#Miss Universe Jamaica

[conandaily2022]

Rachel Silvera biography: 13 things about Miss Universe Jamaica 2024

Rachel Silvera, Kenza Ameloot, Stephany Andujar, Kimberly de Boer, Edona Bajrami, Victoria Kjær Theilvig Who is Rachel Silvera? Rachel Silvera is a Jamaican entrepreneur and beauty queen born and raised in Windsor Castle, Saint Mary, Middlesex, Jamaica. She represented Jamaica in Miss Universe while she was pursuing a bachelor’s degree in pharmacy at the University of Technology, Jamaica in…

[themakeupbrush]

Miss Universe Jamaica 2023 National Costume

Founded in 1494 by the Spanish, Port Royal was once the largest, wealthiest city in the Caribbean and served as the premier hub for trade and commerce. The city is associated with descriptive stories of grandeur, pirates, treasures, excesses and debauchery and was destroyed by the great earthquake of 1692, where a large portion of the city sank into the Caribbean Sea and the remaining portion was consistently ravaged by successive earthquakes and hurricanes. Over the centuries, the residents of Port Royal have defied all odds, remaining resilient and steadfast, and continue to make Port Royal their home despite many challenges. In 1996, Port Royal was declared a Protected National Heritage Site by the Jamaica National Heritage Trust and is celebrated, among other aspects, as the only sunken city in the Western Hemisphere, with a well preserved heritage of Jamaica's rich architecture and artifacts relating to the colourful stories handed down through the ages; stories depicting the culture of a glorious bygone era. The sunken city also boasts a vivid profusion of marine life, which forms a part of its many breathtaking treasures and is mainly what the costume depicts and celebrates. So, as we currently battle with climate change and the onslaught of increased and severe natural disasters, it becomes increasingly more important to preserve and protect our national heritage and natural treasures to ensure that they remain with us for future generations to experience and enjoy. This is a call to the Universe, let's all start playing our part in protecting our resources, and let's begin today.

[mudwerks]

(via The Most Over-the-Top Miss Universe Costumes, From High Camp to High Cringe)

Miss Jamaica

Miss El Salvador

[x-b-s]

Jordanne Levy crowned Miss Universe Jamaica 2023 - Jamaica Observer

[steveirwinsreactionwhenseessnake]

Bahrain. Bolivia, Cambodia, Dominican Republic, India, Jamaica, Malta, Mexico, Venezuela

[i-like-media]

Some Black History In Classic Doctor Who

Something I've been itching to make a post about as I made my way through classic who! I hope you enjoy ^o^

In the 4th season of Doctor Who (1966), the missing serial "The Smugglers" featured the first black character with a speaking role. This character was named Jamaica and he was played by Elroy Josephs! He was tasked with guarding the captured 1st Doctor, and was later killed for failing to keep guard over him.

Elroy Josephs was born in Jamaica, and besides being an actor he was also a dancer. He became the first black dance lecturer at IM Marsh in Liverpool, which is part of Liverpool John Moores University.

Elroy Josephs is often overlooked for his influence on black British dance and on November 1997, a bench and plaque was unveiled in Elroy's memory at John Moores University.

More about his influence of black dance in Britain can be read here

★

The serial immediately after was called "The Tenth Planet" and this serial featured Earl Cameron as Glyn Williams, the first black astronaut in television (I've seen people say it's actually Nichelle Nichols in Star Trek, since she appeared on Star Trek JUST a month earlier in 1966, though I'd argue the portrayal in Doctor Who is more akin to what we know an astronaut to be. Still, a crazy close call!)

Glyn Williams, alongside another astronaut, discovers the Cyberman home planet Mondas in their rocket. This is the first serial to feature the cybermen, too! Their rocket gets pulled in by Mondas's gravitational pull and they die in an explosion.

Earl Cameron was born in Bermuda, and is well known as the first black actor to take a leading role in a British film! The movie was called "Pool of London" and was released in 1951. It was his performance in this movie that led to him becoming "Britain’s first home-grown, non-American black movie star"!

Earl Cameron passed away in 2020 at the age of 102, making him the 5th Doctor Who cast member to reach his 100th birthday!

★ - ★ - ★

"The Tomb Of The Cybermen (season 5)" and "Terror Of The Autons (season 8)" featured 2 characters, both played by Roy Stewart. Both characters have been criticised for their racist depiction of a black man. In TTOTC, Roy played the character of Toberman, who was a mute servant of an expeditioner and the strongest one of the team. He had no say in any matters and was supposed to be purely muscle. He was partially cyberconverted and sacrificed himself to save everyone.

In TOTA, Roy played the character Tony, a strongman with animal furs also tasked to be brute force. He helped keep the 3rd doctor captive, but was knocked out by Jo Grant.

Born in Jamaica, Roy Stewart came to the UK with the idea to become a doctor, though he ended up changing his mind to start acting. There weren't many black stuntmen out there (they would have white people "black up"). He ended up doing a lot of stunt work and became one of Britain's top black actors/stuntmen! Though, a lot of his earlier work went uncredited.

Roy Stewart also ran a gymnasium in 1954 with a policy allowing people of all races to train together. He also opened a Caribbean restaurant and bar called The Globe in 1960, which he ran until the day he died (2008). The Globe is now one of longest-running nightclubs in London, still with a Caribbean restaurant upstairs.

"Frequented by Jimi Hendrix, The Rolling Stones, Van Morrison, The Clash and Bob Marley, The Globe became the place to be. Its notoriety was such, that even Mick Jones of The Clash named his album after it and wrote the title song about the nightclub." - The Globe Website

★ - ★ - ★

In season 5 the serial "The Enemy Of The World", Carmen Munroe played the role of Fariah Neguib, a food taster for the powerful politician, Ramón Salamander. She was a food taster by force, and rebelled against Salamander by giving the 2nd Doctor's allies important documents, revealing a black mailing side to the politician. She was shot and died in the arms of the enemy, pridefully refusing to give them information. Though sources are a bit muddy on this (1 sketchy source and the rest is my memory of classic who), Carmen Munroe could very well be the first black woman in Doctor Who. And if not, She is most certainly the first with a prominent speaking role.

Born in Guyana, Carmen Munroe played an instrumental role in the development of black British theatre and representation on tv. She played a good number of leading roles, but is best known for the role of Shirley in British TV sitcom Desmond's. Carmen is also one of the founders of Talawa, the UK's leading black theatre company, which was created in response to the lack of creative opportunities for Black actors and the marginalisation of Black peoples from cultural processes.

Today, Talawa is the primary Black theatre company in the UK, with more than 50 award-winning touring productions from African classics to Oscar Wilde behind it. In total the company has produced more than 80 productions. Our name, Talawa, comes from a Jamaican patois term and means gutsy and strong - Talawa.com

Carmen was also appointed Officer of the Order of the British Empire (OBE), which is a British order of chivalry, rewarding contributions to the arts and sciences, work with charitable and welfare organizations, and public service outside the civil service.

★ - ★ - ★

Hope you enjoyed reading this bit of Doctor Who/Black History! Please feel free to add to this post with more black history in Doctor Who!

[clowningaroundmars]

punkflower hcs bc i need to see more of them being cute teen boys together.... like, playful and creative and stuff

looong long wall of text under the cut (no nsfw)

♡ miles and hobie definitely exchange art often, even collabing on some punk zines and graffiti pieces occasionally. hobie also makes mixtapes on cassettes and slaps a million stickers on them just for his bf. miles appreciates the kind gesture but reminds hobie that he doesnt have a cassette player. "yet," hobie tells him with a wink :)

♡ miles draws a million little doodles for hobie on scrap paper, post it notes, hobie's gear, hobie himself. ofc hobie loves them all, esp when he gets to go home with his arms and chest covered in stars, cartoons, graffiti, and hearts

♡ miles is a lot more shy about dancing in public than hobie is, but whenever they manage to have any downtime at all hobie will wrap his arms around miles and sway them around. if music is playing anywhere, hobie will bop to it and get miles to join in

♡ hobie's love language? touch. any kind, anytime, anywhere, for any reason. words of affirmation come next

♡ miles' love language? quality time, and he's big on kissing. hobie isnt much of a kisser but loves his sunflower just the same, and does not complain at all when miles places little kisses on his hands, ears or his back

♡ sometimes hobie will be a lil mean to miles just as a flirty thing. just usual teenage boy stuff like kicking miles' sneakers, manspreading to get into his space if they're sitting anywhere together, using his height to bully miles into a corner away from everyone so they can flirt some more, crashing into miles on purpose just to be annoying

♡ anytime they get to go on multiverse missions together they somehow manage to get into the craziest shenanigans. breaking into a zoo to stop a villain from mutating the animals, saving a group of schoolkids on a field trip from a killer robot (?), one time hobie even drove a runaway car to stop it from crashing right into jamaica bay and miles was scarred for life

hobie tries to control the car as he haphazardly swerves it around pedestrians and barely manages to miss a group of elderly people.

miles clings onto his seat for dear life. "HOBIE!! you're gonna kill us man, where'd you get your license from!?" he yells.

hobie scoffs. "license?! i said i could drive, mate, i aint mention nuthin' 'bout no license!"

♡ hobie's universe is set in the 1970's and living in a dystopian police-state means it's too risky to bring back a phone with him, so he's often left out of spiderkid groupchats. miles still tries to keep him up to date on the latest memes and inside jokes though. they also have their own inside jokes too

♡ hobie wouldn't bring a smartphone with him anyways since he's so mistrusting of tech in general. video games, laptops, and "smart" tech mystify him, and smart watches? forget about it. when miles gets one for christmas one time, hobie clowned on his bf so hard the watch was never seen again

♡ that being said, they love exchanging music often so the only piece of technology hobie ever brings back to his dimension is an ancient half-busted ipod (it was probably rio's at one point) filled with music miles managed to download for him that week. spiderman-ing and living as a homeless teen means hobie doesn't get much time to explore genres outside of the UK punk scene and listening to brand new genres is often a trip! hobie finds out he loves drum n bass, grindcore, industrial techno, UK drill, deep house and 90's hip hop

♡ hobie gets miles to make him cool posters for whatever venue he plans on (or doesnt plan lbr) playing at every now and then

♡ rio LOVES hobie. hobie is the perfect gentleman (gentlespider?) around her and often tries to help her around the house when he can. miles... does not enjoy how much his mom favors his partner. jeff is also not so crazy about this smart-mouthed punk

♡ miles and hobie absolutely swap clothing as often as possible, with hobie "borrowing" miles' clothes more often. miles' parents keep commenting on how much of a rockero he looks with all the punk stuff and hobie never returns clothes without having altered them in some way (pins n bits everywhere, a mysterious rip or two here n there, pinned-up sleeves, etc)

♡ miles is absolutely horrible at cooking and feels left out when he sees hobie helping his mom in the kitchen. he desperately tries to learn, but it's a wonder how he hasnt sliced his fingers off yet trying to peel and cut platanos so they can make tostones

♡ for a person who's built like a lamppost, hobie is shockingly graceful with his movements. he always slips around a room like a cat and miles is so jealous of that. long gangly limbs should be a deterrent from moving like That and yet here he is, practically pirouetting around miles for fun

♡ which is a total TRIP when they go out swinging around a city. once the mask is on, every movement hobie makes is chaotic, frantic and unpredictable. spiderpunk and hobie are very different people sometimes

♡ rio often points out hobie's thinness as a typical hispanic mom does ("jóven, pero tu 'ta tan flaco, hobie honey come eat! i have leftovers here!") and miles also agrees that hobie could eat a lil more too. he is always sneaking bits of food into hobie's pockets or bags, saving fries and last slices for his partner. sometimes hobie brings home armfuls of tupperware filled with caribbean food back to his boat

♡ in return, hobie is like a magpie and brings back shiny gifts for them, some handmade stuff too. miles' drawers and nightstand are filled with jewelry, bottles, knickknacks, and other handmade accessories. his walls are filled with collages and zines hobie makes for him and rio bought frames for some of the pieces he makes her

♡ the first person to say "i love you" was miles, but by accident. after realizing it, he was nervous as hell worrying that hobie would clown him to death since he didnt seem like a big romantic. instead, hobie went nuts about it in his own hobie way, writing lyrics about miles' face when he said it, doodling them together more often, teasing miles about it often but lightheartedly. he flaunts miles' love whenever he can

♡ miles has a lethal puppydog face and he KNOWS it! one 🥺 look and hobie immediately folds and gives miles whatever he wants. but not before hemming and hawing about it first, playing up his hesitation just to make miles laugh

♡ speaking of laughter, hobie does Thee Most just to see his bf laugh or smile. he will always goof off in the bg, crack jokes every 2 secs and pretend to get hurt sometimes. hobie is naturally sarcastic and goofs off in general anyways but around miles he dials it up to 200

♡ hobie tries to get miles in on the whole anarchism thing but 1. the texts and manifestos from his dimension are different than miles' and 2. miles is a teen boy. he doesn't know anything about the theory of alienation or effective mutual aid and won't really care at the moment. "mm, you'll learn all 'bout it soon enough, though... eventually," hobie muses

♡ miles is not as big on pet names as hobie is. hobie has like 24984 nicknames for miles but miles mostly sticks to just calling his partner by his name. one day during history class tho a lightbulb moment happens, and when they meet up again miles is excited

"hobie!! guess what, i really got it this time. i have a nickname that i know you're gonna love!"

"spill," hobie says as he throws an arm over miles' shoulders.

"so you always call me sunflower all the time, right? and your name is ho... bee. get it? so i was thinkin' i'm gonna call you 'honey bee' now. y'know, you're not the only one who's got corny ass nicknames! it's good, right?"

hobie has to fight not to grin like a jackass

♡ hobie's sleep schedule is atrocious so whenever miles can manage it, he tries to wrestle his partner into any bed and tucks him in. hobie is touched that his sunflower cares so much about him ♡

♡ miles almost never gets permission to sleep over other friends' houses but on the rare occasions he does, he leaps into portals and goes to visit hobie in his dimension. his fave part of New London is hobie's boat, bc they set up a big hammock for them to lay in, feeling the sway of the boat and letting it lull them to sleep. not to mention that the boat itself is totally badass, and hobie more often than not encourages miles to cover it in graffiti

♡ hobie lowkey (but highkey) loves when miles gets a little bossy, forceful or stern. he loves ribbing miles about it (the "ill do it, but not cuz you told me to" line in mumbattan was a total joke from hobie btw LOL) and saying corny shit in response to a demand, but he loves seeing miles being confident and calling the shots every once in a while. it makes him proud

♡ if they can, miles and hobie try to gather up as much food as they can and take it over to the F.E.A.S.T. that's in hobie's dimension. miles meets hobie's "family" there and gets to know the community, which feels so much more tight-knit and welcoming than Visions. once miles gets over the major jarring differences between his world and hobie's, he finds he LOVES New London

♡ miles and hobie teach each other slang from their countries and time periods, you can't change my mind. miles walks around saying shit like "bloody 'ell" and "septic" all the time. the one time hobie said "deadass" completely unironically, all of the spiderkids DIED laughing

♡ miles learns that EVERY spider is a total dweeb in some way shape or form. even hobie! hobie's awkwardness comes out when theyre in big groups of people. hobie is oddly comfy with performing in front of crowds but when he's invited to parties and tries mingling, it's so... sooo awkward. miles secretly rejoices when he finds out hobie's weakness

♡ i'm an adhd hobie truther and i hc that miles buys hobie the weirdest fidget toys he can get his hands on. along with his switchblade, jewelry, and whatever he stole that day, hobie carries various different fidget toys in his vest to keep boredom at bay

♡ hobie definitely writes songs for miles but takes a very very very long time to actually admit it. miles finally finds out when one of hobie's songwriting notebooks falls open when hanging out in his boat, and hobie comes clean about it. with miles' encouragement tho, hobie makes the decision to add some of those songs into the usual setlist his band performs

♡ if miles ever has time, he tries to attend whatever gig hobie and his band has going on. he loves to see hobie perform on stage, his energy and stage presence is always electrifying

[shoshiwrites]

Wishing you the happiest of birthdays, @mercurygray! ♡ Thank you so much for letting me borrow Fred and Cord — they were, and are, a delight, and for letting Jo poke her head into this universe. Go read these babes, friends, and go wish Merc a happy birthday! Also on Ao3!

in a sentimental mood

When Jo had applied to go overseas — arguing her case in front of her editors and then down in Washington, not to mention the paperwork, been through a battery of security screenings, had every inch of her life turned upside down like a suitcase and somehow stamped approved, not to mention the armful of immunizations that had left her queasy until lunch the next day — nowhere in her accreditation paperwork had it said anything about baby-sitting.

She could hardly complain though, since Spark Plug of Thorpe Abbotts was about the cutest date a girl could have for a Saturday night.

It was all less of a grouse, and more of a surprise, she thinks, lightly scratching her fingertips between the kitten’s ears. Spark Plug mreows softly in reply.

Outside, the light fades out of the sky — streaks of blue-gray and peach over the expanse of the runway, behind the black of the trees at its edge, the low outline of the town beyond.

England is beautiful, she thinks. Out here, by the coast, so different to London or to Philadelphia. Old and green and full of weathered stone, thatched roofs, rose gardens. Maybe her picture was rosy — as much as it could be with air raid sirens, with the hell that rained down, as one reporter said, bricks and ashes along cobblestones, fireweed growing in the bomb craters. 

The cold rain was different too, from the Georgia red clay that still stuck between the treads of her lace-up shoes. She’d watched a different group of men become infantry before her very eyes. It was something of a culture shock, coming here, finding the war well underway, men who’d been flying and training for years. Who’d grown up watching Lindbergh and Gable and Tracy, read the feats of barnstormers and even saw them, papered their rooms in clippings and posters, built model planes. 

Spark Plug fixed her with a very serious look, mreowed a little louder this time. “Now, mister, Fred told me you were very well fed before she left.” As well fed as any living being could be on this island, in 1943.

Spark Plug seemed to consider this; Jo was suddenly glad she’d made embarrassingly quick work of the bag of bridge mix sent by her friends back home. She can still taste chocolate on her back teeth, the slightly waxy sweetness, a sticky bit of raisin between two molars. She felt only a little guilty that she hadn’t offered any to anyone else. The human sort, of course. 

She’d spent the morning making edits and going through some of Kay’s photo proofs. She was fighting her better instincts now, not to return to work, having turned her attention to the stack of books on the table beside her — Betty Wason’s latest, which she’d actually started, and a copy of last year’s Best American Short Stories, and a dog-eared Jamaica Inn that Kay had somehow snuck into her luggage.  

The Red Cross girls had been kind enough to let her intrude on their lunch, after which followed a conversation on sweets they missed from back home, which spilled into the afternoon work of cleaning the fryers and coffee urns and writing reports, talk of almond cakes and Christmas cookies and mom’s shortbread. Candy too, and sweet coffee, sugar rationing be damned. Another reason Jo felt guilty for hoarding her supply. She’d share the next package, she decided then. 

She’d been at Thorpe Abbotts coming up on two and a half weeks, now. It had been a rocky start — new faces, sure, colonels and S-2s with no inclination to give Jo the time of day, not that she could blame them, much less get her name right. She’d put her foot in it more than a time or two about this or that, despite all the reading she’d done, the clips she’d bugged The Clarion for before she’d left. 

Turns out being here was a lot different than reading about it. Yeah, that was right. Jo smiled to herself, just a little. Half at Spark Plug, who was now making a furry doughnut of himself on the blanket beside her, half at the thought that maybe she was getting some kind of approval here, too. She told the folks at home about them, the pilots and the bombardiers and the gunners, the mechanics, the tower and the WACs and the Clubmobile and the office orderlies, the runway builders, the townspeople too. It was her job. It was something she did well, or so she hoped to think. 

And just last week she’d been trying to get an interview that could not be gotten, wondering if she should let it rest, when one of the majors had even jumped in on her side, the tall, dark-haired one who called himself, inexplicably, Bucky. “Even Buck likes her!” Jo knew by now that she was meant to take that as high praise. Buck, the blonde, who’d only agreed to a profile because it would mean something to his girl back home. 

Major Egan had taken up her case with the subject in question, a looey in the control tower, serious and studious and exactly the kind of temperament Jo imagined a pilot would want when being guided down from the sky. 

Jo, for her part, would have forgiven the lieutenant for never speaking to her again, given how Jo had first approached her fresh off the train and the Jeep from London — and not 12 hours after a fort had gone down with Callaway on the other end of the radio. Nobody had told Jo. Why would they? But somehow, Bucky’s reasoning had done the trick. Jo had even gotten a smile out of her, sitting there across from the two of them at the table, after Jo had politely told the major to can it and let the lieutenant speak.

And then there was Captain Brady, who was half the reason Jo was sitting here with Spark Plug at all this evening. The other half, she acknowledged, may have been her volunteering.

He was serious too, the way you had to be when you were responsible for a fort full of men. Men. He was a college kid, a musician, who just so happened to be a pilot. He was reserved, for the most part, except for the soft spot he held for his crew and for the lovely Miss Torvaldsen, Fred, even though the two of them tried to hide it.

They couldn’t hide it too much now, on Saturday night. At least not from Jo. He’d borrowed a Jeep, Captain Brady, to take his date all the way to Norwich. At that Jo thought of William, whose idea of a night out had been sandwiches after a ballgame. Her brow furrowed like she’d just imagined sour milk. The spot on her finger where her ring had been still felt empty, even if she knew it shouldn’t. She was here. He was back home. Trying to get here, probably. 

She much preferred to think of Fred and her date, the night they would have, listening to music and forgetting the war as much as they could. Jo would have lent her a dress if she had one that fit — she could hear Kay scoffing somewhere in the recesses of her mind — but Fred had managed with a little blue number from one of her colleagues, with a skirt in Swiss Dot that would be perfect for dancing. 

The rain had cleared for them, and Jo couldn’t think of anything lovelier than that.

And for all of Brady’s seriousness, she hadn’t had to try to get any stories out of him — not directly, at least. He’d approached her one day, maybe a week in, hands in his pockets. "Curt — Lieutenant Biddick — said you wanted to hear about a wheels-up landing."

She’d had a few conversations with Fred by that point, in the kitchen or by the truck, one or two in the Aero Club, which surely he’d seen, and she wondered now if that had had anything to do with it.

They’re good together, Jo couldn’t think of another way to say it. It felt hopeful, and cruel. 

They reminded her of Evie and Angelo, childhood sweethearts. Of couples the country over, steady and engaged and married.

There were things she didn’t dare think about, here — dark eyes and quiet conversations, times she felt free. A touch of whiskey at he the back of her throat. A dance she hadn’t wanted to end. 

She yawned then, or was it a sigh? She could blame the early mornings she’d been pulling to rise with the crews and the Clubmobile, the air raid that had kept them all up the night before. The air in the Nissen hut, home to her bunk and Fred’s and Helen’s and Tatty’s and the rest of the crews’, was warm and a bit damp from the rain, smelling of wool blankets and hair pomade and perfume and last night’s wood fire.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and she couldn’t tell whether it had been ten minutes or three hours when she opened them again, to darkness outside and Spark Plug purring contentedly in his sleep. There was rain once again, against the prefabricated steel, and outside, under the eave of the doorway, two figures saying their goodnights. Fred, and Brady. Jo wondered for a brief moment if she should pretend to be asleep again. But the door opened, the sound of the rain growing momentarily louder, and Fred shook off an umbrella she hadn’t left with before closing the door behind her. 

“I would have moved if he wanted to come in,” Jo said, only a little bit sorry for the look that crossed Fred’s face.

“Jo.”

Jo giggled, just a little, when she saw that Fred was smiling. 

“How was it?” Beside her she could feel Spark Plug’s little paws moving on the bed, as he nuzzled against the back of her hand expectantly.

She could see that she hardly needed to ask, seeing Fred’s cheeks pink with happiness, loose wisps of blonde hair curling around her face in the lamplight. 

“It only started raining the last few minutes of the walk,” she said. “We got lucky.” Jo smiled at that. “It was- it was wonderful.”

“I’m glad.” She thought a moment, starting to swing herself up to a seated position, absentmindedly smoothing a wrinkle in her trouser leg. “That’s a lovely umbrella there, Freda.”

Fred looked at it, where she’d carefully placed it by the door. Jo thinks of Captain Brady, walking home in the rain. She imagines she could be forgiven for picturing him whistling, his hands in his pockets. Fred’s mouth twitches, just a little. 

“How was our Spark Plug?”

Jo gives her something like a knowing look, something like a key in a lock. She eyes her pajamas, hanging on a hook next to the bed, the small jar of cold cream on the nightstand, her toothbrush. The rest of the girls would be filtering in at some point, back from the Aero Club for a few hours’ rest before the morning and fresh coffee, the truck parked on the gravel under early clouds, dew wet on the grass. It never stopped, of course — you were always a girl back home, for the boys over here. She hoped Fred had felt special, last night. Like she could let someone do something for her, for once. She hoped they’d lost themselves in a song.

“Just a darling. You’ll let me know the next time you need a sitter, alright?”

[ingek73]

Harry and Meghan in Jamaica are soft-power dynamite. Britain is left with kryptonite William and Kate

Nels Abbey

At times like these, it’s clear that the Sussexes represent a missed opportunity for a UK that needs friends in the world

Fri 26 Jan 2024 11.25 CET

Left to right: the Duchess and Duke of Sussex; the Jamaican prime minister, Andrew Holness, and his wife, Juliet; and its culture minister, Olivia Grange, at the premiere of Bob Marley: One Love in Kingston on 23 January 2024. Photograph: Jason Koerner/Getty Images for Paramount Pictures,

A popular Nigerian adage says “the cow never knows the value of its tail until it is chopped off”. In many tragic ways, this speaks to today’s Britain. From EU membership, to competent leadership, to low inflation, it seems necessary for Britain to lose things to appreciate their importance.

This week, look at Prince Harry and Meghan being feted in Jamaica. See the soft-power skills they carry with them, and think about that Nigerian adage.

In much of the British media, Harry and Meghan are all-year panto villains. But around the world, they could not be more loved – often for the very reasons they are despised in the British media. They are the soft power we could have enjoyed with the increasingly dominant, increasingly self-confident non-white world, especially the Commonwealth.

It’s not just that they are royals. Prince William and Kate headed to “no problem” Jamaica in 2022, and encountered problems aplenty. As their PR fiasco unfolded, they were derided for shaking hands with Jamaican children through wire fences, and for motoring viceroy-style through crowded streets in a fancy Land Rover. At the nightmare’s end, Jamaica basically handed Britain its P45, informing the royals of its intention to be a republic, to “move on”.

View image in fullscreenPrince Harry larks about with Olympic sprint champion Usain Bolt at the University of the West Indies in Jamaica, 2012. Photograph: John Stillwell/PA

Still, Harry has something the royals he left behind and the likes of Chillax Cameron can never have. He has familiarity, an ease with difference – and he has Meghan.

In 2012, he also had the love of the UK press and public. He was praised for his warm embrace of the then Jamaican PM, Portia Simpson-Miller, and was photographed larking about with Usain Bolt. “He has shown himself to be a natural ambassador, a diplomat in a very real sense – one hug from him has (at least partly) dissipated the bad feeling of generations … It is inconceivable that any other royal could have pulled this off quite so effectively,” gushed the Mail on Sunday.

‘God Save the King’ doesn’t fall from Jamaican lips so easily. Soon we’ll be a republic

Barbara Blake-HannahRead more

But that was then, before the British media’s own version of Orwell’s “two minutes hate” became a thing. Now, much of the press sees Harry and Meghan glad-handing and being glad-handed in Jamaica, surfing the love at the premiere of the Bob Marley biopic, and they don’t much like it. “Meghan and Harry pose next to anti-royal Jamaican prime minister who wants to ditch the monarchy and warned Wills and Kate they’ll never be king and queen of his nation – as Charles undergoes prostate surgery and the Princess of Wales recovers in hospital,” thundered the Mail. “The hubris of Harry and Meghan’s Jamaican photoshoot,” snorted the Spectator. “Crown fools: ‘Provocative’ Harry & Meghan spark royal row as they meet Jamaican politicians plotting to oust Charles as head of state,” jeered the Sun.

Britain understood Harry’s value and soft power in 2012, so what changed? Answer: Harry fell in love with, and married, a Black woman. That could have been a boon for this country, here and abroad; instead it’s a might-have-been. And what might have been to our reputational benefit is what has been happening in Jamaica.

The UK headlines and sour grapes tell you one thing: we messed up and we know it. Meghan was, and remains, soft-power dynamite, and all we have now is the soft-power kryptonite of Wills and Kate and the Windsor “firm” that spurned her. Still, that’s us: we never miss an opportunity to miss an opportunity.

Nels Abbey is a writer, broadcaster and former banker. He is the founder of Uppity: The Intellectual Playground

[if-tomorrow-never-comes]

THE LIBERTINES: ROCKIN’ AROUND THE CHRISTMAS TREE

Back in action - and in truly festive spirit - for a Margate knees-up ahead of forthcoming fourth album 'All Quiet on the Eastern Esplanade', the likely lads are writing a positive new chapter onto their wild career.

Words: Lisa Wright  Photos: Ed Miles 20th December 2023

The Libertines have been known for many things over the years. As one of the most storied indie outfits of the ‘00s. As an example of that rare magic that can happen when two people - in their case, rollercoaster bromance frontmen Pete Doherty and Carl Barât - spark in a way that makes something far bigger than the sum of its parts. As a band whose generation-defining first two albums dressed the genre up in romance and red military garb before imploding in a mess of destruction and addiction.

Two decades and two reunions on, and all these things remain true. But right now, in the fireside belly of their Margate hotel The Albion Rooms, the band have got other things on their mind: namely, what a Libertines Christmas single could entail. “‘Can’t Stand Tree Now’. No wait, ‘Death on the Sledge’…” suggests Doherty with a glint in his eye as photos are taken and his massive dog Gladys snaffles a mince pie clean out of his hand. “‘Tell It To We Three Kings!’” pipes up bassist John Hassall, as all four signal their approval and break into impromptu festive song - not for the first or last time this afternoon.

The Libertines’ forthcoming new album - their first in nearly a decade, and second since reforming - might be named ‘All Quiet on the Eastern Esplanade’, but on the titular Margate street, on a blustery December day, the mood is anything but sedate. The band have congregated for a special weekender of events to launch the record, beginning with an intimate show at the Lido down the road later in the evening - a working men’s club-type room with chintzy Christmas dressing that clearly hasn’t seen this sort of rowdy action in decades. At one point we turn around and someone’s bag is on fire. It gets hastily stamped out. The show goes on.

A few weeks before this, however, and the two frontmen are gathered in the oak-panelled backroom of a posh London pub, viewing The Albion Rooms from a different angle. They’ve just been delivered the mock-ups of their latest LP sleeve, on which a cast of colourful characters line the street outside their Margate space. “That’s Sister Mary from the song ‘Mustang’; that’s the ‘Man with the Melody’; that’s the refugee from ‘Merry Old England’,” points out Doherty. “Look she’s got a bottle of rum in the pram as well, she’s shoplifting. That’s good, that. Very clever,” he nods with satisfaction.

The pair have a lot to be satisfied about, too. They’ve come out the other side of the metaphorical tornado with their band and their friendship largely intact; ‘All Quiet…’, we suggest, sounds like an album made by a group of people that genuinely want to be there. “I’m glad it sounds that way because it’s utterly true, and it’s an album we actually did want to make and we really put everything into the songs,” explains Barât. “Even saying that is a bit emotional for me…”

“He’s [Doherty] a part of my life that I’d miss horrendously if it wasn't there.— Carl Barât

The path to The Libertines’ latest was a very different one to any of those that have come before for the band. These days, both frontmen live comparatively sedate family lives on their respective coastlines - Barât in Margate and Doherty in France. Doherty has been clean for several years since relocating during the pandemic; his day-to-day world is clearly a whole universe away from the not-so-good old days.

Having decamped to Jamaica as a duo “to plot up together a while and see what was what”, they set up camp in a glass studio on top of a hill where, Doherty notes, “the glass was so well-polished, all the local birds kept flying into the walls”. “Every so often you’d just get a thud, and it wouldn’t kill ‘em but they’d be stunned and slowly come to life and then I’d draw them. They’re on my wall,” he says. The musical results of the trip were slim pickings (“When we got back and sat down with everyone and played the demos, we were a bit shocked at how bad they were…”), but the willingness to keep going together was cemented.

Reconvening with Hassall and drummer Gary Powell, the following sessions in Kent and Normandy were surprisingly wholesome affairs. “Some of those nights when we were doing backing vocals, it felt like we were getting a bit lashed up but we weren’t, we were all really sober. But it had that same energy,” recalls Doherty. Barât chuckles: “The energy that’s imbued in us from years of lash!” And whilst we must all pour one out for a song left on the cutting room floor, ‘What A Time For The Bellhop’, which Barât describes as sounding “like the Blackadder theme tune”, what did emerge was a record that doffs its hat to the albums that made their name whilst creating notable differences along the way.

Though the flights of fancy and arcadian dreaming are still present and correct, there are splashes of cold reality to the likes of ‘Merry Old England’’s acknowledgement of the refugee crisis that feel like an important update. “It’s hard not to be [more rooted in reality] when it’s right in your face so vividly, especially in Margate,” Doherty says. “Thanet Council has had to house more refugees than any borough in this whole country; the two years I was in Margate, that was my everyday world.

“Even when we were looking for staff to work cash in hand at the hotel at the start, we were helping people out who’d come straight out the camp and then discovering a lot of them were fucking amazing artists, or mothers, brothers and sisters looking [for a place to exist] in the same way that our ancestors came over from Ireland or wherever. We’ve got a right old mix between us [in the band]; we’ve got about twelve different waves of immigrants, probably like most English people. There’s probably only about seven people in the depths of Wales who have pure Ancient Britain DNA.”

“It’s never felt normal - these characters, this chemistry. It never feels normal, but it’s certainly a lot more normal than it has been in years.— Carl Barât

In the years since 2015’s ‘Anthems For Doomed Youth’, there had been a lot of talk of new music, but nothing by way of action. “I’d been saying, ‘New music’s just around the corner!’ in interviews cos you don’t wanna not say that, but it had started to wear a bit thin,” says Barât. “We had this thing for ages in interviews where we’d list the songs but we’d just be coming out with titles on the spot,” remembers Doherty. “‘Yeah we’ve got a song called ‘Bottle Your Mum’ or something like that. And then we’d have to read back through the interview to write songs with those titles.”

It’s perhaps unsurprising that it took so long to record ‘Anthems…’’ follow-up when you look at the spectres that were still swirling around the band during its writing and release. “When I think back to that time, it’s all a blank. Not even a blur it’s just a jumbled blank,” muses Doherty as Barât mumbles: “Yeah, well there’s a reason for that…”

“It’s hard not to be [more rooted in reality] when it’s right in your face so vividly.— Pete Doherty

Today, the magnetic, see-sawing nature of the chemistry that’s been the pair’s greatest asset and biggest source of upset is in full swing. One moment they’re bickering about grammar and flinging hilariously petty insults (Barât: “You said ‘my bad’ the other day…” Doherty: “I have NEVER said ‘my bad’. EVER”); the next they’re breaking into random Cockney songs; a few minutes later, a topic will come up that looks like it might bring either or both to tears. These days, with a literal sea between them, they don’t get to hang out much outside of the band. “That’s why we come back and do it, I think,” says Doherty. “Because we want to check up on each other.” But there’s still the sense that the two musicians are bound together by something stronger and more innate than most. As Barât puts it: “He’s a part of my life that I’d miss horrendously if it wasn't there.”

Doherty has an analogy. “It’s like two shopkeepers that have got this massive backload of stock in the back room, and one of them decided he wanted to sell something else for a while and now he’s come back, not cap in hand exactly, but he’s like, ‘Actually, some of this fruit’s still good to go’,” he says, picking up steam. “‘Let’s pump out some tangerines in the early morning rush’, and it turns out they’re as juicy and ripe as they ever thought they were. And maybe it was just the glass that was dirty rather than the actual produce.”

Barât raises his eyebrow in mock indignation: “For me, I was selling tangerines and then he went into insurance. So now he’s back from insurance, he’s realised that tangerines taste nice and oranges aren’t the only fruit!” Cue both men breaking into a simultaneous rendition of ‘Let’s All Go Down The Strand (Have A Banana)’.

Watching The Libertines barrel through the hits as lucky Margate Lido ticket holders holler back every word; seeing the quartet mess about like old mates in front of a Christmas fire, and listening to a new record that feels like a band reinvigorated, there’s something undeniably heartwarming about this current era of the quartet. There’s still an aura of charming chaos around them, but these days it’s in a jolly, eccentric way rather than something that could genuinely rip them apart at any minute. “It’s never felt normal - these characters, this chemistry,” says Barât. “It never feels normal, but it’s certainly a lot more normal than it has been in years.”

“It makes me think of those two young lads tramping down the Holloway Road - how much we believed in the music - and in many ways that hasn’t really changed,” Doherty nods. “We’ve been a little pattern on the wallpaper of the great Albion tapestry. If you could dig up Shakespeare or Graham Greene or Oscar Wilde from the dead and say, ‘Hey! People are still fucking having it with your writing’, they’d be overjoyed. Sometimes I’ll be thinking maybe we aren’t relevant any more, and then some kid will come past on a bike in his muddy boots and leather jacket and say, ‘Ah Pete, I fucking love ‘Up The Bracket’ mate’, and that’ll reinvigorate me with the force.”

‘All Quiet on the Eastern Esplanade’ is out 8th March via Casablanca/ Republica Records.

[rom-e-o]

So we've discussed a few disastrous love interests of Bess between Oliver and Wolf. Do you have any hcs of Connie in the dating realm between Orin and Adonis?

Oooh interesting question!

So, in her og historic (“Begin Again”)-verse (the lore keeps building and it’s so amazing), there isn’t a lot of wiggle room for Connie because of societal expectations. She’s single until she meets Orin, they court, they marry. She leaves him, arrives in London, meets Scrooge, they court, they marry.

Canonically, in any universe, Connie’s first kiss is literally when she and a classmate (Cecile) sneak out of class to smooch, but that’s extremely tame.

In the modern universe, there is more time between the relationships. So, more wiggle room, although nothing ever happens because she is sincerely so traumatized by Orin that she refuses practically all advances.

When working at the nightclub and coffee house, she does get a lot of date requests. I mean…we know she can’t make coffee to save her life. They keep her on because she’s incredibly attractive and pulls customers every time she’s on shift. She gets MANY date requests from everyone. Con is bi, so when a woman asks her out, she mulls over it, thinking…it might be different. (I imagine the woman is also older, and named Flora, who asks her out. Sophisticated. Works in marketing somewhere. She seems wonderful) but Connie still declines. She just isn’t ready, and Flora respects and encourages that. “Thank you for being honest, love. I hope I can still come to chat, and it won’t trouble you.” “Of course. 🥹 I make your lavender latte and get to hear about your cats even Monday and Wednesday! I wouldn’t miss it!”

A nice young man asks her out as well. Steven, a bookish blond man with huge glasses who is her age, asks her out. He’s exceptionally cute, so they have a small coffee date together, and both quickly realize they just don’t have anything in common. She’s into business and fashion and numbers, and he’s into model trains and building preservation. They part ways amicably, though the honestly makes them very good friends. He doesn’t stammer around her as much, and when he starts dating someone new, Connie is the first the meet them.

Jason, the shitty coffee shop boy, also gives it a go. And by “give it a go”, I mean he moves behind her, and she clobbers him with a baking sheet out of surprise. (“Jason! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! But…DON’T DO THAT!”)

At the nightclub, most just people stare, smile and tip her. There is always the occasional ass that tries to grab her for a lap dance (she is a “look pretty and serve drinks” employee, not a dancer) and this always gets a slap and a glare. She can hold her own against those types. It’s when it goes beyond into anything verbal that she starts to lose the fight in her.

Casper, a recent business transfer from Jamaica, is a frequent nightclub client…and one of the nicest guys. A real nice guy. “I’m scoping the scene here because the boss wants to build a nightclub at our newest London location. Yeah, we’re NOT gonna do it like this place. If you don’t feel safe, hang near me. The boss can’t get mad. You’re ’entertaining a paying customer’. Now, I see you’re wearing a charm bracelet. It’s a Cartier, no? You have exceptional taste. Sit with me. Let’s talk style.”

They never become romantically involved, but she respects him deeply. They absolutely stay good friends.

She stays friends with Flora, Steven and Casper, but Steven is probably the closest she gets to any relationship before Adonis.

[conandaily2022]

Dr. Jordanne Lauren Levy biography: 13 things about Miss Universe Jamaica 2023

Dr. Jordanne Lauren Levy is a Jamaican medical doctor and beauty queen. Here are 13 more things about her:

[themakeupbrush]

Most of the 2022 Miss Universe National Costumes

Not a favorites list, just a compilation of some of the costumes I could easily put together from publicly available, relatively decent and evenly sized photos

In order (top to bottom, left to right):

Nigeria, Ghana, Cameroon

Mauritius, South Africa, Angola

Iceland, Ukraine, Greece, Netherlands

Czech Republic, Malta, France

Colombia, Ecuador, Argentina, Paraguay

Venezuela, Bolivia, Peru

Dominican Republic, Trinidad & Tobago, Bahamas

Laos, Vietnam, India, Bahrain

Haiti, Jamaica, Curaçao, Aruba

Thailand, Indonesia, Japan

USA, Nicaragua, El Salvador

Panama, Guatemala, Mexico

[enchanted-moura]

HD] Miss Universe 2017: Jamaica - Davina Bennett | 2nd Runner Up - Full Performance

[twistedsims]

Miss Sims 3 Universe Featured Swimsuit pics! Here we have miss Jamaica, Peru and USA

[akocomyk]

Hello Universe!

Pageant blogger yarn?! I can try, right?

Last December, Annie and I were in a call. One of the things we talked about was pageantry—Miss Earth 2022 had just been crowned a few weeks prior.

I've been a pageant fanatic for as long as I can remember. But it was only until these recent years that I started making my personal predictions for the pageants that I follow—and I keep them to myself. I usually make ones for Miss Universe, then Miss Universe Philippines when it was inaugurated, and sometimes I also do Miss Earth. I don't remember any time that I did predictions for Binibining Pilipinas.

I even have these excel sheets for scores and all that, to help me determine my picks.

That's when I told Annie that my predictions have a high accuracy rate. I don't predict who will be crowned, but somewhere in those that I scored high always emerged as the winner.

So... here it is—as requested! My Top Picks for the 71st Miss Universe competition.

Upper Tier

They all did well in swimsuit and evening gown competitions. I don't want to say that these are my Top 5, but I'm almost 100% sure they would make it to the semifinals.

USA nailed both competitions. Enough said. She is THE frontrunner.

Curaçao caught my attention from the moment she introduced herself—I immediately chatted Annie saying, "Curacao is pretty." I eagerly waited for her turn on both swimsuit and gown segments, and she did not let me down. Her beauty is effortless.

Mexico is a good performer. I didn't like her gown, but she worked it and slayed.

Venezuela is Venezuela. You could see that she was well-trained, and she was not over-the-top or unauthentic. I'm not a fan of her gown or her gown performance, but she served.

Puerto Rico is gorgeous, but is prone to too much shoulder rolling, making her performance bordering theatrical. Also, she seemed like she came from the same "fierce Latina" cookie-cutter mold that most Latinas have been exhibiting in any pageant.

Middle Tier

These are the girls who are generally top contenders as well, but something's bugging me about them.

Dominican Republic is hungry for it, and she might as well get it. Whenever she's on the stage, you can feel that she is happy with what she's doing. Sadly, I see her like a cookie-cutter candidate too.

Jamaica is oozing with confidence and she did great—however, something's iffy about her. I really want to see her in the finals.

Philippines has this easy, calm and relaxed demeanor about her that some people might think is underwhelming—it gets drowned out by those who are overdoing their pasarela. She did fine 'coz she just has this gandang di mo na kailangan pang ipilit, di tulad ng iba, todo awra para gumanda. And she was amazing in gown, otherwise I wouldn't be grinning from ear to ear. F*ck all the naysayers.

South Africa is good in both swim and gown, although her gown performance was a little subdued and I could feel her struggle with her form-fitting dress.

Colombia, although beautiful, may look too robotic sometimes. Like... she has mastered everything there is to do in the Miss Universe stage, it's so unreal. She can make it to the semis, but I don't see her winning.

Lower Tier

They did well on both swimsuit and gown, and if they get through to the finals, I won't question it. However, their chances of moving further in the competition is slimmer than those mentioned above.

France is a consistent candidate, and my only concern with her is that she lacks the extra oomph that the other candidates possess.

Aruba is outstanding—honestly, one of the first girls who caught my attention. I just hope the judges noticed her too.

I really like Germany. When she came out, I was like, "Guuuurl, you are soooo pretty... and I'm glad you know what to do on that stage."

Bahrain... Screams diversity. She knows what she represents and she uses it to her advantage. Her gown is simple but unique—although not new in the pageant scene—but the way that she carried it with so much class and elegance... she deserves an applause.

I can feel that Cambodia worked hard for this and is eager to get a spot in the finals. I wish she could get in the Top 16.

They Might Get In

They weren't particularly bad—and they actually did well on some segments—but I'm not a fan. Somehow, gut feels tell me they'd make it to the semifinals.

Wishlist

Seeing these girls on the stage made me smile, but they were outperformed by other candidates. I have big doubts on their chances of making the cut, but I'd be really happy if any of them would be called into the Top 16.

Alternates: Australia, Panama, Honduras, Great Britain

General Thoughts during the Preliminary Competition

The stage isn't that bad. We've seen worse.

The program was boring. I mean, I know that it's gonna be, but nothing they did helped with toning down the boringness. And the background music during the swimsuit and evening gown competitions isn't exciting.

The girls weren't given enough time to showcase themselves. There's a freakin' catwalk on the stage, why the hell did they not utilize it???

In relation to the bullet point above, what's with the cape? I mean... okay, I get it. Customize it, whatever. Good idea. But it would've been better if the hosts were reading something about the cape, at least we'd know what's it about—instead of just viewing what it means on some app. They can still tell something about the girls during the evening gown, either way. And the girls were told to turn around and show their capes, therefore limiting their poses and movements. Their time was already shortened, and then they had to divide that time between showing themselves and the damn cape.

Too many nude, beige, silver, gold, bedazzled gowns.

Too many gowns with flowy appendages—and some girls didn't know what to do with them. This is the side effect of Ms. Paraguay and her mint-green flowy gown from last year where she won as 1st Runner-up.

Lots of "viva magenta" gowns too.

I'm a bit bothered by how Harnaaz pronounces the countries' names. I mean, she could've learned how to pronounce them properly beforehand.