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[roamwithahungryheart]

A Wedding And (Almost) A Funeral

The following is based on a true story.

I only wish it had been Henry who was there to save my life that day.

Warning(s): near-death experience, throwing up, use of coarse language.

Anyone who knows me knows that I love weddings. They don’t feel like days, they feel like moments. Too fun, too fast. The chance to wear that new dress that’s been hanging in the closet since you bought it on sale on a whim. Overly familiar conversations with people you have never met, and will never meet again. Confetti, champagne and drunk dancing. What’s not to love? On October 5th, I found out.

As two people began their life together, mine almost ended. Not in a Lifetime movie, should-have-been-me way. Quite literally.

It was the morning of Owen and Grace’s wedding, and I was going to be late. I was sure of this for two reasons; one, I’m an incredibly careful driver, and two, I was stuck behind a very large flock of sheep. This is exactly what happens when you decide to get married in a gorgeous countryside manor in the middle of nowhere. And exactly the kind of thing that would happen to me.

Owen and I met at our local youth club a million years ago and only hung out a handful of times before he left to join the Tanks Regiment. Apart from the odd Facebook message on birthdays and Christmases, we haven’t really spoken much over the years. Still, it’s nice to know I made a lasting impression on someone I suppose. So there I was, tired, hungry and over-caffeinated in the name of love.

Sometimes I’m thankful for some of the ridiculous things that have happened to me. This was one of those times. A few years before till death did I almost part, I had spent a cool September afternoon on a farm in Yorkshire herding pigs and sheep.

Believe it or not, this wasn’t some Jane Eyre quarter-life-crisis where I needed to run off and yell across the moors to regain some sanity. This was my cousin’s Hen Do. It started with a demure afternoon tea and ended in mud-splashed, cocktail-fuelled chaos.

To this day, Annie’s husband believes she’s teetotal. The unfortunate stain on the cream carpet of our rented Harrogate apartment says otherwise. I haven’t been able to look her poor unsuspecting husband in the eye since. Not that I’m a terrible liar. It was just too fucking funny.

With the memory of that crazy day clear in my mind, I jumped out of the car and used my skills as an amateur shepherdess to shoo the huddled flock onto the side of the road, which was a lot harder to pull off in five inch heels and a tight dress. Sadly, the sheep were in no mood to be moved. With splashes of mud on my heels, I got back in the car.

I was definitely going to be late.

It took me half an hour to get to the pub, where Owen’s uncle Graham enthusiastically waved me onto the car park. It was a dull grey stone building with windows that looked like they’d be blown out in a mild wind. Inside, the oak beams filled the room with a strong musty scent, but in its own way it was rather charming.

Dressed in their designer dupes (although I was sure one or two must have been the real thing), everyone chatted away while I sat by the window nursing my short Americano. It was my Valedictorian dinner all over again. The only difference was that someone was definitely going to dance with me tonight. Someone middle-aged and balding who stank of beer and cigarettes, but a dancefloor date nonetheless.

One of the bridesmaids made a beeline for me, her buttercup yellow satin dress rustling loudly as she rushed over.

‘Bride or Groom?’ She squeaked, grinning at me.

‘Groom.’ I shrugged. ‘Owen’s an old friend.’

‘Graham asked me to grab you. We can’t have you sitting here on your own!’ She bobbed up and down on the spot and nodded at the small gathering of guests chatting behind us. ‘Come and join everyone.’

Before I could even open my mouth to say no, she’d grabbed my hand and yanked me off the chair. I immediately felt sorry for the person who had to clean up the spilled coffee and biscuit crumbs I left behind. I made awkward conversation and quickly excused myself, tottering off to the toilets to wipe my heels.

When I headed back out to Graham and the bridesmaid at the bar, I was ambushed by one of the largest dogs I’d ever met. His tail wagged madly as he sniffed my legs, then he put his paws on my stomach, begging for attention, which I was more than happy to give him. Even if it meant getting long strands of black and white hair stuck to my tights, making me look like a very well-dressed she-wolf.

‘Kal! Down!’ A deep voice commanded.

Looking up from the adorable face of my new furry friend, I was virtually motorboating his owner.

‘I apologize for this wild bear and his bad manners.’ The man chuckled, petting Kal’s head. ‘I’m Henry. My brother Nik’s in the wedding party. He sent me to round everyone up, but it looks like Kal’s already doing the job for me.’

‘Well, of all the strangers to be approached by in a pub, I can’t say I mind this one.’

I was trying to sound aloof, like one of those women in rom-coms. I found myself weirdly confident in new social situations, which I put down to my theatre kid days. As a child, I was both painfully shy and eccentric. A walking oxymoron. At this particular moment, I was just a moron. What was I doing with my face? Did my laugh seem forced? Why was I overanalyzing everything like a floundering fifteen year old?

Why? Because Henry was a man.

If anyone ever plans to trademark that word, he deserves all the credit.

Henry was the epitome of a prep school dreamboat. I couldn’t get over how bloody tall he was. Broad shoulders, big hands, neatly-tamed dark curls and a strong jawline. When he smiled, his chin dimpled. He oozed classic Hollywood charm. Had it been any other man, I would have seen the little patch of brown in his startlingly blue eyes as a flaw. Proof that there was definitely something wrong with him. But on Henry, it was like looking at a single fleck embedded in marble. Uniquely beautiful. Uniquely Henry.

I’d never met anyone I could call ‘unique’ in a way that didn’t mean ‘asshole’. So naturally, I wondered how long it was going to take before I found out he was a bastard. Pessimism has always been my strong suit.

I leaned down to scratch the thick fur between Kal’s ears. His head tilted beneath my hand, and when I stopped, he nudged me with his wet nose.

‘Come on, trouble.’ Henry clipped Kal’s lead back onto his collar and shook it to encourage him. ‘See you in church.’

Even in my (thin) jacket, the church was cold. It probably didn’t help that I was also wearing an off-the-shoulder dress. But damn it, I looked good. At least until my shoulders started shaking.

When Owen and Grace opened their mouths to exchange vows, my teeth chattered. I hunched against the pew, rubbing my arms to try to keep warm. It worked long enough to get me through the ceremony, but I dreaded going back outside for photographs. My feet were so numb I was convinced I was going to fall flat on my face in front of the whole congregation. Thankfully I didn’t.

At the reception, the warm food soothed me, but I slowly began to notice my stomach getting tighter with every bite. Not wanting to seem rude, I finished every plate, fighting the urge to contort my face as the pain and bloating set in. I figured this was because I’d only had an apple for breakfast. Nobody eats breakfast before a wedding, right? I just needed to go dance it out.

Owen, Grace and Uncle Graham pulled me into an impromptu circle as everyone skanked to ‘Come On Eileen’. My stomach lurched. Henry and Nik joined the circle. I started sweating profusely. It was just the heat from the lights, I convinced myself. It was totally fine. I was totally fine.

When everyone had lined up to row their imaginary boats and slap the floor to ‘Oops Upside Your Head’, I was sandwiched between Henry and a man who was sweating even more profusely than I was, which I didn’t think was possible.

Apparently I made a witty remark. I only remember Henry’s booming laugh and the firmness of his grip as he hauled me onto my feet. If this had been a rom-com, he probably would have kissed me at that very moment. Instead, I was living in a disaster movie – my throat burned and I bolted to the bathroom.

I threw up with such force that I was convinced my retching was loud enough for the whole venue to hear. So hard that I was actually crying. I was a complete mess. Was it food poisoning? Maybe. But if it was food poisoning, why did I want to tear my heavily beating heart right out my chest?

I cleaned myself up and headed back to my table for a sip of water. Henry was at the bar with his brother and a few groomsmen, inhaling a pint of Guinness. He caught my eye and came over to the table, leaning against one of the chairs in that sexy, nonchalant way men do when they’re about to deliver a shitty pick-up line.

‘You doing okay?’ He wasn’t flirting, he was concerned. ‘You look pale.’

I was shaking again. I choked a little. ‘I’m fine. Probably just tired.’

‘Are you sure?’ He leaned in closer. He smelled of alcohol, oud and vanilla.

I was intoxicated in more ways than one. I was also very fucking tired and very fucking sick.

‘I think you should get some air. Come on.’

He led me into the hallway where we sat on a bench in awkward silence. My jacket was slung over my shoulders, but it wasn’t much help. My chest heaved as my heartbeat slowed. I was definitely going to pass out. This was it, my twisted fairytale moment. I was going to die dressed to the nines next to a Disney Prince.

He pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. God, he was warm. I needed his warmth. He heaved a sigh and his brow furrowed. ‘Oh fuck.’

The word 'fuck' seemed far more elegant when it fell from his lips. His gently curved, totally inviting lips that I couldn’t kiss. It was at this point that I wondered if God was playing a cruel joke on me. Or maybe this was a test. Whatever it was, I wasn’t happy about it.

‘What?’ I panted.

‘Stay here. I’m going to get Nik.’ Was all he said before he dashed through the double doors behind us.

I was feeling weaker by the minute. Colder by the minute. My nails were blue. I wanted to close my eyes so badly.

As it turned out, Nik was a Royal Marine. He’d seen a lot of shit, so it took him all of five seconds to tell me that I was suffering from hypothermia.

Everything I knew about hypothermia, I learned from my Dad, who used to be a member of a Mountain Rescue team. Hypothermia was something that happened to men who got lost on high peaks. Why was it happening to me in the middle of a wedding? All logic had apparently been thrown out with the remains of the confetti.

‘I’ll look after her, you get back to the guys.’ Henry was already taking off his suit jacket and draping it over me. ‘Jesus, you’re burning up.’

‘How? I’m freezing.’ I managed to stutter. My heartbeat quickened.

‘This is what happens. Just breathe slowly.’

I gave him a meek nod and tried my best to puff out the tiniest bit of air. I was fading away, I could feel it. Puff, puff, puff. Short, staccato breaths. He rubbed my back and I leaned into him.

‘Sorry.’ I tried to laugh.

‘What for?’

‘Probably dying on you.’

‘Don’t be daft.’ Henry shook his head. ‘You’ll be alright. Trust me.’

I did.

Nik returned to check on me with a staff member in tow. Dial nine-nine, and if I passed out, dial nine again.

They escorted me to my room, where I insisted I could take care of myself. Nik and Henry were having none of it. They brought extra blankets. The staff brought piping hot tea and then left the room.

I was cocooned, clutching a steaming mug and still felt like I was encased in a block of ice.

‘I’ve got this.’ Henry nodded. ‘I’ll update you in a bit.’

Nik left the room.

Alone in a hotel room with a handsome stranger. God, I wish this story was sexier.

At this point I was fading in and out of consciousness, so the details are a little fuzzy. What I definitely remember is feeling Henry’s big, warm body against mine through the thick duvet. His large hands on my skin. The spark of his touch. His voice, deep, soft and low as he told me I was going to be okay. I trusted him. I believed him. I wanted to kiss him.

I wanted to throw up again.

An empty, bubbling growl rose from my stomach and I raced to the bathroom, gagging the whole way. I couldn’t feel a single part of my body, but I knew I was running. Henry leapt up and followed me, holding my hair back as I hung my head over the toilet. In between dry retching, I wondered if he had any sisters. Or a girlfriend. He probably had a girlfriend. A beautiful and very much alive girlfriend. I shelved all my potential first date questions and scrambled to my feet.

‘I’m sorry.’ I said again.

‘It’s okay. My brothers have been worse on nights out.’

I wiped my mouth with a towel. ‘You’ve held your brothers’ hair back while they yartz?’

Henry laughed. ‘She’s making jokes again. Feeling better?’

‘Maybe. Let’s not jinx it, though.’

‘Sorry.’ He held up his hands in apology. ‘Can I get you some more water?’

‘Sleep. I need sleep.’

‘Of course. I’ll make myself scarce, then.’

He left the bathroom and I shimmied out of my shoes and tights, peering around the door.

He was gone.

I could finally feel my arms and legs again. But I knew it wasn’t going to last long, so I threw on my pajamas faster than a firefighter on call (probably) and dove back into bed.

I woke up to the gentle sound of birdsong and a bitter taste in my mouth. My head was pounding. My body felt weak, but warmer. Lifting up on my haunches, I carefully slipped out of bed, brushed my teeth and started to get dressed. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a scrap of paper on the vanity.

Good morning Sleeping Beauty!

In case of emergency, call Henry.

Reader, I didn’t marry him. I did, however, keep his phone number.

@harrysthiccthighss @foodieforthoughts @cavillsbestgal @myloveforhenrycavill @cherry-gemz @captainsy-cookiemonster @pussyverson @sillyrabbit81 @viking-raider @zealoushound @keanureevesisbae @littlewrenofrivia @beck07990 @christhickevans @luna-aestas @luclittlepond @kebabgirl67 @angreav @omgkatinka @cavillsthighs @littlebirdofrivia @angelcavill66 @darklydeliciousdesires @henrys-little-princess @notabronte @herefortherealdeal @cavills-little-princess @mis-lil-red @mansaaay @thwick @marytudorbrandon @uncensored-steve-the-platypus @nerdyoldsoul @saiyanprincessswanie @aletheladyinred @thereisa8ella​ @mary-ann84 @ricciardothot @summersong69 @scorpiobitch95 @marantha @notabronte @unauthorizedhenry @babiiface95 @greensleeves888 @winter2112rose @nashibirne @blakerogue @oh-for-fic-sake @iguessweallcrazyithinktho

[writing-good-vibes]

vain just like you

because I love fiona as much as I love brad and it is literally just perfect that she is the new charles. also don't tell me chucky wouldn't lose his mind getting off for the first time in his new body. WARNING for smut (masturbation), nica!chucky (could be considered dubcon as it is charles' mind in nica's body, but that is up to personal interpretation, i did not write it from that angle).

It wasn't that he didn't want to rip Tiff's clothes off as soon as humanly possible, but the long drive from Harrogate to the city, and then to the apartment Tiff had rented for the time being, had given him a bit too much time to think about his situation. Damn. He was human again. All the pesky sensations that he had gotten so used to living without were back in full force.

The hum of the car engine through his body -- or her body, Nica's body, technically -- was so much stronger than he ever remembered it being. The ache of his joints from walking in a body that hadn't done so in 25, 30 years (damn, how old was this chick again?). The itch of his skin -- his real human flesh -- against his clothes.

He was uncharacteristically quiet for most of the drive, after the initial high he got from killing had worn off.

*

The apartment Tiff had rented wasn't half bad. Sure, it could be nicer, especially considering Tiff was kind of rolling in it theses days (who knew Jennifer Tilly was actually financially responsible prior to her... relocation), but in all fairness they'd both slept in worse places. Their old Chicago apartment, for example, wasn't much to look at.

*

When Tiff suggested they head to the bedroom, it (almost) killed him to say, "Actually, Tiff, d'you mind if I just call it a night? All this soul swapping is tiring work."

She seemed put out, "Are you sure, sweet face? I thought you'd want to have some fun."

"Tiff, I swear I'll make it up to you tomorrow, I just need some time to... think. alone."

She didn't look much happier but, settled on the couch with a glass of red wine without much resentment (Chucky hoped).

Alone in the bedroom, Chucky locked the door and sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at his hands. This body really was something.

There was a battered dressing table in the corner with a mirror over it. Looking at his brand new reflection, he followed the angles of his brand new face. There was something about Nica that was unsettling. Something about her reminded him too much of himself. He should be pleased, he had always felt pretty cheated out of a body he considered above average in the looks department. But having a new face -- a new body -- that was so familiar whilst still being annoyingly alien was slightly off putting, even considering the bat shit direction his life had taken 30 fucking years ago.

After a while, curiosity got the better of him. How could he resist though, really? How many people get the chance to jack off again for what is, effectively, the first time? He lay back in bed, trying to get comfy on the lumpy mattress and a hand worked down to the waistband of his sweatpants.

He thought he was pretty well versed in the pussy department. He'd never had any complaints, at least, but he was (almost) nervous, approaching one from this angle. Was it possible to embarrass himself by being bad at getting himself off?

Slipping into the panties the body had on -- his body, not his panties -- his finger dipped down further.

The wetness (almost) surprised him. Goddamn. Is this what it was like? The more he thought about it, the more he could feel the ache. It was different to getting hard, that at least felt tangible. No, this was different. An ache inside him that spread from his stomach to his (her?) pussy. There was no one else to impress but himself, but he felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment at how wet he was already. He hadn't even got started yet.

Chucky almost jumped out of his skin when his finger found his clit. Holy shit. He pulled back for a second. Okay, breathe. He touched himself again, rubbing slow circles, fingers coated in his own slick. He involuntarily pressed his thighs together. Jesus, he was a grown man, why did jerking off have him blushing and flustered like a school girl getting fingered behind the bike sheds for the first time?

He tried again, determined to keep going, not only for the sake of his honour, but also because he really, really needed to get off now.

He sped up his ministrations, fingers inelegant and fumbling. Inexperienced. He didn't expect his clit to be this sensitive, he hadn't even put a finger inside yet, but he was losing it quicker than he ever had in his old body.

"Oh fuck - oh -," he was gasping, fingers clutching the bedsheets beneath him as his legs twitched. He was going to cum, just from this.

As much as he tried to stiffle the noise, not wanting to upset Tiffany who he just knew was fucking listening at the door for any funny business, he let out a moan, drawn out and desperate, as he came, sweat prickling down his back, fingers pulling away as he already felt the overstimulation set in.

Jesus. He (almost) felt jealous of all the girls he'd made cum like that before.

[awhilesince]

Tuesday, 10 April 1827

6 40/60

12 5/60

.. [Anne’s period] my bowels pretty well – at breakfast at 8 – went out at 8 35/60 – met Mrs B– (Barlow) at the top of the stairs – sent George at 7 to say I should be ready in an hour, and sent him again at 8 to ask her to come as the 1st answer was that she was ready at 7 – we walked to No. 12 rue du faubourg St. Denis – the vehicle for St. Denis gone – would be another at 10 – could not wait – walked forwards – overtook the diligence vehicle about 1/2 way between the Porte St. Denis and the barrier, and got into it at 9 25/60 – alighted at St. Denis at 10 5/60 – we were in the back part with 2 apparently workmen and a well dressed respectable looking well informed young man – who, among other things, told us there was to be a government company for supplying every house in Paris with water by stop-cocks opening into the different apartments – all the streets of Paris to be 35 feet (French) wide besides trottoirs on each side – 

turned to our left along the canal – at la Briche at 10 40/60 – sat down in the grounds of the next house to the late Mr Andrew Barlow’s at Epinay sur Seine at 11 1/4 – beautiful view – the steeple of St. Denis – Montmartre – the dome of the Invalides at Paris, Mont Valerien, several villages St. Ouen, Clichy, Anières …. the white sided range of Mont Orgement with Argenteuil in the distance at its foot – sat contemplating this view about 20/60 hour – then went up to Mrs Barlow’s house – apparently wanting repairs – saw the portière – wife to the gardener Employed by Madame Leconte, an elderly lady, who took the house of the widow Mrs B– (Barlow) for 3 years – 2 of them Expired – the portière thought the rent 3 or 4 thousand francs per annum – the garden ground around the house not large, but neat and pretty – sauntered slowly thro’ the village (having left the side of the river to go up to St. Gratien), – one of the nicest French villages I have seen – 

left the village at 11 50/60 – pursuing the high road to Pontoise and Rouen – having Taken with us the map of the environs of Paris open in our hand, saw beyond Sannois, ‘l’hermitage’, fancying it the hermitage of Rousseau, we instead of leaving the hight road for St. Gratien, went forwards to Sannois, part of it very picturesquely situated at the foot of the north side of Mont Orgement the highest summit of which is here surmounted by 3 wind mills – all the way from Epinay fine view of Montmorency and the neighbouring villages, and of course of the celebrated vale of Montmorency – too Extended – on entering Sannois at 12 33/60, a very civil good humoured looking woman told us the the hermitage near Sannois was merely a farm – Rousseau’s hermitage near Montmorency – went into the woman’s house – very nice and clean – rested there 1/2 hour – the woman looked happy, and in good circumstances – her husband a mason, having houses of his own – had just built one next door – 2 stories – 4 or 5 rooms besides garrets – 500 or 600 francs a year – but – living would be as dear as in Paris on account of being so near – 

on leaving Sannois at 1 33/60 which the woman said was doubled in size within these 20 years, we strode across the country to St. Gratien – distant thunder at intervals – and black clouds hovering about – all the people busy propping the pines – if the warm weather continued they would be in leaf in a few days – all the peasants (many more women than men) looked cheerful and happy – one of the women told us there was going to be an orage, but we had plenty of time to get to St. Gartien – a niceish little village – still thundering, but we should have plenty of time to get to Enghien – pursued our way along the little lake (Etaing de Montmorency, and a very little way from St. Gratien) and got to the Bains d’Enghein at 2 33/60 (just an hour from Sannois) – Looking down along the lake from here, the vale of Montmorency is really pretty But the proprietor of the lake, for the sake of making himself a shady drive, has planted a belt of poplars all round the lake, and placed a sort of dress café in the middle of it (standing apparently in the middle of the water, the foundation being hid) to which people go in a boat to take refreshments, and the whole is too much tricked out – the Baths and apartments, a largeish pile of buildings undergoing repairs – and not to be seen – to be opened on the 1st of May – an apartment of a little salon and 2 little bedrooms let a 6 francs per day, to be taken for less than 15 days – dinner for ladies at the table d’hôte 3/50 a head – pretty garden – an observatory from the top of which there must be a fine view – but locked up – bottling of the water – 12 sols a bottle – smelt like Harrogate water – but not purgativethe man said – tonic strengthening to the stomach – the baths very good for rheumatic and gout – the the place looked low and damp – they say, the vale of Montmorency is damp on account of the lake – 2 establishments of baths, but both belonging to the same proprietor – 

sauntered slowly thro’ this now become village to the ‘maison blanche’ a little auberge on the St. Lu road (about 2 lieues from St. L– Lu) to take places for Paris – the clouds blacker  than ever – got to the maison blanche at 3 5/60 – very civil good humoured looking woman – said we might get to Montmorency (about 10 minutes off) before the orage – could have a good dinner at Monsieur le Duc’s in the Place du Marché – she had only 3 Sauscisses de Campagne, and eggs and bacon and vin de Campagne – ordered her to get these ready in 1/2 hour, resolving not to go far from the house – Mrs B– (Barlow) had had a sol roll at Sannois – I had had nothing since breakfast at 8– and as we should not be off for Paris till 6, I thought it best not to wait for dinner at home – we walked out a little, but the clouds blacker and blacker sent us in, and we had just sat down to our saucisses etc (the wine rather sour but we drank the whole demie bouteille) at 3 35/60 when it began to rain heavily, and we were glad of our quarters in the little room upstairs with 2 beds in it where slept the master and mistress of their grown up daughter – enjoyed our dinner – and at 4 10/60 we both lay down on the young lady’s bed, and lay, sleeping most of the time, till 5 1/2 – then got up – paid 2 francs our dinner and got ready to be off – told the woman we might perhaps come and dine with her again by and by – 

got into the St. Lu velocifère? (one compartment carrying 9 inside on 3 seats) – at 6 5/60 – 4 men and ourselves – passed the late Comte de Lacepèdés place (nice looking house) at St. Gratien on our right at a little distance – Montmagny and 2 or 3 other villages at a little distance on our left – Stopt at St. Denis (for a few minutes) at 6 40/60 – It being all but fair when we got out at No. 12 rue du faubourg St. Denis, walked home – when we had got a little on the side the Passage des Panoramas, it began to rain again pretty smartly – very dirty on the boulevards – 

saw Mrs B– (Barlow) to her own door, and got home at 8 1/2 – my aunt still sitting after dinner – changed my shoes and stockings etc – put on my pelisse, and went into the dining room at 8 3/4 – Madame Sené came almost immediately and staid till after 9 – being hot and thirsty I enjoyed dessert and warm wine – and water – my aunt had been rather low today – her legs or feet swell more – and MacDonald found another bug this morning – we sat till 10 20/60, and I then came to my room – Settled with George –

those who come to Paris, and have time for country Excursions should entirely see les Bains d’Enghein – Mrs Barlow and I perfectly quiet while lying ddown after dinner on going to the place at Sannois I found my cousin coming expected yesterday  at dinner I felt him come on going to bed tonight my linen a good deal stained –

left margin: Fahrenheit 58 at 8 a.m. 56 at 10 1/2 p.m. rain during last night raining at 6 this morning 

fine morning at 7 – about noon occasional distant Thunder but very fine about 1 the clouds rather black but seeming as if they might disperse – the thunder came nearer – about 3 1/2 p.m. the storm came on – heavy rain but no thunder or lighting – the rain continued more or less for the rest of the day – It had began to rain here (in Paris) before 2 p.m. –

reference number: SH:7/ML/E/10/0078, SH:7/ML/E/10/0079

[annelister-wellwellwell]

Monday July 20, 1829

6 1/4

11 1/4

Musing that if I went to Brussels with Lady Stuart and Miss Hobart, the Barlows might meet me there to go down the Rhine to Manheim – thence to Munic[h], Inspruck, Padua, Ferrara, Bologna etc. in Italy? or to Vienna first? or return home more immediately from Manheim? – conning over maps particularly that of the Tirol (much to see there) till 8 40/60 – Then think it a pity to make this tour now – Ought to do it when more at liberty – when better instructed –

In fact would rather not go with Lady Stuart and Miss Hobart and then should be quiet at home and save my money and improve myself and watch how my aunt goes on  she is getting so dropsical  I think she cannot live very long –

Then looking over my papers and considering what answer to write to Mr Briggs – Breakfast at 10 - From near 3 to 5 wrote 3 pp. and the ends and a line under the seal to Miss MacLean, very kind letter - Scarce know what to make of her account of herself -

‘Albane’s letter confounds me’… yet if you cannot get here, - if you may not be trusted here, how go to Mull, - and how be trusted there? Vere says not much – she thinks the more? ‘And we have in common, at least, the feeling of anxiety - surely it cannot happen to Mr Long to have all his patients watched with so deep an interest as you are’… would have met her at Calais or Boulogne could she have crossed with the Hunters and ‘would still do as much as in those days of yore when you so scolded me for the romance of the forty miles’… ‘my aunt is not well enough to set me at ease on her account – If Miss MacLean does not come my aunt will be almost as much disapointed as myself ’ you thank me for my ‘pretty words’ – well! be it so – I could, and should write many more, if all that lies within my heart were crowded on my paper - Forgive me Sibbella, for that in which I have sometimes had the evil fortune to annoy you – your long and serious illness – the passing thought or fearful boding, that you are going to cheat me of the 3 months, makes me oftentimes more sad than you may fancy’… ‘Did Vere tell you we talked of a little tour together? How it will end I know not – the 2 younger of the party would like it; but I fear Lady Stuart is not quite well… She is so good and kind hearted about you, I quite like her – If we go, it must be contrived for you to meet us, and return with me? There is, withal, an archness about Vere, that pleases and amuses me. She will have Henry – I believe, though she little guesses that I know anything about it – It is an absolute comfort to me to know her; and this is always what I think of whenever I have a bad account of you – we go to Rambouillet on Saturday to return on Monday; and I shall call for her tomorrow for a drive – you cannot, for I do not myself, comprehend the sort of interest I feel – I should be delighted for her to marry happily, and … to have a little girl – she would bring it up beautifully; and I should dote upon it! who, Sibbella, has ever felt for you a regard less changeful than my own?’ –

An account of the somnambule – mentioned the Lawtons being at Harrogate or Scarbro’ that Miss MacLean not to wonder if she had not an early answer to her letter to Mariana about sending her watch - Enclosed my letter to ‘Miss MacLean of Coll, John Saint John Long’s Esquire, 41 Harley Street’ in an envelope, with a line or 2 (asking if the letter was in time if not to send it back and I would write another for Friday) to ‘Miss Hobart’ which George took out at 5 1/2 by our clocks in casu 5 25/60 by the day –

Breakfast at 10 and read over Galignani’s messenger - dressed - then between 11 and 12 Henry brought a small parcel from Miss Hobart containing the little penwiper she had made me and some small bits of black merinos for it that spared of what I took her the other day and a little note

‘I have the audacity to send you the very ugliest and untidiest penwiper ever seen… I did not see you the other day you know, and know nothing to prevent my going out with you a little tomorrow after two – what say you to Saturday going for Rambouillet? yours affectionately Vere Hobart  I give up the Bishop for you!’

In about 10 minutes or 1/4 hour sent back by Henry the following

‘Monday morning Dear Miss Hobart - not ugliest and untidiest, but to my eye, at least, best and prettiest of penwipers – I will call for you tomorrow at 3, or perhaps a few minutes later - nothing can be better than your plan for Rambouillet – agreed – we go on Saturday – we fix the rest tomorrow – I meant to write to Sibbella today, but I am unexpectedly in the midst of letters on business, and uncertain whether I shall have any time to spare or not – affectionately yours Anne Lister - sorry to hear from Henry that Lady Stuart has got a little cold, and is not so well today – I hope she did not get cold in seeing the windows’–

My note no sooner gone than Perrelet came at 11 1/2 - Talking to him about 1 thing or other 1/2 hour – he has 3 poëles and the kitchen fire and only burns about 3 voies or 4 per annum – a cheminée burns twice, or 2 1/2 times as much wood as a poële – coals so dear here, does not think we shall save much by burning them instead of wood –

Then went in to my aunt, and stood with her some time - very poorly this morning – so swelled all over she could scarce move – all her flesh sore - did not know what it was - said as she often does, she thought it was not dropsy – I never reply at all in the affirmation but merely say it is a proof of great weakness – I certainly think her becoming rapidly and severly anasarcous –

Then read my letter from Marian Shibden dated Wednesday 15th instant 3 pp. and the ends – good account of all at Shibden , my young trees etc. etc. Account of Mr James Norris having inadvertently turned the Lower brea water out of its old course - but no harm intended – all be set right again – ‘The Walkers leave Crownest on Tuesday I suppose Mr Walker will be married immediately on his arrival in the south, and as they are going abroad for a year, I fancy they set off directly for Paris’ - Marian declined sending any letter by him – Miss Walker (his sister) declined going so they bring Miss Edwards (his cousin) with them - will be very civil to them - glad we are in a presentable apartment - Throp has been employed for a few days (the Wednesday, Friday, Saturday and Monday before Marian wrote) – Leyland well satistied with John’s son - the 1/2 year’s bill something more than what I left with John to pay it - Wrote 1 3/4 pp. to Mr James Briggs and sent it to the Post Office at 2 – to send notices to quit to Hardcastle, Sowden and Hemingway but expected to agree with them - only wished to ask what the farms were fairly worth, and therefore did not expect to have many changes – as for Oates and Pearson, they must have notices – the latter a good tenant and should be sorry to lose him – Balmfirth always selling off and the only tenant I wished to get rid of - Not to let anything or let anyone take possession with instructions expressedly to that effect - should not have consented to take Charles Robinson on the present terms – if he will not pay the old rent etc.etc. vide copy  let him give up the land – as soon as Wilkinson can satisfy Mr Parker about a title to the coal the money shall be paid –

Backwards and forwards talking to my aunt - mentioned going out with Miss Hobart tomorrow, and to Rambouillet on Saturday - said I would say I could not make a little tour with Lady Stuart and Miss Hobart for my aunt so unwell could not leave her – she seemed pleased - said she be always afraid not for herself but for Lady Stuart’s being laid up on the road –

Then from about 3 to 5 1/2 wrote to Miss MacLean, and wrote the first 26 1/2 lines of the last page – and sent off my letter - Dressed - Dinner at 6 - Came to my room at 9 10/60 - Coffee at 9 1/2 – Came to my room at 10 1/4 – fine day – F67° now at 10 50/60 – feel it warm, and had felt it warm all the day, perhaps from not having been out –

In the margin: no lecture today on the mammifères – L  N  N  N  L  L

Diary page:  SH:7/ML/E/12/0058  and  SH:7/ML/E/12/0059

[veryfineday]

Sunday 3 May 1829

8 1/2

1

Before and after breakfast (breakfast at 11 20/60 in 20 minutes) read from p.117 to end of no.1 to 160, that is the 1st 18pp. no.2 Bulletin - Mrs.B-[Barlow] came and sat with me from 12 to 1 talKing about apartments etc. might have the apartment 20 rue de la Ferme furnished at 400 franc a month tho’ the lady asks 500 franc -

From 1 to 1 3/4 read prayers (leaving out the litany and communion service) with my aunt and read Sermon 2 6p. Sandford - staid talKing to my aunt till 4 35/60 - she said she considered her going to Shibden fixed  I said that supposing all other difficulties removed there still remained a diffic[ult]y about money matters  I should wish her to feel she had always enough or all she wantedd or wished  but this must not appear to my father and Marian or she could never keep what she had   she must always plead poverty had best receive a hundred every rent day from Mr.Briggs and draw quietly for the rest on the bank could never say anything openly about out affairs  had best contrive to forget and when questioned say she did not know  the account being sent as usual to me and I would give her a particular mark that none but herself could understand to say how much she might draw for and to go as she said to Thorparch or Harrogate or where ever she pleased -

my aunt thought that, if at Shibden, she should like to go from home some times to Thorparch Harrogate, or York for teeth - would have her go by all means - she has several times mentioned, if she could but have the rents of the part of the life estate my uncle left her - to this I constantly reply, let us make no divisions - let her be 1st taker, and take what ever she wants - From the account she gives me of George (says he is getting spoilt - fond of liquor), she thinKs She could not manage him at Shibden - well! then, let him leave us on our arrival at Shibden - John can take care of the carriage - and if my aunt likes she can hire another man but if she has only MacD[onald] to propose paying my father eighty pounds a year  then she could make three hund[red]s a year do and if I leave her here with Miss Macl[ean] while I travel the least she would spend would be five hund[red]s a year

came to my room at 4 35/60 - just sitting down to my journal when Mrs.B-[Barlow] came at 4 3/4 and sat with me till dinner at 6 1/4 - and sat a few minutes afterwards while we were at dinner -  she said she had come merely to sit with my aunt but happening to come in to my room first there she staid I had her on my knee and was going to grubble  she just muttering we have not time now  but some how she began about constancy and that no wife liked a husband to go astray and I began morali zing thinking to myself what the deuce has she to do with me as a husband  I had better let her alone she lays too much claim to my constancy already  how is it she does not will not know me better surely I have said enough about hating to be pothered etc. etc.   it might be convenient to me to travel with her but I fear to hamper myself -

came to my room and from 8 1/2 to 9 25/60 wrote out p.16. and the 1st 17 lines p.17 of my journal - Coffee at 9 1/2 - again talking to my aunt about her going to Shibden said I really did not think she would be comfortable - she could not have much in common with my father and sister etc. etc. and she seems better satisfied, and now fixes to stay here - It seems Cameron is indeed fitter for housemaid than lady’s maid - george and she quite familiar - MacDonald obliged to give her a good talKing to already - my aunt sure she could not manage george and Cameron together if I was away - my saying then I would part with Cameron - send her home when I went away, seemed to set my aunt at ease - but MacDonald must have some one to help her - better take Mrs.B-‘s[Barlow’s] Ferdinande as cooK - yes! that said my aunt would do very well -

Came to my room at 11 1/4  did my clothes for the wash Fine day - cold in the house, and, according to Mrs.B-[Barlow], very warm out of doors - while sitting after dinner repeated flashes (8 or 10) of very vivid lighting and 2 loud peals of thunder and heavy rain -

Margin symbols:  +  

[josephkitchen0]

Raising British White Cattle for Flavorful Meat

By Annie Stirk (UK) – From setting up on his own from scratch, “straight out of school and from virtually nothing,” Yorkshire, England, farmer Andrew Fisher has come a long way—and so have his British White cattle. Since purchasing a single pedigree British White cow in 2004, Andrew has built up a 125-strong herd of these British White cattle at his Pateley Bridge farm—one of the largest herds in the country— winning national awards and, along the way, helping to conserve what was once a critically endangered native species.

“I used to breed commercial cattle but they were quite wild and on my own it was very hard work,” says Andrew. “I decided I’d had enough one day, and saw a British White at Melton Mowbray market and said to myself ‘I’ve got to have one of those!’ Soon after, I went to a rare breed sheep and beef sale and bought one. In the first year I’d built this up to 20 and five years later, I had more than 100!”

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Word of his “Nidderdale Diamonds” spread, and in the last few years he’s been supplying Harrogate farm shop, Weeton’s, with an entire animal each week (quite a feat) in order to provide premium cuts of rare breed beef to its discerning customers.

“When Weeton’s owner Andrew Loftus came to see the herd, he just said, ‘I will take all the meat that you can supply!’”

“It is a privilege to supply Weeton’s and it is a unique breed to their farm shop. If it wasn’t for people like Andrew Loftus, the breed wouldn’t survive—I couldn’t have done all this without him.”

British White cattle grazing in woodland on a bright spring morning

British White Cattle: A Breed Apart

Farming, and particularly breeding cattle, has been a passion for Andrew from a very young age.

“My granddad and uncle were beef and sheep farmers so I got my love of cattle from them. I worked with them as a young kid and picked up a lot of experience, and during school I worked at a neighbor’s farm too, and got hooked!” says Andrew. “When I left school at 16 it seemed a natural path, I suppose you could say it’s in my blood.”

British White cattle are characterized by their white color, which can include red or black markings, and the distinctive flavorful meat.

“They’re an attractive bunch so great for showing,” says Andrew. “But they also produce lovely tasting, tender meat. They mature and fatten on grass, which adds to the unique and lovely flavor.”

And, as a member and show judge for the Rare Breeds Survival Trust, the charity set up to protect and conserve the UK’s rare native breeds of farm animals and poultry, Andrew embraces the challenges of rearing such pure breeds.

“I love the breeding, the calving, the challenges of keeping pedigree cattle—I love all the aspects of it,” he says.

True Showmanship

Having spent many years growing his herd of British White Cattle, this year Andrew began showing his cattle at agricultural exhibitions for the first time. And he’s had some fantastic results.

“At the first one I attended, the Cheshire Show, I was awarded seven first prizes,” says Andrew. “I was really pleased—if a little shocked!”

He’s since gone on to win second prize in the “Herd of the Year” competition, which saw his British White cattle competing with herds from across the UK, and says the rewards make all the hard work worthwhile.

“It might sound strange but these shows are essentially my holiday!” he says. “So, it feels so great to win prizes and it gives me a great deal of job satisfaction.”

Andrew’s job is certainly not an easy one. “I’m up at 6:00 a.m., mucking out, checking on the show cattle inside, then checking the stock outside. I rent some 300 acres on the farm so I’m in the LandRover a lot too,” he says.

So, does he ever think about giving it all up? “Every other day in winter!” he laughs. “When it’s snowing and blowing, I think I might like to be in a nice warm office in the dry.”

“But I love the changing seasons and the diversity of the job,” he continues. “Ultimately, working out- doors is just ‘me’. It’s my way of life, and it’s exactly how I like it.”

Facts about British White Cattle • British White cattle are white with black or red points on the nose, muzzle, eyes, ears and teats. • The cows are docile and dual-purpose, so they are naturally good milkers and hardy so they can be out-wintered. • According to the British White Cattle Society (BWCS), the modern day breed claims direct links with the UK’s ancient indigenous wild white cattle, which date back to 1553. • In 2008, celebrity Michelin-starred chef Nigel Haworth was the driving force behind setting up his own herd of 90 cows to supply his expanding string of restaurants— recognition of the distinct eating qualities of British White beef. • The BWCS suggest that in 1918 there were only seven recorded herds containing 16 bulls and 115 females, but thanks to farmers like Andrew it is no longer listed by the RBST as a rare breed, joining the Longhorn (among others) in the minority breeds category.

To learn more about cattle breeds, visit this breed overviews from Countryside Network: Akauski cattle, Dexter cattle and Highland cattle.

Weetons.com is the ultimate website for food lovers, with bags of inspiration to tempt your taste buds, including recipes, insider tips and a taste of what’s in store.

Originally published in Countryside November/December 2012 and regularly vetted for accuracy.

Raising British White Cattle for Flavorful Meat was originally posted by All About Chickens

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