#dorset fencing

[evaa009]

Enhance Your Property's Security and Aesthetics with Fencing Poole

Introduction:

When it comes to enhancing the security and aesthetics of your property in Poole, there's no better solution than fencing. Fencing not only defines your boundaries but also adds a touch of elegance to your outdoor space. In this blog, we'll explore the world of fencing in Poole, highlighting the expertise of fencing specialists and the reliable services of a leading fencing company. Whether you're looking for Poole fencing options, Dorset fencing supplies, or fencing in Bournemouth, we've got you covered.

Fencing Poole: What You Need to Know

When considering fencing in Poole, it's essential to have a clear understanding of your options. Fencing Poole offers a range of choices, from traditional wooden fences to modern metal designs. Your choice depends on your aesthetic preferences and the level of security you require.

Why Choose Fencing Specialists?

Fencing is an investment in your property, and it's crucial to get it right. Fencing specialists in Poole have the expertise to assess your needs and provide tailored solutions. With their knowledge of the local environment and regulations, they can recommend the most suitable fencing options for your property.

Discover the Leading Fencing Company in Poole

If you want a hassle-free experience and top-quality fencing materials, look no further than the leading fencing company in Poole. Their reputation for excellence in service and Dorset fencing supplies is unmatched. They offer a wide range of fencing options to suit all budgets and requirements.

Poole Fencing - Aesthetics and Security Combined

Fencing in Poole is not just about security; it's also about aesthetics. A well-chosen fence can complement the beauty of your property. From classic wooden fences that exude warmth to sleek metal designs that provide a modern touch, Poole fencing offers a plethora of choices.

The Benefits of Dorset Fencing Supplies

When embarking on a fencing project in Poole, having access to high-quality Dorset fencing supplies is essential. These supplies ensure that your fence is durable and long-lasting, even in the challenging coastal climate of Dorset.

Fencing Bournemouth - Expanding Your Options

If you're in the Bournemouth area, you can still benefit from the expertise of Poole's fencing specialists and the exceptional services of the leading fencing company. Fencing Bournemouth extends your options for finding the perfect fencing solution for your property.

Your One-Stop Solution for Dorset Fencing

For all your fencing needs in Poole, Dorset, and the surrounding areas, trust the experts who understand the local landscape and climate. From fencing Poole to Dorset fencing supplies, they've got everything you need to transform your property.

Conclusion: In Poole and its surrounding areas, fencing is more than just a functional addition to your property; it's a statement of security and style. With the guidance of fencing specialists and the support of the leading fencing company, you can elevate your property's aesthetics and protect what matters most. Don't compromise on quality; choose fencing Poole for a beautiful and secure outdoor space.

[richwall101]

Motcombe Fields View by Richard Walker Via Flickr: Through a wire fence, view from a footpath around Motcombe Meadows in Dorset County UK

[edirect-marketing]

Agricultural Fencing Dorset

If you have just typed “agricultural fencing contractors Dorset” into your search engine in order to find the most accredited local company who can offer a full service at a price that doesn’t break the bank, then you have struck gold by discovering the experts at Sharman Fencing. Get in touch with our team of friendly professionals at your earliest convenience on 01929 472 181 for exact prices and availability – we are confident that we can work together towards a suitable solution.

[vox-anglosphere]

A perennial garden in Dorset feels so quintessentially English.

Dorset

[estatefencingdirect]

Enhancing Elegance and Security: Wrought Iron Estate Gates in Hampshire

Introduction:

In the picturesque landscapes of Hampshire, where timeless elegance meets modern sophistication, the choice of estate gates plays a pivotal role in defining the grandeur and security of stately properties. Among the myriad options available, wrought iron estate gates from Estate Fencing Direct stand out as a symbol of enduring craftsmanship and aesthetic appeal. In this blog post, we'll delve into the unique features, benefits, and the distinct charm that wrought iron estate gates bring to Hampshire residences.

The Artistry of Wrought Iron:

Wrought iron, known for its malleability and strength, has been a favored material in craftsmanship for centuries. Estate Fencing Direct harnesses the artistry of wrought iron to create exquisite estate gates that seamlessly blend durability with timeless beauty. The inherent strength of wrought iron ensures not only longevity but also the ability to withstand the rigors of the Hampshire weather, making it an ideal choice for estate gates that stand the test of time.

Customization for Unique Estates:

Estate Fencing Direct understands that each estate in Hampshire possesses its own character and charm. To complement the distinctiveness of every property, their wrought iron estate gates are customizable to meet unique specifications. Whether your estate boasts a classic or contemporary architectural style, these gates can be crafted to enhance the overall aesthetic appeal while ensuring a seamless fit with the property's character.

Security and Privacy:

Beyond their ornate beauty, wrought iron estate gates by Estate Fencing Direct serve as formidable guardians of security and privacy. These gates act as a visible deterrent, discouraging unauthorized access and enhancing the overall safety of the estate. With various designs and additional security features, such as lock systems and access control options, homeowners in Hampshire can customize their wrought iron gates to meet specific security needs while preserving the privacy of their estate.

Durability in Hampshire's Climate:

Hampshire experiences a range of weather conditions throughout the year, from damp winters to warm summers. Estate gates must withstand these fluctuations to maintain their functionality and aesthetics. Wrought iron, being highly resistant to corrosion and weathering, proves to be an excellent choice for Hampshire estates. Estate Fencing Direct's craftsmanship ensures that their wrought iron estate gates are not only stylish but also resilient against the elements, ensuring lasting beauty and functionality.

Architectural Versatility:

The versatility of wrought iron allows for the creation of estate gates that seamlessly blend with various architectural styles. Whether your estate in Hampshire exudes classical charm or embraces a more modern design, Estate Fencing Direct can design wrought iron gates that complement and enhance the overall visual appeal of the property. From intricate scrollwork to sleek and contemporary designs, the architectural versatility of wrought iron makes it an ideal choice for discerning homeowners.

Curb Appeal and Aesthetic Harmony:

Estate gates serve as the first impression of a property, setting the tone for what lies beyond. Wrought iron estate gates, with their intricate detailing and timeless elegance, contribute significantly to the curb appeal of Hampshire estates. The aesthetic harmony achieved by these gates not only elevates the visual allure of the property but also adds a touch of regality that reflects the owner's commitment to sophistication and style.

Low Maintenance Elegance:

While wrought iron gates exude a sense of opulence, they are surprisingly low maintenance. Estate Fencing Direct ensures that their wrought iron estate gates receive a protective finish that enhances their resistance to rust and corrosion. This means that homeowners in Hampshire can enjoy the elegance of wrought iron without the burden of extensive upkeep, allowing them to focus on the pleasures of estate living.

A Sustainable Choice:

Wrought iron's longevity and durability contribute to its sustainability as a building material. Estate Fencing Direct's commitment to environmental responsibility extends to the materials they use, ensuring that their wrought iron gates have minimal impact on the environment. Choosing wrought iron estate gates for your Hampshire property not only adds a touch of timeless elegance but also aligns with a sustainable approach to estate living.

Conclusion:

Estate Fencing Direct's wrought iron estate gates stand as both guardians and ambassadors of Hampshire's grand estates. Their marriage of durability, security, and aesthetic appeal makes them a natural choice for homeowners who seek to enhance the beauty and functionality of their properties. As wrought iron gates grace the entrances of Hampshire estates, they become more than mere barriers – they embody a legacy of craftsmanship, elegance, and the timeless allure of estate living in one of England's most enchanting regions.

[estatefencing]

Enhancing Elegance and Security: Wrought Iron Estate Gates in Hampshire

In the picturesque landscapes of Hampshire, where timeless elegance meets modern sophistication, the choice of estate gates plays a pivotal role in defining the grandeur and security of stately properties. Among the myriad options available, wrought iron estate gates from Estate Fencing Direct stand out as a symbol of enduring craftsmanship and aesthetic appeal. In this blog post, we'll delve into the unique features, benefits, and the distinct charm that wrought iron estate gates bring to Hampshire residences.

The Artistry of Wrought Iron:

Wrought iron, known for its malleability and strength, has been a favored material in craftsmanship for centuries. Estate Fencing Direct harnesses the artistry of wrought iron to create exquisite estate gates that seamlessly blend durability with timeless beauty. The inherent strength of wrought iron ensures not only longevity but also the ability to withstand the rigors of the Hampshire weather, making it an ideal choice for estate gates that stand the test of time.

Customization for Unique Estates:

Estate Fencing Direct understands that each estate in Hampshire possesses its own character and charm. To complement the distinctiveness of every property, their wrought iron estate gates are customizable to meet unique specifications. Whether your estate boasts a classic or contemporary architectural style, these gates can be crafted to enhance the overall aesthetic appeal while ensuring a seamless fit with the property's character.

Security and Privacy:

Beyond their ornate beauty, wrought iron estate gates by Estate Fencing Direct serve as formidable guardians of security and privacy. These gates act as a visible deterrent, discouraging unauthorized access and enhancing the overall safety of the estate. With various designs and additional security features, such as lock systems and access control options, homeowners in Hampshire can customize their wrought iron gates to meet specific security needs while preserving the privacy of their estate.

Durability in Hampshire's Climate:

Hampshire experiences a range of weather conditions throughout the year, from damp winters to warm summers. Estate gates must withstand these fluctuations to maintain their functionality and aesthetics. Wrought iron, being highly resistant to corrosion and weathering, proves to be an excellent choice for Hampshire estates. Estate Fencing Direct's craftsmanship ensures that their wrought iron estate gates are not only stylish but also resilient against the elements, ensuring lasting beauty and functionality.

Architectural Versatility:

The versatility of wrought iron allows for the creation of estate gates that seamlessly blend with various architectural styles. Whether your estate in Hampshire exudes classical charm or embraces a more modern design, Estate Fencing Direct can design wrought iron gates that complement and enhance the overall visual appeal of the property. From intricate scrollwork to sleek and contemporary designs, the architectural versatility of wrought iron makes it an ideal choice for discerning homeowners.

Curb Appeal and Aesthetic Harmony:

Estate gates serve as the first impression of a property, setting the tone for what lies beyond. Wrought iron estate gates, with their intricate detailing and timeless elegance, contribute significantly to the curb appeal of Hampshire estates. The aesthetic harmony achieved by these gates not only elevates the visual allure of the property but also adds a touch of regality that reflects the owner's commitment to sophistication and style.

Low Maintenance Elegance:

While wrought iron gates exude a sense of opulence, they are surprisingly low maintenance. Estate Fencing Direct ensures that their wrought iron estate gates receive a protective finish that enhances their resistance to rust and corrosion. This means that homeowners in Hampshire can enjoy the elegance of wrought iron without the burden of extensive upkeep, allowing them to focus on the pleasures of estate living.

A Sustainable Choice:

Wrought iron's longevity and durability contribute to its sustainability as a building material. Estate Fencing Direct's commitment to environmental responsibility extends to the materials they use, ensuring that their wrought iron gates have minimal impact on the environment. Choosing wrought iron estate gates for your Hampshire property not only adds a touch of timeless elegance but also aligns with a sustainable approach to estate living.

Conclusion:

Estate Fencing Direct's wrought iron estate gates stand as both guardians and ambassadors of Hampshire's grand estates. Their marriage of durability, security, and aesthetic appeal makes them a natural choice for homeowners who seek to enhance the beauty and functionality of their properties. As wrought iron gates grace the entrances of Hampshire estates, they become more than mere barriers – they embody a legacy of craftsmanship, elegance, and the timeless allure of estate living in one of England's most enchanting regions.

[paigeedirect]

Dorset Fencing - Steve Collins Surfacing

When choosing Steve Collins for Dorset Fencing, clients can expect unparalleled expertise, the highest of quality materials, and dedicated service, making them the preferred option over other companies. Experience the difference that Steve Collins brings to your fencing project and enhance the security and aesthetics of your property with their outstanding fencing solutions.

If you are in need of Dorset fencing, be sure to get in touch with Steve Collins Surfacing, a reputable surfacing company based in Dorset boasting over 25 years of experience. They will be able to provide you with the exact and perfect fencing that you are looking for, you can’t go wrong with Steve Collins Surfacing team!

[newtonsheffield]

Do we ever see Kate face off against any of Anthony's old tennis partners? Possibly a previous tennis flame? I was just imagining an incredibly dramatic Olympic heat/QF/SF, a hard fought battle, but not for athletic reasons?

Oh it’s a well known fact that once upon a time Anthony Bridgerton wasn’t just a player on the ATP tour. He was a player. And most of the time, that doesn’t really bother Kate. Anthony’s 13 years older than her, he obviously dated before her: Whatever. It is what it is. Anthony has to put up with Kate doing sponsor shoots with Tom Dorset all the time. It’s fine.

Except sometimes it’s really… fucking annoying. Especially when the women feel duty bound to remind her constantly coupled with the fact that Anthony’s enjoying a (well deserved in Kate’s opinion) surge in popularity and notoriety after his Wimbledon win and their doubles bid for the Olympics now.

“I’m surprised you got Anthony out of bed this early.”

Kate’s head jolted to the left to the practice court next door, missing the ball Anthony lobbed across the net to her. “I’m sorry?”

The other woman’s lips curved in a slow smile. “From what I remember he was such a grumpy boy in the mornings.”

Irritation flickered through Kate’s chest. “Well, maybe he has more reason to get out of bed now.”

Anthony jogged over, stopping a little short and shifting nervously on the spot. “oh! Hey Jess.”

“Anthony.” She smiled falsely at Kate. “Kate.”

She strode away and Kate pushed down the strong desire to throw a tennis ball at the back of her head.

“Everything okay?”

“Just peachy!” Kate cleared her throat, “Get back over there.”

It didn’t bother her. Kate reminded herself constantly. It shouldn’t matter. She and Anthony were happy and in a good place and it shouldn’t matter. But every time she stood across the court from one of the women who’d taken it upon themselves to wink and smile at Anthony it made her boiling mad. Not because he ever noticed, in fact, Kate was fairly sure he never did. But in a way that made it even more annoying. That he couldn’t be less interested as they fluttered her eyelids at him while he carried her kit bags to the car.

“It actually bothers you doesn’t it?” Edwina laughed, as Kate smacked the tennis ball at the fence where yet another player turned pundit was sat beside Anthony, flirting and laughing her way through an interview.

“Sorry!” Mary called out to the woman with not a trace of apology, dropping her voice. “At least try to make it less obvious, Darling.”

“It doesn’t bother me.” Kate bit back.

“Really?” Edwina chuckled, “Because you know you’re not actually supposed to treat that thing like a blade right?”

Kate rolled her eyes, “Does it bother you when people flirt with Josie?”

Edwina’s face flickered with irritation. “That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“Yes! Everyone wants to date a football player! That’s the pinnacle for people attracted to athletes!”

“I think a lot of people would disagree with you.” Kate mused, grunting as she sent the ball sailing back over the net.

“Stop changing the subject!”

“No!”

[1016anon]

Title: Can You Feel the Love Tonight Author: 1016anon Fandom: Bridgerton Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sharma Summary: In which Anthony buys a menagerie (and has to relive the same day).

A/N: No animals were harmed in the making of this fic. :D No research or proofreading was done either. Enjoy!

It is only after ten iterations of repeating the same day that Anthony realizes he's been given what some might consider a gift.  How many times has he gone to bed wishing that he could have done something differently, gone back in time to erase his mistakes, had another opportunity to do it right this time?

Now, he's been given that chance to do it over again.

For example: Miss Edwina said she preferred animals that could curl up in her lap.

Well, the solution to this was simple.  He forewent fencing with his brothers and instead scoured London until he found the perfect gift: a dog.  A lapdog, in fact.  A white puppy thing with... hair.  It had already tried-- twice-- to eat the red ribbon he'd tied in a bow (structurally robust the first time, sad and floppy the second time) and cried pitifully whenever Anthony set it down.

"How much clearer must I be?"

"I brought a gift for Miss Edwina."

There was no way to hold the dog with any kind of dignity.  The creature would not stop squirming and growling at Anthony's hat; it seemed to hold a personal grudge.  He'd hoped to deliver it directly to Miss Edwina's arms so as to witness her delight (and watch Miss Sharma seethe).

(In fact, the sight of Miss Sharma's expression softening-- for just a moment-- into something resembling affection gave him chest pains which could only be attributed to acute indigestion.)

"Take your dog and stop hounding us at every turn."

"I liked your Trojan Horse insult better-- it had more layers, no puns."

"Truly, this is all a game to you."

"I'm not here to play games."

Anthony considered it nothing short of an act of god that the script had not deviated; he was intelligent but she was clever, always ready with another attack.  It was no wonder he'd tried to use Nectar to ward off her barrage.  But now he had the advantage of knowing what she would say next and so headed off her counterstrike.

"And before you accuse me of using Mr. Dorset in a deceitful prank, I apologize for my unbecoming conduct at the races, Miss Sharma.  It was poorly done."

Hah!  He'd caught her off guard, for once.

"For what it's worth, he was interested in you and had planned on calling on you this afternoon.  You should not hold my actions against him."

"I will use my own judgment to consider his behavior."

The dog yipped as though it knew it was no longer the center of attention and licked Anthony's face.  He grimaced when it succeeded once or twice (or thrice); it wiggled and wagged as he tried to adjust his hold.  This only shifted the puppy's focus from his face to his gloves-- his fingers were not chew toys.  A brief struggle; discouraging sounds of distressed leather; a very attentive audience; and-- damn it, he'd just broken the gloves in.  Normally the leather would have held, but the puppy's needle-sharp teeth left at least one small tear and a few impressions.

The struggle was made all the worse by Miss Sharma's efforts to remain stern and hide her smile.  He did not prolong his own suffering just to see if he could make her laugh.  And he most certainly did not find her eyes, sparkling with amusement, mesmerizing in any way.  It was a trick of the light.

"Is Miss Edwina available?"

That wiped the smile off her face.

"She is not.  And we already have a dog."

"Excellent-- the two can keep each other company."

"No, we cannot accept your gift.  Lady Danbury barely tolerates Newton and he's extremely well behaved-- I will not test the limits of her hospitality with a puppy that will chew all her furniture."

"The dog is not for you, Miss Sharma, it is for your sister and therefore her decision.  She is fond of animals, is she not?"

"Do you know anything about raising a puppy, my Lord?"

"I'm afraid I haven't had a chance to partake of the joys such an experience must undoubtedly afford.  Perhaps Miss Edwina can tell me later."

"My sister does not need to tell you later-- I can tell you now," she stepped forward, on the attack again.  "The puppy needs to be watched constantly.  It needs to be housetrained.  You do not even know if it will get along with Newton!"

The puppy in question barked right in Anthony's ear.  It appeared there was only so much time they could spend in each other's presence before it devolved into an argument.

Let the record show that he'd tried.  She was the one who refused to accept the ceasefire.

"Miss Sharma, you act as though I'm a villain for bringing a puppy for Miss Edwina, when it is a gift-- any other woman in London would be happy to accept it!"

"I have never met a man as brazenly presumptuous--"

"Why are you determined to make this so difficult?!  You do not even know me!"

"I am making this difficult?!  You are the one who refuses to listen!"

"Is this about what you heard on the terrace again?"

It always seemed to circle back to that damn terrace.  Why couldn't he redo that day instead?

Her only response was stony silence and The Glare.

Anthony had Complicated Feelings about The Glare.  Many of those feelings seemed to surface at night while he--

No, he was not going to follow where those thoughts led, not when the woman in question was standing in front of him like a pillar of fire wrapped in lilac silk.

Usually by this time Miss Edwina emerged from the house to tell him she preferred animals that could curl up in her lap.  For whatever reason, she did not make an appearance.  Instead, the puppy-- which either had an impeccable sense of comedic timing or a horrible sense of inconvenient timing-- seized the momentary standoff to catch the brim of his hat, unbalancing it enough to topple off his head.  He tried to catch it before it hit the ground--

"Viscount Bridgerton."

Lady Danbury's voice threw him completely off balance; he lost his tenuous hold on the puppy and it lept out of his arms, running straight for his hat, which was now covered in dust.  The tiny creature promptly sank its teeth in and dragged an object twice its size to Lady Danbury's feet.

It seemed very proud of its accomplishment, panting and wagging its tail, barking as it looked up at Lady Danbury, then the hat; at Lady Danbury, then the hat; at Lady Danbury, then dragging the hat again until it was nearly on top of her toes.

Lady Danbury simply gave it the eyebrow of skepticism.

"Lord Bridgerton, I'm sure that Miss Sharma has now informed you that I have no affection for creatures of the canine persuasion," the puppy whined to plead its case; Lady Danbury was unmoved.  "It is certainly a... generous gesture, but I'm afraid that, as the beast would be staying in my house, I will have to refuse."

Miss Sharma easily scooped the puppy up in her arms; the smug look on her face made him want to roll his eyes but he dared not do so in front of Lady Danbury.

"However, I believe Miss Sharma has an invitation to issue?"

Anthony immediately brightened.  Miss Sharma's eyes widened; frowned; protested Lady Danbury silently; was met with The Eyebrow; deflated; became annoyed-- all of this in the span of less than two seconds.

She plastered a smile on her face while saying, "Lady Danbury is hosting a soiree this evening for my sister's suitors" (emphasis on the plural).  "We would be most honored if you would join us."

"I would be happy to attend," he smiled, genuinely delighted to have received an invitation-- however grudgingly given-- directly from Miss Sharma.

"There will be a poetry reading, Lord Bridgerton," Lady Danbury smirked.  "To showcase her suitor's tastes and talents.  Miss Edwina is fond of literature."

With that parting piece of advice, she made a dramatic exit back to the house.

Miss Sharma, unable to allow anyone to have the last word, picked up his hat.  She gave it to Anthony; he was about to thank her and take the puppy back when she promptly put the dog in his hat.  She, too, went back to the house without even bidding him a good afternoon.  To say he was dumbfounded (no, he would not admit to being slightly aroused) was an understatement.

He stood there-- hat in hand and puppy whining-- watching her sharp shoulder blades and the ever-so-slight sway of her hips retreating back, an acute feeling of deja vu descending.

The puppy gnawed on his gloves.

Anthony couldn't quite bring himself to regret it.

--

Even if she hadn't issued an invitation (under duress, i.e. at the behest of Lady Danbury-- Anthony thought they were essentially the same thing), it was a moot point as Anthony had gotten quite good at charming his way past the door.  Regardless of whether he'd been invited or not, Miss Sharma's pinched look of disapproval was the same.  It made him simultaneously gleeful at securing a (petty) victory and disappointed; he'd thought they'd established some kind of puppy-related rapport that afternoon.

No matter.  He was there to court Miss Edwina.  He came armed with Benedict's soliloquy, "What Is It To Love A Woman."

Anthony attributed the sheer awkwardness of the speech to the fact that it wasn't in blank verse, nor did it rhyme.  It had absolutely nothing to do with his complete inability to recite past "to honor her"-- every single time-- without stumbling.

Every. single. time.

He got to those damn lines and reflexively looked up at Miss Sharma to see what she thought, whether she believed anything he said.  Anthony turned to her without conscious thought.  No permission from his higher brain functions.  Despite reminding himself not to look up, don't look up, concentrate on the 'poem,' don't search for her eyes in the crowd, don't do it, focus on his duty, the reason he was courting, only a few words, to honor her--

What made it even worse was that he couldn't remember what he said the first time, after he'd thrown the paper in the fire and declared vague things about Duty and Action.  He hadn't known he'd have to repeat the same day over and over-- it had been embarrassing enough to come clean the first time.  Trying to recreate that success came with widely varying results.  Anthony didn't know why one set of words resonated with his intended audience but another didn't; the sentiments driving them were exactly the same.

Moreover, it was annoying.  He'd made a fool of himself ten times over already and there were only so many times he could give a heartfelt speech before it became a mockery of its origins.  What did the words matter when his underlying motivation began to feel stale-- perhaps even contrived?  The one thing which did not change was the sting of humiliation he felt whenever he looked at Miss Sharma; the ringing silence that filled the room turned into a roar of disapproval-- to know that she'd heard him and still did not believe him.

Given his present difficulties with recitation and the utter futility of his utterances, the remedy was clear: read something else.  An actual poem, probably.

Easier said than done.  Byron was out of the question.  He didn't much care for Wordsworth, Coleridge; he shuddered at the thought of Milton.  Maybe Miss Edwina would like a dramatic reading from a play, something from the Oresteia trilogy.

(Was reading an excerpt from a play where the wife kills the husband after he comes home from war an appropriate selection for a soiree?  For courtship in general?

At least Miss Sharma would appreciate the irony.)

--

"Lady Mary is allergic to cats."

"Noted.  I will try again."

"No, you will not."

"You cannot reject every animal I offer, Miss Sharma.  Sooner or later, I will find something you will accept."

"Good day, Lord Bridgerton."

--

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?  Thou art more lovely and more temperate."

(Absolutely not.  This was the wrong poem for her-- Miss Sharma was the furthest thing from temperate, he would find another poem.

That is.

By which he meant.

For the purposes of courting Miss Edwina, he needed a poem that both Miss Sharma and Miss Edwina enjoyed.  He had to gain Miss Sharma's approval.

That was all.  Really.)

"Lord Bridgerton, I did not know you enjoyed poetry."

"I don't."

"You don't enjoy poetry, yet you recited a poem for my sister."

"This is a poetry reading, is it not?"

--

Miss Sharma immediately freed the songbirds and scoffed when he recited an excerpt from The Iliad.

Miss Edwina was attentive and polite at the soiree, but she was attentive and polite to everyone.

Anthony, who'd unwittingly believed the old saying, "third time's a charm," was discouraged when he woke to the same day the next morning.  It marked the two-week anniversary of what was increasingly beginning to feel like a prison of time.

--

She became furious-- even moreso than when he'd gone to Danbury House with Nectar-- when he brought two rose-ringed parakeets.

He did not know what angered her more: the fact that their wings were clipped; that fact that they probably could not survive in the wild; or the fact that they had been uprooted from India.  Miss Sharma stormed back into the house, after which Miss Edwina emerged.  She accepted the gift with grace, but her soft, subdued voice made clear that she took the birds out of pity for them, not as any sign of favor for his suit.

Anthony skipped the soiree that night.  He wasn't much in the mood for poetry.

--

"Lord Bridgerton, that is not a mere snake-- that is a python.  While they may be non-venomous, they can grow up to 10 feet in length and they kill by wrapping their coils around the animal and constricting it," she raised an eyebrow at his expression of shock.

"You did know this, did you not?  They've killed humans before."

"I--" he looked down at the slim, 3-foot long coiled reptile. "How do you-- Are you sure?"

"I recognize the species.  We have them in India."

Anthony regarded the coiled reptile again, feeling increasingly hysterical; there was a lump in the middle.  A mouse, Lord Conrad-- an eccentric, enthusiastic, apparently amateur herpetologist-- had cheerfully reassured him.

Absolutely nothing you need to do except feed it the occasional mouse and keep it warm.  Personally, I consider them to be fascinating creatures and wonderful to keep as pets-- they practically take care of themselves.  A pity that there is such stigma surrounding them because of all that religious dogma.

In truth, he'd been hesitant to purchase a snake precisely because of that stigma-- in Anthony's experience, people were either unafraid of snakes (Francesca, who'd tried to revive an adder she'd found half dead in winter), or they were terrified (Colin, who'd tried to get rid of the adder Francesca had brought in from the cold).  That they seemed to require very little in terms of care and maintenance had been the main selling point.  This particular species was not poisonous; snakes could be stored on a shelf, off the floor and away from dogs; as far as Anthony was aware they did not cause any itchy eyes or stuffed noses.  Lady Danbury was not afraid of snakes and the thing he'd purchased was rather small; it could stay out of sight and out of mind.

Other points in its favor: it was rare, it was expensive, and it had been advertised as harmless.  Anthony had thought the markings on this snake to be beautiful, in a deadly sort of way.  But not literally deadly.  There had been no mention of growing to 10 feet and killing by constriction when he'd purchased it from Lord Conrad.

Whether Miss Edwina would accept the gift was almost an afterthought now-- the two main hurdles were Miss Sharma and Lady Danbury.  He'd been banking on Miss Sharma to be too proud to admit any kind of fear (if indeed she was afraid) to raise any kind of strenuous objections to his gift.  (It would also hopefully keep her from lobbing all her accusations at him, which in turn would allow him to avoid apologizing.  He knew he owed her an apology but much like his now-abandoned speech, he was tired of repeating it every day.  Offering an insincere apology would put him further out of her graces than he already was.)

Miss Sharma watched his growing horror with increasing amusement.

"You really did not know?"

"I did not.  I would never have--" he swallowed and firmly closed the hamper lid.  "Forgive me, I will trouble you no further."

Anthony seriously considered laying into Lord Conrad, then decided it was best not to offend a man who had several convenient murder weapons at hand.  Instead, he relayed the information Miss Sharma gave and managed to deliver it as though he was doing Conrad a favor.

--

Miss Sharma sidled up to him that night, a sly smile on her face.

"You did not bring the snake, my Lord?" she asked far too innocently.

"Ah, no," he replied.  "Why, did you think I would demonstrate my skill as a snake charmer?"

"It would be quite fitting.  I think you're well qualified-- you snaked your way past the door despite not having been invited."

"I believe it had more to do with charm."

"You think much too highly of yourself."

"So I've been told," he grinned.  "And you, Miss Sharma?  You will not grace the audience with a show of your undoubtedly many talents-- you play the pianoforte, I believe."

She was taken aback.

"How did you know that?"

"You taught your sister everything she knows, did you not?  Given her accomplishments, I can only imagine the breadth and depth of your skill."

"Trying to practice your charm on me, Lord Bridgerton?"

"No," he frowned.  "It was a compliment."

She simply raised her eyebrow at him.

Of all the-- apparently he could not even give a compliment without being accused of ulterior motives.

"Miss Sharma, if I decided to turn my charms on you, you would know."

"So you admit your charms are insincere."

"I did not say that!"

"But it's what you meant."

"You make it sound like charm is inherently immoral when it carries no such quality."

"It is when you use it to make lies more palatable."

"I concede, lies can be made charming, but not all lies are charming.  There is a distinction."

"I did not take you for a philosopher."

"This is not philosophy."

"Then what is it?"

"A defense of my character."

Miss Sharma fell silent and looked at him with those piercing eyes.  It was his turn to raise an eyebrow in challenge.

"Why do you want to marry my sister?" she asked outright.

"I--" don't.

Was on the tip of his tongue and that revelation was shocking because it should have felt more shocking.  Yet it made sense-- these past two weeks, his most substantive conversations had all been with Miss Sharma.  He could not say that his frothy conversations with Miss Edwina during the soiree had any staying power; he could not remember most of them.  He knew what she would say so he found his mind wandering as he made all the right noises in the right places, smiling and nodding while excruciatingly aware of Miss Sharma's gaze aimed between his shoulder blades.

Anthony never thought his interactions with Miss Sharma dry or stale.  They kept him grounded.  Repeating the same day again and again allowed him to make all kinds of mistakes before her, each of which elicited a different response.  There was a kind of freedom to it, a natural honesty.  She was the only vibrant thing in an increasingly dismal timescape.

On the heels of that thought was the depressing realization that the freedom came with a price: she did not remember.  She would never remember.  Not until tomorrow came, and who knew when tomorrow would come?

He decided that was a problem for future Anthony.  Present Anthony had the radical, revolutionary idea that maybe he could just... tell her the truth.  Which was:

"I don't know," he choked on the words.

Truth apparently needed a fortifying glass of lemonade (he would have preferred something stronger) to wash it down.

"Then why are you courting her?"

"Duty," he shrugged.  "I need to marry.  That is what firstborn sons do-- sire the heir and spare."

"You--"

"Miss Sharma," he cut her off.  "I know my words are distasteful, but why do you object so strenuously when that is the reality of marriage among the ton?  I will take care of your sister and your family."

"My sister desires a love match and what you're offering is not love!" she hissed.

"No, you told me she desires a love match-- Miss Edwina has never once expressed that herself."

"So you claim to know my sister better than I do?"

"I claim to know what it's like to want what one thinks is best for a sibling-- one who is my junior by ten years-- and assume they are of the same mind."

They were whispering to each other fiercely in the back of the room while a gentleman danced a jig.

"You cannot attribute nefarious motives to me when I have been exceptionally clear to both you and Miss Edwina as to my intentions.  I have never once promised love and Miss Edwina has never once required it!"

"That is because you act as though you are a man in love!"

"That is not what I am doing."

"You may have declared with words that you eschew a love match, but you have taken great pains to find ways to meet my sister, despite my best efforts and expressly against my wishes.  Your schemes to spend time with her, your deceptions, your gifts-- what else can Edwina conclude than that you are in love?"

"How else am I supposed to speak to her?  She knows I want to marry her-- I declared my intention at the Queen's ball."

"What?"

"I asked her questions regarding her thoughts on marriage, after which I asked to meet your father-- you cannot tell me that she is so naive as to not know what that meant."

"No-- you assumed she understood you were making an offer for her hand because you asked to speak to our father, when Edwina told me after the ball that she thought you simply wanted to introduce yourself.  You never made a proposal, you never asked for her hand.  You make promises without a word, and now you've made her believe you are that much more enamored of her than you truly are!"

"Very well.  There is an easy way to settle this once and for all."

Sending up an uncharacteristic prayer, Anthony marked to the front of the room and usurped some other gentleman's place in the queue.

"Miss Edwina, do you desire a love match?"

"Yes, my Lord," she responded immediately, a frown marring her gentle features.  "I seek a love match."

"I see," he paused.  "Then I'm afraid I will fall short of your expectations."

Miss Edwina's express turned to one of dismay.

"I'm not a man of poetry," he began, addressing her.  "I cannot give pretty words and romantic gestures."

He couldn't help but search for Miss Sharma's intense eyes.  And when he found them-- his breath caught ever so slightly as the bottom of his world fell out.

"Truth be told, I find them to be empty, not unless those words and gestures are confirmed through one's actions.  And I could stand here to tell you differently, I could pretend to be someone I am not-- I could pretend to want the same things as you, but I'd be lying."

Anthony should have stopped there; he should have at least stopped looking at Miss Sharma and instead turned to Miss Edwina, sitting in front of him, not standing at the far side of the room.  Yet he couldn't.

"I may not be able to offer the displays of passion society demands.  But I assure you that when it comes to action and duty, I shall never be found lacking.  And I hope it is those actions which will serve as proof of my intentions, rather than the words of flattery I cannot express."

When he finally looked at Miss Edwina, she looked--

His heart fell.

Because she appeared as Miss Sharma described: in love, with hope-- the kind of hope which was actually a naive form of expectation-- that his words demonstrated more love than he actually had.  The first time it had happened-- that very first time, before he'd been condemned to this cycle-- he'd felt triumphant in victory.  Now, all he felt was a pit in his stomach swallowing him in defeat.

Anthony did the only thing he could think to do in such circumstances.

He left.

--

The next few days were spent in a bedridden existential crisis.

He had been working under the assumption that the day was something to get right, as though there was a correct answer which would unlock the door to the future, grant him the key to unfreeze time.  But that in turn implied some sort of grand design, where life could be divided into right decisions and wrong decisions leading down right paths and wrong paths, instead of what Anthony had learned from bitter experience:

It was chaos.

Since his father died and the weight of the family fell on his shoulders, his life had been divided into decisions which endangered lives and decisions which safeguarded them.

That was all.

No one could predict what events would cascade down in the roulette of terrible consequences and caprices of unforeseen fortune.  If something broke, for the most part it could be repaired down the road-- the repairs might not be easy and they often weren't.  It might not return everything back to its original condition, but nothing ever did.  Repairs did not renew, only restored.  Even so, that didn't mean what was broken could not be repaired in some way, shape, or form.

The sole exception was death; that was the only absolute measure of right or wrong, success or failure.  Anthony still considered Daphne's season as an unforgivable failure not because of Berbrooke, but because it had nearly ended in death-- and the death of the wrong person.

Was there anything really at stake here?  Did lives hang in the balance?

A week ago, he would have answered with a resounding 'yes.'  Lives were at stake-- the theoretical life of his theoretical firstborn son, forced to take on the theoretical viscountcy at a theoretical young age due to Anthony's theoretical death which would take place in the theoretical-- and increasingly unreachable-- future.

For all he knew, his life might be continuing in the normal flow of time and he was trapped reliving the same day because he'd had a psychotic break.  Or he could be trapped in an abnormally long, horrific dream from which he could not wake.  It had happened a few times, when Anthony thought he'd woken but had, in fact, dreamed that he'd woken and gone about his day-- the only indication that he had still been in the dreamworld was that, upon waking (for real), he remembered everyone had ridden unicorns instead of horses and the carriages had giant wings (but not the horses...).

If there was anything this experience had put in stark relief, it was: 1) outside of meeting Miss Sharma and going to the soiree, the time in between was indistinguishable from any other day of his life; 2) the only thing he looked forward to was meeting Miss Sharma because she was the only person who reacted to him as a person, not as part of the house furniture.

Following logically from (1): if the time between was indistinguishable from all the days which preceded it and presumably all the days which would follow (if time ever deigned to restart), then living the same day over and over should not make a material difference to his happiness-- and yet it did.  In other words: Anthony had long been living the same day over and over because he literally began living the same day over and over.  He was invisible in his own family, for whom he lived; it followed that he was invisible in his own life.

Following logically from (2): the repetition was becoming increasingly difficult to bear because every day, he learned more about Miss Sharma while she forgot him.  That thrill he'd felt meeting Miss Sharma at dawn in the park was from being seen.  Her gaze transformed him from a something to a someone.

Anthony was an odd person who combined two things which did not seem to go together naturally: he was dramatic and he was pragmatic.

The drama usually came from facing new situations.  The pragmatism came after he'd sufficiently flailed like a duck with a broken wing.

Now that he'd had his little flail, he got up and did the pragmatic thing:  Spend what could very well be the rest of his life with the only person who made his days flare with color.

--

"How much clearer must I--" she stopped in her tracks and stared at the very noticeable head with enormous eyes poking out of the basket.  "What is that?"

"It's a hairless cat."

"It looks like an enormous rat."

"I thought this would be a good alternative."

"A good alternative to what?"

"You told me that Lady Mary is allergic to cats."

"I remember all our conversations quite clearly, Lord Bridgerton, and never once did cats or Lady Mary feature as a topic."

"Yes, well.  Regardless, I was told that cat hair makes Lady Mary's eyes itch and water.  I have found the perfect solution."

"There was never a problem which needed to be solved."

The hairless cat yawned, the skin of its face wrinkling in fascinating places.

While Anthony thought the cat's wrinkles interesting, he found Miss Sharma's curiosity-- free of her outright hostility-- to be much more compelling.  She watched, mesmerized as the cat tried to free a paw from the pile of blankets in the basket.  When it realized they were staring, it stopped for a moment and blinked at them, ears twitching.  Then the cat visibly wrote them off as unimportant bipeds and continued its efforts to untangle itself.

"Would you like to pet him?  He's quite gentle."

She began to nod then stopped herself and looked at him warily, as though remembering to whom she was speaking.  Anthony tried not to scowl.  He viciously tamped down on the burgeoning feeling of hurt, reminding himself that the weeks which had passed for him did not at all exist for her.

Nonetheless, she reached out to touch; the cat immediately butted its head into the palm of her hand.

"He's warm," she marveled.  "His skin is soft."

"They told me to wrap him in a blanket since he has no fur to keep himself warm."

She nodded.

"Wherever did you find such a creature?"

"With great difficulty."

Miss Sharma laughed, still petting the hairless cat.  It had started purring.

"I brought him as a gift."

She stiffened.

"For you!  Not for Miss Edwina."

Miss Sharma looked surprised, then reverted back to her usual angry suspicion; but he could have sworn that for half a second, she'd seemed pleased.

"Why?"

"To apologize.  For my behavior at the races, yesterday."

"Oh," she continued to pet the cat, uncharacteristically silent.

"I... hope you like it?"

"I do," she replied softly.

The cat's purring became louder as she gently rubbed behind its ears.  Miss Sharma's smile was a thing of beauty.

"I like him very much," she slowly withdrew her hand, "but I'm afraid I cannot accept."

"Oh," he deflated.

Awkward silence.  Neither moved, though they came to an unspoken agreement not to look at each other.  Or maybe that was just Anthony, afraid he would see more distrust in her eyes.

At a loss for words, Anthony turned around and gave the cat-in-basket to the footman.  He was about to get in the carriage when he stepped down again and went up to her.

"May I ask why?"

Behind him, the footman closed the door, presumably having placed the cat-in-basket on a seat.

"I--" she bit her lip.  "I already have a dog, named Newton.  I don't think he will take kindly to another animal in the house."

"Ah, of course.  The infamous Newton."

"He's a bit territorial."

"I don't blame him."

Miss Sharma looked up at him sharply; Anthony, however, had immediately transferred his gaze to the sky, wondering if repeating the same day would cure him of his foot-in-mouth disease.

This whole business of being seen might take some time to get used to.  He felt like he was burning up in the sun.

"Why are you here, Lord Bridgerton."

"I saw the cat and I thought of you," he shrugged helplessly.

Apparently this only made things worse.  Truly, he could never win with her.  Which was probably why he looked forward to his visits so much-- every day might start the same way, but he could never predict her reactions.

"If this is a ploy to gain access to Edwina--"

"No, it is not a ploy," he rolled his eyes.  "You're always so eager to think the worst of me."

"You've given me no reason to think well of you."

"Those words were not meant for you."

"Then who were they meant for, my Lord?"

"I know you've met Fife-- can you blame me for acting precisely as he expected?"

"That is no excuse for speaking of women in such a reprehensible manner."

"What exactly did I say which was so reprehensible?  I listed the qualities I desire in a wife and they are not unreasonable things to ask for.  I'm certain you yourself have a similar list-- just because you've kept your rubric private and overheard mine is no reason for you to act as though you have the high ground."

"No, you did not list what you wanted in a wife, you listed what you wanted in the mother of your children.  If it had been your wife, I would have been more forgiving.  Instead, you spoke of her as though she was only worth the children she would bear-- do not pretend you made that list so that you might have a witty partner-- do not rewrite history."

"But she will be the mother of my children-- of our children."

"You--"

"I do not think you understand this distinction.  If I could-- if it were my choice and mine alone-- I would marry a woman regardless of whether she fits those qualities because I have an incurable habit of falling in love with women who are not considered appropriate for my station.  But because I am the firstborn, because I am a viscount and therefore responsible for siring an heir to carry on the Bridgerton name, I am expected to marry a certain kind of lady."

"Then you would carry on with a mistress after you have children?"

He threw up his hands.

"Is that what you took away from what I just said?"

"It's not a large leap in logic--"

"Perhaps it is not, but unfortunately for me and any future wife, I'm an incurable monogamist."

"That is not something you can know unless you've been married."

"Miss Sharma, I know myself."

"You might fall in love."

"Not possible when I'm already in love."

"With Edwina?" she reeled back in horror.

"For god's sake-- with you!  I'm in love with you."

At this point, they were standing toe to toe, chests heaving because of all the yelling.

"I--" she gaped at him like he'd lost his mind.

Entirely possible he had, but when it came to Miss Sharma, all bets were off.  Before she could regroup to accuse him of another kind of deceit, he simply dragged her to a corner of the gardens which he knew from experience hid them from view (the advantages of growing up with Simon) and just... plastered himself as close to her as possible and breathed in that scent.

From the way she was gasping in his ear and decidedly not pushing him away, she felt the same.

The situation had spun out of control so quickly, but in so many ways it felt inevitable.  They were powder kegs primed to explode-- there was absolutely no path they could take which would not lead to this-- this--

Hunger, was the only word he could think of.

Love, underneath it, but at the moment, just an overwhelming hunger.

"Tell me you don't feel this, Kate."

Anthony's chronic inability to keep his mouth shut led to him falling in the grass as Kate tried (and failed, by his estimation, not that she'd asked for his opinion) to regain composure.

He couldn't say he had a very clear recollection of what followed-- he blamed the fact that all the blood which should have been in his brain had mysteriously vacated the premises to find more immediate and pleasurable locales-- but he did remember outrage and attraction writ large on her face, a very harsh and biting kiss she sprang on him to shut him up (a very effective tactic.  See: aforementioned memory loss), returning to the carriage to the knowing smirks of his footman and opening the door to find:

The cat unraveling a tassel, blissfully ignoring the sheer carnage of everything it had shredded.

--

Lady Danbury looked slightly too knowing when he arrived (ahead of his family, no less) and went straight to Miss Sharma.

Anthony ignored her and instead spent the evening monopolizing Miss Sharma's time and acting like a complete boor by glaring at anyone who dared interrupt.  He'd thought she would be displeased by his overbearing and extremely possessive behavior, only to discover that for all her protests, she liked it.

That was the moment his life changed.

Not the moment he met her, not the moment he fell in love, not the moment he declared his love-- not even the moment he married her or welcomed their first child.

The moment he realized he could have all of her, and she would let him.

--

It was inevitable that at some point, he would run out of animals to give her.  Hamsters, guinea pigs, chinchillas, ducklings, rabbits with floppy ears, rabbits with regular ears, rabbits with one floppy and one regular ear, prize roosters (that was a favorite), seven swans a-swimming, six geese a-laying, five gold-fleeced sheep, four calling birds, three french hens, two turtledoves...

"Lord Bridgerton."

"Miss Sharma."

"Would you care to inform me why you had a pear tree delivered this morning?"

"That, Miss Sharma, was so you could place," he presented the cage with flourish, "this partridge in it."

"... why do I get the feeling you're not telling me everything."

"Because you are entirely correct: I am not."

--

As it turned out, after having entertained Miss Sharma with limericks, French love songs, nonsensical stories of all the soirees he'd had the pleasure to attend; then having discovered the revolution of Ancient Indian poetry which was delightfully erotic; he found a poem in English which perfectly described her:

Tyger Tyger, burning bright, In the forests of the night; What immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies, Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain, In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp, Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

When the stars threw down their spears And water'd heaven with their tears: Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger Tyger burning bright, In the forests of the night: What immortal hand or eye, Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

--

Did he ever question why that night, why that day?

Of course he did.

Did he ever get an answer?

Of course not.

Did she believe his fantastical tale?

Surprisingly, yes.  The reason she cited: he didn't have the imagination to make up such an outrageous story and keep it consistent.  All the details sounded like memory, not malady.

Did they get married?

Of course.

Was their courtship easy?

Of course not.  They were themselves-- both of them obstinate, stubborn, and unyielding to good, plain, common sense.

There was The Return of the Sheffields: Ugly & Uglier.  There was Prince Friedrich Comes to Town: The Battle of Bagshot.  There was That Damn Lady Whistledown, fuck her and the quill she wrote with (now with special features!  Called:  Why, Eloise?  Why?).

Most of all there was: The Fucking Wedding Cannot Come Soon Enough, We Should Have Applied For A Special License, Part 2.

Anthony and Kate couldn't keep their hands off each other.  It required Anthony to exercise his non-existent discipline, i.e. Kate refused allow him to fuck her standing-- they'd done it once and she didn't like the feeling of come trailing down her thighs while dancing a quadrille with his brother; he might have stared at her that night like a concussed squirrel hoarding all its acorns, but Kate found the aftermath sticky and unpleasant.

(Of course, in a move presaging the rest of their lives, they arrived at a compromise: fucking while standing was allowed so long as he ate her out when he was finished.)

Did he ever wake up shaking in fear that he would have to relive the same day-- again?

All the time.  It came to the point where Kate sucked a new bruise into his skin every night, or left a collection of new scratches on his back, or had him suck a new bruise into her skin every night, so that when he woke up the next morning, he would always know whether the day had repeated: he could look at the marks they'd left on each other's bodies.

(Did he try to buy her a tiger?

No.  He was not stupid.  It would have enraged her, to see a tiger chained.)

One night, when he woke up shaking from a nightmare, she asked him-- if he had to, would he do it again?

He didn't hesitate.

"Absolutely."

[master-john-uk]

A farmer in Edinburgh, Scotland is understandably rather angry after around 1,000 cars were parked on his field without permission. Around 200 vehicles were left in the field overnight, and Farmer Willie got little support from local Police.

Apparently, the same thing happened in 2019. Why the hell did the farmer not learn from this previous experience? As I see it, he had two possible options... Either make the field inaccessible by strengthening fences and gates, and/or digging a trench. Or, take the opportunity to make some extra money by advertising the field as "additional parking", and charging vehicles to use it.

Farmer Willie did not want risk confrontation by blocking the illegally parked vehicles, but, he could have punished the crop-destroying drivers by deploying a cow poo cannon... I mean, muck spraying the field that evening!

I had a small problem on my Dorset farm in 2019, when Bottom Pasture (the field furthest from any of the farm buildings) was advertised on social media as being the location of an illegal rave.

I was alerted to this by my cyber team in the City of London (who removed the ad from the internet). Dorset Police showed little (if any) interest... so I set up my own security arrangements. I replaced the wooden gate with a heavy metal one, set up temporary security cameras and, my secret weapon: The Cow Poo Cannon... an 18,000 litre tanker with a high-pressure pump and hose, filled with cow slurry, strategically positioned.

On the advertised date of the illegal rave it was very wet and windy. Nothing happened, except the security cameras being knocked out of position. We moved the Cow Poo Cannon back to a more secure area closer to farm buildings, and breathed a sigh of relief.

I think it was four days later, a neighbour alerted me that around 40 cars were blocking the narrow lane outside Bottom Pasture. (I think he exaggerated the number of cars.)

I phoned Dorset Police... Estimated response time: 2 hours... Advice: Do not intervene. Fools!

My two Czech farmhands took a tractor out to drag the Cow Poo Cannon back into position, Farmer Frank took a tractor out onto the road to block the narrow lane, and I drove the Land Rover over the fields.

I got there first. There were only six cars that I could see... but, as soon as they saw me approaching the revellers tried to get away. Two cars managed to escape before Frank blocked the road, one crashed into a wall and another tried to escape by driving across a field before being abandoned when it got stuck in the mud.

I had had a drink or two, so I didn't risk taking the Land Rover down the steep hill... instead, I ran towards the little gits shouting, aggressively!

Two Police cars turned up (much quicker than expected) before I got to confront any of the intruders face-to-face. I was restrained by two Police Officers, one of them a Sergeant. I was officially cautioned and bundled into the back of a Police car after I made remark questioning the Sergeant's intellect and parentage!

Only eight arrests were made that night (not including me), and only three were charged... 2 with drug related offences, and 1 for carrying a knife. (The two abandoned cars were both stolen vehicles.)

Unfortunately, my two devoted Czech farmhands had been on the Vodka that night... so it took them a little longer than it should have done to hook up the Cow Poo Cannon to the tractor... I would have loved to see them cover the Police cars with muck!

[thebluemallet]

My Top 10 Favorite Moments From Bridgerton Season 2, Episode 2: "Off to the Races"

It has officially been one year since Season 2, so please enjoy my upcoming series of posts about my favorite moments from each episode (and ignore the fact that I never finished doing this for Season 1). My favorite moments in no particular order (except maybe chronological):

10- Shave and a Haircut (Two Bits)

The back and forth between Anthony and Benedict is gold. Anthony is being his usual, brooding, calculating self. Benedict is just waiting for all of Anthony's plans to get derailed by the sissster! And probably the most quoted line from the trailer is in here and I love it. I am, of course, talking about Anthony's desire to go about choosing a bride with his head and not his dick heart.

I don't know if the cloth over the face was an intentional nod to Anthony's sideburns from last season, but if it was, kudos to the production team for thinking of that.

9- Door to the Face

I a-door Kate telling off Anthony and then shutting the doors to the drawing room in his face. She is the gatekeeper and she'll do whatever it takes to keep Anthony away from Edwina.

8- Hug-blocked

Oh, Penelope. You sure have some awkward moments, don't you. First, you slightly horrified your best friend when you said "...someone like--Colin!" Then you almost forgot yourself in the excitement of Colin being home and went to hug him before the other Bridgertons cut you off. At least it gave her a moment to remember herself and luckily for her, no one else seems to notice what she almost did.

While I would like the montage for season 3's first episode to be Colin getting increasingly confused/stressed out/sad because Penelope is ignoring him, I think it might actually end up being more of this awkward cutie trying and failing at the marriage mart.

7- "You think too much about it." "And you too little."

Kate and Anthony's argument over which horse will be the victor gives me life. And they're so absorbed in each other that Edwina's and Dorset's attempts to try and break up their debate get drowned out. And the two of them just absolutely losing it while watching the race is amazing. And I love the look on Anthony's face when Kate starts whistling. He's bewildered. He's in awe. He's horny as hell.

How did nobody else notice that these two were perfect for each other based off of this interaction???

6- The Fencing Scene

I would hereby like to petition the showrunners to please let us see the flowy white shirts the men are wearing more often. Anyway, on to the scene. Anthony is having a temper tantrum ranting to his brothers about Kate. If this is Anthony trying to hide how much he likes Kate, then he is going to be absolutely sickening in season 3 when he doesn't have to hide it anymore. I'm amazed that the brothers aren't picking up on it. Colin, you're forgiven since you've only just returned to the country, but Benedict, you haven't taken any drugs yet at this point in the show. You should have been able to read between the lines.

And did I mention: give us more of the flowy white Regency men's shirts.

5- Trojan Horse

Showing up at Lady Danbury's house with Nectar showed that a) Anthony really knew nothing about Edwina and b) he accidentally got the perfect gift for Kate. If only he wasn't so stupid. But his stupidity leads to some great lines this season so I'll take it.

Seriously, this is the 19th-century equivalent of getting someone a Ferrari, why would you do this, Anthony?

4- Pouty Anthony

Anthony pouting over being excluded from the invitation to Lady Danbury's. That's it. That's all I have to say.

3- Edwina Bonding With Penelope

Let's be real, Penelope's hair and outfits improve this season...but not until episode 3. Edwina is kinder than I am because she is very nice to Penelope about her dress and even makes her smile. I would not be able to say one nice thing about that outfit without lying through my teeth. Obviously, Penelope had other motivations when she spoke with Edwina, and she needed to be among the suspects for the Queen for plot reasons, but Edwina made Penelope feel good about herself for a minute there. I wish this friendship had been explored a little more this season, but alas.

2- "You are Pen...you do not count."

The only reason this is on my list is because I'm hoping this moment to come back and bite Colin in the ass in season 3. I like to imagine that when he starts to come to his senses, he'll remember this moment as he's about to drift off to sleep, cringe, and then lie awake for hours wondering what the hell is wrong with him.

1- Lady Danbury's Warning

Yes, Lady Danbury dropped the ball this season by not picking up on the attraction between Kate and Anthony sooner and also not denouncing Anthony courting Edwina. When Kate insists that she doesn't care what anybody thinks of her and she'll be more than happy to live the rest of her life alone in India, Lady Danbury calls her out on this. It's obvious to us and Danbury that Kate does care what people think of her (read: Anthony) and that she would be devastated at leaving her family behind and probably never seeing them again.

[evaa009]

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[richwall101]

The Paddock by Richard Walker Via Flickr: One of the beautiful paddocks within the grounds of Cranbourne Manor East Dorset. The Manor also has an excellent collection of many mature and rare trees

[rotpetals]

          INTRODUCING THE DOUBLY DEVIOUS DORSETS!

when they were still entirely too young to be doing so, jamie and bonnie travelled around london performing tricks. he’d pull a paper flower out of her head. she’d pull a ball of yarn out of his. they did handstands in leicester square. fistfuls of painted rocks tumbled out of jamie’s pockets, and bonnie’s dress fell up over her head to reveal a pair of velvet shorts. they laughed at each other upside down. sometimes a passerby would toss a coin at them and they’d wish something unspeakable on the queen’s head.

⁰¹. SHARED BIO UNDER CUT. ⁰². JAMIE. ⁰³. BONNIE. ⁰⁴. PLAYLIST.

the dorsets are a cat burglar duo, notorious for their prowess and ability to avoid consequence. they stepped into london’s underbelly when they were only eleven years old: sneaking into windows for older, hardened criminals they knew from their neighbourhood. apparently, jamie and bonnie were in juvenile hall for half a year when they were twelve ––– but if this is true, the records have been expunged or conveniently lost to time. these days, they work primarily for themselves. the twins don’t hold any manner of regular occupation; whenever it suits them (which is to say often), they take to the streets as performers. the truth is, they don’t need to work to support themselves. their lives are cushioned by a bottomless trust fund, courtesy of their estranged father. the dorsets, however, choose to make their own money ––– either by stealing high-value items and selling them off to a network of fences, or by taking on heist jobs from others. they’re loosely affiliated with a number of criminal organizations, coming and going from their ranks as they see fit. they pride themselves in their ability to steal seemingly anything without detection, and have garnered quite the reputation.

jamie and bonnie are trained acrobats. they spent the majority of their youth involved in gymnastics, theatre, and dance. they performed competitively for some time during their early teens, taking the stage as a mixed pair in the acrobatic gymnastics division ––– as well as individually in the tumbling division. the twins are unruly, however, and averse to stringent routine and the imposition of authority. they dropped out of competitive gymnastics when they were sixteen and never looked back. in their career as burglars, they capitalize on their skills to break in and out of places sans detection. they are often contracted to steal from upper-storey apartments and penthouses. they manoeuvre through buildings and security systems by relying on one another completely, and neither could ever work without the other.

the twins grew up in the east london borough of tower hamlets and speak with garishly thick cockney accents. despite their relative wealth and fortune, they consider themselves a part of the working class. they are blind to ––– or at least unwilling to admit ––– their privilege, and posses a victim mentality. they claim to have grown up in poverty, and exhibit some level of internalized classism towards the conditions of east london.

mary dorset watched the twins set the dinner table. it was like sitting in the front row of a choreographed performance. wherever they were, they were always able to act in an oddly harmonious way. they set the table quickly, and at no point did either of them reach for the same utensil or the same dish. indeed, no matter what they did, they managed to do it without ever bumping into each other.

the dorsets are the children of conrad whitacre ––– a financial investor and industry mogul stemming from old, generational wealth. they have older half-siblings, james (“jaime”) and bonny, who their spiteful mother named them after. the products of an affair, the dorsets did not grow up with their father in the picture. their mother, mary dorset, told them about him, and they have always known who their father is. when they were still quite young, mary would take them to the big, fancy gate that blocked off the whitacre estate. together, the three of them threw eggs at the iron bars and whooped and hollered loudly whenever one landed. the whitacre family know about the dorsets, largely due to mary’s relentless nuisance acts. she spent many years getting conrad’s attention, unwilling to let him shirk his obligations as a parent. while he never accepted his responsibility as a father, he did eventually concede to being a provider.

both jamie and bonnie have substantial trust funds to their names. these funds, entrusted to mary when the twins were still quite young, have always been used to support their peculiar lifestyles. the dorsets focus their lives on performance arts because they can. they have the luxury of pursuing their interests and refusing to do anything they don’t want to do. every few months, conrad adds money ––– all without ever exchanging a word with his youngest children. the first time they met him was when they were twelve and (maybe or maybe not) serving a juvenile sentence for burglary. at this point, their father, as influential as he was rich, began cleaning up after their messes. probably it‘s because mary dorset threatened to expose his infidelity scandal and ruin his reputation ––– but neither parent ever admitted as much, and the twins don’t care to ask. years later and they continue to abuse the privilege of having a proverbial janitor for a father. on the rare occasion that they get themselves into hot water, conrad whitacre always manages to sweep the problem under the rug.

the dorsets were liars by nature. their lies sounded so pretty, however, that people wanted desperately to believe they were true. bonnie told everyone that the world's greatest juggler taught her the rules of science and the natural universe. jamie told anyone who would listen that the most amazing escape artist taught him how to tie his shoes. they claimed their best friend was a white cat that walked on a tightrope. to those around them, their life seemed to be the most marvellous circus, both on and off the stage.

ARC I [MAIN]. the dorset burglar duo wreaks havoc on the (london) upper class, stealing their most prized possessions and turning a profit. they’ve got their fingers in a great many criminal enterprises. they spend their leisure time as street performers. AGES 18-29 (defaults to 24).

ARC II. conrad whitacre dies due to underlying health problems; the trust funds stop accruing bimonthly deposits, and the twins lose their pseudo legal immunity. when they’re caught out during a particularly overzealous heist, jamie takes the fall for both of them. he is forced to turn the contents of his trust fund over as restitution and is sentenced to house arrest. bonnie sets aside her criminal career and opens a (free) school for the performing arts. AGES: 30-33.

ARC III. jamie completes his sentence, loses all of his money, and gains a criminal record. using the rest of bonnie’s trust fund, the twins establish an extravagant travelling circus. they use the props to conceal and traffic large volumes of drugs across the country. the dorsets, once well-established thieves, become the heads of their own criminal organization ––– while also putting on grandiose performance shows. AGES: 34-onwards.

DEVELOPMENT POSTS. the naming of dorsets, tba, tba, tba.

[dailyanarchistposts]

Reform and Reaction

This step back from insurrection resulted in a turn towards the creation of unions. Even these attempts were met with persecution. The attempt by farm workers to organise in Tolpuddle in Dorset in 1834 resulted in the transportation of six of them. Defeat brought pessimism and pragmatism. The rural poor and their liberal supporters concentrated on gaining some concessions, but were not very successful. Instead of seizing the land they were granted allotments – in 1906, after 50 years of campaigning. Access to land was increasingly curtailed. Traditional recreation activities of the peasants such as fairs and football couldn’t take place because there was no available land. Capitalists campaigned tirelessly against fairs, itinerant working and the traditional festivals of rural life because such activities prevented the creation of a more disciplined workforce. The result was the end of the free peasantry and its transformation into an urban working class or emigrant labour.

During the 19th century, the idea that city dwellers should enjoy the countryside spread from the professional and artisan classes to the working classes. Open countryside and clean air were a solace to many used to crowded conditions and foul air. By the 1930s this had become a massive movement, with an estimated 15,000 people from Sheffield and 15,000 from Manchester visiting the Peak District on an average Sunday.

However, large tracts of land were cut off from the ramblers. In 1935, there were only 12 footpaths in the Peak District. The best walking land, including Kinder Scout and Bleaklow Ridge, were fenced off. Ramblers started to organise annual rallies in the Peak District. In 1932 a new organisation, the British Workers Sports Federation began to organise rambles for young people in the north. It began to organise mass trespasses. In 1932, 400 ramblers organised a mass trespass of Kinder Scout. 5 ramblers were imprisoned and in response thousands joined two more mass trespasses.

The history of the British “countryside” is a history of struggle. It describes a pattern of events common throughout the world: the expropriation of free land by political and economic elites, usually following military conquest; the introduction of new agricultural methods to generate profit; the ‘legal’ and forceful expulsion of the people occupying the land; resistance and repression; the creation of a myth of rights held by the new owners which is seen as vital to the preservation of the nation; the alienation of urban and rural and with it the insulation of rural power from democratic scrutiny and control. The study of land and its ownership is necessary to understand one element of the power-relations that govern all people. Seizing back the land and socialising it so that it once more becomes the common wealth of all will be a fundamental part of the world revolution to come.

[faustofuster918]

Fencing Dorchester

Dorset Garden Services Green Ln, Crossways, Dorchester DT2 8BP 07814 064266