#birmingham

[antifainternational]

August 7, 7PM, UK - Refugees welcome! – Stop the far right, defend asylum support centres!

Fascists have told their terrorist supporters to ‘mask-up’ and attack immigration lawyers. We will not let them succeed in their plans. Counter-protests to defend the targeted asylum support services have been called for Wednesday 7th August across the UK at 7pm. Let’s make these protests massive!

Check the images or the link for more info. The counter-protests are in the following cities/towns: North Finchley Southend-on-sea Liverpool Northampton Cheadle Portsmouth Aldershot Waltham Forest Brighton Oxford Birmingham Paisley

Get as many people together as you can and come out to defend our communities! Stop the far-right! Refugees welcome!

[eroticlamb]

Bob Dylan eating breakfast (and the table) in Birmingham, England, 1966 ♡ Photographed by Barry Feinstein

[allthingseurope]

Birmingham, England (by Bas van der Horst)

[paintingslaurlikes]

John Singer Sargent. Lady Helen Vincent, Viscountess d'Abernon. 1904. Oil on canvas. Birmingham Museum of Art, Alabama.

[twixnmix]

Malcolm X dining at Chamon, a curry house owned by Bangladeshis in the Selly Oak neighborhood of Birmingham, England on February 12, 1965.

Photos by Kelvin Brodie

[unplaces]

Irving St, Birmingham, Alabama.

[yeoldenews]

(source: The Birmingham (UK) Evening Dispatch, December 17, 1904.)

[footballfanficwriter]

Time with the kids

Summary:where Jude is struggling to look after his children

Jude's POV

As the weekend approached, I found myself facing a daunting task: taking care of our four energetic children while my wife was away. At first, I tried to muster up the confidence to tackle the challenge solo, but as the chaos unfolded, I quickly realized I was in over my head.

With our children running wild, their laughter echoing through the house, I felt a growing sense of panic creeping in. How was I supposed to handle this on my own? Desperate for help, I reluctantly dialed my mom,hoping she could come to the rescue.

"Hey, Mom," I began, my voice laced with desperation. "I hate to ask, but I could really use some help with the kids this weekend. Y/N is away, and I'm struggling to keep up."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and I held my breath, hoping for a miracle. But to my dismay, mom informed me that she was out of town as well, leaving me to fend for myself.

Feeling defeated, I racked my brain for another solution. That's when it hit me—my brother Jobe. He might not have much experience with children, but he was my last hope.

"Hey, Jobe," I said, trying to sound nonchalant despite the chaos unfolding around me. "I hate to ask, but could you come over and help me with the kids? Y/N is away, and I'm drowning here."

There was a moment of hesitation before Jobe reluctantly agreed, and I breathed a sigh of relief. At least I wouldn't be facing this chaos alone.

When Jobe arrived, we quickly divided and conquered, each of us taking two children under our wing. But as the day wore on, it became clear that neither of us was cut out for this parenting gig.

Our oldest daughter, Lily, was busy playing dress-up, raiding her mother's closet and parading around the house in mismatched outfits and high heels. Meanwhile, our son, Max, had discovered a newfound love for finger painting, turning the kitchen table into a colorful masterpiece.

As for the younger ones, Emma and Liam, they were wreaking havoc wherever they went, leaving a trail of toys and chaos in their wake. Liam had taken a particular liking to climbing, scaling every piece of furniture in sight with a mischievous grin plastered on his face. And poor Emma, bless her heart, was teething, leaving her in a constant state of fussiness that no amount of cuddles could soothe.

As Jobe and I attempted to wrangle our rambunctious brood, our voices filled the air with a mixture of instructions and laughter.

"Liam, buddy, let's keep our feet on the ground, okay?" Jobe called out, his tone firm but gentle as he tried to redirect our youngest from his climbing escapades.

Meanwhile, I was engaged in a delicate negotiation with Lily, who was adamant about wearing her princess costume to dinner.

"Lily, sweetie, I know you love your princess dress, but it's spaghetti night. We don't want to get marinara sauce all over it, do we?" I reasoned, hoping to appeal to her sense of practicality.

But Lily remained unconvinced, her arms crossed defiantly as she stubbornly clung to her royal attire.

"Dad, I have to wear it. Princesses can eat spaghetti too," she insisted, her eyes sparkling with determination.

I shared a knowing look with Jobe, both of us silently acknowledging the futility of arguing with a determined five-year-old.

"Alright, princess, spaghetti it is," I relented with a chuckle, realizing that some battles were simply not worth fighting.

Meanwhile, Max had found a new canvas for his artwork, much to Jobe's dismay.

"Max, buddy, let's keep the finger painting on the paper, okay?" Jobe said, his tone patient but firm as he gently guided our budding artist away from the walls.

But Max, lost in his creative fervor, paid little attention to Jobe's words, his fingers swirling through the air with abandon as he continued his masterpiece.

As the chaos continued to unfold around us, Jobe and I exchanged amused glances, silently marveling at the unpredictability of parenthood. Despite the challenges we faced, there was a sense of camaraderie in our shared struggle, a bond forged in the trenches of parenthood.

And as we watched the children laugh and play, their joy infectious even in the midst of the madness, I couldn't help but feel grateful for the love and laughter that filled the home. Despite the chaos, there was a beauty in the mess—a reminder that even in the most challenging moments, family was always there to lend a helping hand and share in the laughter and love.

But amidst the chaos, there were moments of unexpected joy. As evening fell, we gathered on the couch, exhausted but content, and put on an animated movie. Surprisingly, the kids settled down, their eyes glued to the screen as they snuggled up against us.

"Hey, Dad, can I have some popcorn?" Lily asked, her eyes never leaving the screen.

I chuckled, reaching for the bowl on the coffee table. "Sure thing, sweetheart."

Meanwhile, Jobe was engaged in a heated game of peek-a-boo with Emma, eliciting giggles from the little one that warmed my heart.

Suddenly, Liam's mischievous giggle caught my attention, and I turned to see him attempting to climb onto the kitchen counter.

"Liam, no!" I exclaimed, rushing over to scoop him up before he could cause any damage.

But it was too late. In his attempts to reach the cookies on the top shelf, Liam had knocked over a jar of flour, sending a cloud of white powder billowing through the air.

"Oh, no," Jobe muttered, surveying the mess with wide eyes.

I sighed, feeling the weight of the day crashing down on me. "It's okay. We'll clean it up."

Uncle Jobe, can we play hide-and-seek?" Max piped up, bouncing with excitement.

Jobe glanced at me, a hint of panic in his eyes, but he plastered on a smile and nodded. "Of course, buddy. Let's play!"

The chaos continued into the night, with each child finding new ways to test our patience. But through it all, Jobe and I managed to keep our sense of humor intact, laughing at the absurdity of the situation and marveling at the resilience of our family.

When my wife finally returned home, she found us all asleep on the couch, the house a mess but our hearts full. Together, we cleaned up the chaos, laughing at the absurdity of the day and marveling at the resilience of our family.

As we tucked our children into bed, my wife and I exchanged a knowing glance. Despite the challenges we faced, we were grateful for the love and laughter that filled our home. And as we fell asleep side by side, our children dreaming peacefully beside us, I couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the chaos that had brought us closer together.

[palestinegenocide]

A secret internal ‘NYTimes’ memo reveals the paper’s anti-Palestinian bias is even worse than we thought

The shocking revelation of the New York Times's offensive internal style guide on language it will not permit in its Palestine reporting should prompt a broad examination of the paper's longtime bias.

[link]

Kudos to the anonymous New York Times staffers who leaked the paper’s offensive internal guide about the language it won’t permit in its reports on Israel/Palestine, and more kudos to The Intercept for publishing it. The shocking revelation should prompt an even broader examination of the biased language that has long been routine in the Times and across all U.S. media.

[sweettrans]

A*s ❤️💞😍😘

[jedibinx]

The man is so expressive

[veronicadelica]

Birmingham, 2015

My prints are available on Fy! or DM for bespoke prints.

Instagram / Website / Shop

Weronika Dudka

[nobigneil]

Neil on his RP (Received Pronunciation) accent! The Brummie accent has been voted as "the worst accent in the uk", and Neil has previously stated he ditched it "at about the age of 7" which is hilarious to me considering his twin has kept it!

Credit: cheekylilpupp

[ragefromwithout]

there’s gay people in alabama, you just have to look under the bridges for them

[guy60660]

Annatomix | Street Art Utopia

[gacougnol]

Queen's Head Yard

Birmingham 1875