#Charlie Clapham was right there

[multifandominfj]

Charlie Clapham, a British Actor of Romani descent WAS RIGHT THERE, and they just recycle RDJ?

Victor Von Doom is a Romani man with a background CENTERING around his family's persecution, with his ethnicity being at the forefront of his motivations and tragedies.

The fact they brought back RDJ as Iron Man fan service doesn't make me excited in the slighest for Avengers: Doomsday.

[luigisvampirebae]

Charlie Clapham or Oliver Jackson Cohen as Hercules (yes, the Disney character) would be so iconic

[rraaaarrl]

I'm so sorry for you. I'm sorry that they used Doom to hurt you. 😔🫂🚀

Like. I did not have a lot of faith that Marvel would cast anyone remotely interesting or fit for the role of Doom, let alone bothering to cast a Romani actor! So while my bar for them was buried in the depths of hell, they chose to go even lower, and cast RDJ, so they can reduce Doom into a shitty, smarmy meme of a character. Not to mention the fucking erasure.

ALso! Marvel really missed an opportunity to introduce Victor von Doom as a tragically beautiful antagonist damaged by his own hubris! Because he is! in the comics! or was! canonically handsome!! That face could have launched a multitude of ships and fuelled a frenzy of horny fanart!

A tragically handsome ROMANI actor, btw!! He is right there! (Charlie Clapham, that is!)

GAZE YOUR EYES ON WHAT YOU COULD'VE HAD, AND WEEP

Marvel, you had one job! YOU FUCKING FAILED MISERABLY!

You could've even had college era Victor if you were feeling extra about it!!

The hair, the brows, you couldn't even get that right!!

In conclusion: Here's to strapping the whole milquetoast executive team to rockets and catapulting them into the sun! Get launched, idiots! A PUNISHMENT IN THE TYPICAL DOOM FASHION FOR THE LOT OF YOU.

[noandnooneelse]

So about that thing where Jeeves will just not bring up that he's related to someone way past the point where it'd be normal. because we go the entirety of The Mating Season without Jeeves bringing up that since Silversmith is his uncle and Queenie is his daughter, she has to be his cousin.

‘Yes, sir, in the servants’ hall. He was helping Queenie, the parlourmaid, with her crossword puzzle.

On one hand, why on earth wouldn't he mention here that that's his cousin? On the other, if Jeeves had mentioned it Bertie couldn't be surprised about it when Silversmith talks about how his daughter has gotten engaged to Catsmeat - and if Bertie had known, he might have told Catsmeat to stay away from her, so he wouldn't have ended up engaged to her, which might have made for less entanglement, and entanglement is what the entirety of The Mating Season is about. But realistically, would he even have told Catsmeat? Bertie-knows-Silversmith-is-Queenie's-father-and-doesn't-tell-Catsmeat isn't really any more contrived than Jeeves-doesn't-mention-that-he's related-to-her, though of course, it's a very Jeeves thing to do. (so is the reason why Jeeves never talks about family in detail because of all the times he has tried to tell someone and also Bertie something about some of his aunts and gotten the answer that actually no, We Do Not Care About Your Family and he's taking it to heart?)

(and it isn't that Jeeves never talks about his affiliances with other servants - way past the point where he regularly brings up his friendships with other servants, in Tie that Binds, Seppings talks about how Jeevs is "comforting the parlourmaid" after she got struck by a potato.)

Same with Egbert - he doesn't mention the cousin until he absolutely has to. And also Mabel, who he only tells Bertie is his niece when he genuinely can't avoid it. To the point where the fact that in order to have a niece he has to have a sibling - side note, it has to be Mabel's mother who is his sister instead of her father being his brother, right? Since, when reminded of the address of his hotel, Biffy recognizes it, but Bertie mentions that he'd left the address with Jeeves - and if Biffy, who can be reminded of and then recognize things he's forgotten, is thinking about how he's forgotten Mabel's last name, wouldn't he have noticed that oh actually, her last name was Jeeves? Which opens up the option of her being dead, this being the reason why Jeeves never mentions his sister, despite the fact that the common ground between a milk-walk in Clapham or a boot-shop in Crinklewood is that it's located in London, so Jeeves should have family he never mentions basically next door. But seeing as how he never mentions family either, she could be perfectly alive and well and Bertie wouldn't know.

The same being true for Charlie Silversmith's wife - he has a daughter, so chances that he has a wife are quite good, actually. She might be dead, but then, she doesn't have to be. Given that Uncle Charlie is in service as well, it could be that Jeeves just doesn't know her as well, since Uncle Charlie married her at some point after becoming a butler, and that that happened at some point after all of Jeeves' childhood visits, but extrapolating from Jeeves' reticence to talk about his family, she might be attending the village concert and spending her time catching up with Jeeves.

Which would work out to the three aunts Jeeves claims to have in Tie that Binds - Aunt Emily who is interested in psychical research, Aunt P.B. Pigott with the cat, and the third aunt who is married to Uncle Charlie. (out of all the mentions of aunts Jeeves has, that'd mean that there is at least one that is clearly assignable to a specific aunt - Jeeves has "an aunt [...] who resides in the south-east portion of London. Their temperaments are much alike. My aunt has the same taste for the pleasures of the great city. It is a passion with her to ride in hansom cabs", which would then have to be Aunt Emily with the psychical research, since Aunt P.B. Pigott lives in Maiden Eggesford and Aunt Silversmith would likely live in Deverill Hall in Hampshire)

[burningfudge]

i have no idea what you need to do to become a casting director irl but i'm mourning that i didn't do any of that because what the fuck is that casting? charlie clapham was right there. other beloved and talented romani actors were right there! :(((

They could’ve cast a newcomer too. They did it with Ms Marvel, Echo, and Shang-Chi, and they’ve been some of the best parts of Phase 4 & 5. They could’ve cast literally anyone who’s Romani but no, they went with RDJ instead.

They found a Pakistani American teenager to play a Pakistani American superhero, they found a deaf Native American woman to play a deaf Native American woman, they reworked Shang-Chi’s racist and outdated origin in the comics to something fantastic in the MCU, they changed Atlantis to Talokan instead, drawing inspiration from Mesoamerican culture and it was beautiful. They even found a Zionist actress to play a Zionist character 🙄

The character that’s closest to me in terms of cultural background is Kamala Khan, and I would’ve been absolutely furious if they cast a white girl to play a South Asian character. It’s illogical for them to do that just like it’s illogical for non-Romani actors to play Romani characters but Marvel has done it multiple times. I just don’t understand why Marvel is so against casting Romani actors for their Romani characters.

[scarlet--wiccan]

What do you think of Charlie Clapham as Doctor Doom?

Well, I'll start by reiterating that I don't like participating in fancasts and I don't usually feel comfortable cosigning them for Romani characters. First of all, we are still boycotting Marvel Studios and Disney, second, I don't want to see characters I like in the M C U. It's never faithful, it's rarely good, and I don't understand how some people haven't realized that yet.

More to the point, I don't like the way that this fandom tokenizes and objectifies Romani actors, and I don't think people understand that bringing these folks to the M C U fandom's attention puts them in a very vulnerable position. I'm only comfortable vocally supporting fancasts if the actor has put themselves forward and is embracing that attention. Charlie Clapham has put his own name in the ring by voicing interest in the role and advocating for Romani inclusion in superhero movies. I respect that and support him 100%.

Do I think that a British actor is the perfect fit? No. But as I said in this post, perfectly matching an actor to the nationality or vitsa of the character is less important to me, personally, than interrogating the reasons why American/British/Western Euro actors, especially actors who may be considered white-presenting, seem to be everybody's first choice for Romani characters who... maybe aren't any of those things.

In a perfect world, with the right script and the right director, a Romani actor like Clapham should be more than capable of bringing life to Roma characters from other communities or regions. But I want to see an overall more inclusive landscape of Romani representation-- we can't have someone like him playing a character like Doom every time.

Alright, now that my serious posting is done-- I think Charlie is literally SO fine and if he wants this job, he can get it. The role, I mean.

[sunflovverharry]

Friends with Benefits - Chapter 2

a/n: I’m back with a new chapter of my fwb series and it hasn’t been proofread, but I wanted to get it out for you as it’s been two weeks since I posted the first one. As always, I hope you like this chapter and please reblog or message me if you do, enjoy! <33 To read the first chapter, click here

Pairing: police officer!h + Alex

Word count: 7k

Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption, nsfw content

Three weeks later, my group of friends and I were yet again sitting in a booth at the club we went to last time. They’ve been out once after last time, but I had to sit that one out because of work. I had basically taken over the vice-headteacher role as she had quit out of nowhere and we have noone to replace her before the end of the school year. It’s a fucking pain in my ass but the headteacher didn’t really give me a choice as she flinged all the papers and what not I had to go through while also doing my job as a counsellor.

Tonight I was ready to forget all about work and students as I chugged the rest of my pint, ready to feel the effects of the alcohol running through my blood. I downed a shot of whatever Jake had ordered for us before dragging Charlie with me to the dance floor already stuffed full of drunk young adults much like myself. I’m not much of a dancer no matter how much alcohol I have consumed, but today I felt like I needed to shake off some steam and the only way I knew how right now was to get dancing.

Walking to the dance floor, I started feeling the groove as my body began to move to the hip hop coming out through the speakers all over the club. I pulled Charlie behind me before coming to a stop near the middle of everyone, shaking my hips to the beat. Never having liked hip hop, I was glad the alcohol I’d consumed made me forget about actually listening to the music, only interested in going back to my teen years and dancing like I had no care in the world. Grinding my ass on Charlie, throwing my hands up in the air I was feeling myself and everything about this week was quickly showed to the back of my head and forgotten. Charlies hands were on my hips, no doubt making everyone around who were still clear in their heads think we were either a couple or hooking up tonight. This wasn’t the first time we’ve danced like this, having known him since my early teens and instantly became good friends so I have no plans of ever hooking up with him.

Not much later, most of our friends had joined us on the floor. We moved between each other, dancing with everyone before they decided to make a circle. That’s when I went back to our booth. My days where standing in a circle on the dance floor was cool, were over a long time ago.

Sinking back into one of the leather booth sofas, I found my phone in my purse slung over my shoulder. There were a couple of notifications from friends having sent snapchats of their nights and a message from my mum from earlier in the night I didn’t even bother to read. Checking the time before putting the phone back in my purse, I made my way to the toilets. There wasn’t much of a line thankfully so I walked straight into a cubicle with an open door, locking it behind me. I could feel the effects of the intoxicating liquors I’d consumed since starting this evening. My head was spinning, but not enough for me to feel sick, yet anyways. I left the cubicle to wash my hands and fix the layer of makeup I’d put on. My eyes were blurring the matching picture of myself in the mirror, making me squint to see if I was doing my lipstick right.

Smacking my lips together and putting the lid on the lipstick, I could hear the door to the bathroom open, the sound of the music louder in the few seconds before it flung shut again. I wasn’t looking at who came in as I was putting the lipstick back into my purse. Hearing the clearing of a throat not too far from me made me look up at whoever made a sound of wanting my attention, presumably one of my friends wondering why I left them out there.

My eyes flung up to meet the same green eyes I’d met at the bar three weeks ago. The same eyes I’d stared into as his lips moved when he spoke. The same eyes I watched as he came inside me. The same eyes I apologetically left early the next morning. The same eyes I’d dreamt about ever since that night. Who wouldn’t dream about them? They are magnificent.

“Fancy seeing you here.” I’m sure my jaw was still hanging in shock of seeing him again. I hadn’t expected having another interaction with him, not that I’m disappointed in the slightest.

I let out a chuckle, his smirk still glued onto his lips, just like when he was standing opposite me leaning onto his kitchen counters three weeks ago. The sight of him and the memories of last, or first should I say, time we met already made my clit throb. I’d get something more to imagine when I’m touching myself - only being able to get off to the thought of Harry since that night. Pure lust and want is flowing through my body as I continue looking up at him wondering why he’s at this club again, remembering how he had told me he wasn’t a regular here.

“You look gorgeous, pet.” Harry’s eyes glided down my body to take me in from top to toe. I didn’t feel intimidated under his eyes at all, but that might be because of the alcohol or the fact that there was a smug smile on his lips for the duration of his glance.

“I must say I’m disappointed that you’re not in your police uniform, but I guess you look good, too, officer.” I could see the gears turning in his head as he heard the nickname. He’s got to be called officer at least a hundred times a day, but not in a sultry, seductive tone like I said it in.

There was a moment of silence between us as we held each others eyes. He looked tired, the bags under his eyes only visible in a certain light though. Still handsome as hell. I’m sure he’d look fine no matter what.

Finally Harry pushed a single curl that fell down back and exhaled a long breath as if he’d been holding it in for the time we were stood there.

“And you’re still bold as ever, huh?” He closed the distance between us in a couple of strides, his long legs moving his body swiftly. A pair of black jeans were tight against his muscular thighs while his upper body was adorned by a colourful t-shirt with some saying I couldn’t focus on. The man looked just as handsome as the last time I’d seen him. I’d even go as far as to call him cute when he gets that dimpled smile decorating his cheeks. Saying it turned me on was an understatement, my knickers getting wetter as the moment passed.

Having the liquid courage, I made a quick decision to answer his question by moving my hand from my side to run my index finger around his lips with a snicker, “You bet.” Only having a brief time spent with him sober that Saturday morning, he knows me as bold and confident - which isn’t necessarily how I am in the confinement of my own home and company.

Harry’s eyes were frantic as he looked from my finger as I traced his lips to my own eyes looking at his lips. It took him a few seconds to collect himself. One of his perfectly calloused hands gripped my wrist, his eyes on mine as he lowered it and took a hold of my neck with his free hand. I looked up at him with curious eyes wondering what he was planning on doing to me, silently hoping for a repeat of what happened three weeks ago.

It appeared he was going back and forth with himself about if he should move away or close the small gap between us. I waited for him to make up his mind, not wanting him to pull away but not doing anything to keep him closer. Maybe he was searching for consent before doing anything more than holding me in place, not wanting anything to jeopardize his career. I still hadn’t moved away or made any sign of being uncomfortable in his hold.

Suddenly he tightened his hold on my neck and pulled me in and smacked our lips together in a long and shamelessly urgent kiss. His lips felt just as nice and full against mine as last time. The softness to them was delicious, the stubble around his lips going down his jaw making the juxtaposition incredible. Only feeling his lips made my head swim in thoughts about how I want to feel him do the same thing to my pussy lips - so what will tasting the inside of his mouth make me think?

Harry bit my lip, pulling it back with him as he moved back a bit before it smacked back against my teeth. He didn’t waste time and went tongue first as he chased my own letting out a slight growl as we fought for dominance. The sound made me smile against his lips loving that I made him feel good by only kissing.

He tasted like tequila and lime, the sour taste being a bit overwhelming but I wasn’t bothered as he sucked my upper lip in between his lips before diving in again. It was wet and sloppy, but exactly what we needed in the moment. His lips were imperfectly perfect against mine and his tongue licking into my mouth felt sensual like I’ve never experienced before.

Letting my wrist out of his strong hold, I could move it freely deciding the best place was on his lower back, inching closer to his butt as we made out in the South-east Clapham bar bathroom. We didn’t have a care in the world the only thing on our minds was the feel of the others lips and hands grabbing in ecstacy wanting to be closer. Knowing we couldn’t get any further in here with the unlimited spacing and privacy - the both of us obviously not wanting to be caught fucking - we reluctantly let up and created a little more space between us. Well, not so much between our bodies which were still as close as they could be, but our lips weren’t touching and Harry’s hooded eyes were scanning mine trying to see if we had the same intentions.

I can’t imagine it was hard to tell that I wanted tonight to end up like it did all those weeks ago. If he couldn’t tell by just looking at me, I moved my hand to his hip squeezing it as I nodded my head in the direction of the exit.

There weren’t any words exchanges between us as he took hold of my hand and walked out of the bathroom and into the unusually large crowd for a regular friday night in Clapham. He pulled me behind him, the tight hold on my hand making sure he wouldn’t lose me as we moved through the bar to get to his mates where he had left his jacket when he came to the toilets.

Only two seats were taken at the booth they had occupied for the night and Harry quickly grabbed his jacket after patting the guy closest to him on the shoulder telling them he was out. I don’t know it they were the same people he was out with last time or if they had noticed me waiting for him by the exit, but this time I was holding his hand and they made it pretty obvious they noticed me winking at Harry and telling him to have a good night.

The walk back to his house was spent joking and laughing together, not talking about last time or our plans for the night. It’s nice being able to have a laugh with him and there be no hidden message behind it or dirty thoughts - though they were there and would come to the forefront of my mind when we’re inside his house and sort of confined compared to the open outside. Only after two walks home with him I feel more comfortable by the minute and can’t help but feel giddy at the fact that we met once again and we’re on the way home for a fun night ahead. Maybe we’ll experiment a little more or go on for longer.

The fresh air had sobered me up quite a bit, hoping Harry had as well, but I was definitely still strongly inebriated compared to my usual sober state. As Harry opened the front door and let me in the first thought I had was that it was messy. A lot messier compared to last time when there was barely anything to pick on. It surprised me and made me wonder if this was the usual state of the house, or if he’d just had a rough day or week like I had.

It didn’t seem like he had any plan on saying anything about the mess as he shut the door and locked it behind him, walking towards me in quick strides. This wasn’t anything like last time.

“Are we going to stand here staring at each other all night?” I hadn’t even noticed his eyes on me, too focused on studying him and talking myself out of any possible feelings that might come. If I manage to keep it flirty and fun, I might be able to keep any feelings for him in check. The only thing I’m looking to feel tonight is his cock growing in my mouth and throbbing inside me.

This was purposeful, much like earlier in the night when we saw each other in the bar bathroom. We knew what we wanted from each other and there wouldn’t be any teasing - from my part at least. I want - need - a long night of fucking a hot police officer and completely forget about the stress at work and with my parents.

Harry had a strong grip around my waist and his other hand at the back of my neck, pulling me as close as he possibly could and put his lips on my waiting ones. It felt good to kiss someone - him - again and him taking charge of what would happen. After our one-nighter a few weeks ago, I’ve been craving the same feeling as Harry gave me that night as I played with myself. The intense and incredible orgasm he pulled from me and the fact that he wasn’t afraid to cuddle after gave me enough material for sex dreams the coming weeks.

A slightly broken groan exited Harry’s lips when I pulled his hair between my fingers and reciprocated the kiss with just as much fervor and eagerness, not wanting to wait for much longer to see where it would take us. His hand trailed down from my waist to rest on my bum. I let out a shaky breath as his lips moved to my jaw, leaving closed-mouth kisses in his trace down my neck. How he made me feel good in such a short amount of time and barely even touching me is absurd and I’m not sure I like that he has that effect on me. But at the same time, I love it.

Harry moved slightly forward trapping in between his body and the wall, making sure there was no way for me to move. Not that I wanted to gain space between us. No, more like the opposite as I began to unbutton his white shirt showing off his biceps and lovely chest. I couldn’t help myself as I skillfully moved lower down and finished by unbuttoning his trousers as well. It popped open and the zipper followed before I pulled the shirt off him showing off his torso though I couldn’t quite get my eyes on it yet as Harry’s head was shielding my view as he went ham on my neck. Not that I minded; wanting to show off to everyone how much of a great shag this man is.

The shirt dropped to the floor and Harry came up from my neck to meet my lips again. He moved a couple of inches making our fronts glue together. I felt his steadily growing length against my core as he thrusted his hips forward to gain some friction. When Harry heard me moan at the feeling and feel me try to pull his hips closer he smirked at me. It was hot the way he was so sure of himself this time, maybe it was the alcohol he had consumed tonight. As he kept his eyes on mine, our noses almost touching, he ground his hips into mine. The smirk was still on his lips - it might’ve grown when I let out a sound of pleasure and leaned my head on the wall.

“If you can’t tell, I really fucking want you, Alex.” Harry's lips separated at the feeling of his cock straining against his restricting jeans and his brows furrowed creating a crease between them. His frankness in wanting me - something he didn’t verbally let me know last time at least - lit a fire inside me. It felt really fucking good to know I’m wanted in that way by someone as impeccable as Harry and I don’t think I could ever remove the loving smile on my lips.

“You can have me in any way you want, I don’t have any plans tomorrow so I expect you to fuck my brains out.” Disbelief was written all over his face as his hands stopped moving where they had been groping and gripping my ass. Letting out a laugh when he got a grip on himself he shuffled out of his shoes and kicked them behind him and got his hands back on my ass, lightly slapping it before moving them lower to my thighs and picked me up. I had ran away from him the last time he tried to lift me up, but I didn’t necessarily care this time.

A squeal made its way past my lips as he quickly made his way from the hallway to his front room that I hadn’t seen before. Not that I paid any attention to it now, except for the fact that I was thrown down on an insanely comfortable gray corner sofa. Harry hovered over me and I let my fingers trail along his chest and stomach. It was definitely defined, but he didn’t have abs. I liked that he was completely ripped and still had that softness to him that I got to feel when we cuddled. He clenched his hand next to my head as he felt my fingers on him, admiring the view. It was a three-sixty to what I had just told him to do to me, but I didn’t mind. Both sides of Harry were greatly appreciated.

“I’ve been daydreaming about what your tits look like since I didn’t get to see them and it’s been killing me not knowing if I would get the chance to or not.” His deep, raspy voice was heavenly and told me I wasn’t the only one to have dreams about our time together over the last few weeks.

I shook my head at him, barely acknowledging his words, though I heard him loud and clear. Harry sank down on his knees between my parted legs to have his hands free to roam my body. He didn’t have a clear view of my pussy as I wasn’t wearing a skirt, this time my legs were covered in light wash jeans.

«Then get me naked so you can see them.» I wasn’t into him taking his time when all I wanted was to get on with it and feel the incredibly rousing and breathtaking enjoyment of having him inside me bringing us both to our highs. Though I savored the look in his eyes as he moved them from where his hands glided over my waist and hips to my - still - covered tits all the way up to my lips. It was as if he didn’t quite know where to begin although we already established that he wanted to see my tits in all their glory.

Harry suddenly got up and stood next to me - laying still on his sofa.

«Roll over.» Glancing at him, he looked completely gone as if he’s in his mind and not putting all his attention on me. Deciding that it doesn’t matter as long as he’ll fuck me I turned my body over on my front, my hands moving to lay crossed over my head.

I didn’t lay there for long before I felt Harry’s fingers back on my skin, trailing on and around the straps of my bra and the clamp before roaming down my back and to my jeans. Lifting my hips a bit so he could reach around to unbutton it and pull it down my legs, he worked quickly and meticulously. Like he knew exactly what he was working towards and how to get it. I didn’t complain nor would I complain about him doing anything and everything he wanted to do to me.

He pulled the thong barely even covering my fanny down my legs, too, before getting back in the position he was in before he got up. His naked muscular thighs behind mine and his arms holding himself up as he leaned down closer to me. He must have pulled his pants down when he was standing, only left in a pair of briefs.

“I’m gonna keep the anticipation up for a little while longer, while I enjoy you sweet little peach that I didn’t get to do last time, okay, pet?” Harry’s raspy voice whispered into my ear and pulled my hair away from my face. The difference between his rough voice and words to his gentle fingers running across my cheek and behind my ear to move my hair was strong. It continued as his fingers ran down my back, giving me goosebumps in their trail, and ended up where his front met my ass, bringing his hand up before harshly slapping it down to my cheek.

I couldn’t help but move forward at the sensation at the same time moaning at the pleasure and pain combined. Somehow, without me telling him, he must’ve realized I enjoy certain sexual things others probably don’t. With other partners they’ve never been able to detect likes or kinks or even be able to make me have a relatively good orgasm. Harry just seems to know what to do to make me putty in his hands and take joy in it.

Harry wanting to keep himself from getting the enjoyment of watching, playing or fucking my tits made me wonder how much this man likes to give and rather puts himself last in sexual situations - if not all considering his line of work.

His hands made their way down my thigh and grazing the inside of my knees before parting them to get a good look at my already soaking wet puzzy. Nothing felt awkward with Harry and I didn't have a single worry running through me as he gazed right at it before going in for a taste. It’s been forever since anyone ate me out and god was I excited about it. Previous partners haven’t really cared to spend enough time down there to get to know how I like it or even if I enjoy it or not. Though it bothered me a bit, I was just happy to be intimate with someone as guys usually tend to go for my friends walking straight past me. I’m surprised Harry showed interest - maybe that’s cause I was alone at that point.

There was no teasing when he finally dipped down and started licking and sucking my flowing juices before going further down to catch my clit between his soft lips. His nose grazed my asshole, but he didn’t seem to want more than to be within close proximities to it nor did he seem to mind. If he were to want to want to do more than just graze it I wouldn’t be opposed, but I won’t dwell on the thought until it possibly gets brought up. I couldn’t think straight as he opened his mouth around my clit and sucked. It wasn’t a teasing, light suck, but a harsh suck making my eyes roll back and the loudest cry of his name slip out of my lips.

Moving back to my entrance his tongue slipped in and out while lapping up my juices. It was as if this was his first meal of the day and he wasn’t gonna be full until I orgasmed. His hands were grasping my bum cheeks to make sure there was enough space so he could get full access and at least breathe a little bit.

My hand gripped a pillow nearby and my toes curled as I suddenly felt his thumb on my clit rubbing circles into it. The feeling of both his tongue and thumb working to get me to reach my first orgasm was all I could ask for a great start to the night.

«Please.. Harry I’m gonna cum.. Please Har- Ahh!» I begged for him to bring me to my high - not that I was far away at all, but I needed that last little push. Anything would suffice at this point. He took his thumb away and moved his mouth back on my clit, giving it full attention. The hand he was using went back on my ass for a short moment before pulling it away again. Then it came down on my cheek, hard and loud as he slapped me while tonguing and sucking at my clit. It was the last push I needed to finally orgasm, coming with a loud cry of his name ending in a moan at the feeling of his mouth not stopping until I came down.

The sensitivity I felt made me jerk forward a bit to try and move away from him. Thankfully he understood that I couldn’t take anymore right now needing a second to catch my breath before we fucked. He landed a light kiss to the asscheek he had slapped, his hands roaming my body from my thighs up to my hips along my spine ending up on my neck as his lips followed his movements. It was a sickly sweet thing to do to someone you’re only met for the second time tonight and strictly having sex with - for now at least.

I wasn’t in the right mind for a relationship, nevertheless my first relationship, nor did I want someone pining after me. Not that I would ever think Harry would be pining after someone like me when he can get someone so much better by the blink of an eye.

«You good?» I couldn’t do anything but nod my head, telling him I wanted more by shaking my hips against his pelvis. He was still wearing his pants, but the stiff cock hidden was obvious when he pressed his hips against mine. I loved feeling him get hard for me, it was the best confidence boost.

Though I had gone significantly longer between two shags last time, the three weeks between our meetings were enough for me to be just as needy for the feeling of getting filled up as I was weeks ago. Every lad I’ve been with sure haven’t left me with the same feeling, more like being needy for something better. I really don’t think I’m gonna get much better than this with Harry knowing exactly how to please me - or any woman really.

Barely hearing the sigh leaving Harry’s lips as he took his cock out of his briefs, I was somewhat surprised when I felt him between my cheeks. He rubbed himself along the space, holding himself down to get the tight feeling of it. Shaking my arse slightly to tell him to get on with it he let out a cute giggle at my urgency to get on with it. I wanted nothing more than to feel his thick cock sliding into my impossibly wet and ready pussy. Remembering how amazing he made me feel made me want to relish in it again - especially if this would be the last time this was to happen.

Harry guided his tip along my slit to gather some of my wetness along his length before situating himself at my entrance. Shuffling his knee a tiny bit forward with his other leg on the ground, he slowly made his way into me with a couple of muffled words. A groan left his mouth when he bottomed out at the same time as I let out a delicious moan, a smile finding my lips.

«Your noises are just like they’ve been in my dreams.» I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t tell me he’s dreamt of me if he wasn’t drunk, but I took in his words with a gasp as he rammed into me again.

His pace was significantly quicker than last time and I was brought close to my second orgasm in no time as his balls hit my clit when he pushed into me. My hand was clenched around the flesh of his thigh - what I could reach anyway. I’m sure my nails were digging into his warm skin but nothing was on the forefront of my mind at this very moment except for the fact that he was fucking me as if I was his favorite toy after a rough day. It was exactly what I needed and again I’m asking myself how he knows exactly what I want and need.

«Fuck, Har-» I couldn’t get out my words as his palm came down on my asscheek at the same time as he fucked into me. It was perfectly timed and I savored the pleasurable pain I got from it unlike anything else. I moved my hand from where it was on his thigh to his wrist connected to the hand planted secure on my cheek. His other had was gripping my waist forcefully as he slammed into me without caring about bruises or pain. Not that I minded in the slightest, only egging him on with the sounds I couldn’t even try to keep from his ear shot. There was no way he didn’t hear me from the way I literally screamed out in satisfaction.

«You’re so wet, pet. So fucking wet and inviting.» Harry was breathing heavily, but it seemed he planned on keeping up his pace as long as he possibly could. «You like when I get rough, huh?» He had me speechless, unable to tell him how much I was enjoying what he was doing to me. The only thing he could take from me was my gasps and breathless moans as he fucked me.

The hand previously on my waist suddenly went to my cunt, his middle finger stimulating my clit by drawing circles on it. My body unconsciously tried to move forward to get away from him as he pinched my clit - the stimulation nothing like what I’ve ever felt before. Harry held me back though and his quick pace didn’t falter one bit. It was turning me even more on how he managed to keep me back, his strong physique impressing me.

My legs were shaking and I fought to keep them up while he continued to press drawings into my clit, his right hand gripping onto the flesh of my ass. I desperately wanted to keep up, but my legs failed me as I flung forward. Harry didn’t let me relax for more than five seconds before he separated my legs a little bit to get better access to my pussy which he had slipped out of when I fell down. He guided himself back in, giving a couple slow thrusts before continuing his pace from before.

He held himself up by his arms on both sides of my head, hips hips getting us both to our highs we were longing for. It wouldn’t take much for me to get off as I was already so close and with this new position I’m much tighter making it harder for Harry to keep his orgasm back.

«C’mon, pet, I can feel you- feel you squeezin’ me tight.» I could tell Harry was close by the way he had to stop talking for a moment before finishing his sentence. I felt amazing and just a couple more thrusts of him meeting the spongy spot inside me had me coming undone around his cock.

My legs shook and my hand moved up to grip his neck, my fingers catching a fee of his curls and he let out a series of groans into my ear. I hadn’t noticed how close we had gotten when we changed position.

«Where do you want it?» I hadn’t ever been asked where I wanted the lad to spurt his cum, but I should’ve guessed he would ask as this is Harry (and he asked last time too) and not some sex crazed idiot.

«Arse. Cum on my arse Harry, please.» I breathed out, my orgasm just about at its end when Harry pulled out and jerked himself off until he came. Spurts of cum fell on my arse, some on my lower back. Harry was loud when he orgasmed, letting out moans and groans of sensitivity when he reached his tip to make sure he had got every last drop of his load out.

I laid on my front, feeling the sticky substance on my arse as I tried to get my breathing back to normal. It sounded like Harry was doing the same as he sat with his knees on either side of my right thigh getting a full view of my spent pussy and his release taking its place on me.

«I’ll go get a towel to clean you up, unless you wanna shower?» I smiled into the crook of my arm at the man sitting behind me - probably staring at how his cum had covered my red arse - offering to lend me, a one(two)-night-stand, his shower.

Telling him I’d take up his offer if he joined me, we had quickly made our way upstairs to his luxurious bathroom I had dreamt of having last time I was in here. The expansive shower was a dream and sharing it with Harry made the dream even better. It all seemed a little too domestic and intimate for it to be with someone I barely even knew. Thinking about it, I only really knew his first name, that he is a police officer and has a lush house I could barely see myself having in the future.

Harry took the showerhead from its place on the wall and turned it on, the water turned away from us so we wouldn’t feel the cold water. When the water heated up, he told me to turn around and grabbed the body wash he had in here. He angled to shower head to my back, spending extra time on my arse to get away his cum before lathering the area along with my legs with his soap, cleaning me up.

It felt nice to have someone spend this much time on my body, but not having a sexual desire behind it - in this very moment at least. Though it scared me how it didn’t feel awkward at all and he didn’t care a bit about how I mostly only let him see my back. I didn’t feel comfortable showing him my pouch in the light room even if he said he wouldn’t care or not.

When he finished rinsing the soap off of me, he put himself under the other showerhead fastened to the roof making it like a waterfall. He looked tired and spent, ready to sleep for a week straight. I couldn’t help but think it was more that a hot fucking that made him this tired.

«Was I too rough? Can see marks on your waist and your arse is red as.» Harry skimmed his fingers along my waist going down to my cheeks, carefully caressing them as it was kinda painful. A good pain.

«No, I liked it. Just what I needed, and it seemed you did too?» I tried to be sneaky about my question wanting to get something out of him about his life so I could have something more to hold on to as we said goodbye in the morning.

He looked defeated when I questioned him and as if he was rolling events through his mind after not thinking about it since earlier this afternoon. Shrugging and letting out a heavy breath he opened the shower door and put a towel around his waist after running it through his hair.

«It’s been a tough week with a case we can't seem to figure out. I was so glad I ran into you and got to think about something else for a bit, so thank you, I guess.» He wasn’t thanking me for the sex, but for letting him take the reigns and get out of his head. It didn’t seem like a good time to tell him that I needed it just as much as he did, but I hoped he understood.

Drying our bodies, Harry made his way into his closet to get me a shirt and himself a pair of briefs. He was back in his own thoughts again, quiet and thinking. Knowing we needed each other to forget, I grabbed his wrist as he made his way out of the bathroom again and pulled him against me.

He had been making a big deal about my tits all night and when he finally got to see them when we got in the shower, he didn’t do anything about it. I was confused. Was he not pleased with how they looked or was just not in the right mind anymore?

«It seems you forgot about a certain body part of mine tonight. And I think you know which part I’m talking about.» We held our eyes on each other as I spoke, my voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t do anything until I moved my hand to unwrap the towel still around my body. Slowly, the towel slid down my body landing in a puddle around my feet. I let go of my own insecurities about my body as I stood completely bare in front of him. It was as if he was in a trance when he finally moved his eyes down.

After taking my tits in fully it really didn’t take much for him to dive in. One was occupied by his hand, fingers pinching my nipple and grabbing it, probably leaving marks there too. The other was covered by his mouth, teeth grazing the nipple pulling it a bit to get every reaction he could out of me by playing with my tits. I stood in the middle of his bathroom, completely nude, as he took his time looking, fingering, sucking at my nipples and chest. Knowing it probably wouldn’t be enough go get him fully hard, I pulled his briefs down to his thighs, not able to reach further. His cock was barely starting to get hard, but I like feeling him grow in my hands.

He groaned when he felt my hands on him and he bit my nipple at the feeling, enough to get a moan from me.

«I want you to fuck my tits, Harry.» No one had fucked my tits before, but I want Harry to cum by my tits. It was hot and lewd and I wanted it just as much for me as for him. Having a man cum twice in a night for me was definitely a wish come true.

«I-I..» I laughed at Harry’s face, shocked with wide eyes and jaw hung. «Yes ma’am.» He giggled like a little boy when he got his head together understanding what I was asking him to do. 

His hands found their place on my waist as his lips met mine in a messy kiss. Teeth clashing and tongues licking into the others mouth to get a taste. I walked with him as he began backing out of the bathroom to get to his bedroom. The kiss slowed down, our lips meeting in what could only be described as two people filled with lust and need for each other. Our hands couldn’t find a specific spot to hold on to, gripping, touching and getting to know every part of his body that was reachable.

«I must be in a dream. A fucking stunning woman asking me to fuck her tits.» Harry seemed stunned just like a couple of moments ago in the bathroom.

—

After finishing in my mouth, I got up to brush my teeth and get ready for bed pulling on the shirt he gave me after our shower. It wasn’t awkward when I came back to bed, Harry had put his briefs back on and was laying on his back close to the middle, his eyes closed almost falling asleep.

Shuffling under the blankets without making too many movements I laid my head on the pillow. His bed felt just as comfortable as I remember and I was excited to have a well-needed lay in.

«Do you have work in the morning?» I suddenly remember what he said last time about having the early morning shift on most Saturdays. Praying that he had tomorrow off, I turned to watch him as he sighed and moved to pull my body in flush against his.

«Sort of. I’m on call so I might be lucky and not get called on until later, but that’s wishful thinking honestly.» Closing my eyes I rested my head on his chest and quickly found peace in his fingers trailing down the side of my waist and his lips pecking my head as a way of saying goodnight.

-

thank you for reading and as I said, I’d really appreciate a reblog to get my writing out there <33

[d2kvirus]

Dickheads of the Month: March 2021

As it seems that there are people who say or do things that are remarkably dickheaded yet somehow people try to make excuses for them or pretend it never happened, here is a collection of some of the dickheaded actions we saw in the month of March 2021 to make sure that they are never forgotten.

It was brainless enough when the Metropolitan Police suggested that Sarah Everard’s death could be blamed on her for walking home alone at night - but when it turned out that it was a police officer who murdered her, who had also been previously let off at least one case of publicly exposing himself entirely because he was a police officer, brainless left the table and instead we found ourselves noticing they were trying to blame the victim while had covered up for the eventual perpetrator

...while we also had the angry men of Twitter respond to Janie Jones’ clearly not serious suggestion that if a 6pm curfew for women were to be introduced then she would call for a 6pm curfew for men with all manner of bile, shouting, finger-pointing, and comments which the police might just so happen to want to look into

...while smirking bully Priti Patel also managed to get her oar in, as various Reclaim The Streets Vigils were shut down by the police (which is a good look, all things considered...) using the legislation that Patel rushed through a few days earlier to combat BLM protests several months after the BLM protests happened

...but then the Metropolitan Police managed to pivot the focus back onto themselves with their heavy-handed tackling of a vigil on Clapham Common that ended up with them handcuffing various women who were there - which they weren’t so keen to do when Kate Middleton was there - before releasing a statement that boiled down to “Look what you made us do” and then rushing to protect a statue of Winston Churchill for no reason whatsoever but making sure to have lots of photos of them protecting their precious statue anyway

...but then the Tory government demanded they get the last word by bulldozing through their boot stamping on a human face forever policing bill that bans all forms of protests due to it causing “annoyance” as if protesting against the ills of society is the same thing as somebody cutting in front of you in the supermarket queue or not holding open a door

...although the Metropolitan Police did try and regain their title as Biggest Dickheads the following week when an anti-lockdown march featuring professional victim Lawrence Fox and fecal enthusiast Gillian McKeith was met by the police letting them walk in a large, huddled mass without a mask between them and didn't lift a single finger

...and there’s nothing sinister about how the BBC failed to broadcast a single item saying the bill had been bulldozed through, while the piece on their website was buried instead of being on the front page

...and then at the buzzer Her Majesty's Inspectorate of Constabulary and Fire & Rescue Services published a report saying that the police acted appropriately at the vigil, in spite of a wealth of evidence and eyewitness testimony saying they absolutely fucking didn’t

Of course we can trust the Tory government when they publish a report stating that racism isn't a systemic issue in the United Kingdom, even when various people cited as experts for this report were very surprised to hear that they were part of it given they were never asked for their input

So it has been found that proven liar Boris Johnson misled parliament over the Covid contracts being doled out by the Tories, which I’m sure will lead to widespread calls in the media for his resignation - or are we to believe that the real reason for the British media calling for Nicola Sturgeon’s resignation is down to something different?

To sum up the British press completely losing their minds about the Meghan Markle interview, we had various royal correspondents responding to some of the more serious allegations with a combination of vicious smears that don’t debunk a single thing she said or outright misrepresenting what she said to try and tip the narrative in the Royals’ favour, while the Press Gazette issued a statement rejected her claims of bigotry in the British media that can easily be disproved in seconds with photos of various front pages of The Sun, the Daily Mail and the Daily Express on whichever subject you wish to choose - which was supported unintentionally by Ian Murray trying to shout down criticism having been presented with examples of such bigotry live on air - and in response to Murray’s hapless showing, the Society of Editors put out a mealy-mouthed nonpology that pretended that nobody ever said anything about bigotry...before suggesting Murray bugger off

...although Piers Moron Morgan picked up the baton for nastiness by first accusing Meghan of making up that she had suicidal thoughts and immediately after the interview aired it was announced that Meghan’s estranged father was lined up for an interview, although it does have to be said he was far from the only person to respond by throwing that at Meghan like a rock - only to then flounce out of the Good Morning Britain studio when called out for his bullshit, shortly before being told to hand in his resignation or else

So after Keir Starmer tore up the ballot for the Liverpool mayoral election last months, you would expect him to name a new list of candidates that was more to his liking - which is cynical enough - right?  Wrong, instead he backed the government's plans to seize control of the city, meaning that Keir Starmer handed over the Labour stronghold of Liverpool to the Tories with no fucking questions asked

Further enhancing public trust in the police was Andy Marsh of Avon and Somerset Police claiming that several of his officers suffered broken bones and one a punctured lung dealing with the protests in Bristol - which turned out to be a complete lie, a lie told by the Chief Constable of Avon and Somerset Police, as not a single officer was treated for any of those injuries

...and a few days later Avon and Somerset Police apparently had to deal with mindless thugs attacking police batons with their faces and seated protesters holding up their hand throwing themselves into their riot shields.  Oh wait, that isn't what happened, instead they waded in swinging batons and using blading tactics with their shields

Nice to know that the Tory government are so in control of the Covid pandemic that somebody with the Brazilian variant got through the tough measures of testing people on arrival by simply not filling out the form - and it was three weeks before the Tory government admitted this had happened

...and the main response appeared to be Chris Philp posting a lot of tweets pointing the finger at Croydon council for something completely unrelated the same day it emerged the person with the Brazilian variant was in Croydon, which looked like a blatant attempt to game Twitter’s search algorithm

Smirking bully Priti Patel ended up having to pay off Sir Philip Rutnam to make his claims against her go away after an expensive court case with the taxpayer footing the bill, which I’m sure will lead to widespread calls in the media for his resignation - or are we to believe that the real reason for the British media calling for Nicola Sturgeon’s resignation is down to something different?   

Nice guy Rishi Sunak wowed people with his Budget, where he gave NHS staff a 1% pay raise that, in some cases, amounts to £3.50 a week which won’t even cover the fees to park at their place of work, claims that he wouldn’t raise taxes while sneaking in tax hikes, bunging an additional £15bn to Serco for their woeful Test & Trace system, and also pretending that the UK could pursue freeports now that they're out of the EU in spite the UK having seven freeports between 1998-2012 - but we’re supposed to ignore all of that because he paid to have ludicrously self-aggrandising videos of himself made

Smirking bully Priti Patel not only somehow managed to pay £5400 in a single trip to Primark, nearly £7000 in two trips to a restaurant, and £700 on cupcakes,  but also claimed the lot on her expenses - however she most certainly did not spend £77,000 on having her eyebrows done, as that business was wound up  2018, meaning she spend £77,000 somewhere - which of course led to widespread calls in the media that she resign

So nice of proven liar Boris Johnson to say how glad he is to hear that Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe is being released from prison in Iran.  Yes, that would be the same Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe who was imprisoned in Iranian prison due to proven liar Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson, who was then Foreign Secretary, not reading his brief and then blurting out of she was guilty of the charges she was being held under which then led to her being given the prison sentence she has just been released from

In response to the Georgia shooting Fox News really read the mood of the nation when the debate was about anti-Asian hate and incel terrorism by doing their damndest to make sure the message told everyone who the real victim was: the shooter, that poor white boy that he is

It was so nice of proven liar Boris Johnson to arrange a charity gala to...hang on, let me check my notes, raise funds so that Carrie Symonds could redecorate her Downing Street flat

According to Andrew Pierce he doesn't see Meghan Markle as black.  Apparently it didn’t occur to Andrew Pierce how that sounds, a.) Really fucking bad, and b.) Like Andrew Pierce has reached the next level of Whitesplaining, which shall henceforth be called Whitekeeping

There’s something definitely sinister about the BBC seeing a clip where Charlie Stayt made a quip about known swindler Robert Jenrick having a huge photo of The Queen and an (upside down) union flag in his office, yet their response was to demand that Naga Munchetty publicly apologise for giggling

As if David Cameron fucking up the country in a failed bid to gain political advantage isn’t enough reason for him to be banned from going within five miles of Westminster, him calling up Rishi Sunak to see if he could get some people in the Treasury make the financial problems that Greensill Capital, who Cameron just so happens to have a stake in, certainly counts as another very good reason

Fish fetishist John Redwood reacted to the US removing trade tariffs on British cheese and British Scottish whisky by proudly crowed from the rooftops that this would not happen if we were still in the EU.  Three hours later the US removed trade tariffs on all EU cheese and alcohol exports

In another bout of Keir Starmer uniting the Labour party he decided that Anneliese Dodds would be removed as Shadow Chancellor for failing to effectively communicate the party’s vision as if it was Dodds’ fault for the poor poll results - only to do a quick 180 and back Dodds when the main response to this reason was “What the hell?”

The only surprise about The Core being exposed as a dodgy grift that was being secretly bankrolled by the deep pockets of Tim Rutherford-Browne is that it actually took so long for somebody to expose this - because it sure as hell wasn’t a surprise that Twitter account for The Core, plus the accounts and sock puppets run by Rutherford-Browne, very quickly vanished

Of course The Daily Mail and The Sun would both devote far more time and column inches to Angela Rayner claiming expenses for her air pods and rile their readership into an all too predictable frenzy than they would ever devote to, say, tens of billions of pounds worth of taxpayer’s money being siphoned off into the pockets of various Tory MPs’ mates no matter how unqualified or ill-equipped those people happen to be to fulfill those contracts

Clag peddler Gilson B Pontes demonstrated how ill-equipped they are to deal with fair criticism of their god-awful games (which Sony somehow keeps allowing on their store) by abusing Youtube’s copyright system to try and get Jim Sterling’s account terminated - and failed, thus drawing far more attention to Pontes trying to abuse the system, and Youtube doing fuck all about it even though this issue has persisted for years by this point

Are we going to hear about how Andrew Beattie is the latest victim of “cancel culture” or are we going to hear that Beattie could have started his message about how inclusive Beattie Communications in a better way than literally saying “At Beattie Communications, we don’t hire blacks, gays or Catholics”?  Gee, let me guess which one...

...and then Burger King make the exact same error by trying to tweet out a message of inclusivity on International Women’s Day, which was doomed when the first tweet of the chain said just five words: “Women belong in the kitchen”

There’s something perverse about Electronic Arts being hit with a scandal involving FUT cards from the FIFA series not because they’re clearly a form of gambling that the company have gotten away with for many years outside of a few countries who call it what it is, but because it turns out an EA employee has been selling the rarest FUT cards on the black market for several hundred pounds per bundle to many willing players who want to cheat the system.  The system of gambling.  Which is what FUT cards are

The Tories reached peak flag shagger when James Wild posed a series of questions about the lack of union flags in the BBC Annual Report, as if that means a goddamn thing

Sleazebag and alleged wrestler Joey Ryan thought he could pull a fast one and just so happen to improve his image for when the next round of SLAPP suits goes before the judge by organising an event called Wrestling For Women’s Charity - only for the entire grift to fall apart due to it being held by the company he owns, the charity itself having more than questionable backing, and the fact that Ryan was dumb enough that he tried to sneak his own face onto the poster and thought nobody would notice.  Coincidentally, once the poster was out, a lot of people noticed and the event was rapidly shut down.  Funny, that...

In the latest attempt by Gab to try and make themselves seem relevant they tweeted out some intense batshittery about preserving our way of life featuring a heavily-armed family (including the dog, which was also packing) around the barbeque.  There was one teeny tiny issue with this image: it was stolen art from the indie game The American Dream which actively satirises America’s obsession with guns, and all gab did was remove the watermarks from the picture (which they took without permission) for their rallying cry of “remember us?  We used to be where all the edgelords hung out before they went to Parler”

Once again Manchester United fans responded to a loss not by suggesting that the opponents played better but with racially abusing one of their players on social media, with Fred bearing the brunt of it this time in the wake of being knocked out of the FA Cup by Leicester

Forgotten 90s comedian Lee Hurst continued to be the face of angry white men on Twitter who think they’re funny by posting a tweet about Greta Thunberg that managed to be creepy, misogynistic, showing a remarkable failure to understand what condoms are made of, and worked out so well for him that Twitter promptly suspended his account 

And finally, irritatingly, we have Donald Trump and his proclamation that he won’t be creating a new political party for the 2024 election as he worries that he’ll split the Republican vote.  But Donald, you told us you were so popular, so surely both Republican and Democrat supporters will flock to your new party?  Or are you worried at losing two elections in a row?

[peckhampeculiar]

Painter man

TOM PHILLIPS IS A HIGHLY ACCLAIMED, PECKHAM-BASED ARTIST WHO HAS BEEN ACTIVE FOR MORE THAN 50 YEARS.

Here, he talks about his fascinating and varied career and calling up his friend Brian Eno on the phone

WORDS: SEAMUS HASSON;  PHOTO: LIMA CHARLIE

Tom Phillips is a local artist who has led a rather extraordinary life. A painter and sculptor of con­siderable renown, he is also a composer, set de­signer and writer. He has received commissions to produce artworks for the likes of Westminster Cathedral and Westminster Abbey and has held high-profile positions at some of the country’s most prestigious cultural institutions.

While Tom is an artist of international acclaim, he is also known locally as the bloke who de­signed the mosaics and iconic curved lamp posts on Bellenden Road.

I arrange to meet him at the Peckham Pelican on the August bank holiday, but on arrival we dis­cover it is closed for the day. After a brief discus­sion about how to proceed, we hop on the 345 to­wards Camberwell and settle for a greasy spoon a few stops down. Perhaps not the most distin­guished setting to interview one of the country’s most esteemed artists and a trustee of the British Museum, but Tom is without pretension.

“I’m a south London boy,” he says. “I’ve lived all of my life in south London and most of it in Peck­ham.”

Tom was born in Clapham in 1937, where he spent his early years and attended Henry Thorn­ton Grammar School. From there he achieved his ambition of going to Oxford. “I wanted to go there because I wanted to act in plays and things like that,” he explains. “So, I went and studied – as they call it – English, for about half an hour a day.

“[While there] I was drawing all the time and looking at art and reading about art and wanted to go to art school. Luckily enough the one I chose was about 100 yards from where my mother had bought a house.”

Tom went to the Camberwell School of Arts and Crafts, where he was taught by German-Brit­ish painter Frank Auerbach. Fortuitously for him, his mother had bought a house on Talfourd Road some years earlier.

“We were going bankrupt I think as a family and she bought the house in Peckham because they didn’t cost anything, about £500, and let it out to art students ironically enough. I was the last art student to occupy it and took it over bit by bit.”

The property is the studio where Tom contin­ues to work, producing pieces that have been shown across the world. “My art school life was here in Peckham,” he says. “When I left Oxford, I had to get a job like people do, so I did teaching. I taught in a school in Brixton and went to evening classes here at the Camberwell School of Arts and Crafts as they called it then.

“The only artist I knew about who was teaching was Frank Auerbach so I joined his class and that was the deal done as far as my life was concerned. I think you always need someone who passes the baton on, you know, it’s a race that we’re all run­ning one after the other.

“So, I followed lots of his advice and learnt a lot from him as well as other people who were there who were interesting.”

It wasn’t long before the art world was taking notice of Tom’s work. His first solo show was in 1965 at the Artists’ International Association Gal­lery in London, followed by an exhibition at the Angela Flowers Gallery in 1970.

“Right away I was doing my own work, I won a prize or two and got noticed a bit,” he says. “Even­tually it seemed possible to do it as a living, which I managed to do in the end. I’m still managing.”

In 1966 he began a project that is still occupy­ing him today. “A Humument” came about when he set himself the task of finding a book for three­pence and altering every page with painting, col­lage and cut-up techniques to create an entirely new version.

The book he chose (at random) was an 1892 novel called A Human Document by WH Mallock. “It was an old Victorian novel. I picked it up by chance actually on Peckham Rye, on the exact spot where Blake saw his first angels,” he says. “I got it in a big shop called Austin’s, which is gone now.”

Although the final edition of A Humument was published in 2016, Tom has found it difficult to leave it behind. “I thought I’d work on that for a bit and I ended up working on it for 50 years,” he says.

“And I’m still working on it actually; although I’ve published a final edition. I can’t stop, it’s too interesting. It leaves a black hole in your life when you’ve been doing something for 50 years and then suddenly you say stop.

“I certainly was lucky in the book that I chose. It’s got an undertext and a sort of darkness and is full of interesting things you can find. Even the other day I was thinking how there are things in modern life that don’t crop up, when I suddenly saw in the middle of a page I was going to work on the words, ‘me too’.

“I thought, ‘Well, me too didn’t mean anything in the 1890s but now it’s got a relevance to it’, so I moved around that idea.”

A Humument was shown in an exhibition at the Royal Academy, where Tom has been chairman of the exhibitions committee since 1995.

It was also exhibited in a museum in Massachu­setts and the book illustrating the work is avail­able on Amazon.

A renowned portrait artist, Tom’s subjects have included the likes of the cast of Monty Python as well as personal friends such as Iris Murdoch and Salman Rushdie.

In 1989, he became only the second artist to have a retrospective of his portraits shown at the National Portrait Gallery (his portrait of Iris Mur­doch is still on display there).

Another of his subjects was Irish playwright Samuel Beckett. “I spent a couple of weeks paint­ing his portrait when he was rehearsing a play here,” says Tom.

“He was interested in A TV Dante [a television series that Tom directed for Channel 4] and I was showing him what I was doing. I was doing a translation of Dante with pictures and he was rather kind about it. He was just a nice, lovely man.”

Locally, Tom is involved in a photographic pro­ject called 20 Sites n Years, where he takes pho­tographs in and around Peckham of the same site, on or around the same day, at the same time each year.

It has been going since 1973 and has been made into a film by Jake Auerbach, Frank Auer­bach’s son.

Another area of the arts that has played a big role in Tom’s life is music. As a young man he sang in the Philharmonia Chorus, which he describes as being “rather grand”.

“I did singing at school of course and played in­struments very badly, which I continue to do. But I could sing without having the skill of playing an instrument, so I then joined the leading choir in the country it seemed to me.”

In the late 1960s, he gained recognition for his experimental opera, Irma, and during his teach­ing career, he taught and befriended the avant-garde musician and producer, Brian Eno.

“He was a student. I can’t name many students who have done anything because I’m not a very good teacher,” he laughs. “But with someone like Brian it was difficult not to get things going.

“We worked together a little here and there. He made versions of things that I had done, and we were both associated with something called the Scratch Orchestra. He’s a person who always has the same phone number, which rather impresses me. I mean I don’t belong to a glamorous world like he does, but still the same old phone number gets Brian. Perhaps I’m the only person left who has that number.”

Talking to Tom, all sorts of brilliant anecdotes pop up. A keen ping pong player, he once played a tournament with the author Howard Jacobson and Salman Rushdie round at Charles Saatchi’s house. Then there was the time he got on the wrong side of the authorities in South Africa.

“I did the curation at the big African art exhibi­tion at the Royal Academy,” he says. “It all came through travelling in Africa and originally in South Africa. But then I sort of wondered how I could get involved as an artist. So, I joined a group called Artists Against Apartheid and we showed all over the world.

“I got into trouble slightly in South Africa itself because I overprinted banknotes with a slogan. In South Africa there were notices all over benches and things saying ‘slegs vir blankes’, which means reserved for whites.

“So, I made up this rubber stamp that said ‘slegs vir almal’, which means reserved for every­body and I put a rubber stamp upon every note that came through my hands. After that I was told that I wasn’t very welcome here in South Africa. It then became a little known as a slogan.”

With his days of political activism in the past and A Humument beginning to wind down, what does a typical day now look like for Tom Phillips, the artist?

“I’m doing everything I always did,” he says. “I was very lucky in the things that I did. They inter­ested me. I can’t think of anything that I want to do that I could do that I haven’t done. Not really. It filled the time – I’m 82.”

[footballengland]

Football Fans remember Rodney Marsh

Rodney Marsh – Your memories of the English Soccer Legend:

Did you watch Rodney play, or go to school with him, or meet him after his playing days?

Let us know your stories and personal memories by adding a comment at the bottom of the page.

Steve Dickinson wrote:

I started supporting QPR in the 1960s as an 11 year old just as they were winning the League Cup and gaining promotion from the 3rd division.

I have 3 outstanding memories of the man on the field:

Vs West Ham It was Rod’s first game in Div 1 (he had still been injured from the end of the previous promotion season), and West Ham played a very skillful game on a typical QPR mudbath (as the pitch was then), and Rodney touched the ball 3 times – a curling shot that hit the post; a disallowed goal, and a mazy run through the slime that left everyone floundering – I felt there should be more; but the papers screamed about his return and how QPR would soon now climb the table (we didn’t !!)

Vs Birmingham (around 1972) This game was on TV and Terry Venables was now at the club orchastrating midfield – Rodney scored the best Hat-trick I have ever seen, with 3 completely different goals that ripped Birmingham apart in a 5-2 win (although I read in one of his books that he thought his hat-trick against Blackpool was better)

Vs Fulham away I am stood in Craven Cottage listening to all the Fulham Fans chanting ‘Rodney is a Fairy’ (this was the normal away fan’s chant), and the singing is deafening. The whistle can just be heard to start the game, and Keith Sanderson gives the ball to Rodney from the kick-off – he traps the ball, reverses it, spins and shoots – a la Pele and Beckham – sure enough the keeper is on the penalty spot and didn’t start moving till way too late – the ball just missed the post!! The ground fell into absolute silence, until 500 isolated voices began ‘Rodneeeeeee, Rodneeeeee’

Great days

Bill Stapleton wrote:

I live in Bradenton Florida, just down the road from Tampa, where I understand Rodney lives. I would love to meet up with him!

I grew up in West Kensington and used to walk to Craven Cottage to see Fulham when Rod was playing. I remember him getting kicked for that injury and I have a theory about that and his play. It was reported that he had ballroom dancing lessons to help him regain his balance. I have always wondered if that contributed to his amazing balance for the rest of his career.

I love magic players, who have that something that makes your eyes pop out as you say “How did he do that?” Rodney had that magic. Just one goal that I will never forget typifies what he was all about. Fulham v Nottingham Forest. Forest take a corner. The ball is cleared to Johnny Haynes of the edge of the box. He swings a long ball out to the left where Rodney is on the halfway line. He sets off down the left wing. (He’s not the quickest). Team mates sprint up the field to support him in the centre and on the right. Rodney beats one, two maybe three, like in slow motion – (How does he do that?!) and is now just inside the Forest box on the left.

The whole crowd is screaming, “Pass!” Rodney beats yet another, then curls an exquisite ball up and over Peter Grummitt, one of the best goalies in England at the time, into the far top corner.

Rodney simply lived in a different time continuum from the rest of us ordinary mortals. Not only did he bamboozle countless defenders, but he left countless spectators with their mouths hanging open, wondering how he did what he did.

John Lines wrote:

I must be one of only a handful of people that remember Rodney playing in goal. It was in a first division match at Craven Cottage in the early 1960’s.

The match was against Northampton Town and early on, Fulham keeper Tony Macedo was knocked out and suffered a broken jaw. Rodders took the jersey as there were no subs in those days. I was standing right behind the goal and remember the look on his face when picking the ball out of the net…. 4 times I think!

Pat Larkin wrote:

I played with the 2nd Team for the ROWDIES (after being recruited from the St. Pete Kickers) with Rodney Marsh back in ’78 & ’79? I can remember watching him from the sidelines & right in front of the bench, he nutmegged a defender twice while dribbling & “teasing” the guy with his dribbling skills for at least 2 minutes (it may have been a game against the Ft. Lauderdale Strikers or NY Cosmos?)….and this poor defender did not get any defensive support from his mates.

Cat & mouse game went on with Rodney just “schooling this kid”. The kid was determined to steal the ball from this old guy and Rodney turned his back to the defender, left the ball and sprinted about 10 yards to his left….with the defender following Rodney and both leaving the ball behind. Rondey then casually jogs back to the ball with the Red Faced Defender behind him just shaking his head…classic exhibition as to why he truly was the “Clown Prince of Soccer”…and as a very young American playing a game we really could only dream of playing like our friends from overseas….I will always cherish the memory!

Loftuslad wrote:

Rodney Marsh was QPR’s first superstar. With him, an unheard of team in the third division beat a first division side in the League Cup Final (when that cup really meant something!) and was the prime mover in taking them from third to First division.

He was also one of the first ‘Mavericks’ who did it their way. He claimed “QPR will ALWAYS be my team, not Man City or Fulham.” After him came ‘mavericks’ like Stan Bowles, Tony Currie, Peter Osgood, Alan Hudson, Charlie George and Frank Worthinhton. But he was a free spirit and could not play in the negative systems of England (The others couldn’t either.)

He was one of the leading lights in the Americas NASL and played on equal terms with George Best at Fulham. But he will always be related to QPR and there was uproar when he left.

It’s a shame there was less media around then, so clips are sparse with all these guys.

Maybe some people are put off him by his pundit work and comments recently but as a footballer, he will always be a genius and always be QPR!!

geniusmarsh wrote:

Rodney Marsh and Stan Bowles are by far the greatest players we have ever had at QPR. I saw Stan play hundreds of times for Rangers and Brentford, he was like a God.

Stan was more of a team player than Rod. But Rod started QPR as an entertaining team to watch, the first superstar. I have seen some polls that vote Stan with 90% and Rod with 10% that’s a joke, there was not much between them.

The difference is Stan is OURS!

He’s only thought of as a Rangers man while Rod is Man City and Fulham, who all claim him, but Stan walks down South Africa Road with everyone else and goes to the local after.

Rodney would never be seen doing that, he is not accessible to fans, and the stuff with Gerry Francis didn’t help.

I would like to have seen Rod, Stan and Tony Currie at their peaks all playing for QPR at the same time.

Rodney was like Gazza (who I have also seen) he would do sod all for 80mins, you would forget he was playing, but a flash of genius would turn the game round.

But Rodney and Stan gave us entertainment, moneys worth, a laugh, on field jokes and jaw dropping flashes of tricks, skill and pure genius, so did Currie and so did Best.

We will never see their like again.

Chris Barnes wrote:

I remember Rodney playing for QPR vs Leyton Orient one Good Friday in the early 70’s. Being an O’s fan I was in awe of Rodney who single handedly destroyed a great Orient defence without scoring.

QPR got a penalty, the man himself missed it & the O’s inexplicably went on to win 2-0. With ironic cries of Rodney, Rodney, Rodney one of the great miscarriages of justice had happened before my eyes.

Although we had won I had witnessed one of the most impressive displays I had ever seen from an English player. Rodney was too good to play for England as was Stan Bowles, Tony Currie, Glen Hoddle & Duncan MacKenzie.

What price those guys now when 80% of the Premier League players can’t speak English & don’t care if their clubs live or die! Rodney, thanks for the memory!

Darrell Storie wrote:

Grew up in London (Clapham) during the seventies, and my Da, a mad Scot would die for Fulham – he started to take me to Craven Cottage from the age of 9 onwards – which was around the time Marsh, along with George Best and Bobby Moore played for us.

My ma, a quiet and thoughtful nurse who came over from the West Indies in the mid fifties thought seeing Fulham would ‘corrupt’ me, and turn me into a hooligan. In fact it did the exact opposite – realised the trio were in the ‘autumn’ of their career, and the circus acts at Craven Cottage (especially a game against Hereford – or was it Hull when they won 4-1) were usually embarrassing.

Could see most of the fans loving it, with Best taking the ball off Marsh, and vice versa a couple of seconds later…but there were also many who realised this wasn’t going to last for long.

It was around 1977 (or thereabouts) when I followed cricket – England, that is as an antidote to the depression!

Jane Banks wrote:

I MET RODNEY MARSH, TERRY VENABLES, & TONY HAZELL WHEN THEY PLAYED FOR QPR. THEY WERE PLAYING AT CHARLTON ATHLETIC AND I HAD GONE TO THE SUPPORTERS LOUNGE AFTER THE GAME. I WAS SAT AT A TABLE ON MY OWN AND THE THREE PLAYERS ASKED IF I MINDED IF THEY JOINED ME. I WAS THRILLED TO BITS!

AT THE TIME I WAS 23YRS OLD & VERY OVERWEIGHT. HOWEVER, RODNEY BEING RODNEY THOUGHT OTHERWISE, AND ASKED ME WHEN THE ‘HAPPY EVENT’ WAS DUE! I JUST LAUGHED AND SAID “ITS ALL ME, I’M AFRAID RODNEY!” HE APOLOGISED AND WE ALL HAD A GOOD LAUGH ABOUT IT, I WAS NOT OFFENDED AT ALL.

THEY ASKED ME IF I WOULD GO AND SEE THEM PLAY AT LOFTUS ROAD, AS AT THE TIME I WAS WORKING IN A HOSPITAL IN FULHAM ROAD & HAD SAID I WATCHED CHELSEA WHEN CHARLTON WERE AWAY. SADLY I DIDN’T GO, I WAS TOO NERVOUS, AND DIDN’T THINK FOR ONE MINUTE THEY WOULD REMEMBER ME.

I CERTAINLY HAVEN’T FORGOTTEN THEM, THEY WERE GREAT COMPANY & I WAS DELIGHTED TO HAVE MET THEM. I DIDN’T HAVE CHILDREN OF MY OWN, SO I HAVE NO ONE TO PASS THE STORY DOWN TOO. I WOULD REALLY LIKE TO MEET RODNEY AGAIN. BUT I DOUBT HE WILL BE AT WEMBLEY NEXT WEEK WHEN GRIMSBY TOWN PLAY M K DONS AT WEMBLEY.

Dino wrote:

Back in the late 70’s, Rodney Marsh WAS Tampa Bay sports. He helped put Tampa on the sports map. Our football team (Buccaneers) was horrible and the Rowdies did one thing….WIN!!!

During World Cup ’94 I would chat with Rodney every Friday evening before his flight departed Tampa for Atlanta to do his gig with CNN for the cup.

My greatest memory of Sir Rodney has to be the first Rowdie game I attended, the 1978 Conference Championship with 38,000 watching(in a driving rainstorm). Rodney scored the winning goal in a shootout as the Rowdies beat the Ft. Lauderdale Strikers and advanced to Soccer Bowl ’78. Thanks for the memories Rodney!!

naiomi crofts wrote:

i just wanna say since rodney william marsh was on I’m a Celebrity…Get Me Out of Here! i loved him he is my hero and i voted for him every day. then he went out i even dressed up as him an cried when he left but rodney u r da best no matter what, from your loyal friend naiomi crofts.

ps. say hi to him and his daughter joanne.

peter langston wrote:

I was his paper boy when he lived in Cornwall Road in Ruislip in the early ’70’s

alex wrote:

Rodney is such a legend, listening to him and PBT on tlkSPORT got me through my GCSE’s! if reports are to be believed i can’t wait to see him on I’m a celebrity. i have no doubt he will bring the show to life!

Steve Maddox wrote:

I find it surprising that the memories posted on this website of Rod are all from Tampa fans, with the exception of one QPR fan. Rod was a real genius and I saw him play many times for Man City in the early-mid 70’s…and also a few years later when he was with Fulham.

Despite what some people say, Rod was a massive hero at City and was adored and idolised by the fans……..

My memories of Rodney are just too many and too wonderful to recount, but suffice it to say he was just so entertaining and gifted and brilliant to watch.

He scored some amazing goals at City…..but his all round passing, dribbling and attacking ability was breath taking. I truly believe that Rod was the most gifted player I have ever seen, and although he was not the quickest, he more than made up for it with his vision, brilliant ball control and the way he read the game…he had a fantastic footballing brain.

What a joke that he only won 9 England caps….

Thanks Rod…we loved you (and still do) at City.

Sean Forrester wrote:

I worked with Rodney during his time in the media. During my career, I have worked with a number of former footballer, who have played in and won medals in World and European Cups, Champions League, Division 1, Premiership etc etc.

The vast majority of the ex-pros are happy to indulge in stories of their past glories and are rightly proud of them too.

However, in all my life, I’ve never met a player who had such a sub-standard career and banged on about it so much.

Marsh is an arrogant, psuedo intellectual tit and a more self gratified and plain wierd individual. I for one am relived to have him off our screens

Charles Rivers wrote:

I live in Tampa Florida (U.S.A.) I grew up in the 70’s and the Tampa Bay Rowdies were of course my favourite soccer team. My grandmother is from Kent, England and she taught me all about “football” as you call it.

Anyway, I was walking through Tampa Stadium one day prior to a night game for the Rowdies

when out from the locker area comes Rodney.

It wasn’t uncommon for him to come walk around and talk to people. I was 6 years old and he lifted me up and asked me my name. I told him Charles and he told me it was a Kings name.

He was very kind. A while later Rodney decided to retire and they had his “memorial game” at Tampa Stadium….when my mom purchased the program for the game we opened it up and inside was a picture of the day Rodney had picked me up. I have it still. I was wearing a green striped Interbay United shirt and my team name was Manchester City at the time.

Somehow my parents got in touch with him and we all met at his home. The next thing I know my dad bought his daughters’ all white bedroom set for my sister.

So my sister had Rodney Marsh’s daughters room set and I had a picture in his retirement program of us for life.

Thats my story I hope you liked it.

Edward Toye wrote:

Rodney was my hero when I was young and for me embodies all that is good about the game. Supremely talented, with a streak of arrogance he was a genius and for me the best English player there has ever been!

JOHN STUNT wrote:

RODNEY MARSH THE LEGEND.

I WAS LUCKY ENOUGH TO HAVE SEEN AND MEET THE MAN HIMSELF. I CAN REMEMBER HIM TURNING A GAME AROUND WITH PURE GENIUS. HE WAS NOT ALWAYS INVOLVED IN THE GAME FROM START TO FINISH, BUT JUST A FLASH OF CLASS WAS ENOUGH TO SEND US ALL HOME AS HAPPY AS LARRY, AND WE KNEW WE WERE THE GREATEST TEAM IN LONDON.

MY AUNTIE AND UNCLE HAD A FRAMED PICTURE OF RODNEY ON THEIR WALL, AND IF SOMEONE DARED SWEAR IN THAT ROOM THEY HAD TO APPOLIGISE TO RODNEY, (HOW DARE THEY SWEAR IN THE PRESENT OF A SPORTING GOD).

YEARS LATER I DROVE FROM LONDON TO STOCKPORT TO A CHARITY GOLF EVENT TO SEE THE GREAT MAN HIMSELF.

AS I DROVE INTO THE COURSE I SPOTTED RODNEY, I GOT OUT OF THE CAR AND AS SOON AS HE SAW THE QPR TOP IN MY HANDS HE STOPPPED PLAYING AND SIGNED MY TOP, WHICH IS NOW MY MOST PRIZED POSSESSION.

RODNEY WAS AND IS STILL A LEGEND I MY EYES.

Anthony Fernandez wrote:

I had the pleasure of watching Rodney Marsh play for the Tampa Bay Rowdies of the North American Soccer League for four great years. He came to the team for the 1976 season after the team had won the NASL Cup the year before. The team made it to the final two more times with him as the captain, but failed to win another championship. He was a very popular player during his time in Tampa and is remembered well here in the community to this day.

I still remember a match at Tampa Stadium when he dropped his shorts, that had ripped, as a trainer held two towels in front and rear only to have the rear towel fall to expose a full Rodney moon. The article in the local newspaper the next day had the photo with the headline “Footloose and Fannie Free”.

Mike Davis wrote:

During the late 70s, Rodney Marsh almost single-handedly made football, or soccer as we call it, a tremendously popular sport in Tampa.

He became the most popular sports figure in the city….even bigger than american football players. He was dashing, handsome and most of all great to watch play the game…. wonderfully entertaining.

He produced on the field, scoring many beautiful goals and assists, and was the centerpiece of the very successful Tampa Bay Rowdies. Even though it has been many years now since those days, he is still very fondly remembered in Tampa.

Joby Canoby wrote:

Though it was american NASL soccer, it was all we had in Tampa Bay. Watching Rodney Marsh at the age of 18-20 was amazing. For instance:

1)Seeing him go to his knees with the ball in homage to Pele against the Cosmos. 2)Watching him always take the final and usually game winning penalty kicks 3)Following him with binoculars, and seeing what opposing teams enforcers did to him to try and stop him from dominating games. (it never stopped him by the way and most of it wasn’t very sportsmanlike) 4)Joining with the other 45,000 fans screaming his name in unison after he won yet another game for us.

Frosty wrote:

Tampa Bay Rowdies – While playing with the Rowdies, Rodney provided much excitement and talent. He made others around him better and as a result allowed Fabbiani lead the NASL in scoring.

On national tv against the N.Y. Cosmos Rodney put on/displayed perhaps one of his best performances against the likes of none other than Pele, Beckenbauer, Chinaglia, Alberto. We won the highly anticipated match.

Rodney matched with Derek Smethurst was a deadly combination for any defense to go against……

John Rolfe: wrote:

Rodney Marsh – Memories

Vivid memories of Rodney sitting on the ball in the penalty area of teams like Watford and Swindon when two or three goals up: once the game was won he preferred to entertain than to go for goal all the time.

One dummy, when he was stationary, caused his opponent to jump up and land on his back in an attempt to block the ball which Rodney had not kicked.

Seeing him set up chances for Mick Leach and watch how he got on.

Watching him trip on his own feet and win penalties.

Watching him (at 4-0 with 2 goals himself already) prepare to take a penalty and walk back, and keep walking on with the crowd cheering until he reached the centre circle, running back with the crowd baying, feinting, stopping in his tracks just short of the penalty spot, watching the goalie tumble involuntarily to his right while Rodney, with a smile on his face, rolled the ball slowly to his left.

Watching from behind the Bristol Rovers goal as he struck a late League Cup equaliser by bending the ball hugely around the wall; this was in the days when they played with proper footballs of the type that only Marsh, Bowles and Rivelino could bend.

Great memories. QPR players smiled and laughed a lot during the games…

from Football England https://www.football-england.com/football-fans-remember-rodney-marsh.html

[dulwichdiverter]

Thinking deep

Words Luke G Williams; Photo Lima Charlie

For the past year acclaimed artist and Dulwich resident Naomi Avsec has been working underground. Literally. one hundred feet underground as ‘artist in residence’ at Growing Underground, a micro-greens growing facility that occupies a maze-like and vast World War II bomb shelter lurking – somewhat incongruously – beneath busy and bustling Clapham High Street.

A few days before Naomi’s residency ends and her installation Dust Garden: Little Particles of Happiness is removed, I meet her at the Growing Underground facility.

Despite the sudden onset of freezing weather, the warmth of Naomi’s greeting is unmistakeable, and her passion and enthusiasm for her work infectious.

As I tentatively scale 180 spiral steps down into the gloom and murk of the subterranean world Naomi has been inhabiting (“we’ll take the lift back up!”), she explains how the unique project came about.

“It’s mad. Growing Underground did a call out for a residency. I read it and thought: ‘that sounds weird!’ But I loved the space from when I first saw it. And they’ve got so much space here - there are five tunnels and they’re only using a fraction of them.

“Originally the residency was six months, but then it got extended. Then I begged and pleaded, and by the time I move out it will have been a year. I’m going to be really sad, it’s come to feel like my second home! I call it my ‘she cave’!”

Visitors were able to experience Naomi’s installation by prior booking over the weekend of 8 and 9 September and the response was overwhelming.

“It was amazing!” she recalls. “I had about 170 visitors. I had to do small groups of about 20 people at a time. At times it was like herding cats and we had a few panic attacks, but the feedback was incredible.

“Being down here is not for the faint hearted. When I moved in last November it was freezing. I couldn’t wear enough clothes to keep warm.

“As it got warmer I picked up momentum. And I’ve absolutely loved it. It’s made me interested to produce more site-specific responses to strange abandoned spaces. I loved the sense of being totally disconnected down here, you can’t get Wi-Fi for example. I’ve never felt so truly creative as I have down here as there are no distractions.”

The installation begins in one of the shelter’s long, hemispherical spaces with Naomi’s visual diary of her residency – all 20 metres of it, lying unravelled and unfurled on the concrete floor like some sort of mystical scroll.

“It was a way of getting all my thought processes out, what I was feeling being down here,” Naomi explains. “It became my daily meditation. Lots of doodling using Indian ink. I call it my mind mangle!”

As we approach the tunnel where the ‘Dust Garden’ itself is housed Naomi briefly outlines the approach she took in creating the installation.

“I took the make do and mend ethos that was typical during the war,” she says. “So I took detritus from off the streets and dragged it down here. I was working like some mad woman, rustling through heaps of rubbish, tubes, pipes and strips of newspapers!”

With that Naomi flings open a door and tells me: “I’m going to send you in to the Dust Garden now! I’ll keep the door ajar and leave you there on your own. Come back out whenever you’re done. Be careful where you tread…”

I step - somewhat tentatively - into near darkness.

Strange shapes and forms protrude here and there - from the walls, the ceiling and the floor. In the distance noises rumble and groan – tube trains below or above us? Or something more sinister? – while a distant soundscape and flickering video projection play on loop.

After a few minutes exploring this bizarre array of surreal and alien-like forms and noises, my initial trepidation slowly turns to a sense of peace and comfort. A feeling accentuated by the everyday familiarity of some of the objects Naomi has used, albeit in surreal and unconventional ways – children’s shoes, surgical gloves, plywood, electric cables…

By the time I reach the far end of the installation, and a representation of the sun, I feel cosy, almost womb-like in what had initially seemed an alien and threatening landscape.

Somewhat elated, I stumble back out and try to untangle and unravel my experience in words to Naomi, who laughs: “Yes, it’s a little bit disconcerting, but it’s ultimately meant to soothe you. Even though there are some creepy things, the sense is that these strange inhabitants I’ve created are quite benign.

“I had no idea how it was going to be received, but a lot of people reacted like you. Some people came out quite tearful. People who know me have said it’s literally like walking into my mind!”

As we travel back up to the surface of the earth and ensconce ourselves in a small office, Naomi talks to me about the rest of her remarkably diverse career.

“I wanted to be an artist since I was really little,” she reveals. “I didn’t play with dolls – I drew and drew and drew! That’s all I ever wanted to do. In my childhood house in Muswell Hill I drew all over the walls! My mum says when the house was sold the buyers said they were going to keep my drawings on the wall, but I don’t really believe that!

“My grandma gave me my first gallery when I was seven, which was her larder! Next to all her homemade cakes and shortbreads she had a sign on the door saying: ‘Naomi’s Gallery’.”

With BAs in Constructed Textiles and Illustration from Middlesex Polytechnic and Chelsea School of Art, as well as a Masters in Fine Art from Wimbledon College of Art, Naomi has been based in south London since her Chelsea School of Art days.

“I love Dulwich, I’ve been here ten years,” she says. “I like being around greenery and there’s loads of it here. It’s the most un-urban bit of London really. I’m a massive tree hugger basically.”

The breadth of Naomi’s experience and expertise is staggering, and her body of work defies easy categorisation.

She defines herself as a “multi-disciplinary artist”, and her art spans the disciplines of sculpture, found objects, painting, collage, embroidery, animation, installation … and probably more besides!

“I just love art,” she laughs. “Any genre!”

For the past decade and a half, Naomi’s career has had two main strands, on the one hand encompassing her installation and art work, and on the other her renowned embroidery business.

“I always thought, ‘it’s not right to have two sides to my career,’ but as I’ve got older I’ve realised you need a sustainable practice. My embroidery has always been the commercial side to what I do.”

Having taught herself to embroider at the age of 15, Naomi began embroidering and selling personalised T-shirts at Spitalfields in 2004.

“I’d take my machine to the market. It was a hard but an interesting apprenticeship in ‘how to make money out of your creativity!’ Then I thought, ‘I’m going to aim high with this!’

“That’s when I approached Paul Smith.”

Despite having never met the legendary fashion designer, Naomi grabbed Smith’s attention the only way she knew how: she embroidered him a letter.

“I knew he was open and philanthropic and interested in more than just fashion. So I embroidered a letter, an envelope, a stamp, everything! A gorgeous fabric delight which I hand delivered it to his office.

“A week later I got a phone call from one of his staff and a week after that I went in, met a couple of other people and then Paul Smith came in!”

The ensuing collaboration with Smith proved extremely fruitful, with Naomi embroidering bags, handkerchiefs, ties and shoes among other items, as well as Smith assisting her with mounting a major exhibition of her work in Japan.

More recently, Naomi credits the Fine Art MFA she studied for at Wimbledon College of Art with being a particularly transformative experience.

“It was amazing. The best thing I’ve ever done,” she says. “It gave me a renewed awareness of art and what it can achieve and bring.”

In terms of the common threads that unite the varying disciplines of her work, Naomi says: “The embroidery is very pretty and quite sentimental and romantic. I love trails and wire and wool and tubing – things that are a bigger version of thread! That links my embroidery with my art.

“Even my dark work has an element of humour to it. I believe everyone has a dark and a light side you see and I love embracing both. Although I probably prefer the dark with a dollop of humour!

“I like to examine the ‘other’, the strange, and I’m a big champion of the outsider. That probably links to the fact my father was Yugoslavian. Growing up I often felt like an outsider and my dad must have felt like that too.”

Although she often works in darkness – both literal and metaphorical - the future for Naomi appears bright.

In 2016 she won the Clifford Chance Graduate Sculpture Prize and she was recently shortlisted for the prestigious Elephant x Griffin Art Prize, the winner of which will be announced in December.

“What the hell do I do next?” she ponders. “Not sure. Although I’m starting something called dust projects. Maybe I’ll do some group shows. I like the idea of getting people to respond to hidden corners of London.”

[pubtheatres1]

SISTERS Audley + Co Written and Directed by Natalie Audley, Produced by Timothy Bond The Bread & Roses Theatre, 7th February –11th February “…boy does it resonate with anyone who’s ever had to say ‘it’s complicated’” It’s the night before Abbie’s wedding and she couldn’t be happier – she has her dream dress, the perfect dinner planned, the venue she’s always hoped for, and in less than twenty-four hours the man of her dreams will be waiting for her at the altar. What could go wrong? As it turns out - plenty! The arrival of Abbie’s sister Juliet puts a spanner in the works and suddenly Abbie’s big day gets a whole lot more complicated. Juliet thinks Abbie’s fiancé is a misogynistic Neanderthal, that she’s only getting married because it’s what she thinks society expects of her, and that she’s not quite over her ex-girlfriend. Juliet is loud, obnoxious, opinionated and blunt, but the worst thing is… maybe she’s right? But for all her talk Juliet has her own problems that she’s not dealing with and in a twenty-four-hour period secrets are revealed, long-standing feuds re-emerge, and tensions between the two sisters escalate to breaking point. ‘Sisters’ is a fun but poignant two hander about relationships. It centres on the different bonds between family and between lovers, and explores the complications of negotiating them both. Love doesn’t come with a handbook, but if it did you’d probably need ten bookshelves just to fit all the volumes. Here Natalie Audley’s play may not answer many of the questions the heart asks, but boy does it resonate with anyone who’s ever had to say ‘it’s complicated’. Charming, brutally honest, and very real, ‘Sisters’ is an hour-long show which packs a punch. One hour shows can be notoriously difficult to pace but here Audley has done a fantastic job taking us seamlessly through the narrative in a way which feels very natural. There are moments when the energy dips and it takes a little while to get back into gear, but once it gets going it’s impossible not to get hooked! Emily Ambler and Charlie Lees-Massey play Juliet and Abbie respectively and do a fantastic job of portraying two very different women who, although they may not always agree, ultimately love one another very much. Lees-Massey brings a frantic nervous energy to the role of Abbie and delivers some brilliant deadpan one-liners, while Ambler’s Juliet is sassy, funny, and impossible to dislike. ‘Sisters’ is a must-see for anyone who enjoys a good old-fashioned family drama! Box Office: 020 8050 3025 / http://www.breadandrosestheatre.co.uk The Bread & Roses Theatre, 68 Clapham Manor Street, Clapham SW4 6DZ, Reviewer Elisha Aylmore is a self-confessed theatre addict and a freelance writer. She resides in North London opposite a very nice and dangerously convenient pub. Elisha is a keen playwright, theatre critic, and events planner.

[luigisvampirebae]

Author's Note: I'm not Rromani, but I still want to talk about how they've been portrayed in film and TV. Especially when there is a writer who is only familiar with Rromani through stereotypes seen in films like Drag Me to Hell and The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996).

This was supposed to be an excerpt from an open letter to Marvel Studios and Hollywood regarding Rromani representation in visual media. Still, I felt that this would stand on its own considering the hype for the Fantastic Four's debut in the MCU.

With the advent of the Fantastic Four in the Marvel Cinematic Universe; not only is there excitement abound, but there are also growing concerns about the casting. This is especially the case for the team’s most notable adversary Doctor Doom, who is Rromani. Previous live-action iterations of the character have been played by white actors Julian McMahon and Toby Kebbell.

It’s stated in the comics that Doom is Rromani, he was raised in the Latverian Rroma community, and he grew up facing discrimination; especially from the villainous Baron of Latveria. The Anti-Romani sentiment that Doctor Doom faces is a crucial factor in shaping who he is.

Considering that the Rromani originated in Northern India centuries ago, the closest accurate casting done for Doom would be an actor of Indian descent (i.e. Shah Rukh Khan, Dev Patel). While I think that Patel or Khan would do great in the role, it’s crucial to remember that Victor von Doom is Rromani.

One particular fan cast that I like is Charlie Clapham, a British Rroma actor mostly known for his role as Freddie Roscoe on the soap opera Hollyoaks. He first caught my attention when I came across a TikTok showcasing a screenshot of a tweet in which a user expressed how much they wanted to see Javier Bardem, an actor who is not Rromani, as Doctor Doom. Immediately stealing the hearts of many, Clapham responded with “Would be great to see a Romani actor given a chance.”

That’s him, Mr. Feige. That’s my Doctor Doom right there. Give that man a call.

@marvelstudios @marvelentertainment

[luigisvampirebae]

I've seen people suggest Dev Patel as Doctor Doom in the Marvel Cinematic Universe and while this would be pretty cool to see, we have to remember that Victor von Doom is Rromani (side note: the Rromani are suggested to have originated from Northern India). Therefore, a Rromani actor should be cast as the character.

And I know just the right man: Charlie Clapham.

In conclusion, Charlie Clapham is my Victor von Doom and Dev Patel is my Silver Surfer. 😌

[dulwichdiverter]

Magnificent Munir

By Mark McGinlay and Kate White

Photo Lima Charlie  

Munir Hassan was 17 when he moved from Pakistan to England in 1965. “Oh gosh, it was a lovely time to come,” he says when we meet at Tandoori Nights, his restaurant on Lordship Lane, where he is celebrating 25 years in business this year.

“I always had a dream of coming to England. Then a few months later it was the World Cup and we won. Everyone was up, enjoying themselves. I didn’t take it seriously at the time – I thought to myself, ‘It’s only football’,” he laughs. “Now I realise how important it is here.”

Upon his arrival in England, the young Munir spent a couple of months living in Bradford, but after visiting a relative in London, he quickly realised the capital was where he wanted to be.

“The majority of people in Bradford in our community were quite old,” he says of his decision to move down south. “I came to see one of my cousins in London and I realised, ‘Wow, this is very different.’”

Munir’s first job in 1960s London was at the Taj Mahal restaurant in Putney, which is still open today. He then gained a qualification in hotel and catering management in Bristol before joining the restaurant at the Cumberland Hotel in Marble Arch.

While there he met a “very nice chap who told me that he’d got an Indian restaurant in Chelsea”, he says. “I started working for him as a trainee maître d’ and he was quite pleased with me. He said to me, ‘You’ve got potential as a restaurateur.’”

The company ran two restaurants: Tandoori of Chelsea and Tandoori of Mayfair, which was located on the corner of Shepherd Market and Curzon Street. “It was an amazing time,” Munir says. “We had many famous people come in.”

In 1984 Munir opened his own restaurant called India of Mayfair on Hertford Street, near the legendary Tiddy Dols eating house. Rod Stewart, Dolly Parton and Lindsay Wagner all dined there, as did George Best. “George Best was really a very nice man,” Munir says.

“He used to drink quite a lot and sometimes if he wanted more drink after midnight, half past midnight when we were ready to go home, he’d say, ‘Come on guys, join us!’ And he would buy everybody a drink. Because he was nice, nobody minded staying an extra hour for him.”  

By this point Munir was also running a successful restaurant in Tooting, but as he approached his 40th birthday, he decided it was time to take on a new challenge. “There was a very good friend of mine who I’d known since we were 19, 20 years old,” he says.

“We went on holiday to Spain together and he had an idea. He said, ‘We should open a restaurant, you know. We should open an Indian restaurant here, because at the moment there is nothing.’”

“On the flight back home, I said to my wife, ‘I’m coming back again next week.’ She said, ‘What for?’ I said, ‘John and I are buying a restaurant.’ She said, ‘Don’t be silly, you’ve got a restaurant in London, what’s going to happen to that?’ I said, ‘Oh, you know, let’s go and try it.’”

John and Munir opened their new restaurant in the coastal resort of Puerto Rico on Gran Canaria. “We were the first Indian restaurant on the whole of Gran Canaria,” says Munir, “and we were called Tandoori Nights.”

The venture was a success and it was an “amazing place to live”, but in the late 1980s Munir decided to return to London so his sons could go to school in England. He continued running his restaurants in Tooting and Mayfair before a twist of fate brought him to East Dulwich.

“I came to East Dulwich by coincidence,” he says. “My chef got very drunk and no minicabs or anybody would take him. I’d never been to this side of London, but I had no option but to drive him here and drop him off.

“He was giving me directions – he said, ‘Go to the roundabout, get onto Lordship Lane, take the turning on the right and that will take you straight down to Brixton.’ I missed the turning, drove past here and saw an Asian guy I knew.”

After arranging to meet his friend, Munir discovered he was having a “tough time” running his restaurant on Lordship Lane and he struck a deal to buy the place. He closed the premises for a two-month refurbishment and opened it as Tandoori Nights at the end of 1993.

“I came here not having very high expectations – people were telling me it’s not such a brilliant area,” he says. “But I could see that it was a nice little place, there were lovely properties around and the people I spoke to were nice.

“To be fair the first few months were slow, but once people found out what we did, how good the food was, the people of Dulwich were very good to us. We kept our side of the bargain by making good food, and the majority kept coming.”

Since then, Munir has transformed Tandoori Nights into one of East Dulwich’s best-loved restaurants. “It’s wonderful that people appreciate what we do,” he says. “Sometimes I feel [25 years in business] is not because of me, it’s because of the people who have kept us going. I want to say thank you to them.”

To reach the quarter of a century milestone in such a notoriously difficult industry is undoubtedly a big achievement. “Especially for someone as old as me,” jokes Munir, who turns 70 in August this year.

“A lot of my regular customers, when they walk in I feel like they’re coming into my house and I enjoy it. I’ve got a really good team and the nice thing is, when you enjoy it and you’ve got a smile on your face, age doesn’t really matter, does it?”

In addition to using top quality ingredients – “we buy special quality meat and it’s all British” – what makes Tandoori Nights’ food so excellent is its remarkable consistency. Its head chef is Munir’s nephew, who has been at the restaurant since day one.

“He’s the son of my oldest brother, who was very well-known,” Munir says. “He was an English teacher in a school [in Pakistan] and was very well-respected and well-liked. A lot of top brasses like colonels and generals’ kids used to come for tuition from him.

“My brother passed away in 1981 and I went back home for his funeral. My sister-in-law said, ‘Please take him with you, he’s given up his studies, he’s not doing anything. You will probably make his future.’

“I brought him here in 1981 and luckily he was interested in food and quite keen on it. He worked with some good chefs of mine, he got trained and he’s been here since this restaurant opened.”

Munir met his wife while studying for his catering qualification in Bristol and after getting married, the couple bought a “lovely little house” in Kingston in 1975. “It was not a time when one should have mixed marriages, but we pulled through it,” he says.

“When you were not settled, not part of the mainstream, it was difficult to rent apartments, so the first thing we did was buy a house. We didn’t want to be put in a situation where we were reliant on other people.”

After three or four years in Kingston, the couple decided to expand their family and moved to a bigger house  in Wimbledon in 1980, where they have lived ever since. He says his wife has been instrumental in his success.

“I can’t really emphasise enough how important my wife has been to my family; how important she’s been to my success, because sometimes you need a very strong person behind you.”

Choosing to open a restaurant on Lordship Lane was the best business decision he has made, he says. “This restaurant is the best one I’ve ever had – better than Chelsea, Mayfair.

“Because of the independent businesses, a lot of people travel to Lordship Lane. People come from Beckenham, Forest Hill, even Clapham, because they’ve got a choice of good restaurants, good places to eat, good places to drink. It’s a real destination.”

Nevertheless, rising rents in the area are a threat, he says. “If you look at somewhere like Peckham even 15, 20 years ago, you could rent a shop for maybe less than £10,000. Now it’s £60,000, £70,000, £80,000.

“Lordship Lane became a chic place because of the individual businesses here. If those places start going out of business because they can’t afford to stay, unfortunately the street will suffer.”

Despite 25 years on Lordship Lane and more than half a century in the restaurant industry, Munir’s energy, enthusiasm and passion for the job remain undimmed and he is clearly not a man to rest on his laurels.

Fans of Tandoori Nights will be excited to know that he has recently added a new dimension to the business by joining up with Deliveroo, so those looking for their curry fix can have dinner delivered straight from Tandoori Nights to their door.  

The genuinely warm and friendly welcome that Munir gives to everyone dining in his restaurant is surely another reason that Tandoori Nights has survived and thrived for as long as it has.

“I always say to my boys in our meetings, ‘You’re only as good as your last meal,’” he says. “Sometimes it annoys them – they say, ‘You say that every time.’ And I say ‘Yes, I keep reminding you.’ You put a little doubt in people’s mind, that’s when things go wrong.

“I’ve got enough experience behind me where if somebody is not happy with something, I can straightaway see it and put it right,” he adds. “It’s always nice to see people leaving with a smile.”