have been subheaded It’s A Royal Cockout.

Fair play to the ghostwriter, though, who’s done the best job of tarting up the prince’s output since the art teacher who said she did his written A-level coursework for him. I think he got a B, which feels about right here too. The general vibe is Succession, but during a writers’ strike. It must be said there are top notes of Paul Burrell at times, however the comparison might anger Harry, who uses one bit of Spare to recall how appalled he was by Burrell’s own memoir of life with the royals. Just assume that only princes are allowed to write books when they’ve been through a big experience, not servants.

In terms of the vast retinue of interested parties that form the royal money-making ecosystem, spare a cackle for Netflix, who somehow paid a reported $100m to the Sussexes and ended up with a rather boring documentary series, while CBS and Oprah scooped the landmark interview in 2021, and Penguin Random House have taken the motherlode with this book.

Elsewhere, a huge number of bandwagon jumpers have used the opportunity to chime splashily in, ranging from Caroline Flack’s publicist to so-called pet dick Pen Farthing, who says he had to evacuate from Kabul after Harry’s Taliban-killing revelations dropped. (How many times can this guy evacuate from Kabul? I hope he gets air miles.) Or consider instead the BBC royal veteran Nicholas Witchell. Witchell is arguably the second most damaged creature of all. Openly detested by the family whose lives he so obsequiously covers, even now he seemingly regards it as his duty to tour various studios and grimace about the disservice done to a king who is literally on camera saying of him: “I can’t bear that man … He’s so awful, he really is.”

And don’t forget the gazillions of readers in all of this, who either love it, or love to hate it. Above all, they do read it. The Harry stories have topped the ratings on the Guardian website all week, to say nothing of the rest of the press, which has taken both a kicking and countless millions from the past week’s Spare-fest. “I didn’t care for Rupert Murdoch’s politics,” Harry writes at one point in Spare, “which were just to the right of the Taliban.” I think Murdoch owns a lot more helicopters than the Taliban, both real and metaphorical, so that particular chess piece is likely to stay on the board.

In the end, though, people have decided what Harry’s book says about him, one way or another. But the bigger, unanswered question after this latest tide of revelations is surely: what does it say about us? What does it say about Britain that this fractured and pain-ridden lot are our first family? On an immediate level, the past week has presented as yet another way for the UK to look mad, weird and chaotic on the world stage.

Yet discounting the minority of republicans, British public opinion appears to have divided the king and queen consort and his sons and their wives into two categories: “obviously tortured and damaged and miserable but enduring it for their whole lives out of duty” (good) and “obviously tortured and damaged and miserable but saying so out loud and at length” (bad). What a sad state of affairs that all seems, though it’s always amusing to read frothing online comments from people whose personal understanding of duty extends to the tax on booze.

Above all, this epochal saga reminds us that there is more than one way to look at that chilling term for the monarchy, “the institution”. We might pity the institution’s inmates and escapees, or be horrified by them, or turn a blind eye to the inherent coldnesses and cruelties of their existence. But we are, at the dawn of 2023, part of the society where the majority thinks that it’s probably the best place for them.

[hiphopgirl16]

Chapter 2: The “Lost City” of Atlantis

While roaming through time and space, Esther was sitting comfortably by the steps of the main control room of the T.A.R.D.I.S reading a book, while the Doctor worked on the buttons and levers, leading the duo to their next adventure. Their last one nearly got the two of them killed by a robotic lion in the Ancient Roman Empire, ruled by a malicious emperor with a hunger for power and creating a "new age" of gladiators. "The next time we chose a planet or time period to explore, please don't let there be killer robots, Doctor" said Esther, her eyes glued to her book, "I've had enough of those since West Sussex" "Can't keep that promise, I'm afraid" said The Doctor, "But I am taking you somewhere beyond belief" "You say that last time" "Oh but this time, I mean it" The Doctor placed the switches on, sending the T.A.R.D.I.S flying through space and time, the control room shaking violently as Esther dropped her book and held onto the handle bars to prevent herself from falling. A few minutes later, the T.A.R.D.I.S comes to a stop and moves softly as if it was floating on the surface of water. "We're here!" said the Doctor, walking toward the screen hovering over the control panel, "Oh ain't she a beauty?" Esther stood up and walked over to the Doctor, looking over his shoulder to read the coordinates, "What exactly am I looking at, Doctor?" she asks, a bit concerned. The time lord smiled and grabs onto the girl's hand, dragging her to the door, opening it to reveal their location "Welcome to the Lost City of Atlantis!" he shouts with excitement, "Well technically not lost, just invisible to humans since they're not much of a fan of outsiders'' Esther tilted her head in confusion, all she could see was nothing but the water's surface and what appeared to be a giant bubble hovering over it. "I don't see anything" she said, "Are you sure the T.A.R.D.I.S landed in the right spot?" The Doctor turned his head towards Esther, standing beside her with confusion written on his face, "Of course the T.A.R.D.I.S took us to the right stop, I'm sure of it" he said, pulling out his sonic screwdriver to point at the direction of the city. It was then he realized he forgot one important thing, "Oh that's right, how could I forget?" The Doctor then repositions Esther to a different spot, gently grabs her chin with his index and thumb, slowly turning it to the right and there it was. The "Lost City" of Atlantis appeared right before Esther's eyes in the very distance. The buildings were tall and beautifully displayed, the palace stood in the very center of it with smaller buildings surrounding it and possibly flying cars along with narwhals as a means of transportation. "This is amazing!" she said with a smile, walking towards the city until the Doctor stopped her, grabbing the girl by her waist so she wouldn't fall off the edge. "Watch where you're going, for heaven's sake" said the Doctor, gently pulling her way from the edge. "How are we gonna get to the city then?" asked Esther, "There's no way we can swim across, maybe there's a boat or ship to get us there" "No boats or ships" the Doctor explained, rummaging through his coat pockets until he pulled out a ball of what appeared to be sea kelp. "Eat this" he said, handing the girl the dripping plant. Esther looked at the kelp in disgust, holding it between her index and thumb, "What is this?" she asked, trying her best not to vomit at the horrid smell. "This is a special kelp that allows you to breath underwater" the Doctor explained, "Think of it as if you're eating sushi, without the fish, or the rice, or the soy sauce" "What about you?" "Don't need it. I'm a timelord, remember?  This is nothing for me" The Doctor stuffed his hands into his pockets before leaping off the edge with a call, "ALLONS-Y!!!" followed by a splash. Esther watched as the timelord made a jump for the water down below before her eyes turned back to the kelp in her hand. She hesitates before shoving it into her mouth, forcing herself to chew on it a bit before swallowing it down without vomiting. The taste of salt hit her taste buds hard, even when it swam down her throat, nearly choking. Once the girl is calm, Esther walks towards the edge and steps off yelling "Look out below!" until her feet hit the water.

This water was not like the ocean, that was for sure. The moment Esther entered the water, it felt as if she was being dragged to the bottom of the sea with an anchor tied to her ankle for good measure. Bubbles surrounded her body and blocked her vision on the way down, she could hear the Doctor just a few feet below saying "What took you so long?" through the bubbles. While the time lord landed gracefully on his feet, Esther landed harshly on her bum, feeling the sand cloud up around her. The moment the girl starts to float, she panicked while the Doctor remained unfazed, "Just relax, love" he said, holding the girl's hand for support, "Once you plant your feet to the sand, you should be fine" As instructed, Esther takes a deep breath, her body starts to relax and weighs her down to the ground, her feet making a soft stomp onto the sand beneath her. "There you go" said the Doctor, adjusting his jacket, "Come along then, we mustn't keep her majesty waiting" "Her majesty?" asked Esther through the bubbles, "Atlantis has a Queen?" "Of course Atlantis has a Queen, otherwise Atlantis wouldn't be in hiding" With that, the Doctor began to stroll down the bottom of the "sea" while Esther took baby steps to not float again and get used to the sand beneath her feet.

The walk along the sand felt like taking Neil Armstrong’s first steps on the moon, but the Doctor tells Esther that it wasn’t necessarily true, for it was the Russians who landed on the moon first, then came the Americans. It was then, The Doctor came to a complete stop, causing the girl to bump into his back and step aside, “Why’d we stop?” she asked, covering her mouth after the bubbles suddenly emerged from it. The Doctor turns to the side and presented the girl “We’re here” he said Esther looked confused, to her it looked like the two had to walk further down into the sea. That was until she remembered the Doctor showing her the city from afar, meaning the entrance had the same effect. She raised her hand and cautiously reached out to a force field, her hand disappearing in the process. This shocked the poor girl, causing her to pull her hand back in one piece. She tries again, only this time walking all the way through, followed by the timelord. The girl looked down at her clothes, seeing she was perfectly dry from head to toe. “That’s technology in Atlantis for ya” said The Doctor, “Always 500 years ahead of its time” He makes his way towards the clear elevator with Esther following behind. She stood on his left while the Doctor pulled out what looked like a badge of some kind, “What’s that?” she asked “Psychic Paper” said the Doctor, “How else are we gonna be able to pass security?” “I thought we were gonna see the Queen” “We are, don’t worry. Just follow my lead alright?” The Doctor gives the girl a wink before the duo arrive at the main entrance. A line of people, or should I say creatures, waiting for their turn to enter the “Lost City”. The sight of them surprised the girl, of course she’s heard stories of creatures from other worlds, but this was something else. “Don’t stare” said The Doctor, “Come on, better get in line before it wraps around the bubble”

Thankfully, the duo made it in line before it got worse. Esther couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if they couldn’t get inside the city. “Doctor?” asked Esther, grabbing the timelord’s attention, “What happens if you don’t gain access to the city?” The Doctor paused for a moment, unsure how to answer the girl’s question, “Well… to put it short, if you cannot gain access to Atlantis, either one of two things might happen to ya” “What’s that?” “Now see here, sir!” a voice boomed, a shark-like humanoid being was trying to get past the guards with his passport in hand, “I’ve come all this way to see Her Majesty the Queen and I was given permission to enter by the Royal Adviser months ago!” The Shark-man pulls out a scroll and hands it to the head guard, reading it carefully and rips it in half, “This paper is fake” said the guard, “Get rid of him” Without hesitation, the royal guards point their spears at the Shark-man, stabbing him in the chest as the creature suddenly turned to a pile of seafoam. This scene shocked the poor girl, possibly even frighten her. “There’s that” said The Doctor, “Or if you play nice, they’ll just escort you out through the bubble” Esther swallowed the lump in her throat nervously, “Let’s hope that psychic paper works then” she said “Just follow my lead” It was their turn now, The Doctor walked up to the podium and smiled at the head guard. “State your names and purpose of visit, please” said the Guard, looking down at the booklet “Hi!” said the Doctor, “I am Dr. John Smith and this is my assistant nurse, Dr. Mary Mary Pumpernickel” Esther glared at the timelord, feeling offended by the ridiculous name until the head guard finally glanced at the two. He leans in, growing suspicious of the two, “Identification, please” he said with a low dark voice. “Certainly” said The Doctor, pulling out the psychic paper to show his ‘ID’ “And the nurse?” “Oh right, poor girl’s very forgetful. Sometimes she doesn’t keep track of time which is why she’s late for most of her appointments” The girl remained silent while the Doctor rambled, giving the guard a nearly believable smile. The head guard grew suspicious for a moment before giving a nod of approval, “proceed” he said.

The guards move aside for the Doctor and Esther to enter the gate, a bright light blinding the girl till the sight of the “Lost City” was shown. The buildings were just as tall as the girl imagined, seeing flying cars, whales, and narwhals in the sky. The artificial sun shining up above and Atlantians walking among the streets like humans would in the surface world. Most of the Atlanteans looked like the creature from the old American movie with green skin, big round black eyes, and puffy lips. Others looked almost human, besides the gills sitting on either sides of their neck and webbed fingers. They even dressed almost like royalty or high class citizens. “What do you think?” asked the Doctor, seeing the awe in his companion’s eyes, “Nothing like you’ve never seen before right?” “It’s amazing” said Esther “That never gets old” The Doctor walks ahead of the girl, walking through the city to see the sights and sounds of the citizens. There were markets, shops, boutiques, and many more. What caught Esther’s attention was an older man sitting in the corner of an alleyway, holding a pint asking for change. The citizens ignored the older Atlantean but Esther didn't, which the Doctor noticed. Instead of stopping her, he wanted to see what his companion would do from a good distance just in case anything fishy was going on, pun intended. Esther searched through her pockets and pulls out a few pounds for the older Atlantian to take, “Here” she said kindly, “I’m not sure what the currency in Atlantis is, but I hope this is worth something” The Atlantean was rather surprised, but yet he felt grateful for someone to offer him some money. His wrinkled webbed hand kindly took the money from the girl and gave her a kind smile, “Thank you, my dear” he said in a kind gentle voice, “I see you and your friend are not from around here” “Is that obvious?” asked Esther “I have seen many travelers in Atlantis, but none so interesting and different as you two” “Is it true that many people aren’t allowed inside the city unless you have permission from the Queen or the Royal Advisor?” “Indeed” said the Atlantean, “Although years ago, it wasn’t always like this”

The Doctor walked towards Esther’s side, listening to the old Atlantean on how the City went into hiding and why they had to do it. Eons ago, Atlantis was a city of peace and harmony where everyone knew its existence and created powerful alliances. That was until a war broke out between the land and sea, pollution was killing Atlanteans left and right through its water supply and air. Which was quite understandable until you get to the invisible bubble part. Some of the Atlanteans start protesting and demand for the city to return to its former glory, but all because the Royal Advisor thought it’d be best to keep the city in hiding until the Queen says the word. “Hold on, how do you know all this?” asked the Doctor, “You had to be come kind of member of the court or something to know all that” “And you’re right, good sir” said the Atlantean, “I was once a member of the Imperial Court, until the Advisor threw me out of the palace” “What for?” asked Esther “Disagreements” The two became silent as the old Atlantean stood up with the help of his cane which had a silver seashell in the handle of it with a gold piece at the bottom, “If you’re on your way to the palace, I wish you both good luck” “Thank you, Mr….” “Theogoth, but my friends call me Theo”

The old Alantean bid his farewell to the two before taking his leave in the opposite direction of the palace. Little did they know that someone was watching them from the shadows, a low growl escaped the stranger’s green lips in anger while the two left the scene. Once they reached the palace gates, the Doctor walked up to the guard while Esther stood in awe, seeing the gold and silver shine against the artificial light. It looked like something out of a fairy tale, maybe even beyond that. “Tori!” called the Doctor, “Come along! It looks better on the inside” “Nicer than the T.A.R.D.I.S?” teased Esther “Don’t diss the T.A.R.D.I.S! She just needs a little TLC” “If you say so, Doctor” The Doctor’s frown was sharp till they entered the palace. Upon entering the palace, the walls were painted with white and gold, paintings of former rulers of Atlantis were hung in gold frames, including the Gods they worshiped such as Neptune, Poseidon, Ceto, Hydros, and many more. The Doctor’s gaze fell straight to Esther’s, gently grabbing her arm before she could bump into a statue with a trident pointing straight at the girl, “Best to watch where you’re going, love” he said with a wink. Esther blushed a bit and stood close to the Doctor, making sure not to get distracted. The grand doors opened to reveal a beautiful throne room, once again dressed in gold and white, and there sat a woman in the center of the room.  The Queen of Atlantis sat upon her golden throne, dripping in pearls and crystals from head to toe. Her siren eyes were as blue as the sea, her skin as white as sea foam, but underneath those siren eyes was the kindest smile you’d ever see. To say that she was beautiful would be an understatement. The Queen resembled a Goddess of the sea. The Doctor smiled and respectfully bows to the Queen, “Your majesty” he said, “Long time no see, you’re just as beautiful as I remembered” “I thank you, Doctor” said the Queen, her voice as sweet and sincere as a melody, “and I see you have brought a companion” Esther froze, blushing before bowing deeply in the presence of the Queen. The Doctor stood tall and looked down at the girl, shaking his head softly, “Don’t-Don’t do that” he said. The Queen stood from her throne, making her way down the small staircase and stopping just in front of the girl. Her elegant fingers cupped the girl’s chin, slowly raising her head to meet the Queen’s gaze, “Rise, my dear” she said kindly, “There’s no need to bow in such a way” Esther nods and raised herself up, her height matching the queen, “my apologies, you’re majesty” The Queen giggled sweetly in response, “There’s no need to apologize either” “You’re majesty!” a voice called, stepping into the throne room with a serious look. Judging by his gold and silver robes with a badge that resembled an atlantic fig snail, he was the advisor. His appearance was quite the opposite to the Queen, his skin was green as envy, his many eyes made it hard to make eye contact, his scaly hands hidden in the sleeves of his robe, and his frown made it show that he wasn’t in the best of moods. “You shouldn’t treat your guest with such kindness” said the advisor, “You are a solemn ruler, you must show that you have power” “And you are much too traditional, Thoric” said the Queen, “Learn to relax and think about starting a new age for the city” “It’s not as easy as you believe it is, your majesty” The Queen ignored Thoric and turned her attention back to the timelord and his companion, “What’s your name, my dear?” she asks with a smile “Esther” the girl answered, “Esther Lovegood” “Would you and the Doctor care to join me for a stroll?” “Why not?” said The Doctor with a goofy smile, “It’s been a while since my last visit. I wonder if this place still has my little gift shop” Esther raised a brow at the Doctor, “You had a gift shop?” she asks, “In the Queen’s Palace?” “Souvenir for tourist”

The gardens in Atlantis were breathtaking. The coral represented the flowers, the fountains had merpeople made of marble, and the seaweed was decorated nicely as bushes. The Queen and Esther were walking arm and arm while the Doctor watched from a good distance. It was nice to see his new companion enjoy herself and keep her mind off the trouble she’d been through. He paused and heard something from afar, seeing the Royal Advisor, Thoric talking to who seems to be his assistant. His eyes looked back on the Queen and Esther, quietly slipping away in order to hear the conversation, hiding within the seaweed to blend in with the scenery. “Master, perhaps it’s time to put this plan of yours aside” said the assistant “And waste 10,000 years of planning to take over the throne for a mere child? I think not” said Thoric, his eyes fuming with anger, “Do you have any idea how long I had to stand by and watch every ruler of Atlantis to make rational and pointless ideas.” “But what if you don’t succeed this time?” “Oh I will! But with that Doctor and his little daughter-” “Companion, sir” “Whatever, with those two in the way, it won’t be easy to get rid of that naive Queen Aquamarine. Thankfully, there’s a royal ball tonight which makes it the perfect opportunity to get that crown and make sure Atlantis would be supreme”

‘Of course’ thought the Doctor rolling his eyes in the process, ‘the typical second hand wanting nothing more than power and control. Haven’t seen one of those in a while’ “Doctor!” cried the Queen, holding Esther’s unconscious form in her arms. The Doctor quickly left the scene before the advisor would notice, rushing to the girl’s aid to check her pulse, pulling out his sonic screwdriver to scan the girl. Once he was done scanning, the tool showed that Esther was going through a rare condition called ‘Time sickness’ which only happens when people, often humans, stay in the T.A.R.D.I.S a tad too long. “She’ll wake up in her own time” said the Doctor, carefully picking Esther up in his arms, “Sorry we had to cut the walk a bit short” “It’s quite alright, Doctor” said Queen Aquamarine, “As long as your companion gets plenty of rest. I’ll see to it that my servants bring the both of you to a guest room” “I think it might be best if you’d come with us, just in case anything happens to ya without supervision” Queen Aquamarine hesitated for a moment before agreeing to the Doctor’s order. In the corner of the timelord’s eye, he could see Thoric sending him a sinister glare, meaning he knew the Doctor was listening to his conversation from earlier. But that wasn’t going to stop the Doctor from protecting the Queen of Atlantis and his companion.

Esther woke up with a start, but something was off. She wasn’t anywhere in Atlantis. This place seemed rather different. She stood up from the ground and scanned her surroundings. “Doctor!” she called, but no response, “Doctor, where are you?!” The room looked to be a library in an old Esthern house, the shelves stacked with books, the curtains moving softly from the gentle breeze of the night which showed a full moon. The girl walks over to close the curtain but her hand seems to go right through it, as if she were a ghost. The door slams open to reveal a group entering the room, a tall man in a Esthern suit, followed by an older woman who happened to be Queen Victoria, and two very familiar people. One of which was Rose Tyler, the other The Doctor who looked a touch younger. “Doctor?” asked Esther, seeing the timelord quickly gather as many items as he could to block the door, almost as if he was hiding from something, or someone. His ear was pressed to the walls, hearing the sound of what’s chasing them on the other side of it. Esther slowly walks up to the timelord, reaching her hand towards his shoulder, only for her hand to once again go right through it. “What is this?” asked Esther, looking down at her hand then back to the Doctor, “What’s going on? Am I dead?” “No, love” said a voice, “It’s all just a memory” The girl turns around to see another version of Rose Tyler, comparing her to the one watching the Doctor from the side along with the man and the Queen. “Rose?” asked Esther, earning a smile from the familiar blonde. Esther runs towards Rose with a tight hug, before pulling away “How are you here?” she asks “I’m not quite sure to be honest” said Rose, looking towards her younger self and the Doctor, just as surprised as the girl beside her. “Mind giving this memory a bit of context?” “The Doctor and I somehow ended up in Scotland. We met the Queen as you can see and we were being chased by a werewolf” Esther’s eyes widened and glanced at the scene, “Werewolves?” she asked, “They’re real?” “Well” said the Doctor in the memory, “you’d call it a ‘werewolf,’ but technically it’s more of a lupine-wavelength haemovariform” “A what?” asked Esther, “Doctor, when will you learn to speak proper English?” “That’s what I ask myself all the time,” said Rose. The Queen’s face showed distrust in the Doctor and shock, saying that she noticed how he changed his voice so quickly. Before the Doctor within the memory could explain himself, he noticed something on the walls and the doors of the library, mistletoe. The two girls watched the scene as the Doctor climbed up the door and licked the wall without hesitation. Esther watched in disgust and asked, “Did he just lick the wall?” “He does that often” said Rose “Viscum album, the oil in the mistletoe” said the Doctor, “It’s been worked into the wall like varnish. How clever was your dad? I love him!” The timelord explained that mistletoe was powerful stuff, bursting with lectins and viscotoxins. The past Rose asked if the wolf was allergic to the mistletoe, which the Doctor replies with a no, telling her that it thinks they’re allergic to it and the monks outside the manor had to control the creature somehow, possibly training it to react against certain things. The lord of the manner reminds the Doctor that they carried no weapons of any kind to stop the werewolf from attacking them. The Doctor grinned and looked at the lord, “Oh, your father got all the brains, didn’t he?” he asked “Being rude again” said young Rose “Good, I meant that one” If they wanted weapons, the group already had the greatest weapon of all, books. The Doctor pulls out his spectacles and gave a serious look at the group, “This room is the greatest arsenal we could have”

The last thing Esther saw within the memory was the group “arming” themselves with books before it came to an end. She wakes up in a soft and comfortable bed, her eyes flutter softly as a bright light shines above her. Once her vision was clear, she could see a beautiful chandelier decorated with pearls and seashells sitting about the bed. “Oh there you are, Sleeping Beauty” said The Doctor, sitting up from the chair beside the bed, “You gave Queen Aqua quite a fright back there” “Doctor?” asked Esther, sitting up on the bed and slowly poked the timelord just to be sure he was real. He looked rather puzzled before gently moving his companion’s hand aside and pulled out his sonic screwdriver. “Hold still for a moment” he said, pointing the tool at the girl and scanning her face, “Do you feel nauseous or anything?” “No” said Esther, “I’m fine” Once the Doctor was done scanning, he looked at the results, sighing in relief, “Well thank goodness you are, cause we’re attending a ball tonight” “A ball?” “Yes, the Queen’s servants even picked a dress for ya. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a few things to run” Esther carefully pulls herself out of bed as the Doctor leaves the room, “where are you going?” “Don’t worry” said the Doctor, “I’ll be back in time. Atlanteans know how to party” As the Doctor left the room, the servants arrived to help the girl get ready for the royal ball.

Atlanteans from far and wide gathered in the grand ballroom as majestic music filled the air, the guests dancing with grace and precision, including the servants. The Doctor stood beside Queen Aquamarine who was dressed in a beautiful royal navy blue gown, a sapphire headpiece displayed beautifully on the crown of her head, and jewels decorated on her lovely skin. The Time lord was wearing black suit accompanied with gold trimmings and a gold coral shaped bow tie. Not long after, a figure showed up on the top of the steps, her head was neatly tied in a beautiful high ponytail, decorated with pearls and shells, her dress in red and white with layers to represent the Thai Fighting Fish, and shoes made of the best quality of coral. It was Esther. A smile appeared on the Doctor’s face seeing his companion walk down the steps toward the main floor, walking towards the girl and offering his arm, “Took you long enough” he said. “The servants really wanted to find the best dress” said Esther, taking the Doctor’s arm and walks beside him, “And trust me Doctor, it was either this or a puffer fish dress” “You look lovely tho” The Doctor then noticed something very different about the girl, first she had short hair and now it’s long, “You wearing a wig?” he asks, earning a smack on the arm from Esther. “No” she responds, “It’s this serum the servants used to make my hair grow in the bath”

As the ball progressed, the Queen of Atlantis could be seen with the Doctor dancing a waltz while Esther was dancing with other Atlantean royals. On the opposite side of the ballroom stood Thoric, his webbed hands hidden behind his back, with a weapon in one. His many eyes looked up at the chandelier, waiting for the perfect opportunity to make his shot, slowly aiming the weapon up in the air, pulling the trigger with ease. The loud bang scared most of the guests as the chain from the chandelier snapped, falling towards the center where the Doctor and the Queen stood. Thankfully, the Doctor saved Aquamarine on time, but at a cost, his consciousness. “Doctor!” cried Esther, rushing to the timelord and the Queen who held his body close to her chest. The rest of the guest run in a panic, screams filled the room while Thoric and his assistant watched from the side, “Dammit'' growled the royal advisor, “Of course that man would protect her” “A-at least he’s dead, sir” said the assistant, “Perhaps we should make a run for it” “Well thankfully, there’s always plan B” “Wha-what’s plan B again, sir?” “Just follow” The advisor grabs his assistant by the collar to make a quick getaway, which Esther notices and attempts to follow. A hand was placed on the girl’s shoulder to stop her, causing her to turn her attention to Theo, “You tend to the Doctor, child” “What about the Queen?” asked Esther “I shall watch over her. It is my sworn duty to stay by her side” “Where shall we meet then?” asked Aquamarine, pulling out a blaster from her corset. This action surprised the girl for a moment before brushing it aside to think, “The Library” she said, “Greatest arsenal we have” “Perfect”

With that, the old Atlantean and the Queen make their way towards the direction of the advisor, while Esther carefully places the Doctor’s unconscious form to the ground. She hesitates for a moment before folding her hands together and placing them in the center of the timelord’s chest. A hand mysteriously appears, guiding her to the proper spot, “It’s here, love” said a feminine voice. It wasn’t Rose Tyler though, it was someone else. The girl looked up to see a different woman, much different than the last companion she encountered. “Who are you?” asked Esther, “What do you think you’re doing?” “I should be asking you the same thing” said the woman, “My name is Martha Jones and I’m trying to help you save the Doctor” “How’s this going to help?” “It’s where one of his hearts are” Esther looked at Martha as if she had two heads, “what?” she asked, “How could that be? There’s no way the Doctor has more than-” She paused, thinking back to when she first met the timelord in West Sussex. The moment she cried in his arms, she thought she could hear her heart beating. But it turns out, it wasn’t her own heart she heard, it was the Doctor’s. “Two hearts” said Esther, earning a smile from Martha. The girl leans into the Doctor’s chest, hearing his right heart working but not the left. Once again, Esther folds her hands together and places it on the left side of his chest, glancing at Martha once in a while to see if she was doing it correctly. “How do you know all this?” asked Esther, “Were you like a nurse or something?” “Yes I was,” said Martha, “I met the Doctor while I was a medical student stuck on the moon” “The actual moon?” “Yeah. It’s pretty crazy I know” “Try being chased by Cybermen” Martha giggled a bit before hovering her hand over Esther’s helping her apply pressure to the Doctor’s left heart and checking his pulse. This went on for at least 10 minutes, which made the girl worry even more. Her anger was getting the best of her and she couldn’t help but form her hands into one giant fist to pound the timelord in the chest, “WAKE THE HELL UP, YOU ABSOLUTE PIECE OF RUBBISH!!” With one punch to the chest, the Doctor gasped and sat up for air, followed by another punch to the back. “OW!!!!” he yelled but then felt his left heart working once more. The girl stops to see the Doctor alive and well, her shock expression quickly turns to anger once more, smacking the timelord in the face. “WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!” yelled the Doctor, holding his now red cheek “You scared me to death, Doctor!” yelled Esther, “Even if you were only protecting Queen Aqua, you could’ve died!” The Doctor paused, looking around the ballroom with concern until his eyes met Esther’s, holding her shoulders tight, looking down at her with a serious expression, “where’s the Queen?” he asked The girl hesitates before answering the question, “She-she told me to meet her at the Library” she said, “Theo’s with her, so at least she’s not alone” The Doctor’s face softened and formed into a dorky smile, “You are a genius!” he said, cupping the girl’s face for a quick kiss. Once he pulled away, Esther was disgusted and spat in the opposite direction, “Never do that to me again, Doctor!” she said, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. “Come on, love” said the Doctor, “Allons-y!”

The Doctor and his companion enter the library with ease, making sure that no one was following them. He pulls out his sonic screwdriver to scan the room to see if it was safe to stay, “good thing you chose the right place” he said, “No sign of Thoric or his friend” Esther stood by the door, keeping an eye out for the Queen and Theo, “any idea what we can use in here, Doc?” She asks, “There has to be something we could use besides books” The Doctor pulls out his spectacles, scanning the library to see anything out of the ordinary. His long slender fingers traced ever so slightly on the spins of the books, feeling its texture until he noticed something off. He paused, the books didn’t feel like leather, but wood. Leaning against the wood, the Doctor gives it a good sniff, followed by a lick. “Did he just lick the bloody bookshelf?” asked Martha “Yep” said Esther “Driftwood” said the Doctor, tasting his tongue on the roof of his mouth for a better description, “200,000 years old… possibly 300… now if I can just find the right book to open this” Esther glanced at Martha who was also examining the bookshelf from afar, noticing most of them looked the same except one. “Try that one” she said to the girl, pointing to a seafoam colored book with the golden trident on the spine. Esther nods and walks up to the timelord, reaching her hand out towards the book Martha mentioned, pulling it downward to reveal a secret passageway, a staircase leading down to who knows where. The Doctor was rather surprised by how his companion figured it out so quickly, adjusting his coat, raising a brow suspiciously, “How’d you know which book was the switch?” he asked Esther hesitates for a moment before answering, “Well, there’s tritons all around the palace so it had to be the one with the triton on the spine” She points to the book with the golden triton on the spine. The Doctor glanced at the symbol in silence before he shrugged, thinking nothing of it before heading down the staircase with Esther following behind.

“So the Doctor can’t see or hear me?” asked Martha, walking right beside Esther while the Doctor was just a couple steps ahead “Seems like it” said Esther, “Do you even know how you got here?” Martha paused, how did she get here? Nothing came to mind, not even the last thing she remembered. It was rather odd. “I’m not sure to be honest with you” she answered, “I can’t even remember the last place I was at” “Esther!” called the Doctor, glancing at the girl as if she had two heads, “who are you talking to?” Esther hesitates before answering, “nobody” The timelord remained silent, he knew something was up with his companion. Probably one of the side effects of time sickness, so he thought nothing of it. He was then greeted with a blaster to the face, causing him and Esther to put their hands up in defense. Thankfully, it was Queen Aquamarine who was armed with the blaster, “Thank goodness you’re alive, Doctor” she said, lowering the weapon and allowing the two to enter. The room reminded Esther of the Batcave from the comic book Batman, with weapons lined up on the walls, a giant monitor showing the rooms of the palace and the city streets. “Well,” said the Doctor, “I did say that the library was the best arsenal of them all once” But what really caught their attention was Theo holding Thoric’s assistant hostage. “Just so you know, I have a lawyer!” said the assistant, “I will sue you for kidnapping!” “Hello Nemo” said the Doctor, “Looks like the Queen and Theo found ya. Listen, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Which one would you prefer?” “I prefer if you’d let me and my master go in peace! He should have the right to become King of Atlantis- EEP!” The assistant’s eyes were met with the tip of a silver spear, held by Esther, “Hard way it is then” she said with a deadly glare. “Hold on a minute” said the Doctor, gently lowering the weapon from Esther’s hand, “Do you even know how to use that thing?” “If you remember what happened back at the entrance, it turns people into sea foam” “Well can’t let that happen” The time lord pulls out his sonic screwdriver, scanning the spear and resetting the weapon, “there” he said, “now he won’t turn into foam, but a tadpole if he doesn’t talk” The assistant swallowed the lump in his throat as his hand slowly pointed to the monitors. The Queen’s eyes glanced at the screens, one of them showing Throic making a run for it towards the city, weapon in one hand and a scroll in the other. “How did he get his hands on my father’s seal?” Asked the Queen “I may have stolen the code to your father’s safe” said the assistant, the tip of the spear landing closer to his neck, “He’sgoingtoescapethecitywithyourfather’ssealinordertotakeawayyourtitleasking!” “There’s no way we can catch up to him by foot!” said Esther, “Thoric would be gone by the time we reached the gate” “Who said anything about running?” asked the Doctor, a smirk creeping up on his face.

Just outside the city, Thoric could be seen running towards the gates with his weapon in hand. Anger boiling in his bloodstream the more he thought of the Queen almost capturing him. “Might as well take that idiot’s advice and skedaddle out of here” he said to himself before the royal guards pointed their spears at the traitor. He stops and points his blaster, “Stand down!” he commanded, “I am your King! I HAVE THE RIGHT TO RULE OVER THIS GOD FORSAKEN CITY NOT A BRAINLESS BRAT!” The royal advisor was about to turn when he hit face first into what appeared to be a rather large seahorse. The one riding it was none other than the Doctor with the Queen sitting behind him while Esther and Theo were riding another. The Queen and the Doctor’s eyes met with a rather shocked and frightened Thoric, “Going somewhere, Sir Thoric?” asked the Queen, her innocent voice turned dark and intimidating as her sharp siren eyes. Thoric glared and pointed his weapon at the Queen, only for his throat to meet with a pair of sharp blades, courtesy of the royal guards. “You don’t deserve to be the ruler of this palace” he growled, “and to think I let a child take my place in line for the throne after-” “Killing my father in his sleep?” The city fell silent, overhearing the conversation between her royal highness and the royal advisor. “Arrest this traitor” she ordered, “You don’t deserve to be a royal advisor” Without hesitation, the guards grab Thoric and snatched the weapon along with the seal, handing them both to the Queen. Before she could give another order, she paused and smiled at the timelord, “care to do the honors, Doctor?” The Doctor smiled with glee and proudly said, “Take him away, boys” before glancing at his companion, “Always wanted to say that” Esther smiled and rolled her eyes as the guards took the former advisor back to the palace and the city cheered with glee. "Oh!" she said, pulling out a sealed fishbowl which had a tadpole swimming inside it, "don't forget your friend" She tossed the bowl to Thoric who caught it with ease and glared at his former assistant "You are a fool" he growled.

On a distant planet far from Earth, Martha Jones and Rose Tyler appeared to be in a deep sleep. Their eyes shut and their bodies remain frozen in time inside what appeared to be a sleeping pod. A robot was scanning the waves through telekinesis and reports in a robotic voice, “Our sources indicate that Rose Tyler and Martha Jones had connection with the target” “And the location?” asked a young male voice, hiding in the shadows “The location cannot be detected” said the robot, “It is as if they were done on purpose” “It will take time” said an older voice, judging by his uniform, he was a general, “The Doctor will show his face here with what we need” The young soldier salutes to the general in greeting while the other nods. He walks up to the sleeping pods and glared at Rose Tyler, “We must find the target to get rid of the Doctor for good” he said with a sneer, “She is the key to finding his weakness and possibly his true name”

Next Time on Doctor Who

"Who knew the Galaxy would look this beautiful up close" "State your business, stowaways!" "Did we seriously get captured by space pirates?!" "Oh trust me, this isn't the most unusual thing that's happened to me" "You! Find this treasure and you shall be rewarded" "We better find the treasure before wannabe Blackbeard gets to it first" "Thankfully, I know how we can get there"

[choicevehiclerentals]

Hire a Vehicle for a Day - The Ideal Answer for Momentary Transportation Needs

Are you planning a road trip or adventure in a new destination? One of the best ways to explore a new place is by car. However, if you don't own a car or don't want to put the miles on your vehicle, cars hire or cheapest van hire from Choice Vehicle Rentals is a great option. 

Flexibility

One of the biggest advantages of car hire Brighton is the flexibility it provides. You don't have to worry about public transport schedules or the availability of taxis. You can also stop whenever you want to take in the scenery, grab a bite to eat, or take a detour to a hidden gem.

Cost-Effective

While car hire may seem expensive at first glance, it can be a cost-effective option. If you're traveling with a group, splitting the cost of car hire 9 seater from Choice Vehicle Rentals in East Sussex can be cheaper than buying individual tickets for public transport or taxis. Additionally, car hire companies often offer discounts for longer rental periods, so if you're planning a longer trip, car hire can be a more economical option.

Comfort

Traveling in your vehicle can be more comfortable than using public transport. You have control over the temperature and can adjust the seats to your liking. You also have more luggage space and can bring any equipment or gear required for your adventure.

Convenience

Car hire Crawley is also convenient, especially if you're traveling to a destination that's not well-served by public transport. You can pick up your car at the airport or train station and start your adventure immediately. You also have the convenience of leaving your luggage in the car while you explore, rather than carrying it around with you.

Freedom

Perhaps the biggest benefit of car hire is the freedom it provides. You can explore off-the-beaten-path destinations that may not be accessible by public transport. You can also change your itinerary on the fly, depending on your mood or the weather. With your vehicle, you have the freedom to create your adventure.

Why hiring vehicles from Choice Vehicle Rentals is the Perfect Solution for Your Next Trip

Vacationing is an exciting activity that offers a simple escape from routine life. But the hassle must be adequately reduced when traveling. Otherwise, it can interfere with your ability to enjoy your vacation. The issue of efficient transit is one of the main annoyances.

It’s time to contact Choice Vehicle Rentals in East Sussex for 15 seater minibus hire or Minibus Hire Luton, as it makes traveling enjoyable.

Car Hire vs. Public Transportation: Which is the Better Option?

Car hire Luton or cheapest van hire from Choice Vehicle Rental is the most preferred option compared to taking public transportation for long-distance trips because doing so can be time-consuming and inefficient. Furthermore, hiring a car should be the choice made if a person needs a more adaptable mode of transportation. Public transit does not permit you to stop as often, or anywhere you like as is possible with rental automobiles.

In conclusion, renting a car gives you more flexibility and the ability to go vast distances with large amounts of luggage. In comparison, using public transit will help you save money and is economical and environmentally friendly. To cut costs while still enjoying the benefits of renting a car, it is best to think about the cars hire by Choice Vehicle Rentals.

For more Info :-

rent a car for a day

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Self Drive Car Rentals

[kerlonia]

Golden comet chicken

#GOLDEN COMET CHICKEN FREE#

Hens feathering color varies with brown, black, redish and white feathers. This strain will start to lay eggs at a younger age than most standard breeds and produce large to extra large brown eggs.Īs chicks the cockerels are white and the pullets are more brownish red in color. Golden Comets are docile birds and extremely easy to work with. And when it comes time to put some meat on the table, a larger chicken would be your best option here.Īlthough the emphasis of this article is on egg-laying chicken breeds, which is the greatest priority here, other characteristics, like foraging or brooding, may also be of special interest.Beautiful friendly Golden Comet Pullets for sale, these are a sex-link hybrid chicken and should have a productive egg laying career. They are birds that are broody, birds that forage well, types that are excellent layers, and from a pure sustenance standpoint, birds that are big enough to make them worth-while eating.Ĭonsider that birds which brood well will keep your flock healthy and populated.Ĭhickens that are excellent foragers make the best free-range types, and those that are hardy egg layers will always keep you in eggs. And if that’s all you want to do, there is certainly no problem with that.īut, there are other characteristics that may also come into play, and they at least deserve to be mentioned in the same breath. Raising chickens just for eggs is a very practical way to have your yolk and eat them too. Chicken Breeds That Lay Blue, Green, Pink, White, and Other Egg Colors.Here are some other articles you might want to read about raising chickens: It is thought, by many, that the best chickens and the tastiest eggs are produced by free-range birds, and as long as they have a shelter for the night, you can have free-ranging chickens that will survive and flourish. This works best on farms that have several acres of land on which the chickens can roam. You’ll need a little more space than a city backyard, but a suburban yard or a small farm would work well.įree-range can be a very large penned-in area, perhaps an acre or more, or as the name implies, free-range anywhere around your property. Movable pens allow constant foraging in different areas and fresh greens. You can make either a permanent pen, with a small indoor shelter in which to roost or lay eggs or have a movable pen that can be picked up and moved from place to place. Pens are a great way to keep your chickens outdoors yet give them ample space to move around. If properly insulated, this can be a year-round chicken house. There should be a little bit of a yard area outside where the chickens can stretch their legs, and this may be a good area for feeding and watering. In virtually any backyard, unless perhaps in the heart of the city, a chicken coup can be erected where the chickens can be housed. Egg productions (annual)Īlthough the listed chickens here are some of the most popular and best egg layers of them all, you’ll have to determine which kind suits your own personal needs.Ĭonsider the available land space, how much you want to care for them, a little or a lot, their overall disposition and what you are going to do with all of those eggs! 1. However, in contrast to their size, Sussex chickens don’t need big spaces.īe careful when raising Sussex with other breeds. One of the heaviest layers, not only because they lay more than 250 eggs per year but also because the females weight almost 8lbs on average. They tend to bully others and sometimes eat their eggs. One thing, though, Australorp is not the easiest to raise with other breeds. If you’re a total beginner, Australorp might be the best choice for you. Egg productions (annual)Īustralorp chickens are one of the human-friendliest chicken breeds, they lay a fairly high amount of eggs, they have quite a lot of meat, and their color is just gorgeous.

#GOLDEN COMET CHICKEN FREE#

However, their coats are fluffy and retain moisture, so they will always need a place of shelter, and they don’t fly very well, so if they are free ranged, predators might become an issue. They are best in a confined setting, like a penned-in area or a coup, but under the right circumstances, they also make good free-range birds. Granted, this is an egg-laying chicken breed that is only capable of about 150 eggs per year, but if you have kids, or if you are actively interested in a chicken more for its docile nature, this is a wonderful choice. What’s not to like about a Buff Orpington? These are big and beautiful birds that actually make great pets.

[itstimeforian-blog]

Utterly charmed by the best pubs in East Sussex

I have always loved living in the south-east of England, especially when I realise how many pubs in West Sussex and East Sussex are waiting to welcome me. I live in the south of the county, but I’ve always been more than happy to drive to the other end to enjoy a delicious meal with friends, work colleagues or family members. As soon as I settle back in a comfy chair and start scanning the menu options, I thank the lucky stars that I’m able to live in an area that has everything I need.

http://shepherdanddogpub.co.uk/

One of the guys that work in the same office as me has a particular liking for a place called the Shepherd & Dog. It’s a large Sussex gastropub in the quaint village of Fulking, in the heart of the South Downs National Park. One look at the menu is enough to convince anyone that this could just be the best place to eat in Sussex. My friend loves steak and chips with all the trimmings, and this particular place is rightly famous for the quality of its steaks. No wonder he goes back there time and time again.

[fionawillsworldview]

A post-meal coffee in my favourite rural pubs near Brighton is always a delight

[camillasgirl]

‘I could fill a book with my cooking disasters’ - My life in food by HRH The Duchess of Cornwall

I grew up in a very happy home, with good food at its heart. I still just about remember rationing, but we grew everything from tomatoes and melons to peas, beans, carrots and new potatoes. One of my earliest memories is podding those peas and beans with my mother, an accomplished cook.

We always had to finish what was on our plate before we ate pudding. That wasn’t such a problem when it was rice pudding as I hated the stuff.

At my first school, Dumbrells in Ditchling, East Sussex, the food was, surprisingly, excellent. Lots of steamed puddings and we were allowed to help the cook once a week in getting lunch ready. I still dream of their potato and cheese cake.

Every year, we went on holiday to the island of Ischia, just off Naples. There were endless lunches of vitello al limone [veal escalope with lemon], fried zucchini, lots of fresh fish and pasta. It instilled a lifelong passion for Italian food.

On Friday nights, at home, we were allowed to choose our dinner. I always went for Findus frozen chicken pie, much to my mother’s despair. Food at my grandmother’s house was more formal French, which was very much the smart thing in those days. What I remembered most there, though, was the brown bread ice cream.

When it came to restaurants, there wasn’t as much choice in 60s London as there is now. But at the time, we didn’t know any better. I always preferred the food at home anyway. But I remember how excited I was when I first ate prawn and avocado, at Alexander’s in Chelsea. The combination seemed impossibly exotic. I’d eaten avocados at home and hated them at first. But I now eat them most days. Daphne’s was another favourite, along with La Poule au Pot in Pimlico, which is still about. Best of all was The Causerie at Claridge’s, where there was a great round table with the most incredible buffet. Everyone dressed up and it seemed very glamorous.

I always cooked for the children growing up, and they were good eaters, but I was never the most adventurous of cooks. I was sent on a cooking course in Sussex when I was young but, really, I learnt from my mother. I’ve never followed a recipe in my life.

My cooking is about good ingredients. Nothing too mucked about, or fussy or fiddly. Lots of tarragon chicken, scrambled eggs and bacon, and chicken casserole. There were always roasts on Sunday – pork and lamb chops, roast chicken. The children ate a lot of cheese on toast. We had a kitchen garden and lots of chickens, for the eggs, so we ate seasonally before it became en vogue. Because that’s just what you did in the country back then. We used Love & Sons, the butchers, in Chippenham, Wiltshire. There was also a very good fishmonger but that’s long gone, which is sad. Britain has so much incredible produce, and our farmers do a magnificent job. We should always support them.

When Sainsbury’s opened in Chippenham at the start of the 80s, it was rather exciting. So much choice. We ate a lot of chicken kievs.

I could fill a book with all my cooking disasters. I’m not a natural baker, to say the least. As for baked potatoes… many a poor, incinerated specimen has been found in the bottom of the Aga, put in, then forgotten about.

I do still cook for myself when at home. Simple things like fish en papillote with butter and herbs. And vegetables from the garden: kale, purple sprouting broccoli, carrots, courgettes, and lots of peas and beans because they freeze so well. I love the vegetable garden, and summer in particular. I’m very proud of my white peaches. My husband is an excellent gardener, and we’re quite competitive about our fruit and vegetables.

These days, restaurants are a way to see my children. They pick the restaurants, I pay the bill. I don’t like too much noise but we tend to go to the same places.

One of my favourite foods is baked beans on toast. Always Heinz. And freshly cooked fish and chips, wrapped in paper. That smell. You cannot beat proper fish and chips.I can’t bear peppers, raw or cooked. I’m not a fan of offal either, aside from very good liver. And I avoid chilli and garlic too, unlike my son.My last supper would probably involve my own asparagus, with lots of butter. Angela Hartnett’s risotto. I love her cooking. Dover sole meunière, with ratte potatoes and fresh broad beans and peas from the garden. Some bitter chocolate ice cream. Plus strawberries and raspberries and lots of clotted cream. Along with a really good glass of red claret. And, seeing it’s my last supper, probably two.

[snifflesthemouse]

A Letter to Congress in Reply to Another Letter to Congress

The Tumblr Account Of Sniffles the Mouse

The Honorable Charles Schumer Majority Leader U.S. Senate Washington, D.C.

The Honorable Nancy Pelosi Speaker U.S. House of Representatives Washington, D.C.

23 October 2021

Dear Leader Schumer and Speaker Pelosi,

I’m not a rich celebrity, and I didn’t marry a prince. I am, like many, an American citizen who personally knows what growing up below the poverty line means. While I’m sure Meghan, the Duchess of Sussex, had good intentions, her letter lacks truth and authenticity. All one must do is read Meghan’s own words from her Tig blog archives to know what I mean. That’s why I write this letter now, to make sure everyone knows what I mean.

While the Duchess of Sussex and I have a few things in common, like both of us being married to combat veterans and being moms, we do not share that common knowledge that comes from growing up in poverty. She may claim she does, and she may claim she grew up struggling. But the truth is, she’s either lying about struggling or she legitimately has no idea what real struggle is.

If the Duchess of Sussex really understood struggling, let alone growing up in a low-income household, she’d not need a global pandemic to expose those “long-existing fault lines” she wrote about in her letter. Apparently, the Duchess of Sussex grew up in a neighborhood that was fault line free. Otherwise, she’d already know the problem wasn’t exposure. She’d know the real problem is the fact those fault lines influence gerrymandering season. But I digress.

I’m not mad that Meghan grew up in Hollywood, or that she went to private schools. I’m not mad her dad won an Emmy, and then the lottery. I don’t care that her yoga-instructing, social-working, therapist for a mom would take her to Mexico or Jamaica, so she could become a global citizen. I don’t even care that her dad got her in as an extra on Married… With Children, that she grew up on various TV sets eating filet mignon. Or that her parents took her to sushi bars and concerts. Good for her, and good for them!

No, I’m mad that the Duchess of Sussex thinks that was growing up in poverty or struggling. I’m mad that she thinks the salad bar at Sizzler or group rates at a local buffet chain equates with poverty. She has no idea what it means to struggle. She’s not the one to be speaking out for those of us who do. And when we sit back and allow the Duchess of Sussexes of the world to hijack the human condition for media attention, we get lost in fixing the real problems.

You see, I know what it’s like to really have parents doing their best to provide for their kids and still fall short of making the ends meet. The ends never met in our household growing up. The gap between them only got wider. My dad worked full-time driving a garbage truck for the city, and my mom was terminally ill. Even though dad worked full-time, it never came close. By 16, I worked full-time at a fast-food chain to help out. I never got to save for my future because I was too busy chipping in on medications and utility bills in the present. And it was too bad there wasn’t a yogurt place that could’ve illegally employed me to work there. It would’ve been easier than having to mow lawns at the age of 10 like I had to...

I know what it’s like depending upon clothing vouchers and free lunch programs for clothes and lunch. I know how embarrassing it feels to go to school with holes in your shoes, only to have the teacher give you a pair of new ones after class in private. Then, that relief you feel when you go to class the next day and see half the student body wearing the same shoes you’re wearing because it means you’re not the only poor kid in class. But hey, the Duchess of Sussex had to eat at a Sizzler.

Again, I’m not trying to bash or shame the Duchess of Sussex. She can feel or say what she wants. But, when her words are being used to appeal to Congress while she’s using her title in the letterhead, I have a right to appeal, too.

I may not have the power, wealth, or connections that come with being the Duchess of Sussex. But I have something that the Duchess of Sussex could never have or buy. I don’t need a title or a prince for a husband to tell you what real life is like for low-income households. Base your votes and actions on people like me, not the Duchess of Sussex. After all, people like me pay you to pass laws and people like Meghan want to replace people like you.

[feathers-scales-and-tails]

Been seeing a lot of “backyard eggs are cruel” articles lately, so I wanted to go through a couple of the points they raise and highlight why backyard eggs aren’t inherently cruel.

1) Chicks come from factory farm hatcheries

This point is entirely dependent upon an individuals purchasing choices. The only chicks coming from factory farm hatcheries are production hybrids, so ISA Brown, HYLINE Brown, Utility Leghorn, etc. so long as you don’t purchase these hybrids, you don’t support the unethical factories.

Although private hatcheries have their own plethora of ethical issues, these places are not suppliers to factory farms. The best place to purchase your chicks or pullets from is a private breeder who has good welfare standards. Neither of these options support the factory farms, and the claim that majority of backyard hens come from these factory farm hatcheries is false. I currently can’t name a single person I know with birds from a factory farm hatchery.

2) Male chicks are killed at birth

If you are buying factory farm chicks, yes. However as I mentioned above, few backyard hens are coming from this source. Private hatcheries which sex chicks either sell cockerels cheaper, or sell them in bundle deals for meat birds. Unfortunately private hatcheries are about profit, and believe it or not they can still profit off cockerels.

Private breeders rarely ever sex chicks. It requires specialised training and cockerels are harder to sell, so most sell chicks unsexed. Breeders also want to grow out these cockerels, there needs to be a keep back for the next generation of breeding. Either way, private hatcheries and breeders where a lot of backyard hens are sourced from are not killing male chicks on a large scale.

3) Hens are unhealthy and unnatural due to genetic manipulation

First of all, domestic hens lay more eggs than their ancestors due to selective breeding, not ‘genetic modification’ or ‘genetic manipulation’. Production hybrids are certainly unhealthy, laying over 300 eggs a year causes their bodies to wear out and they’re predisposed to so many reproductive issues. They were bred with the intention of maximum production, replaced after 18 months once this production declines. They are a mess and frankly should not exist.

This is the argument point which always frustrates me the most because, you do realise there are hundreds of chicken breeds right? And just like with dogs, these breeds all have different temperaments, characteristics, and health statuses.

A well bred Wyandotte who lays 200 eggs a year rarely experiences the health issues of production hybrids. These issues are almost unheard of in Sumatra or Sebright who lay 50-100 eggs a year. There are so many heritage breeds out there bred for their longevity, living on average 7-8 years rather than the measly 2-3 of production hybrids.

Most people who keep backyard hens love these birds dearly, these are their pets. Why would someone purchase an unethical production hybrid off the factory farms knowing she will die a horrible death in 2 years, when they could instead get a heritage breed who’ll lay them eggs until she’s at least 5?

I know very few people with backyard hens who keep the production birds

4) Hens are abandoned/killed when production slows/stops

I have yet to meet a single person who has purposefully gotten rid of their hens once production slows or stops.

Production hybrids rarely stop laying unless they are actively affected by reproductive complications, these birds sadly die before they stop laying so owners are definitely not ‘abandoning’ these birds, rather they die long before their time while still pumping out those eggs. Alternatively, heritage breeds will lay for years. We’ve had a 9 year old Sussex still laying eggs. For all the backyard keepers with heritage breeds, the time to ‘replace’ hens is often very far into the future.

This isn’t even raising the point that, these hens are pets. People can eat eggs and still bond fiercely with their hens, people can eat eggs and still value the life of the hen. I don’t think many people are going to turn around and kill their friend suddenly because she stops laying as frequently. My grandfather who used to own a small scale egg farm always kept his old hens who no longer laid, he’d had them for 7 years and that’s an attachment that’s hard to break.

The idea that hens suddenly stop laying eggs one day so people replace them is quite silly, it just doesn’t happen in a backyard setting. Certainly in egg farms, but not with pet hens.

5) Laying eggs depletes nutrients. Hens need to be fed their eggs to get these back

Laying eggs definitely takes up a shocking amount of vitamins, minerals, and amino acids. A big one is calcium, the egg needs a lot to shell it, but each egg also needs enough calcium stores inside the yolk to nurture and grow a chicks skeleton. If a hen doesn’t have enough calcium, she’ll draw it from her bones to produce eggs.

But the thing is, she doesn’t need to eat her own eggs to gain this nutrition back. Chickens have been domesticated for thousands of years, and in this time we’ve perfected their diet. There are many fantastic feeds on the market tailored specifically for a laying hens needs! She should be fed a pellet or mash diet, this ensures she gets the correct amount of all the nutrients, whereas with grain she can pick and chose parts and become deficient. Furthermore, chickens aren’t stupid animals. A hen will know if she needs more calcium, and this is why it’s important to offer them oyster shell, limestone, and crushed egg shells so she can eat extra calcium at her leisure.

Sceptical of the feed, or maybe you just think she deserves those eggs back after all her hard work? Well while it’s nice to treat your hens to an egg every now and then, too many can cause many fatal health issues. If she eats every single egg she lays, AND eats a nutritional balanced diet, she’s getting way too much of those nutrients since the feed is already replacing that loss. A really big concern is that she’ll put on too much weight from all the protein in eggs, this can lead to fatty liver disease which kills many backyard hens annually. Maintaining a good weight in your flock is vital to preventing other health issues too such as egg binding and heart failure.

I love letting my hens eat raw eggs, it’s hilarious and they love it. However I actually had to stop because one of my hens Sooty got dangerously overweight and was at risk of fatty liver disease. You might think feeding hens back their own eggs is great for their health, but it should be in moderation, there is too much of a good thing. Unless you’re feeding your hen rubbish, she doesn’t need the eggs since her diet replaces those nutrients daily, and please don’t feed your hens rubbish.

6) We are using the hens. They are not ours to use as we please

I suppose this point holds up depending on your personal beliefs. I personally don’t feel pet hens are being ‘used’ at all, rather it’s a mutually beneficial relationship. We give them food, safety, and friendship, so they return that friendship and sometimes eggs.

A part of domestication is that the animal adapts to living alongside us, with chickens it just happened to be the constant access to good food and a safe nest encouraged them to lay more eggs. We can’t change that now, so we may as well use the eggs. A dog or cat domesticated for companionship will provide that, are we abusing those pets as well by taking their companionship?

Also if I’m being quite frank, no one will ever get eggs cheaper by keeping backyard chickens. Feed is expensive, coops are expensive, veterinary care is expensive. Anyone getting backyard hens will have some other motive to it rather than just “I want free eggs” because these eggs aren’t free. Most people want a pet, they don’t want to support the factory farming, or they want to feel more self sufficient, maybe all three of those reasons! People aren’t getting backyard hens with the intent of ‘using’ them for eggs, because it’s cheaper just to buy eggs.

So to sum this up, backyard eggs aren’t hurting the hens! If anything, it’s helping them! Showing support for more ethical means of egg production will put pressure on the large scale egg farms to change ways. Hopefully these unethical practices will be phased out one day, it’ll take time, but one step at a time.

Thanks for reading! Epponnee says this egg is for you, they’re tasty and she wants to share! Please take it or she will keep crowing until you do!

[oumaheroes]

hii its bougie <3 if you're still taking hc requests, i was wondering if you'd have thoughts on something that's been on my mind for a while. i was interested in the nuance to english culture due to regional differences. eg.,dinner being called "tea" in the north of england, rugby being more popular in the south, the difference in how scones with jam and cream are enjoyed in Devon and Cornwall?? or how certain english accents are perceived as... "less attractive" i guess (the black country accents are unpopular apparently?) -- you'd probably know more about these particularities than me ;u;

i was wondering how these cultural differences might map onto hws England's character, and how they might influence his attitudes and behaviours. because there's such a clearly defined stereotype of the english that i think shape people's expectations of what the english are like, i usually think that Arthur usually consciously acts according to what counts as positive interpretations of himself. however, i love nuanced and somewhat subversive interpretations of his character, and am very curious if you might have any ideas on how these kind of internal regional differences might shape him.

--------------------

Bougieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee <3

I’m not gonna lie this sent me down a RABBIT HOLE of thoughts, so hang on tight cos we're gonna get messy.

Accents:

Let’s start with my personal favourite, so excuse me whilst I geek out for a second. I’ve gone into this area already in this headcanon, but I personally see England being a very proud little dragon regarding English accents, those both native and non-native to the British Isles. Focusing just on accents within England for this post, the way Arthur himself sees them, (regarding class and general preference), comes a lot down to how I see him feeling about language and the unification of England in general.

England is a tiny country. It’s really teeny, compared to some, and yet holds an incredible number of regional accents and dialects (from digging about the internet for a good source, I keep finding numbers ranging from 37 to 43). There are a number of reasons for this, but the one that I love the most is that accents are influenced by the previous/ influential other languages spoken in a given area. Accents on the East of England are more influenced by Viking invaders, both phonologically and via the dialectal words used, and accents/ dialects in the West are more influenced by Welsh, for example.

Accents and dialects tell the history of a place, all who ever came there and influenced it to some degree. The map of English accents is a patchwork quilt of old cultures and people now lost to time, but their ways of speaking have been preserved in the modern tongue. The old English kingdoms might now be mere counties- Kent, Essex, Sussex, East Anglia, etc- they may not have their own influence or language these days as they used to, but their old ways have been imprinted on their people of today whether they know it or not and they carry pieces of the past in their words and how they speak them. Older speakers of the Northern English dialects liek the Yorkshire dialect still use ‘thou/thee’ where this has fallen out in other areas, the Midlands and parts of the South-East still keep the ‘-n’ ending for possessive pronouns (‘yourn’ instead of ‘yours’, ‘ourn’ instead of ‘ours’), and there’s even some linguistic research into how Brittonic, the ancestor of Modern Welsh, influenced English structure and phonology (for references, see notes at the end).

Back to England the person (to contain myself slightly), his regional accents are a story of himself, his history being kept alive in all of its variety every day. He doesn’t hold a classist view of a ‘good’ or ‘bad’ accent because he knows why they’re all there- what languages and people influenced them and how these events affected him- the older generations now lost and forgotten being kept alive in the smallest of phonemes.

Every dialect, every accent, and every language tells the story of a people, from the smallest phonological marker right up to a language as a whole and England takes comfort and pride in his dialects and accents’ longevity and variety. He is as much of the North as he is the South, as much of the East as the West and a patchwork man born of patchwork cultures it makes no sense for him to favour one particular accent over another.

That being said, he is aware that there is a common cultural stance on accents as well as an opinion regarding ‘ugly’ ones, ‘common’ ones, and ‘classy’ ones, but he himself doesn’t partake in these ideas. I like to think that a nation takes on the speech of the people and the area they’re in, matching the person they speak to or the area they visit to relate to their people. So, for me a Chav Arthur exists as much as a Brummie one does, or a Scouser, or a Geordie, or a Cockney. They’re all English, and thus they’re all a part of him.

Class

I have to include this one, if only to touch on it lightly regarding accents and dialects. Class does influence which words you speak, arguably just as much as which accent (this is known as a sociolect). Although I said that England adopts the accent of whatever area he’s in, or whomever he’s talking to if they’re English, the class people are will also affect which words he choses to use.

Here’s a short example from here:

'It is pudding for the upper class. Dessert is sometimes used by upper middles, but afters and sweets very clearly put you below stairs.'

Have some more!

Upper class: Spectacles, Lavatory or loo, Die, Napkin, Sofa

Middle class: Glasses, Toilet , Pass on, Serviette, Settee or couch

(Working class is a mix but harder to find sources for).

This is where England treads a fine line. It could be that he again adopts more of a class lexicon regarding who he is speaking to, matching his people word for word. However, England is not unaware of the affects of class, regardless of how he himself feels, and also although class snobbery and divide frustrate him, he cannot deny using this understanding to benefit himself, which also conforms to how his own people behave. (I myself have, many times, diluted and filtered my speech to be seen as ‘better’).

Want to be seen as more reliable and powerful? Want to be taken more seriously? RP and Estuary English (a lot more so these days), hold undeniable sway and England is not above adopting a manner of speaking to come across ‘better’ or more polite, or a more ‘common’ accent to fit in with the working classes. I think of England as leaning more towards a working-class mindset- he’s very hands on, very up for and used to manual labour and this particular English class has always made up the bulk of his population. It makes no sense for a nation, who represents all of their people, to have a snide view or a preference for a particular group and England as a person I see is someone who does not enjoy the foppery and false airs of aristocracy.

That being said, England is an intelligent man. He knows how to work a room and use a crowd to his advantage, knows what must be done and what he needs to do to achieve a goal and if this entails courting the upper classes for a time then he will do so. He’s adepts at switching himself like a chameleon, blending his behaviours, accent, and dialect to match who he’s talking to to achieve a goal or to fit in with someone’s perception of him, or to gain influence or prestige. He also doesn’t hate his upper classes- they are of him too, and the middle and working class have their own prejudices and ideas against the others. But he doesn’t adopt a stereotypical distain of lower classes because to him, it really doesn’t make much sense.

Abroad, this need to cultivate a particular perception defiantly comes under greater pressure. RP and Estuary English are more well know, more heard and taught, and more recognisably ‘British’, and so these are what he uses when speaking English to other nations or foreigners, either wanting to uphold an image of himself (more so in the Victorian/ Edwardian period than nowadays) or just for the ease of being understood.

Regional Differences

Okay, this one is a lot more fun. Does England put in his milk first or last when making tea? Does he put jam first, or clotted cream when having a scone? Does he have chips with gravy, or curry sauce? Does he have dinner at 6, or 9? To marmite, or not to marmite.

Ah, that is the question, and England does not know the answer. Does he do what he does because that’s what he likes, or because that’s what his people do? He didn’t grow up with these habits, after all, they’re all relatively recent in his lifetime, and so these habits are defiantly things he cultures for a particular audience.

I’m not really sure if the above preferences are class based, (well, milk first when making tea is argued to be, but I can't find any sources I'd consider entirely credible. I put the ones I did find in the notes below, in case any one's interested), so it’s hard to get a sense of which one to use. Overall, it doesn’t matter which you do and neither is right or wrong, but the English feel strongly about them, one way or another, and often Arthur the man isn’t sure at all which one he himself actually thinks is better.

Food in another sense though is something he can be surer of. A Cornish pastie not from Cornwall is not worth eating, nor is a Bakewell tart outside of Bakewell. England can be very particular about this sort of thing and enjoys maintaining and supporting the ‘original’ flavour or recipe of a thing where he can, considering this to be the ‘best’. Sally Lunn Buns from Bath, Gypsy tarts from Kent, Eccles Cakes from Eccles.

England wants to preserve his food and culture and has what could be considered a snobbish view on the ‘best’ way of creating or eating his national foods. Some things he is more lenient with: he will eat cheddar cheese, whether or not it is from Cheddar, same from Cumberland sausages not from Cumbria. But he certainly has a preference and he is not afraid to voice this when asked for his opinion.

Okay, we're done

Phew! This had me digging out my old linguistic student brain. To anyone who has made it this far down, gosh golly miss molly thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the ride, and especially @prickyy who was kind enough to want to hear my opinions about all of this <3

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Notes:

Brittonic influence on English:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brittonicisms_in_English

https://scholar.google.co.uk/scholar_url?url=http://journals.mountaintopuniversity.edu.ng/English%2520Language/Celtic%2520Influences%2520in%2520English%2520A%2520Re-evaluation.pdf&hl=en&sa=X&ei=2ohDYdq3BoWImwHn6oWQAg&scisig=AAGBfm29zTF0FBCpd1KqDiAbjM-0X7nfoA&oi=scholarr (PDF)

https://scholar.google.co.uk/scholar_url?url=http://www.oppi.uef.fi/wanda/unicont/abstracts/14ICEHL_MF.pdf&hl=en&sa=X&ei=2ohDYdq3BoWImwHn6oWQAg&scisig=AAGBfm3UvOXbJEb0b51J73eBnTJvgGaQOA&oi=scholarr (PDF)

Sociolects and class distinction within language in English:

https://languageawarenessbyrosalie.weebly.com/social-dialects.html

https://www.grin.com/document/313937

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/U_and_non-U_English

Milk in tea first and the potential class reason:

https://www.theteaclub.com/blog/milk-in-tea/

https://qmhistoryoftea.wordpress.com/2017/05/11/milk-in-first-a-miffy-question/

[valleydean]

Wild West City

Deancas, word count: 1,070 Summary: Cas and Dean take their children, Claire and Jack, to a Wild West theme park. It’s the best day of Dean’s life. Happy birthday, Chayya! @sweatercas

“Daddy, I wanna go on the ponies again!” Jack squealed, nearly flinging himself out of Castiel’s arms in his excitement.

“No way,” Claire argued. “We’re going on the train ride next!”​ She was clutching Dean’s hand so as to not be swept up in the crowd around them. Dean was very seriously scrutinizing the map in the theme park’s brochure in his other hand.

That bright summer morning, they’d woken up earlier than Castiel would have liked to drive two hours north to Sussex County, New Jersey’s Wild West City: a quaint and modest tourist attraction, if it could even be called such a thing, that was supposedly an exact replica of Dodge City, KS in the 1800s. (Though, how they knew that, Castiel had no idea.) Over the winter, Dean had heard about the park from another parent at one of the school’s PTA meetings. He went home and reserved tickets, four months in advance, and hadn’t stopped talking about it since.

Castiel suspected Dean was even more excited than the kids were.

And, finally, there they stood, on a boardwalk in front of a dining hall called the Golden Nugget Saloon, which boasted all the best meals the Wild West’s had to offer - like mozzarella sticks and pizza.

Jack and Claire were both donned in button-down cow print shirts, jeans, cowboy boots, mini-wool hats, and bright red bandanas which were tied around their necks. Dean was in a similarly themed attire, but his boots were much more expensive. His western-style shirt was black with metal collar tips, and he was wearing a bolo tie in the shape of a longhorn skull.

And then there was his cowboy hat.

That hat. He’d had it for years. Castiel wasn’t used to seeing it outside the bedroom. He should have known Dean would have found any excuse to wear it.

As for himself, he’d blatantly refused wasting money on attire he’d never wear again, but Dean did convince him to put on a “straw” hat from the costume shop in town. It was something he regretted, because the cheap plastic mixed with the heat of the day was making his head itch.

The things he did for love.

So far, they’d seen three shows that had taken place on the bleached-dirt street in between the rows of souvenir shops and museums: a gunslinger show, where two actors had a typical Hollywood-style shootout; a cowboy competition, in which a group of men and women lassoed horses; and a stagecoach hold up. The last was admittedly entertaining because Jack was chosen to participate as one of the “heroes” alongside the town “sheriff” in stopping the robbery, and Castiel took nearly three dozen photos of it with his phone. They’d also gone to the petting zoo, where there was a pig named Annie Oinkley, and the Native American museum in an attempt on Castiel’s part to have the children learn something. All that, plus the aforementioned pony rides.

There was, apparently, still plenty to do.

“Relax, we’ll get to all that good stuff,” Dean promised. He crudely folded the map back up with one hand and shoved it into his pocket. He had his game plan face on when his eyes met Castiel’s. “I figure next we can head over the jailhouse to get our photos taken in costume while most people are still eating lunch. Then we can hit up the blacksmith, and we’ll still have plenty of time before the Gunfight at the OK Corral.”

Castiel’s frown deepened. “That didn’t happen in Dodge City. It was in Tombstone.” He only knew that because Dean had made him watch the movie approximately a hundred times during the course of their marriage.

Dean pulled a noncommittal face and shrugged. “Close enough.” This, coming from the man who vehemently avoided the Doc Holliday museum because it had more to do with Old West medical science than dentistry, and Dean refused to take part in such gross misinformation.

Jack began wiggling in Castiel’s hold again, so Castiel set him down. He immediately went to Claire and grabbed her hand, tugging at her. “C’mon, let’s go to jail!” he said happily. The two scampered off in that direction. Castiel couldn’t help but smile fondly after them.

“Saw that,” Dean teased, glee in his eyes when Castiel looked back at him. He was pointing at Castiel’s mouth. “Told ya you’d have fun.”

Castiel bit down on his lip, trying to suppress a chuckle. “It’s something... different,” he allowed. “And the kids seem to be having fun.” He was having fun, too, but not because of the theme park. Claire and Jack were enjoying themselves, and Dean was glowing from the inside out with child-like exuberance. If Castiel could bottle the sparkle in Dean’s eyes, he’d wear it by a chain around his neck and never take it off.

His phone was on 15% battery, because he’d taken a lot more pictures and videos that day than just the stagecoach robbery.

“Good different?” Dean asked, brows popping.

Castiel nodded. “Good different.”

“Good, because we’re coming back every year until we die.”

Castiel tried to roll his eyes just to keep up appearances.

Dean hummed happily, his fingertips brushing against Castiel’s at their sides before he dipped in and pecked a kiss to the corner of Castiel’s mouth. It made Castiel’s hat tip back fractionally. “Thanks for humoring me, sweetheart.”

The gentleness of it, paired with the sincerity in Dean’s voice, caused a flutter in Castiel’s chest. “Of course,” Castiel told him, voice barely above a whisper and getting lost in the chatter of the crowd. Twelve years later, and Dean could still make him speechless, so of course Castiel would humor him. He’d do anything for Dean.

He threaded his fingers through Dean’s and told him, “I’m your huckleberry.”

Dean flushed slightly, smile becoming impossibly brighter. Those words were something else that was rarely brought out in public.

“Alright, come on,” Dean said, grasping Castiel’s hand tighter and pulling him after the kids. “We better catch up before they get themselves thrown into a Wild West jail for real.”

“Of course,” Castiel said again, playing along. “You’d be too jealous.”

“Hell yeah! That’d be so cool!”

The bright, warm sun beat down on them as they walked through the trail dust.

Dean took a glance at Castiel’s jeans and t-shirt and told him, “You’re gonna need a better outfit for the photo. Don’t worry. I’ll pick out something authentic.”

///

Tagged: @herowilson @donestiel @wanderingcas @thetiredstuff @skella-bro @casthegrumpy @celestialcastiel @bluefirecas @jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets @that-one-fandom-chick @haru-park96 @alejandriaiqq @no-aesthetic-all-aethetic @amirosebooks @epple-benene @wanderingcas @agus-likes @the-ship-haz-sailed @justkissalreadyforfucksake @madimoo31 @an-angel-in-love-with-a-hunter @gracelesstars @bazghetti @wayward-waffles @theojaxons @jenmishrob @all-or-nothing-baby @auttownblue @leftistdean @sargafust @wannabe-loser @jessalrynn @splicedthoughts @castielss @that-dumbass-on-a-horse @passionfruixts @fabreagab @princesswinchester100 @superduckbatrebel @hopefuldreamers-world@theangelwiththewormstache @casandeans @unamusedelipsis @mylovelydame21 @confusedisaster @superduckbatrebel @destielwentcanonomg @highest-brightness @i-put-the-ayyy-in-asexual @darkacademiagay @imthedoctorlove @freckledean @youcanteverknowenough @chicken-kebabs @myguardianangelisatrickster @hotactiongirlcoded @wingsandimpalas @casandhumanity @tploz @starlightoffandoms @dontsgotalifee389 @on-a-bender @lilac-void @castiel-mybeloved @siriusseverusdeservedbetter @doctorprofessorsong

[nicolewoo]

Yo, Jamie!!! It’s almost done.

Pairing: King Roman Reigns X Female reader

Warnings: None

My average day was a controlled chaos. Everyone wanted an audience with the king, and I had to know what issues were pressing, which nobles I could and couldn’t talk to, and a million other details. All of these things weighed on me daily. Now, with my mother and the church pressing me to take a bride, I’d reached a breaking point.

 After I had yelled at a servant for no reason, Charles the Lord of Sussex and my most trusted advisor and friend, suggested we take a few hours to go riding this morning. He’d been right, too. A few hours away from the castle and the nobles was exactly what I needed.

 We’d tried to slip out before the sun rose so we could avoid anyone, but as we prepared to leave the grounds, the Captain of the Guard saw us. Christopher was a tall lanky man with almost no hair anymore and an unfortunate habit of rubbing his face when he was nervous. Now, as he insisted that the king should not ride un-escorted, his hand brushed over his face repeatedly.

 “Your highness, we have hundreds of nobles arriving this week. I’m afraid there will be more thieves in the forest. I’ve got plenty of guards on the road, but if you’ll be avoiding the road,” he eyed me suspiciously, knowing I never stayed on the road, “I insist you take a couple of guards.”

I begrudgingly agreed but told the guards to stay far back from us unless we encountered other people.

Charles and I enjoyed a very peaceful ride, stopping once for a cleansing swim in a river and to eat some bread and cheese Charles packed. “My friend, you’ve done me a great service today.” I said as I lounged shirtless on a patch of grass soaking in the sun.

 Charles cocked his head a bit as if surprised to hear a compliment. “It’s my pleasure, sire. You needed a break.”

 “I guess we should head back.” I admitted as I stood and finished getting dressed. Charles finished a minute before me and packed up the rest of the food. Once mounted on my horse, I hesitated to leave. “I wish I could do this every day, like we did when we were kids.”

 Charles smiled at me. “You were never destined to a life of leisure, Your Highness. God chose you to be a wise and fair king who is building a greater country and a greater world.” He whistled to the guards I’d forgotten were even with us, and they mounted their horses to follow us. “Besides, you’d be miserable if you lived a quiet, boring life.” We both laughed.

 Finding a slow trot, Charles and I continued talking, mostly about Charles’s sexual conquests. As a young, unmarried titled man, he had his choice of lovers in the court, and none of them ever kept his attention for more than a few months. Knowing I’d be married off one day in a probable political move, I’d chosen to be much less adventurous. I’d enjoyed the affections of a couple of women, but I never knew if it was because they liked me or the idea of becoming a queen. Now that I was king, I was too busy, too stressed, too careful. I noticed the ladies at court. There were a couple of fetching noble women, but none that sparked anything even close to passion.

 I knew it was time to marry. I wanted to get married, but for love. Instead, women from around the world were invading my castle, and I was to meet every single one of them in a week-long quest to find a wife. Not only would my attendance be necessary at every meal and every social occasion, I was to meet each potential candidate in person and in private (with a chaperone), a task I was dreading. Meeting after meeting of women throwing themselves at my feet trying to become the next queen.

 “Are you ok, highness?” Charles’s voice broke me out of my worry.

 “Just thinking about this week.” I admitted to him.

 Charles thought for a moment before talking. “I envy you. You’ll have your choice of women. If I were you, I’d bed whichever ones I wanted. You could have a wife and mistress by the end of the week.”

 Of course, he was excited about the prospect of more women at court. “My friend, I believe you’re going to bed many of them this week.” I chuckled.

 Charles laughed with me, “Not until Your Royal Highness has ruled them out as your future queen.”

 “Well then, I’ve finally found the worth of being a king. I don’t have to accept your discarded women.” I stopped my horse at a river so both of us could drink. Charles pulled up besides us and jumped off his horse too.

 Charles’s laugh rang out over the forest. “Would that be so bad?”

 “Your prowess is well known, and I’ve seen ladies after you’ve spent an evening with them. I’d be afraid I’d disappoint.” I said.

 Charles smiled shyly. “Sire, you know whomever you choose must be pure.”

 I laughed now, “Are there any pure women anymore?”

 “On my oath sire, I’ve tried to ensure there are no virgins in this country. That’s why we are importing new virgins from other countries to meet you.” Charles teased before becoming serious. “I have a great feeling about this week, sire. I honestly think you’ll meet a fetching young bride from some exotic country that needs an alliance with us and you’ll find some measure of joy in your marriage.”

 “An alliance?” I looked down in disappointment and patted my mare on the neck reassuringly. “I’m afraid that’s all my marriage will be about.”

 “I’m telling you sire,” Charles said as he bent low to fill his water skin, “I believe you will find someone who will give you a cordial marriage.”

 “Cordial? I guess love is too much to hope for.” I hopped back on my horse.

 Charles mounted his horse too and we began a slow trot through the woods. “That’s what the mistress is for.” I knew he was jesting, but the seriousness of the whole situation fell on me again as we rode.

 Why was I forbidden to marry for love? Why was I born to be king? “Let’s speak of other things. Our ride was supposed to distract me.”

  Charles was always quick to raise my spirits. “The delegation from the Arabian Peninsula is bringing you a dozen stallions when they arrive. It’s said their horses are the best.”

At my happy expression he continued. “As soon as they arrive, I’ll let you know. Maybe you can find a few free moments to go see them.”

That sounded great. “Thank you. Not just for letting me know when the horses arrive. Thank you  for today. I needed this.” Charles gave me a respectful nod as his answer. I inhaled the forest air, trying to etch the memory of it into my mind to carry me through this busy week.

“Care to race, Your Highness?” Charles challenged. I didn’t answer but tapped my horse’s side to gallop full speed. I heard Charle’s call of “Not fair.” As I took the lead. He caught up quickly and we raced for a long while.

Realizing I was only hastening my journey back to the castle and my royal obligations, I slowed us down again and we rode in silence for a few short minutes before we heard the ping of metal hitting metal.

“Let the guards go first” Charles suggested.

Metal on metal usually meant swords, so I agreed. I motioned to the guards, and they rode ahead of us for a minute. As we neared the top of a hill, one of the guards motioned that it was safe. I looked ahead and saw a carriage with a wheel off on the King’s Road. “Let’s go help.” I said to the guards.

Peter, a thin young guard with messy hair and a patchy beard answered. “Your Highness, I can take care of this.” He motioned to the younger guard next to him. “William can protect you on the way to the castle if you’d like.”

In that carriage was surely one of my potential brides coming to the castle to meet with me. Yes, I wanted to escape, but maybe I could sneak a peek. If she was fetching, it could go a long way to easing my fears. If she was unattractive, at least I’d be prepared for my meeting with her. I trotted closer to the guard and took in the whole scene in front of me.

Not only had the wheel fallen off; it was stuck under the now emptied carriage. The ladies in waiting and an elderly man I assumed was the driver were seated on a blanket off to the side while what seemed to be the lady of the carriage tried to lift the vehicle.

She’d managed to get a small log on a rock and was trying to pry the carriage up using her body weight. It wasn’t working, but from where I was standing, I got a full view of a truly amazing bottom swaying with her efforts. I was so amused, I pondered not offering her help just to see how she’d do.

 Just as I was about to speak, she defiantly stuck her chin out and looked around my guards locking her eyes on me. “Must I ask for assistance or will it be offered?” She spit the words out like weapons.

 She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, despite the dirt all over her and hair falling out of it’s restrains and trailing down her neck. Her dress was beautiful despite the oil and dirt covering it. It was wrecked though.  

 She dabbed at some sweat on her forehead with a ragged piece of cloth and ended up smearing dirt on her face.

 Charles leaned forward a bit, “It will do you well to watch your tone in front of...”

 I interrupted, “The Lord of Sussex.” I had stolen Charles’s title, and he gaped after me in confusion. I shot him a look that convinced him to keep quiet.

 She seemed more contrite now. “My apologies, My Lord.” She curtsied a bit.

 I smiled down at her. “Think nothing of it.” I looked at Charles now. “Mister Brandon, Shall we assist this damsel in distress?”

 Charles smiled. “Yes your Lordship.” We dismounted and handed the reigns of our horses to the elderly driver.

 We made short work of lifting and replacing the wheel. After a quick survey of the road, the guards found a missing bolt. With that in place, the carriage would be fine.  

 “Why have I not seen you in court?” I asked as I held the carriage still While Charles and the guards.

 She exhaled haughtily “I’m afraid I’m not very welcome at court, nor do I care to go to court.”

 I lifted my brow “And why is that my lady?” I tried to suppress a laugh. She was so direct, so plain-spoken, unlike most of the women at court. Court could probably do well to have some women with backbones like her. It would at least make court more interesting.

  “I have an unfortunate habit of telling the truth.” I laughed hnow. Seeing that I was genuinely amused, Charles relaxed and laughed too.

 “Well now, telling the truth is a virtue, even at court.” I smiled as Charles chuckled under his breath.

 “My Lord, I’ve seen many things in court, but virtue isn’t one of them.”

I leveled her with my gaze. “Are you saying The King lacks virtue?”

 I caught a brief glimpse of annoyance in her voice.  “I said nothing of the kind!”

 “Are you saying the courtiers are without virtue?” I asked.

She blanched when she realized that as a Lord, I could be a regular at the palace. “My apologies My Lord. No. I simply meant that matters of piety are not a priority to all who attend the court.”

 I glanced over at Charles who was laughing under his breath at her stubbornness.” This is a fun game and one I didn’t want to end just yet.

 “Well, gentle lady, would 2 non-virtuous gentlemen of The King’s Court offer their assistance to a lady in distress?” I asked as I gestured to her now repaired carriage.

 “I tell you truly, sirs, that many in His Magesty’s Court would not assist, but to serve their own purposes.”

 I walked a step closer to her in a show of power, but instead of looking away, she stared me straight in the eye defiantly. “And what, pray tell, do I have to gain from helping you today?”

 “My Lord, I didn’t mean any offence to you or your friend.” She nodded to our party. “You have indeed done me a great favor today.”

 Was she finally breaking? “And what have I asked in return?”

 She smiled now. She was breathtaking when she smiled.

 @mindofasagitarius   @lclb13 @serenityfiretrash @lustyromantic @reigns-5sos @bigpsychicbagelauthor @omg-im-such-a-masochist @marlananicole @wickedsunfire

[anonymoushouseplantfan]

Latest from Graydon Carter's "Air Mail",

Sussex Fatigue: Meghan and Harry are making the British yearn for the Queen Mum

BY RACHEL JOHNSON OCTOBER 24, 2020

During my first blush of marriage, I was rooting through my husband’s messy desk for an envelope and found a letter. It was dated December 1952, postmarked Windsor, and addressed to the Lady Margaret Dawnay.

The envelope was encrusted in seals and crests and was so crisp I could eat my dinner off it. I replaced the letter to my mother-in-law back in the drawer unopened.

Fooled you! No, I slipped the cream-laid page out of the envelope as if wearing white gloves to discover the sender was none other than Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth (who had become the Queen Mother upon the death of her husband, King George VI, a few months before).

The note was to congratulate her friend Margaret on the birth of her son, my husband, Ivo. (Ivo’s father, Captain Oliver Dawnay, was Her Majesty’s private secretary from 1951 to 1956.) And the point of her handwritten letter in blue ink was these four words: “Shall I be Godmother?”

When I read this, I sighed with pleasure, just as I sigh with displeasure now, after having plowed through two “new” and “big” books on the royals: Meghan Misunderstood, by Sean Smith, and Battle of Brothers, by Robert Lacey. (There’s also a third, the charming stocking filler The Windsor Diaries, about the war years of the young princesses Lilibet and Margaret, by their chum Alathea Fitzalan Howard, which, with a fair wind, could shape up to be this season’s best-selling Lady in Waiting, by Anne Glenconner.)

It was not so much the royal connection I relished, having read the note to my husband’s mother. It was the decorum and the good manners that this private letter showed compared with where we are now. (I’ll explain at the end, so keep going.)

As the seasons of The Crown have unspooled, I know why we drank in one and two (the ones with Claire Foy as the Queen), but in Season Three (Olivia Colman) not so much, and why writer Peter Morgan is going to pull stumps long before the Sussex royals depart the pitch. The more distant—and discreet—that members of the royal family are from us, you see, the more we admire them.

Let us dispatch the books quickly because of the Markle bio there is little to say, as there is nothing we don’t already know about her. There are precious few takeaways from this dialed-in delivery of royal fare. She apparently wanted to be president. She has read the motivational book Who Moved My Cheese. She did the calligraphy for the place cards of Robin Thicke and Paula Patton’s wedding. She called her Web site The Tig after her favorite big red wine, Tignanello.

I knew all that. For more than six years (2011 to 2018) I wrote a column for The Mail on Sunday. I can report from the inside of the belly of the tabloid beast that Meghan was manna from heaven. She was copy. And she wasn’t Kate. Which meant everyone—i.e., women columnists—was encouraged to play that game of comparing two completely different women and finding both wanting. I can say this as I did it myself, a period of my journalistic career I remain deeply ashamed of. “One was a safe, sporty and slim Home Counties’ woman and the other, an upstart, biracial, American divorcee,” Sean Smith correctly analyzes. “The former embraced royal protocol while the latter broke the rules.”

Rules? What rules? Let’s see. She wore dark nail polish … an off-the-shoulder number to the Trooping of the Colour … She closed her own car door … Her favorite snack was avocado on toast … Oh, yes, and she kept “touching her bump.”

All this obscures her only real offense, nothing to do with protocol, writ large on every page of the book. She was herself. She committed the heinous crime of being too earnest, too mindful, too grateful—she “journals,” for pity’s sake. And she speaks a language that the English pretend not to understand.

A word cloud of the Meghan book would contain terms like “journey,” “empowering,” “impactful,” “shine a light,” “connect,” “my power, my truth,” and “humble” in large font. But, still, she comes across as impressive, charming, and far too motivated, organized, and driven ever to have lasted five minutes as a silent, supportive jointed doll of a royal wag.

The Robert Lacey book about the rift between Princess Diana’s sons is more interesting. (And so it should be; he is adviser to The Crown and knows his stuff, and even wrote a whole book called God Bless Her!, about my husband’s godmother.) The new book was planned to be about Charles and Andrew until Peter Morgan made the obvious point that “they aren’t the princes that matter any more.”

Lacey writes that Camilla Parker Bowles was “a bit of a goer,” hitched to a renowned swordsman known as Major Andrew “Poker” Bowles, who started her fling with Prince Charles as a “revenge bonk” after her husband shagged Princess Anne. Lacey is very good on explaining the unfair narrative that had pinned the brothers like butterflies since Eton, until Meghan whisked him away: William destined to be king of the castle, Harry the dirty rascal.

There are some arresting details: Prince Harry was enraged when Prince William asked Charles Spencer, their uncle, to intercede with Harry’s rapid courtship of Meghan. That fight salted the wound that has never healed over. A revelation that lawyers pulled from the book, but Lacey has told interviewers, “Someone in the palace hated Meghan.”

It’s all so uncalled for. No wonder an updated edition of Mary Killen’s book What Would HM the Queen Do? is being released this month, a sign that the country is pining to bring dignity back, and courtesy in the national conversation, and a touch of old-fashioned manners. Which is where we return to the letter in the desk.

In 2018, there was a splashy royal wedding full of celebrities that could not possibly be old and dear friends of the bridal couple: Oprah, Posh and Becks, James Corden, et al., went to Harry and Meghan’s nuptials, and there’s a story doing the rounds that while Carolyn Bartholomew, Diana’s former flatmate, was waiting for the wedding service to start, she turned to the couple alongside her and asked how they knew Harry or Meghan. “We don’t,” the Clooneys answered brightly.

Remember that Toms Hanks and Cruise, Nicole Kidman, and Mariah Carey all turned up to the funeral of Diana, too.

Yet, in 1952, the Queen Mother knew that my mother-in-law and her dear friend would never ask a Queen to serve as godparent, as that would be seen as pushy. No well-brought-up Englishwoman would consider such a thing. The Queen Mother therefore tactfully suggested herself for the symbolic role of my husband’s moral helpmeet, and signed herself, assured of a positive response to her gracious request, “Elizabeth.”

That, I tell myself, is how to do things.

In 2000, my husband and I, as the Queen likes to start sentences, were invited to the service of celebration and thanksgiving in honor of his godmother’s 100th birthday in St. Paul’s (and to her funeral in Westminster Abbey two years later). At the former event, she trundled into the cathedral with William and Harry as the band and fanfare trumpeters of the Coldstream Guards played a Bach fugue, and left with Prince Charles.

I don’t remember much more—apart from hoping my large petrol-blue trilby wasn’t impeding Patrick Lichfield’s (another godson) view of a woman I guessed was the Queen of Spain (both a crowned head of Europe and a goddaughter). I do recall the Old Testament lesson—clanging verses from Isaiah that echoed up and down the ages—which began, “Behold a king shall reign in righteousness, and princes shall rule in judgement.”

It is only now I see how presciently they were chosen, in hope and prayer, by the grandmother and great-grandmother of all the future kings lined up under the dome that day.

PS: I admitted I’d found the letter, and asked Ivo why he hadn’t told me the Queen Mother was his godmother, because I would literally tell all perfect strangers within five seconds if it were me, faster than if I’d got a First from Oxford.

He didn’t think it was that interesting.