#every day we veer further and further away from source material

[thefishwizard0]

*sounds of screaming and breaking glass in the background* the kids are alright.

[mrepstein]

The Beatles Book Monthly (No. 5, December 1963)

‘A TALE OF FOUR BEATLES’ by Billy Shepherd

PART IV (PART I // PART II // PART III)

Part IV opens in June, 1961 and charts Brian Epstein's early involvement with the Beatles.

And so the Beatles, with two experience-garnering trips to Germany behind them, got back to Liverpool. A swingin’ scene... and they were very much a part of it. It was the end of June, 1961.

But though they liked having more money to spend, they hadn’t the foggiest idea of just how much they were worth. The offers came in. Anything between £6 and £14 was the pay-packet, to be shared between Messrs. Lennon, McCartney, Harrison and drummer Pete Best.

“We just didn’t know,” admits George. “We loved the work, the excitement. We didn’t realise we were often being exploited. But it was hard work and somehow we didn’t seem to have much money in the kitty after we’d kept our equipment up to scratch...”

July, 1961, could go down as a summit meeting in Merseybeat history. A steamy, summery, shimmery night at Litherland Town Hall. A young promoter named Brian Kelly announced his attraction: The Beatmakers.

George Harrison was on lead guitar. Paul McCartney on rhythm. John Lennon on piano. Drummers were Pete Best and Freddie Marsden. Les Maguire operated on saxophone, Les Chadwick on bass guitar - and Gerry Marsden nipped on and off behind a big grin to take the vocals.

Gerry and the Pacemakers and the Beatles had linked up. For one night only and for a fee which is the smallest fraction of what they’d command for such a show now.

It led to friendships between the group members... but it didn’t seem to be leading to that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow for the Beatles.

Says John: “We went on knocking ourselves out night after night but somehow there was a bit of frustration creeping in to it all. It didn’t seem to be leading anywhere.”

But the audiences were greatly appreciative.

Says Paul: “We started accepting dates further south. We got pretty near London on some of them. No change of material for us - still the stuff that went down so well in Germany. But we were veering away from the leather gear. Don’t make this sound big-headed, but the fact is that a lot of other groups were copying the way we looked on stage. So we changed to more ordinary clothes for a while.”

But in September, depression set in. Paul and John took themselves off to Paris for a holiday. They remember being flat broke. Remember having to search through every pocket to rake up enough francs for a Coke. Now, of course, they can go where they please and not count the cost.

And George and Pete stayed on in Liverpool, virtually lost to the Beat scene. Ray McFall, owner of the Cavern Club remembers seeing Messrs. Harrison and Best around the lunch-time sessions but they seemed dispirited. They took a lot of persuading even to join in on the impromptu roar-ups.

Let well-known Liverpool show compere Bob Wooler fill in the background to this black spot in the Beatles’ history.

“I’ve known the boys since the early days. I’ve been a long-time admirer. What they really needed was a manager in those far-off days. They seemed content not to argue about the fees they were offered. And they didn’t seem to realise that they were pulling in crowds on the strength of their own name and performance.

“After all, they had to live. They had to look after their equipment - and they often had travelling expenses to pay. It’s all very well being popular and enjoying your work, but you should be paid what you’re worth as well.

“Ray McFall at the Cavern was different. If the crowd was good, he upped the fee. That’s why the boys have always been so loyal to the Cavern. But you can understand them being puzzled at the lack of hard cash from their other venues where they were so often doubling the attendances.”

Paul and John were meanwhile spending a lot of time on their song-writing. You’ll see how much they’d already achieved in this direction as the story pushes on to the first recording days.

John and Paul could never sit down and simply write a song to order. They admit: “We have to wait for the ideas to arrive. It can happen anywhere. On a bus, or a train, or backstage at a dance-hall or theatre. Sometimes the title suggests itself first. Then we get going on the words and music. Sometimes we’ve finished a very successful seller in less than an hour.”

But their most pressing need was for a manager. Paul has told me “When we first started on paid jobs, we honestly thought we weren’t manageable. We thought nobody would want to bother with us. We were a pretty off-beat bunch of characters, to say the least. And we had a sense of humour which somehow involved us all and which was hardly in the interests of discipline. So, for a long time, we just didn’t take any notice of the advice that we should be properly handled. ‘Who’d WANT US,’ was the way we thought...

“And that’s where we were wrong...”

A MANAGER. Liverpool man Allan Williams took on the chore for a while... he now runs the Blue Angel Club on Merseyside.

But the man who was to make show business history with the Beatles knew nothing about the group in that September of 1961. That man, of course, was Brian Epstein, one-time drama student, member of a family which owned a chain of furniture and radio-TV stores in Liverpool.

He was not exactly WITH the beat scene. But he WAS in touch with the public taste through his work in the record department of the stores. He’d been there for five years, building up the business, enlarging the staff roster and increasing the turnover.

And in September, 1961, he was a puzzled man. Fans kept approaching him with: “Have you any records by the Beatles?” Brian mused. Pondered. Wondered. One young lad was particularly persistent in his demands. Brian dug deep into the record-lists. And found reference to that “My Bonnie” single, recorded in Germany, on which the Beatles played a strictly supporting role to guitar-star Tony Sheridan.

“I became Beatle-conscious for a while,” he says. “I always tried to work on the theory that the customer was right - and if they wanted the Beatles, well... I’d do my best to supply the Beatles. Eventually I traced the source and ordered some 200 copies for the record-stores. They sold quickly...

“Then out of the blue I heard they were Liverpool boys, had a rapidly-growing following - and were actually playing in a club near the store. It was a place that I’m sure I’d visited before, a sort of teenage gathering-place, but I really didn’t know much about it.

“After a while, I thought I’d better pop down there and see what all the fuss was about.”

Brian Epstein went to the Cavern. Met the Beatles. And things really started happening for the ambitious but not-too-sure group.

There are two ways of looking at this near-historic meeting. Brian Epstein’s. And the Beatles’ viewpoint.

Beatles first. Said George: “He started talking to us about the record that had created the demand. We didn’t know much about him but he seemed very interested in us and also a little bit baffled.

“He came back several times and talked to us. It seemed there was something he wanted to say, but he wouldn’t come out with it. He just kind of watched us and studied what we were doing. One day, he took us to the store and introduced us. We thought he looked rather red and embarrassed about it all.

“Eventually, he started talking about becoming our manager. Well, we hadn’t really had anybody actually VOLUNTEER in that sense. At the same time, he was very honest about it all - you know, like saying he didn’t really know anything about managing a group like us. He sort of hinted that he was keen if we’d go along with him...”

Brian, quite honestly, thought that the Beatles looked a mess. He wondered what exactly they thought they were trying to be. Their strange jackets, the rather scruffy jeans, the hair-styles, which could only have been styled on something called “chaos.”

“But there was something enormously attractive about them,” he recalls. “I liked the way they worked and the obvious enthusiasm they put into their numbers. People talk about the Liverpool sound but I sometimes wonder what exactly they mean. These boys put everything into their routines but they didn’t use echo. That struck me as being a very good thing.

“It was the boys themselves, though, who really swung it. Each had something which I could see would be highly commercial if only someone could push it to the top. They were DIFFERENT characters but they were so obviously part of the whole. Quite frankly, I was excited about their prospects, provided some things could be changed.”

And Brian told his friends: “This could easily turn out to be the biggest show business attraction since Elvis Presley.” It’s a tribute to his foresight and intuition that that is precisely what has happened.

Brian decided to get the boys together at a round-table conference at his store. A time was fixed and the boys agreed. But Beatles are not always the easiest of people to organise. Brian sat waiting... and waiting... and waiting. He was trying to cope with the vastly complex figures of Christmas orders for the store and minutes were precious to him.

Eventually THREE Beatles arrived. George, John and Pete. No Paul. Story goes that Brian got George to ring through and see what had happened to the left-handed guitar-star. And that Paul admitted he was still in the bath... but wouldn’t be long!

Brian was rather on his high-horse. He felt it was not the right thing for someone who wanted to talk business to be kept waiting. He pointed out that Paul, the cherubic one of the four, would be extremely late. “Yes,” said George, forcing back a grin. “But he’ll also be extremely clean.”

Says Brian: “That sense of humour is invaluable. You could hardly feel annoyed at their lack of business ability. They were just four individual and off-beat characters.”

Prior to Brian taking such an interest, there was great concern among Cavern people that there was a chance of the Beatles packing in all thoughts of show business careers. Bob Wooler had tried hard to get BBC television producer Jack Good interested in the group. Jack had produced beat shows, like “Six-Five Special” which had been the stepping-stone to success for artistes like Cliff Richard. But Jack was also in demand in the States... and he’d gone there to further his own career long before Bob could get any decision from the telly-folk.

Brian, having eventually assembled all four Beatles in the same room, put his propositions to them. He went through a process of brain-washing, though he did it all very tactfully. He didn’t like their manner of dress. Wasn’t knocked out by the unruly hair-cuts. Was singularly unimpressed by the way they casually drank tea on stage while in the middle of shows.

He pleaded with them rather than ordered them. He knew they were a valuable property and he was knocked out at the way their personal following was growing through the Merseyside area.

Said John: “He’d tell us that jeans were not particularity smart and could we possibly manage to wear PROPER trousers. But he didn’t want us suddenly looking square. He let us have our own sense of individuality.”

He added: “We respected his views. We stopped champing at cheese rolls and jam butties on stage. We paid a lot more attention to what we were doing. Did our best to be on time. And we smartened up, in the sense that we wore suits instead of any sloppy old clothes.”

It was a master-plan. A long-term plan if necessary but it was aimed at making the most of four young men who clearly had that star quality in them... even though a recording contract was still more than nine months away.

Obviously, Brian Epstein’s main job was to get the group on record. He knew the strength of their popularity in Liverpool and he felt it wouldn’t be a hard job to interest some of the London companies. But that was where Brian was wrong.

He even delayed any sort of action until the results of the 1961 “Mersey Beat Poll” were announced. That came up at the end of the year. And the Beatles were high and dry in top place in this important survey of how the public felt about the myriad groups operating in the scene. Said Brian: “I thought this was the ‘Open Sesame’ to the recording scene. I felt that Liverpool was important enough to have London executives falling about to sign the boys. I was wrong...”

Brian, though technically still in charge of important parts of the family business, threw himself into the job of getting the Beatles known nationally. He had the backing of the Beatles’ parents and it was to be no holds barred for the major break through.

He started visiting London. Hopefully. Optimistically. But record executives showed an alarming tendency to register non-committal gloom. Brian had to keep reporting apparent failure to the boys - by now riding higher than ever in popular acclaim in Liverpool.

Cont’d next month in No. 6

[the-nerktwins]

There’s more to “Another Day” than meets the eye…or, ear…

Sometimes the most interesting thoughts are captured during discussions. I recently began a thread in a Beatles forum I’m a member of, about Paul’s song “Another Day” and the deeper meaning I personally found within it. The conversation veered into two different directions. One was the concept of the lyrical content being overlooked for a few possible reasons, not the least of them being that the protagonist was a woman. The other branch of this conversation veered towards was the musical anatomy of the song and how it serves to add texture to the story the lyrics are telling.

It’s with regret that I report that some participants completely overlooked the musical complexity of this track. To illustrate, here are a couple of key quotes from respondents in the thread I started:

“In contrast to 'Eleanor Rigby, 'Another Day' is cute and perfect instead of full of contrast and dynamics. The cozy comfort of the music itself reflects the bland predictability of the protagonists' life, as depicted in the song. I'm just not sure that's the best approach to take. I think John and George's (Martin) influence would have added some dimension.”

“Yes it's typical of McCartney to wrap a dark story in a cute song. He likes to hide things (even from himself).”

I was left wondering if me and these posters were even listening to the same song! I was also reminded of how ready people are to default to and parrot the (false and grossly oversimplified) talking points that the fandom has been spoon-fed about Paul’s songcraft since the 1970’s. Paul is hardly ever regarded as a valid artist in his own right outside of the Beatles collective, that is terribly, truly wrongheaded in every imaginable way.

I find it galling that many fans still want to hear his early, solo work with a “Lennon filter” applied to it. I’ve seen people saying things like, “This song is good, but if he’d done it with John it would’ve been GREAT!” I completely disagree. McCartney’s compositional abilities by 1967 had evolved to the point where he could “hear” in his head almost exactly what he wanted his final product to sound like. He was adept at articulating his vision to producers, engineers, and bandmates rather early on.

It also hasn’t escaped my notice that certain fans resent his abilities within the confines of the Beatles’ collective since it did contribute to some friction within the band during their late period, and then they turn around and completely ignore his competency when it comes to his solo work (and lament that he couldn’t collaborate with Lennon or George Martin on particular solo songs). It’s a paradoxical mentality and I’m not shy about denouncing it. It gives me whiplash, if I’m quite honest about it!

Since I don’t know (and didn’t ask) the participants about whether they’ve had any experience as musicians, I can make some allowance for the fact that people who’ve played music can hear things in a piece that non-musicians may not pick up on. The thing is, there exist a fair number of sources which could at least illustrate what’s going on musically in “Another Day.”

As for me, since I have a musical background, and I can HEAR what’s going on. To me there are “contrast and dynamics.” The song builds, crescendos, and comes back down again.  There's a lot going on in terms of time signature changes, and decorative elements which add texture to the story being told.  It’s brilliant! I realize that someone who has little to no musical experience could miss it.  There are musically-inclined people out there who can explain it, however, and I went looking online for just that. I conducted two simple Google searches: “Paul McCartney Another Day Musical Analysis,” and “Paul McCartney Another Day Sheet Music.”

With the second search, I found a website which allows the user to play a midi file of the song (with the lead vocals, backing vocals, and every instrument) while the user is taken through the sheet music. The parts being played highlight what’s going on in the song as it’s playing. If someone is inexperienced as a musician, it can serve as a nice, visual aid to see just how complex a composition is, and how much is going on within it. Here’s a screenshot of the site, and a link to “Another Day” for illustrative purposes.

"Another Day" by Paul and Linda McCartney on MuseScore.com

To me this is proof-positive that "Another Day" isn't just a cutesy, fluffy song.

For some further argument in the favor of the musical merits of this song, I stumbled upon comments from fans in the Steve Hoffman music forums, in a thread called "Paul McCartney 'Another Day' Appreciation Thread"

After the bit ".... leaves the next daaaaayyyy..." there's this descending run on the guitar that is perfectly placed, but very difficult indeed to play. – Edgard Varese

yeah, another day is an absolutely killer track. to me its really the perfect song: catchy as hell, yet imaginative and really far more complex than a casual listener would ever realize. i also agree with the thoughts on the rythym guitar. great song to learn for any guitar player, not just for the rythm, but for the chords also. i believe it starts with a g to a b7 with an f# bass and really you've got me hooked from there – andyw676

Listen to the bassline...amazing. – Stateless

I've always loved this song, everything about it really. The undertone of Rigby-esque sadness was obvious to me from the get-go, and the yearning in the "sometimes she feels so sad" bit as the music shifts up and down chromatically always put a lump in my throat. Paul's very good at getting some of the more delicate emotional shadings in his songs. Great song. Thanks for the thread! -- Gardo

That song has some crazy chord changes, and lots of em. Makes it special. – Dave D

To diverge just a little bit into lyrical territory, there were some nuggets of push-back within this Steve Hoffman thread against the typical appraisal of this song, namely it being labeled as “lightweight” or “trite” by certain critics or fans.

Similarly, on "Another Day" if you read the lyrics carefully you may come away feeling not uplifted by a catchy little ditty but a mite saddened by the sometimes crushing loneliness of the modern grind. Personally I love the "At the office where the papers grow..." and "Alone in her apartment she'd dwell..." parts, some of Paul's best lyrics. Remarkable concision. – Dr J

I don't consider it quite as light as I did. It's almost a social commentary on the way women's lives were in the 70s, although not a knock at anyone specific. I admit I'm stealing a little of my wife's analysis. – kevinsinnott

I find it interesting to note that the second poster needed some assistance from a woman regarding his appraisal of the lyrical content. It’s another reminder of the depressing reality that this song is likely written off as superficial and lightweight, and not much analysis applied to it, but because the protagonist is a woman. Just as a lot of our struggles as women are ignored or ridiculed, a song written by a male who sympathizes with our plight is written off as “silly” and “fluffy” by male fans, even if the lyrics have a dark subtext.

To me, the song speaks of something dark and existential going on within the protagonist's psyche, and Paul himself is simply a narrator, imploring the audience to empathize with her as much as he does. And by empathizing with the plight of a woman, Paul unfortunately gets labeled a superficial square who creates “Muzak” and isn’t “Rock N’ Roll” enough. And that’s not right any way you slice it.  Even more ironic is that not long after "Another Day," Lennon at the behest of his wife would be singing and talking about Women's struggles for equal rights and the injustice of it all.  He glibly missed his former songwriting partner's intent in this song.  That's not unlike John at all, however, and that's certainly not the point of this essay.  It's just an observation I found interesting.

"Another Day" also speaks to me as an acknowledgement that people who are highly functional can and do suffer depression; people are coached to wear a mask of being “OK” because it’s not socially acceptable to admit you are not OK. Just keep your head down, go to work, do what you’re supposed to do, get on with it, and don’t tell anyone about your problems…

“As she posts another letter to the sound of five People gather 'round her and she finds it hard to stay alive.”

To go back to the song being marginalized as a little bit of radio-friendly, pop fluff, when to me it clearly is NOT for a moment, I want to acknowledge something. Fans were less able to access opposing literature and materials in the early 1970’s, and McCartney himself wasn’t talking much to the press (and unless you’re a brand-new fan, you know why), so I can see why people sort of accepted this viewpoint at the time.

As Erin Torkelson-Weber has pointed out in interviews and on her blog, “The Historian and the Beatles,” Paul’s relative lack of response to the talking points being pushed by John and Yoko within their post-breakup PR campaign, as well as Paul choosing not to give too much weight to the unfair critical appraisal of his work that was tainted by rock music “journalists” essentially siding with John and Yoko, really created a vacuum, allowing for the fandom’s appraisal of Paul’s work to be dominated by this narrative. Therefore, it’s natural that many, if not most fans in 1971 would buy into these sentiments.  

What I find annoying is that this tendency continues to persist within the fandom, even among younger fans! This is despite having a considerable amount of evidence available at our fingertips that can serve to point out how very wrong this narrative truly is, up to and including the damn sheet music!

With the ability we now possess to access contemporaneous source material and examine all of it objectively, and the ability to listen to virtually all of his music for free via the major, online streaming services, it demonstrates laziness when people within the fandom choose not to think for themselves regarding McCartney’s genius and artistic merit separate from the other Beatles (namely Lennon).

“Another Day” isn’t the only McCartney work I’ve seen suffer under-appreciation by fans, but it’s an excellent example to illustrate my point, since it was specifically singled out by Lennon and early 70’s rock critics and used as a device by Lennon and the prominent rock critics of the day to publicly mock McCartney and call his integrity as an artist into question.

A lot of McCartney’s solo work is written off in a similar fashion, and what a terrible shame that is. Quite frankly, I think people are depriving themselves of a lot of pleasure by simply dismissing McCartney and avoiding his music (or sticking to his “greatest hits” without delving into his catalog and giving everything a thorough listen), based on these antiquated appraisals of his work.

In conclusion, I hope this essay didn’t come across too harshly. I just hope it may inspire people to listen more carefully to Paul McCartney’s solo work and give him the credit as an artist that he duly deserves.

[coneygoil]

The House We Built Together, part 9

Two young Vikings. An arranged marriage. Hiccup always wanted to win the girl of his dreams, but not like this. Now he and Astrid must learn to live together and maybe one day, learn to love…

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Writer’s note: This part was originally in Astrid’s perspective and I wrote a good portion of it before I realized I needed to change it to Hiccup’s. It took twice as long to write! But I think it came out a lot better this way. 

“Hey cuz!”

The familiar voice of the most obnoxious person in the village made Hiccup groan. He didn’t have time for whatever nonsense Snotlout had probably spent a week planning. He had a gorgeous wife to get home to!

“What do you want, Snotlout?”

“Just some premium cousin bonding time.”

The smirk on his cousin’s face told him otherwise.

“If this bonding time consist of you punching me in the stomach and saying ‘opps, my fist slipped’ then I’ll pass.”

Snotlout slung a beefy arm over Hiccup’s thin shoulders, the weight uncomfortably dragging him down. The salty, sweaty smell radiating from Snotlout curled his nose. He hadn’t been this physically close to his cousin in a long time and it was rather alarming.

“I promise, my fist won’t slip.”

There was no way in Hel Hiccup believed that line, but he couldn’t exactly escape the secure hold Snotlout held him in. Every time he tried to pull away just a tiny bit, Snotlout would tighten his arm, the bulky muscles budging against the back of Hiccup’s neck. He was stuck and at the mercy of his much stronger cousin.

Snotlout veered him through the village then in the direction of the well-beaten path that led to the forest. Alarms clanged loudly in Hiccup’s mind. Nothing good could come of entering the forest in the company of Snotlout.

“Hey…um, cuz,” the friendly endearment left a gross taste in Hiccup’s mouth. “What exactly are we going to do in the forest?”

“Just talk.” A chill ran up Hiccup’s spine. Snotlout’s tone was eerily chummy. He squeezed Hiccup against his bulky form making it difficult for the smaller boy to breathe. “We don’t talk enough…cuz.”

Though he couldn’t see his face, Hiccup could tell Snotlout was enjoying tormenting him. Hiccup didn’t think his older cousin had the brains to be sly and devious. Who knows, he may have had help planning this stunt. Whatever he had in store, Hiccup had a feeling it was going to hurt. Bad.

As soon as Snotlout loosened his hold, Hiccup broke free and made a mad dash back to the village. Instead of being safely several feet down the path, Hiccup found himself being yanked backwards by his fur vest. The air knocked from his lungs as his back collided with the ground. The impact would surely leave a nice, purple bruise. He groaned, regretting not fighting harder to get away from Snotlout before the larger boy dragged him into the cover of the trees and away from witnesses.

“Do you know what really smacks my yak?”

Here it comes. The real reason Hiccup was led to the slaughter. Snotlout stood over him, meaty fists planted on his hips.

“Just because you’re the ‘Chief’s son’, you get first dibs on the hottest girl on Berk.”

Hiccup’s insides burned. He would never use his status as the Chief’s son to get anything he wanted, especially another human being. “Snotlout, don’t run your jaw about things you have no clue about.” He tried sitting up, but Snotlout pressed a boot into his stomach, digging his heel into the soft skin.

Snotlout jabbed a thumb toward his hairy chest. “I’m the most awesomest Viking on Berk, Astrid should have been mine.”

Hiccup snorted, sardonically. “I have an inside source saying that wouldn’t of happened.”

Snotlout glowered down at him. “I have news for you, Useless.” Hiccup knew it was a matter of time before the hurtful nickname was flung in his face. “Astrid is only playing nice because she has to. When we’re in dragon training, all she does is complain about you.”

The words smacked Hiccup like the painful sting of freezing water to the face. “You’re lying.”

Snotlout leaned down, his boot squeezing the contents of Hiccup’s lunch threatening to come up. “Am I? She says she has to babysit you to keep you out of trouble because your useless butt doesn’t know how to stop destroying the village.”

Hiccup gritted his teeth as anger flooded his whole body. With the adrenaline from his spiked anger, he pushed Snotlout’s foot off his stomach and jumped to his feet. The larger boy looked surprised for a split second but recovered quickly, his mouth forming a wicked smirk.

“You’re gonna fight me, cuz? Hey, I’m just the messenger.”

Hiccup knew Snotlout was only trying to rile him up. To plant doubt in his mind. But another part of him deep down was believing that doubt. What did Astrid say about him behind his back? She’d never let on that she was discontent with their situation, but she could be hiding her true feelings. Thinking back on his father’s words, Astrid was basically set up as a fulltime babysitter for him. Chained to him for life. Maybe she was miserable underneath the friendly exterior.

All his thoughts jumbled into a messy pile that blinded his senses. Hiccup charged at Snotlout, swinging a fist at the other boy’s face. Snotlout knew how to fight. He used his brawn to caught Hiccup’s fist and yanked his left arm behind his back. Hiccup cried out as his shoulder twisted painfully.

“You’re so dumb, you can’t even throw a punch with the right fist,” Snotlout laughed in his ear.

Snotlout kneed Hiccup in the back, sending him sprawled on the forest floor. His face hit the ground, sliding over a tree root poke out the dirt. Pain exploded in his cheekbone, trumping all the other hurts on his body.

Hiccup squeezed his eyes tightly. He barely registered the laughter above him. He didn’t want to move. There was no use trying to fight Snotlout again. The other boy seemed to think the same.

“Great talk, cuz!” With that sarcastic sneer, Snotlout turned to leave.

Hiccup pushed up on his skinned elbow. He brushed fingers over his cheek and found blood gathering at the burning scrapes. His physical hurts were nothing compared to the fierce ache that flooded him. Doubt had been planted and it was growing like a consuming weed.

***

It was dark by the time Hiccup slunk his way back home. After Snotlout had mercifully left him alone in the forest without any further tormenting, Hiccup had taken the long way back to the village to avoid meeting up with his cousin again.

The trek back gave him plenty of time to mull over the doubt Snotlout had planted. His harsh words churned in Hiccup’s head and roiled in his stomach. He really thought he and Astrid had started to become friends the last few weeks. They still had a long road ahead before they moved into any type of intimate relationship – if ever, but Hiccup had hope they’d grow closer in the weeks and months to come.

Babysitter. The word left a burning in his chest. It made sense, really. He’d been such a thorn in his father’s side the older he grew. Stoick had placed him in the care of Gobber to give him something constructive to do and keep him in one spot. That move had given him full access to useful materials, which aided him in even more destructive projects. Stoick couldn’t keep track of him, and neither could Gobber nowadays.

Being responsible for a wife would tie him down and that’s just what it had done. He looked forward every day spending time with Astrid, but did Astrid feel the same? He’d thought that maybe, just maybe, she did. The smiles shared over the firepit. Her interest in his drawings. Her excited laughter when he bested her in weapons sparing. But now, with doubt planted, he wasn’t so sure. What if she did look at their marriage as a lifelong babysitting job?

The front door’s hinges creaked sadly announcing his mood as he entered the house. He blinked at the sight of Astrid standing just outside the door’s swing. They’re eyes locked for a long moment, both seemingly surprised to see one another.

A gasp drew in passed Astrid’s lips. Hiccup hadn’t bothered cleaning his cheek where several long scrapes ran from his jaw to cheekbone. The area was dirty and caked with dry blood and probably appeared worse than it actually was.

Without preamble, Astrid grabbed his chin, turning his face to the side to examine his cheek. “What happened to you?” she demanded, as if she already suspected the cuts weren’t caused by mire accident.

Hiccup released a frustrated breath. “Premium bonding with Snotlout.”

Astrid’s eyes flicked up from his cheek. “Why did you let that muttonhead do this?”

Hiccup’s shoulders bounced once, and he settled for a flat, sarcastic response instead of the embarrassing truth. “Well, y’know, I felt sorry for him because I knew he couldn’t handle all this raw Vikingness.”

Astrid fixed him with a darkening glare. She knew better than to believe that. “I’m gonna kill him.” She spun around and reached for her axe on the hook.

Hiccup jumped in front of the door. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am, Hiccup.”

“You’re not my guardian, Astrid.” He was going to say babysitter, but the word made him want to sink into the ground. “You don’t have to keep an eye on me. You don’t have to take care of the bullies in the yard.”

Astrid was taken aback. She lowered her hand. “What are you talking about?”

Hiccup’s frown drew his whole face down. “My dad wanted you to marry me to keep me out of trouble and make sure I don’t screw up.”

“Is this some yak dung Snotlout fed you?”

“You complain about me during dragon training.”

Astrid crossed her arms. “Yep, definitely Snotlout’s yak dung and it stinks up to the high hills. You really believe I do that?”

Hiccup glared sharply, the hurt feelings winning over logic. “Evidence points to it.”

“What evidence? Lies from Snotlout’s yap?”

Hiccup gave a slight nod of his head to one side. Snotlout’s words were the only ‘evidence’ he had. The rest was all a build up from doubt and fear.

A low roar rumbled in Astrid’s throat as she threw her arms down to her sides. She nabbed the ties of Hiccup’s tunic and yanked him to her. Their lips collided, a squeak of surprise emitting from Hiccup’s mouth into hers. He didn’t have time to think. He didn’t have time to react. He stood there ridged with her lips pressed onto his.

Just as his brain was beginning to compute what was happening and his stiff features began to relax into the kiss, Astrid departed. His half-lidded gaze lulled somewhere at her ear, his brain trying to catch up to the action that had played out.

Astrid untangled her fingers from his ties. “Despite whatever you’re thinking, I’m on your side, Hiccup.” His eyes met hers, a fierce resolve set on her face. All doubt had suddenly fled, and Hiccup was in awe of the girl in front of him. “Not because someone told me to be, but because I choose to be.”

She spun on her heel, shoulders squared high. “Don’t forget it.”

@martabm90 @chiefhiccstrid @justatranquilcloud

[daresplaining]

In Anticipation of Jessica Jones Season 3!

    The last season of Jessica Jones and final installment of the Netflix MCU overall is airing tomorrow night (or Friday morning, depending on your time zone). For various reasons, I haven’t had as much time as I’d have liked to blog about it (it would have been nice for Netflix to release the trailer more than a week before the air date, but they’re clearly no longer making an effort to promote their Marvel properties...). However, I am really excited about the upcoming season. Jessica Jones is a comics character I've loved for a long time, and it has been thrilling to watch the live action version of her develop over the years. I was in the audience at NYCC 2015 at the show’s very first panel, when they showed episode one, and I’ll never forget it. Jessica Jones Season 1 remains one of my favorite pieces of television ever, and while I didn’t feel Season 2 was quite as strong, I still loved it, and I’m really excited by what seems to be in store for the final season.

[ID: The handwritten word “Hero?” against a red background.]

    This season seems to be digging into a theme that has been part of this series since the beginning: the question of what makes a hero. Jessica consistently rejects that label and doubts her own heroism, despite all of the good she has done both before and after her experience with Kilgrave. The intense disfunction in her life, as created by her trauma, and her inability to adhere to the technicolor, textbook image of a superhero has defined her journey so far. It would be nice to see her reach a more settled and healthier self-image, as her 616 counterpart has mostly managed to do, but it seems this season will be further prodding this sore point by introducing an antagonist who claims, loudly and publicly, that Jessica is exactly what she fears she is: a bad person. An unworthy person. Not a hero at all.  

[ID: Jessica is standing in her office, talking to Trish. She has several pieces of paper pinned to the wall behind her, including a large photo of a man’s face. She is saying: “Gregory Salinger [sic]. He's smarter than both of us combined.”]

    The new Big Bad is a guy named Gregory Sallinger-- or, as he's known in the comics, Foolkiller. The 616 version of the character is obsessed with the idea of “poetry”, and kills anyone who doesn’t fit his aesthetic sensibilities. In the show, his obsession seems to instead be with the concept of heroism. 

    If you search for “Sallinger” (two Ls) on Netflix, you’ll find a few more hidden promotional videos specifically focused on him. Of all of the MCU Netflix shows, Jessica Jones has been the most willing to veer away from the source material and tell entirely new stories-- mostly because Jessica is a relatively new character and there’s much less source material to work with for her than for, say, Iron Fist. This means comics fans are left constantly guessing, and we have the pleasure of being surprised by the unexpected introduction of characters from throughout the Marvel universe. In the comics, Foolkiller has had run-ins with Hellcat through her time on the Defenders team, so he may be here partially as Trish’s rogue(!). 

[ID: Jessica is standing her office doorway, talking to Trish, who is out in the hall. Jessica says: “I don’t need your help, and you don’t need mine.”]

    Last season ended with the devastating destruction of Jessica and Trish’s relationship. Given how important they are to each other as sisters and co-emotional support systems, it’s safe to assume that they will make amends, but it’s going to take some major changes and development of their dynamic to overcome that level of damage (in case anyone needs reminding, Trish killed Jessica’s mother). Since this is the final season, I hope that they manage to solve things, but no matter what happens, their relationship’s development from this point onward is sure to be highly emotional. I can’t wait. 

[ID: Jessica and Trish hugging.]

    At least there is hope...

[ID: A GIF of a figure dropping from a high overpass at night. It’s Trish, in disguise, wearing a winter hat and with a scarf covering her mouth and nose. She lands on her feet and looks over her shoulder toward the viewer. It’s awesome.]

    Another exciting element to this situation is that after two full seasons, Trish has her powers and we are finally getting a Hellcat origin! While Jessica is every inch a reluctant hero and has mixed feelings about her abilities, Trish has spent her life searching for power-- both literal and metaphorical-- after spending so long under her mother’s abusive control. Trish would do anything to be a superhero, and I am thrilled that it’s finally happening-- both for her sake and for my own selfish, geeky reasons. The glimpses we’ve been given so far of her as proto-Hellcat look absolutely badass. 

    This will also, of course, prompt further exploration of Jessica and Trish’s opposing viewpoints on hero work, which has been a part of their dynamic since the beginning. It may also contribute to their bonding, since Sallinger will likely end up targeting them both.  

[ID: Jeri is sitting at a large desk in a brightly-lit office. Malcolm is standing next to her, wearing a suit and tie. There is an abstract painting in shades of red and white on the wall behind them. They both look serious.] 

    I’m also very excited to see the further development of one of my favorite MCU characters: Jeryn (Jeri) Hogarth. Last season, Jeryn was diagnosed with ALS and her life quickly spiraled into a mess of fear, desperation, and a whole bunch of amoral behavior. In the end, she left her law firm and went solo, taking Malcolm and Foggy (the latter of whom is now, fortunately, back with Matt) with her. I adore the sheer messiness of Jeryn as a person, and the way her unabashed terribleness is mixed with clear signs of pain and remorse, and I am eager to see where she is taken this season. Since unfortunately,  Danny didn’t cure her ALS in Iron Fist Season 2 (*shakes fist* that would have been so good, god dammit...), it will continue to define her journey. This is a great article in which the future of her arc is discussed further-- which will include, it seems, the return of a past love interest.  

    The above article also discusses where Malcolm’s story is headed this season-- though the details are still sparing. It sounds like he will continue his struggle with addiction, along with negotiating his identity through his job with Jeryn’s firm. Malcolm’s journey so far has been heartbreaking, and I really hope that he gets some kind of resolution, for his own sake. He has always been the heart of the show, a brother figure for Jessica, and a hero in his own right, and I’m both excited and nervous to see how his development will be impacted by the events of the season. 

    There are still plenty of questions. Oscar and Vido have been conspicuously absent from the promotional material, so I wonder what’s happened to them. It’s possible (at least, my fingers are crossed) that Luke could have a cameo. And of course, given how heartbreaking it has been to see the other shows cancelled with little resolution, I hope that this season has an ending that feels like an ending-- though I’ll certainly understand if it doesn't. Either way, no matter what happens, I can’t wait to watch. One more day!

[handsofdarkness]

WITHIN TEMPTATION // Should We Fear The Future?

Lucky number seven; Within Temptation’s brand new album, Resist, is so far removed from anything the Dutch symphonic metal outfit have done before, it’s not surprising the story behind its eclectic composition and the inspirations behind its ideals would be a little more out there.

“We were very much inspired by the digital age,” says vocalist Sharon den Adel bluntly.

Reaching into the future of their imaginations based on the materials in the now, Resist puts a spotlight on all the things that are changing in our ever-technologically-dependent world, more specifically, how the world once saw the beauty in technology but more and more each day, realise a fear in it. “We don’t know who’s on the other end of the computer,” den Adel says. “Is it the government or is it the company? And is the company getting more power to change things and also to do things?

“Those kinds of things were a huge inspiration for writing this album and so, it was something that we [had] never done before. It’s a pretty political album in a way. Certain songs by us are about politics, but we were never up front about it, not that clear about it because we were talking a lot in metaphors.

“It’s such a strange world we’re living in now, we wanted to do a different approach, [a] more direct way of lyrics. I think that also, it’s not only the songs but the visuals, the feeling of the songs and the music, the production and [the] inspirational source.”

This is definitely a no holds kind of album, an unabashed truth obvious as you course through tracks like Mad World, Endless War, and The Reckoning, the latter a single of uniformity recorded with Papa Roach’s Jacoby Shadix. He, of course, comes from a band whose beginnings were steeped in notions of rebellion, and the addition of his vocals to Resist with its own kind of rebellion and beautiful sound, makes for a wonderfully provocative track.

When Within Temptation sat down to write this album, they were very much determined, it seems, to veer away from that goth rock moniker they were given when they first began–this of course goes to show not only the ingenuity of the band but their growth, as well. “Before we first started writing for this album, we really had a writer’s block,” admits den Adel, “Because we didn’t feel like we were stretching the bar as far as it could go.

“We’ve tried to change with every album more or less, not one album is really the same or at least for us—but maybe for someone who doesn’t know the scene maybe all that much, or us all that much. Like everything in my scene all sounds the same.

“You also grow as a person and it’s different every time—you look at the world it changes constantly. There’s a certain danger that people don’t really see and I think people are starting to get it now.”

Without her own investigation into what she calls the bigger picture, den Adel’s outlook on the world around her holds much caution. “I have to put in a certain kind of effort to get a bigger picture of the world from the left side and the right side from all over the world,” she says. “I think we need to see both [sides] to make up our own minds and it worries us a little bit. So, that was another of the main inspirations for the album.

Resist is the start of a new chapter for Within Temptation, scheduling in a new era—but moving forward, any further change to their material depends greatly, den Adel, on what happens in the world. “The most important thing for us is that we can change musically and mostly, still have something to say, to have some kind of fire inside of you that you want to share. I think it’s a nice way and music is a perfect way to do it, you know? It’s the perfect way to express yourself.”

[thecoroutfitters]

Written by R. Ann Parris on The Prepper Journal.

Balanced storage is important to ensure we really can weather life’s storms, great and small, personal or widespread. However, there are some things that make sense to stockpile in excess. They’re typically going to be things that we have zero or limited expectation of producing, or producing efficiently.

That can be things that are out of reach due to climate. It can also be things that are unwieldy to process or require long growing and then processing time, or multiple space-sucking and sometimes financially draining investments to produce something that can be cheaply purchased and easily stored.

Here I’m aiming for universally applicable items or standards, and trying to stay away from the ones that are situationally dependent. Even so, there are plenty we can add to this list.

Our current storage should factor hugely in determining if and what we stock to excess, and how much excess. We also want to consider our location and existing capabilities before we go whole hog when over-balancing stockpiles.

Prime excess items are also prime for barter

I’m not a proponent of barter-only stockpiles, but these are also things we or most of us will be using as well.

Some of the examples below are somewhat limited as to crisis scenario, particularly when we’re trying to avoid tipping or showing our hands, but many apply to all types of crises, slow or sudden. Some of the examples even have barter potential now depending on our social networks.

Not everyone is ready to start hitting excesses or extras

If you’re not there yet, first cover the 3-7-10-14 days every government agency and state/territory prescribes. Then be able to function for 30 days in a relatively normal society where you pay bills and family needs to be at work/school, rested and in fairly clean clothes without smelling funny.

By all means, go out further – it’s a suggested minimum.

After that’s set up, make sure you’re right financially.

Once your food and other daily-use items and your immediate-need goals are covered, then start veering into excesses, but prioritize them. Even within this list, how much of what we can make the most use of – personally and for barter – is going to be hugely individual.

Stuff to Stockpile (or, at least consider)

Large-Scale Staple Crops – These are, in order: Grains/carbs, fats & oils, protein plants, and other proteins. Tag on hay feeds for livestock.

Those crops tend to require a fair bit of space, some equipment, and significant labor effort and hours to produce.

It can be done, absolutely, but since they represent base survival calories and macros, and are fairly inexpensive in a world of mechanized farming (in about the same order as that list) it’s worth considering having them in excess to the rest of our food storage.

Veggies and greens we can produce pretty much anywhere and stand a much greater chance of foraging. Fruits and fish are neck-and-neck for next easiest to obtain for most of us (hugely dependent on where we live and how much other competition we’ll have for them). Hunted/foraged or raised mammal and bird proteins are even more location-based for reasonable expectations of impacting our food supply.

We’ll start balanced, ideally, but because of our likelihoods of successfully producing or harvesting/capturing, once we get to whatever our comfortable level is, we can work those items in a pyramid from deepest to “be nice if”.

Climate-Specific Produce – We’ll also want to consider things we like that just aren’t practical to grow or produce in our areas, for all kinds of reasons.

(The “value” article here https://www.theprepperjournal.com/2017/07/26/selecting-crops-survival-gardens/ has a number of assessments we can apply on that front.)

Sugar – There are alternatives to sugarcane that can be produced for sweeteners, although it, too, requires sometimes significant land area and post-harvest processing. Some of them can be concentrated enough for use in water bath canning, but it’s usually not an efficient use of those items.

On the other hand, whatever we think about it and its origins, white sugar is fairly cheap at the store. It requires nothing more than a moisture and pest barrier to store for decades.

Salt – Like sugar, salt is fairly inexpensive, requires nothing but a good container for decades of storage, and is vital in several types of preservation above its seasoning capabilities.

Distilled Vinegar – This one is also very doable at home. It does, however, require multiple pieces of equipment and the know-how to basically make wine or beer or strong cider, then clarify and distill it.

Not bad skills and materials to have, but also not always reasonable, particularly if we don’t already produce or have the ability to harvest fruits and-or grains … and harvest them in enough excess over our food needs to watch barrels and crates become buckets, and then those buckets become quart jars.  

Conversely, vinegar for cleaning and preservation is relatively inexpensive in stores, has a long shelf life, and is more compact to store than its ingredients and supplies.

* There are two general ways to make non-distilled vinegars that are totally worth it as seasoning, health boosts and a way to use tart fruits that are totally worth the much more minimal investments that take up less space and that are way, way easier.

On the non-food front…

Fire Prevention, Detection & Control

This is one that everybody, everywhere, should buy into, and then go to excesses. They’re too prevalent right now and too common in any disruption in services or extreme weather to ignore.  

Some aren’t going to be able to manage prevention’s and safeties to avoid having fires reaching us. However, we can all buy into smoke detectors and masks, make escape and rally plans, and backup batteries and supplies for controlling small fires and evacuating even in the worst of times.

Cooking & Heating Fuels

There are all kinds of fuels that fit all kinds of lifestyles. With any luck, we’re availing ourselves of multiple types, with backup methods planned for both cooking and varied ways to generate and maximize heating.

We want our stockpiles of fuels to expand past our stockpiles of foods in case it is possible to harvest more, and in case we end up expending more than anticipated.

If we rely on wood, it’s even more important that we stockpile to excess. If our primary tools – or our bodies – go down, our harvest rate will, too.

There are also all kinds of scenarios that also make it impossible or undesirable to leave home or generate noise.

If all we have is the bare minimum to get through, any delay in harvesting more can lead to burning raw woods, which hugely increases our risk of fires along with a few other undesirable conditions, or going cold. Deep stockpiles of fuel wood are a must if we rely on it.

Ammo

I can manufacture many things. If I live in the right place, I can even manufacture black powder and cast bullets. However, manufactured ammo (or components) tends to be more efficient, particularly if we’re talking about a world where we’re crazy busy.

That said, and acknowledging that I’m saying it’s totally okay to exceed our basic total-coverage storage, we do not want to go too crazy on this one at the expense of being able to easily weather everyday minor and major disruptions like outages, medical costs, decreased income, unemployment, replacing a fridge-freezer right after shelling the deductible for both home and auto, etc.

Remember, even the super-duper high-speed military elitists don’t always come home from combat. We don’t want to rely on being the better guy in a gunfight to eat, so we don’t want to bottom out the scale with imbalance on this one.

Tools & Equipment

The hardware each of us can and will make use of is even more solidly dependent on our storage space, location, and skills than ammo, fuels, and ability to source animal proteins. The tools that make sense for us to stock, and to overstock with excesses, revolves around the efficiency of manufacturing and the efficiency of making do with alternatives. That, too, is specific to each individual.

We do want backups of tools we use and can expect to use more if we’re unemployed, trying to stretch budgets further, or in any significant collapse scenario.

That’s tools we use, and that we expect to use more if our usual revenue and supply streams dry up.

If we have never felled a tree, live in an apartment/condo, have never located deer/pig/rodent sign and harvested that wildlife, live somewhere with about 6 trees per house, have never gone backpacking or multi-day paddling, live somewhere with tight fish and game limits, and-or have never gardened much, there are whole worlds worth of “must have” hardware we might as well not bother with, let alone spend resources on backups and excesses.

We’re better served extending our balanced storage and financial readiness while we gain the skills.

(For those who are still waiting for them, stick canning jar lids, water filters, lights, construction/repair kits, and fire-making supplies in this category – they’re situationally dependent and aren’t getting separate listings.)

Soap & Cleaners

Body to kitchen, clothing to gear, most soaps and cleaning products can be had fairly inexpensively and in compact forms with decent shelf life. There are many that multi-purpose across genres.

Homemade may appeal, especially if the perennial supplies and oils are already present. Most of us assume we’ll be working harder than ever if we end up living off our supplies, though. Go ahead and have extras stocked to lessen the workloads.

Balancing Excesses

While there are things that absolutely rate being stocked to excess of our balanced storage, and many have value for barter both in everyday life and definitely emergencies, we still want to apply some thought to how over we stock and balance within reason of our present situation.

Sometimes we’re better served extending our everyday-emergency and self-reliance capabilities than having an extra 18 months of soap and six seasons worth of canning ingredients.  

Stocking to excess applies to financial readiness as well. Many preps won’t actually save us while the rest of the world is spinning as usual. They can help, but it’s limited aid.

Prep for the most-likely events first, and cover them well. Build up rainy day caches and savings, and then, when we’re at a level we’re comfortable with, we can start intentionally and deliberately unbalancing our preps with excesses.

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from The Prepper Journal Don't forget to visit the store and pick up some gear at The COR Outfitters. How prepared are you for emergencies? #SurvivalFirestarter #SurvivalBugOutBackpack #PrepperSurvivalPack #SHTFGear #SHTFBag

[midlifechic]

A little while ago I mentioned that just before Christmas, I was invited to review the newly refurbished Pentonbridge Inn in Cumbria. I don’t know about you but I’m busy plotting things to look forward to – so I thought I’d give you the lowdown on why this place is worth a visit. It’s close to home for us but we’d travelled from one end of the country to the other because we arrived straight from spending two days in London celebrating my win at the Blog Awards. We were weary, feeling grimy and polluted after our urban partying and a country break was just what we needed.

Sweater dress (now in the sale); Boden boots circa 2005; Hope scarf (AW15)

Where is the Pentonbridge Inn?

It’s located bang on the border between England and Scotland, about 15 miles east of the M6 so it’s easy to get to. [custom-mapping map_id=”9642″ height=”300″]

What kind of place is it?

An old country inn that has been brought back to life by the owners of local Netherby Hall. It has been considerately refurbished using natural building materials and enhanced with tweed and velvet furnishings. The clientele seemed to be mostly well heeled locals. There were a lot of extended family groups, probably because it was Christmas, along with a few thirty-something couples.

Why would I go there?

For a complete rest. The inn is surrounded by countryside and you have a 360° view of both England and Scotland for miles around. As soon as we walked in, I felt relaxed. In fact all that I wanted to do for the rest of the afternoon was burrow down in one of the comfortable armchairs and do absolutely nothing at all…

What makes it special?

The focus at The Pentonbridge Inn is on the food. I had been told this by the PR agency beforehand and was expecting simple but good country style cooking. I was mistaken. The food is a few scales above anything I have experienced outside London. I say this seriously because we have both of Simon Rogan’s restaurants (L’Enclume and Rogan’s) on our doorstep. In my opinion, the food at The Pentonbridge Inn blows them out of the water.

Lunch

This isn’t a foodie blog but as you know, I do enjoy eating so I want to take you through what we was on offer. We started with lunch and here’s the menu to give you an idea of what was on offer:

I chose the cauliflower soup which was liken molten cauliflower cheese. It was smooth, rich, velvety… I don’t have the adjectives to describe how delicious it was. Mr MC’s meal in the foreground was the poached egg with mushrooms and ham. Also fantastic.

We knew we had some serious dining ahead in the evening so we skipped the next course and went straight on to puddings. I had the treacle tart which was the only thing that I felt was a bit sub par – it didn’t give me the tooth-crumblingly sweet hit of my childhood. Mr MC chose the local cheeses which were served with membrillo.

The rooms

We could have relaxed in the bar all afternoon but our cosy room was calling us…

… the box at the foot of the bed contained a Smart TV that popped up giving us the option to log straight back into the boxset we were watching on our Netflix account as well as other channels.

So Mr MC was happy. I was drawn by the bathroom and spent an hour wallowing in the bath, using some of the Scottish Noble Isle ‘fireside’ scented bath products…

…I was tempted to have a shower too – just because it was so beautiful!

There were lots of thoughtful details in the room such as a Roberts Radio playing Classic FM, a Nespresso machine with capsules and fresh milk and remote control skylights – a huge relief to me because I have to have fresh air to sleep well.

Dinner

So that was our lazy afternoon. We changed for dinner and went down for an apéritif in the bar which was now bustling. There are two options for dining, a relaxed menu in the bar or the choice of à la carte or tasting menus in the restaurant. We knew we were going to be served the tasting menu which always makes me a bit nervous. However they asked if we had any particular preferences so I was able to veer away from foods that I just can’t face such as game and offal.

Our table had a fabulous view of the chefs at work. It was interesting to see just how calm the kitchen was. It is run by husband and wife team Jake and Cassie White. They have an incredibly high pedigree having been trained by Marcus Wareing at ‘Marcus’, his two Michelin starred restaurant at The Berkeley in London.

The food went way beyond my expectations. This is what we ate:

Amuse bouche: cauliflower cassonade, lambs’ sweetbreads, crispy cerleriac

Starter 1: slow poached hen egg, quinoa and cep mushroom crumb, shitake soup, parsley oil, parsley and shallot salad and castel franco radicchio

Starter 2: pumpkin fondant, pumpkin velouté espuma, cows curd, kumquat, sliced pumpkin compressed with clementine and thyme

Starter 3: Orkney island scallop, dashi poached parsley root, walnut, pear

Main course (me): beef fillet, onion fondant, balsamic gel, barbecued leek, toasted cabbage, pickled red onion petals and onion seed, white onion sauce

Main course (Mr MC): Venison, celeriac, crisped and ribboned quince, foie gras, persillade, juniper and hazelnut

Pre-dessert: white chocolate mousse, dipped orange, candied orange zest, yuzu and ginger granita with tarragon

Dessert: shortbread, passion fruit, caramel, tempered 70% guanaja chocolate, condensed milk nougat, milk ice cream, passion fruit gel

Petit fours: blackcurrant and chocolate ganache, lemon drizzle madeleines

Every single dish was a taste explosion. The only element I really wasn’t keen on were the sweetbreads. I did try one. It did have the texture that I thought it might and I did (just) manage to swallow it whole before my mind caught up with what I was eating!

The service was warm, friendly and educational. Each dish was presented and talked through when it was brought to the table so that we understood where the ingredients had been sourced from and how the dishes had been prepared. We discovered that most of the fruit, veg and herbs are grown at Netherby Hall, just a mile away. Our wine was changed throughout the menu to complement the food.

And this was the end result… we pretty much rolled like barrels from our table to the sofas in the bar for coffee, petit fours and cognac.

Camisole top (now in the sale); Sequin trousers (now in the sale)

A bountiful breakfast

The following morning we enjoyed one of the most carefully thought through breakfasts I have ever had. There were  breads still hot from the oven, warm granola bars, yoghurt, freshly pressed juices and fruit followed by a cooked Scottish breakfast.

Any criticisms?

Very few but in the interests of a balanced review we had to find something. As you know we are aesthetically driven and the art at the inn jars, it just doesn’t quite fit with the ambience. A lot of the flowers in the displays both inside and out were artificial which seemed a shame.

Our only other issue was that both the inn and the rooms were very hot. Wherever we go, I am nearly always frozen but I ended up going down to dinner in just the camisole that I had planned to wear underneath my tux jacket which was very unusual. There is a very impressive biofuel energy set up and it was clearly running very well!

What is there to do in the surrounding area?

Walk for 10 minutes and you’re standing on the Scottish border (slightly alarming that police tape is attached to the border sign… and why does the sign look as though it has been beaten with a caber)? Of course don’t forget that this area is brimming with history and the stories of the Border Reivers, the raiders who lived along the Anglo-Scottish border from the 13th to 17th centuries. Scotland and England were frequently at war during this time so the families who were unfortunately positioned on either side of the border formed protective allegiances. It was a time of survival and cunning as they raided each other’s lands and houses, often taking prisoners for ransom.

There was a really interesting book about it in the room and I read the first few chapters. If you are planning a visit it would be worth a read in advance because it really brings the area to life.

The Steel Bonnets

The river Esk divides England from Scotland and this is the view from the bridge. The Pentonbridge Inn can book a rod for you in advance if you’d like to try your hand at fishing. There are salmon and trout to be caught but of course the rights vary depending on which side of the river you are on – they will explain it all to you.

This is great walking country and if we’d had more time I would have loved to explore the riverbank, especially if we’d had Gary with us. Incidentally, dogs are welcome in the bar and there are a number of dog-friendly rooms on the ground floor.

Within easy reach

Assuming you have a car with you, these places are within easy reach:

Penton: the nearest village, lovely walks in Penton Wood

Netherby Hall: currently being restored by the owners of the Pentonbridge Inn and sometimes open to the public, details here

Langholm: birthplace of poet Hugh McDiarmid and The Edinburgh Woollen Mill

Longtown: Arthuret Parish Church, the legendary resting place of King Arthur

Newcastleton: a local town with a music festival at the end of June

Devil’s Porridge Museum: a five star visitor attraction. Find out what life was like in the WW1 trenches and also learn about the part this region played in both wars

The Solway Coast: an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. Do a spot of birdwatching as you walk and see pink footed geese, whooper swans, dabbling ducks and oyster catchers. You can also stand at the end of Hadrian’s wall.

Kielder Forest: enjoy the forest or book a visit to the Observatory where you can see the largest area of protected sky in Europe at the Northumberland Dark Sky Park

Further afield

Hawick: many of the world’s leading designers source their cashmere from here. There is a visitor centre where you can see how cashmere is produced and several of the cashmere companies have outlets in the town.

Kagyu Samye Ling: a Tibetan Buddhist Monastery which is open for day visitors for no charge, all year round. You can visit the temple, which is open daily from 6am until 9pm and stroll around the peace garden and grounds. There are also Tibetan Tea Rooms.

Hermitage Castle: where Mary Queen of Scots visited her secret lover. It has a legendary giant’s grave and a mystical history of reivers, wizards and witches find out more here.

Melrose: leave your car here and take the train to Edinburgh(1 hour 20 min journey) for a day of shopping, eating and culture.

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What to pack?

The mood at The Pentonbridge Inn is relaxed country chic. Even in the restaurant there is a very understated style.

    Relaxed Saturday Afternoon

Just relax – have lunch, a glass of wine or two, take a book and some magazines.

1. Blush jumper – just the right nubbly texture to give you the country style look that says “I’ve had it for years.”

2. Girlfriend jeans – the step on from a skinny, a fit that hugs but has a slightly looser, ankle flattering hem

3. Grandad shirt with stitch detail (currently in the sale) – much easier to wear under a jumper or jacket than a collar and you’ll need the layering if you’re sitting by the log burners

4. Ankle boots – add a hint of spring to your outfit, plus an easy to walk in rounded block heel

5. Single breasted trench – for anyone like me who dislikes the lack of symmetry of an open double breasted trench

6. And… add a hint of natural looking polish – this isn’t the place for gel covered talons

Gastro Saturday night

The amazing dining experience you’re about to undergo requires a level of laid back chic

7. Long satin top – easy elegance in a flattering off-white with a sheen that will shimmer in the candlelight

8. Leather leggings in a non-urban navy blue, you’ll be glad of the elasticated waist (these navy leather jeans with a zip at the ankle are heavily reduced in the sale and if you’re lucky they’ll have your size… I’m so tempted because there is a size 12…)

9. Bright embellished flats – this isn’t the place for a vertiginous heel and these will be an elegant shoe as we move into spring

10. The perfect travel companion – a clutch that converts into a crossbody to use during the day. This also answers the conundrum of how to carry a bag when you’re out walking

11. Something silk to slip into when you return to your room. Remember this place is cosy, you won’t need your flannel pyjamas

Fresh Air Sunday

After the sumptuous breakfast at The Pentonbridge Inn, you will want to get out into the fresh air to aid your digestion.

12. A lovely knit with a springtime feel – and yet it’s half price in the sale, be quick

13. Repeat yesterday’s girlfriend jeans

14. An easy to wear quilted jacket with Stormwear protection. Don’t worry about the white, it’s machine washable.

15. Classic country wellies from the brand that is loved by the royals.

Final thoughts

The Pentonbridge Inn has already been added to The Times Cool Hotel Guide and The Telegraph so I suspect its reputation will soar. I won’t be surprised if it becomes a big foodie destination in the north with rosettes and a star or two. Go soon – before the prices rise to match, there is a special offer for dinner, bed and breakfast in January if you’re quick.

Disclosure: ‘The Pentonbridge Inn’ is not a sponsored post. We were invited to stay on a dinner, bed and breakfast basis so that I could write an honest, unbiased review.

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Great British Boltholes – The Pentonbridge Inn, Cumbria A little while ago I mentioned that just before Christmas, I was invited to review the newly refurbished…

[readbookywooks]

The Gulf Stream

THIS DREADFUL SCENE on April 20 none of us will ever be able to forget. I wrote it up in a state of intense excitement. Later I reviewed my narrative. I read it to Conseil and the Canadian. They found it accurate in detail but deficient in impact. To convey such sights, it would take the pen of our most famous poet, Victor Hugo, author of The Toilers of the Sea. As I said, Captain Nemo wept while staring at the waves. His grief was immense. This was the second companion he had lost since we had come aboard. And what a way to die! Smashed, strangled, crushed by the fearsome arms of a devilfish, ground between its iron mandibles, this friend would never rest with his companions in the placid waters of their coral cemetery! As for me, what had harrowed my heart in the thick of this struggle was the despairing yell given by this unfortunate man. Forgetting his regulation language, this poor Frenchman had reverted to speaking his own mother tongue to fling out one supreme plea! Among the Nautilus's crew, allied body and soul with Captain Nemo and likewise fleeing from human contact, I had found a fellow countryman! Was he the only representative of France in this mysterious alliance, obviously made up of individuals from different nationalities? This was just one more of those insoluble problems that kept welling up in my mind! Captain Nemo reentered his stateroom, and I saw no more of him for a good while. But how sad, despairing, and irresolute he must have felt, to judge from this ship whose soul he was, which reflected his every mood! The Nautilus no longer kept to a fixed heading. It drifted back and forth, riding with the waves like a corpse. Its propeller had been disentangled but was barely put to use. It was navigating at random. It couldn't tear itself away from the setting of this last struggle, from this sea that had devoured one of its own! Ten days went by in this way. It was only on May 1 that the Nautilus openly resumed its northbound course, after raising the Bahamas at the mouth of Old Bahama Channel. We then went with the current of the sea's greatest river, which has its own banks, fish, and temperature. I mean the Gulf Stream. It is indeed a river that runs independently through the middle of the Atlantic, its waters never mixing with the ocean's waters. It's a salty river, saltier than the sea surrounding it. Its average depth is 3,000 feet, its average width sixty miles. In certain localities its current moves at a speed of four kilometers per hour. The unchanging volume of its waters is greater than that of all the world's rivers combined. As discovered by Commander Maury, the true source of the Gulf Stream, its starting point, if you prefer, is located in the Bay of Biscay. There its waters, still weak in temperature and color, begin to form. It goes down south, skirts equatorial Africa, warms its waves in the rays of the Torrid Zone, crosses the Atlantic, reaches Cape Sao Roque on the coast of Brazil, and forks into two branches, one going to the Caribbean Sea for further saturation with heat particles. Then, entrusted with restoring the balance between hot and cold temperatures and with mixing tropical and northern waters, the Gulf Stream begins to play its stabilizing role. Attaining a white heat in the Gulf of Mexico, it heads north up the American coast, advances as far as Newfoundland, swerves away under the thrust of a cold current from the Davis Strait, and resumes its ocean course by going along a great circle of the earth on a rhumb line; it then divides into two arms near the 43rd parallel; one, helped by the northeast trade winds, returns to the Bay of Biscay and the Azores; the other washes the shores of Ireland and Norway with lukewarm water, goes beyond Spitzbergen, where its temperature falls to 4 degrees centigrade, and fashions the open sea at the pole. It was on this oceanic river that the Nautilus was then navigating. Leaving Old Bahama Channel, which is fourteen leagues wide by 350 meters deep, the Gulf Stream moves at the rate of eight kilometers per hour. Its speed steadily decreases as it advances northward, and we must pray that this steadiness continues, because, as experts agree, if its speed and direction were to change, the climates of Europe would undergo disturbances whose consequences are incalculable. Near noon I was on the platform with Conseil. I shared with him the relevant details on the Gulf Stream. When my explanation was over, I invited him to dip his hands into its current. Conseil did so, and he was quite astonished to experience no sensation of either hot or cold. "That comes," I told him, "from the water temperature of the Gulf Stream, which, as it leaves the Gulf of Mexico, is barely different from your blood temperature. This Gulf Stream is a huge heat generator that enables the coasts of Europe to be decked in eternal greenery. And if Commander Maury is correct, were one to harness the full warmth of this current, it would supply enough heat to keep molten a river of iron solder as big as the Amazon or the Missouri." Just then the Gulf Stream's speed was 2.25 meters per second. So distinct is its current from the surrounding sea, its confined waters stand out against the ocean and operate on a different level from the colder waters. Murky as well, and very rich in saline material, their pure indigo contrasts with the green waves surrounding them. Moreover, their line of demarcation is so clear that abreast of the Carolinas, the Nautilus's spur cut the waves of the Gulf Stream while its propeller was still churning those belonging to the ocean. This current swept along with it a whole host of moving creatures. Argonauts, so common in the Mediterranean, voyaged here in schools of large numbers. Among cartilaginous fish, the most remarkable were rays whose ultra slender tails made up nearly a third of the body, which was shaped like a huge diamond twenty-five feet long; then little one-meter sharks, the head large, the snout short and rounded, the teeth sharp and arranged in several rows, the body seemingly covered with scales. Among bony fish, I noted grizzled wrasse unique to these seas, deep-water gilthead whose iris has a fiery gleam, one-meter croakers whose large mouths bristle with small teeth and which let out thin cries, black rudderfish like those I've already discussed, blue dorados accented with gold and silver, rainbow-hued parrotfish that can rival the loveliest tropical birds in coloring, banded blennies with triangular heads, bluish flounder without scales, toadfish covered with a crosswise yellow band in the shape of a Greek t, swarms of little freckled gobies stippled with brown spots, lungfish with silver heads and yellow tails, various specimens of salmon, mullet with slim figures and a softly glowing radiance that Lacepede dedicated to the memory of his wife, and finally the American cavalla, a handsome fish decorated by every honorary order, bedizened with their every ribbon, frequenting the shores of this great nation where ribbons and orders are held in such low esteem. I might add that during the night, the Gulf Stream's phosphorescent waters rivaled the electric glow of our beacon, especially in the stormy weather that frequently threatened us. On May 8, while abreast of North Carolina, we were across from Cape Hatteras once more. There the Gulf Stream is seventy-five miles wide and 210 meters deep. The Nautilus continued to wander at random. Seemingly, all supervision had been jettisoned. Under these conditions I admit that we could easily have gotten away. In fact, the populous shores offered ready refuge everywhere. The sea was plowed continuously by the many steamers providing service between the Gulf of Mexico and New York or Boston, and it was crossed night and day by little schooners engaged in coastal trade over various points on the American shore. We could hope to be picked up. So it was a promising opportunity, despite the thirty miles that separated the Nautilus from these Union coasts. But one distressing circumstance totally thwarted the Canadian's plans. The weather was thoroughly foul. We were approaching waterways where storms are commonplace, the very homeland of tornadoes and cyclones specifically engendered by the Gulf Stream's current. To face a frequently raging sea in a frail skiff was a race to certain disaster. Ned Land conceded this himself. So he champed at the bit, in the grip of an intense homesickness that could be cured only by our escape. "Sir," he told me that day, "it's got to stop. I want to get to the bottom of this. Your Nemo's veering away from shore and heading up north. But believe you me, I had my fill at the South Pole and I'm not going with him to the North Pole." "What can we do, Ned, since it isn't feasible to escape right now?" "I keep coming back to my idea. We've got to talk to the captain. When we were in your own country's seas, you didn't say a word. Now that we're in mine, I intend to speak up. Before a few days are out, I figure the Nautilus will lie abreast of Nova Scotia, and from there to Newfoundland is the mouth of a large gulf, and the St. Lawrence empties into that gulf, and the St. Lawrence is my own river, the river running by Quebec, my hometown-and when I think about all this, my gorge rises and my hair stands on end! Honestly, sir, I'd rather jump overboard! I can't stay here any longer! I'm suffocating!" The Canadian was obviously at the end of his patience. His vigorous nature couldn't adapt to this protracted imprisonment. His facial appearance was changing by the day. His moods grew gloomier and gloomier. I had a sense of what he was suffering because I also was gripped by homesickness. Nearly seven months had gone by without our having any news from shore. Moreover, Captain Nemo's reclusiveness, his changed disposition, and especially his total silence since the battle with the devilfish all made me see things in a different light. I no longer felt the enthusiasm of our first days on board. You needed to be Flemish like Conseil to accept these circumstances, living in a habitat designed for cetaceans and other denizens of the deep. Truly, if that gallant lad had owned gills instead of lungs, I think he would have made an outstanding fish! "Well, sir?" Ned Land went on, seeing that I hadn't replied. "Well, Ned, you want me to ask Captain Nemo what he intends to do with us?" "Yes, sir." "Even though he has already made that clear?" "Yes. I want it settled once and for all. Speak just for me, strictly on my behalf, if you want." "But I rarely encounter him. He positively avoids me." "All the more reason you should go look him up." "I'll confer with him, Ned." "When?" the Canadian asked insistently. "When I encounter him." "Professor Aronnax, would you like me to go find him myself?" "No, let me do it. Tomorrow - " "Today," Ned Land said. "So be it. I'll see him today," I answered the Canadian, who, if he took action himself, would certainly have ruined everything. I was left to myself. His request granted, I decided to dispose of it immediately. I like things over and done with. I reentered my stateroom. From there I could hear movements inside Captain Nemo's quarters. I couldn't pass up this chance for an encounter. I knocked on his door. I received no reply. I knocked again, then tried the knob. The door opened. I entered. The captain was there. He was bending over his worktable and hadn't heard me. Determined not to leave without questioning him, I drew closer. He looked up sharply, with a frowning brow, and said in a pretty stern tone: "Oh, it's you! What do you want?" "To speak with you, captain." "But I'm busy, sir, I'm at work. I give you the freedom to enjoy your privacy, can't I have the same for myself?" This reception was less than encouraging. But I was determined to give as good as I got. "Sir," I said coolly, "I need to speak with you on a matter that simply can't wait." "Whatever could that be, sir?" he replied sarcastically. "Have you made some discovery that has escaped me? Has the sea yielded up some novel secret to you?" We were miles apart. But before I could reply, he showed me a manuscript open on the table and told me in a more serious tone: "Here, Professor Aronnax, is a manuscript written in several languages. It contains a summary of my research under the sea, and God willing, it won't perish with me. Signed with my name, complete with my life story, this manuscript will be enclosed in a small, unsinkable contrivance. The last surviving man on the Nautilus will throw this contrivance into the sea, and it will go wherever the waves carry it." The man's name! His life story written by himself! So the secret of his existence might someday be unveiled? But just then I saw this announcement only as a lead-in to my topic. "Captain," I replied, "I'm all praise for this idea you're putting into effect. The fruits of your research must not be lost. But the methods you're using strike me as primitive. Who knows where the winds will take that contrivance, into whose hands it may fall? Can't you find something better? Can't you or one of your men - " "Never, sir," the captain said, swiftly interrupting me. "But my companions and I would be willing to safeguard this manuscript, and if you give us back our freedom - " "Your freedom!" Captain Nemo put in, standing up. "Yes, sir, and that's the subject on which I wanted to confer with you. For seven months we've been aboard your vessel, and I ask you today, in the name of my companions as well as myself, if you intend to keep us here forever." "Professor Aronnax," Captain Nemo said, "I'll answer you today just as I did seven months ago: whoever boards the Nautilus must never leave it." "What you're inflicting on us is outright slavery!" "Call it anything you like." "But every slave has the right to recover his freedom! By any worthwhile, available means!" "Who has denied you that right?" Captain Nemo replied. "Did I ever try to bind you with your word of honor?" The captain stared at me, crossing his arms. "Sir," I told him, "to take up this subject a second time would be distasteful to both of us. So let's finish what we've started. I repeat: it isn't just for myself that I raise this issue. To me, research is a relief, a potent diversion, an enticement, a passion that can make me forget everything else. Like you, I'm a man neglected and unknown, living in the faint hope that someday I can pass on to future generations the fruits of my labors - figuratively speaking, by means of some contrivance left to the luck of winds and waves. In short, I can admire you and comfortably go with you while playing a role I only partly understand; but I still catch glimpses of other aspects of your life that are surrounded by involvements and secrets that, alone on board, my companions and I can't share. And even when our hearts could beat with yours, moved by some of your griefs or stirred by your deeds of courage and genius, we've had to stifle even the slightest token of that sympathy that arises at the sight of something fine and good, whether it comes from friend or enemy. All right then! It's this feeling of being alien to your deepest concerns that makes our situation unacceptable, impossible, even impossible for me but especially for Ned Land. Every man, by virtue of his very humanity, deserves fair treatment. Have you considered how a love of freedom and hatred of slavery could lead to plans of vengeance in a temperament like the Canadian's, what he might think, attempt, endeavor . . . ?" I fell silent. Captain Nemo stood up. "Ned Land can think, attempt, or endeavor anything he wants, what difference is it to me? I didn't go looking for him! I don't keep him on board for my pleasure! As for you, Professor Aronnax, you're a man able to understand anything, even silence. I have nothing more to say to you. Let this first time you've come to discuss this subject also be the last, because a second time I won't even listen." I withdrew. From that day forward our position was very strained. I reported this conversation to my two companions. "Now we know," Ned said, "that we can't expect a thing from this man. The Nautilus is nearing Long Island. We'll escape, no matter what the weather." But the skies became more and more threatening. There were conspicuous signs of a hurricane on the way. The atmosphere was turning white and milky. Slender sheaves of cirrus clouds were followed on the horizon by layers of nimbocumulus. Other low clouds fled swiftly. The sea grew towering, inflated by long swells. Every bird had disappeared except a few petrels, friends of the storms. The barometer fell significantly, indicating a tremendous tension in the surrounding haze. The mixture in our stormglass decomposed under the influence of the electricity charging the air. A struggle of the elements was approaching. The storm burst during the daytime of May 13, just as the Nautilus was cruising abreast of Long Island, a few miles from the narrows to Upper New York Bay. I'm able to describe this struggle of the elements because Captain Nemo didn't flee into the ocean depths; instead, from some inexplicable whim, he decided to brave it out on the surface. The wind was blowing from the southwest, initially a stiff breeze, in other words, with a speed of fifteen meters per second, which built to twenty-five meters near three o'clock in the afternoon. This is the figure for major storms. Unshaken by these squalls, Captain Nemo stationed himself on the platform. He was lashed around the waist to withstand the monstrous breakers foaming over the deck. I hoisted and attached myself to the same place, dividing my wonderment between the storm and this incomparable man who faced it head-on. The raging sea was swept with huge tattered clouds drenched by the waves. I saw no more of the small intervening billows that form in the troughs of the big crests. Just long, soot-colored undulations with crests so compact they didn't foam. They kept growing taller. They were spurring each other on. The Nautilus, sometimes lying on its side, sometimes standing on end like a mast, rolled and pitched frightfully. Near five o'clock a torrential rain fell, but it lulled neither wind nor sea. The hurricane was unleashed at a speed of forty-five meters per second, hence almost forty leagues per hour. Under these conditions houses topple, roof tiles puncture doors, iron railings snap in two, and twenty-four-pounder cannons relocate. And yet in the midst of this turmoil, the Nautilus lived up to that saying of an expert engineer: "A well-constructed hull can defy any sea!" This submersible was no resisting rock that waves could demolish; it was a steel spindle, obediently in motion, without rigging or masting, and able to brave their fury with impunity. Meanwhile I was carefully examining these unleashed breakers. They measured up to fifteen meters in height over a length of 150 to 175 meters, and the speed of their propagation (half that of the wind) was fifteen meters per second. Their volume and power increased with the depth of the waters. I then understood the role played by these waves, which trap air in their flanks and release it in the depths of the sea where its oxygen brings life. Their utmost pressure - it has been calculated-can build to 3,000 kilograms on every square foot of surface they strike. It was such waves in the Hebrides that repositioned a stone block weighing 84,000 pounds. It was their relatives in the tidal wave on December 23, 1854, that toppled part of the Japanese city of Tokyo, then went that same day at 700 kilometers per hour to break on the beaches of America. After nightfall the storm grew in intensity. As in the 1860 cyclone on Reunion Island, the barometer fell to 710 millimeters. At the close of day, I saw a big ship passing on the horizon, struggling painfully. It lay to at half steam in an effort to hold steady on the waves. It must have been a steamer on one of those lines out of New York to Liverpool or Le Havre. It soon vanished into the shadows. At ten o'clock in the evening, the skies caught on fire. The air was streaked with violent flashes of lightning. I couldn't stand this brightness, but Captain Nemo stared straight at it, as if to inhale the spirit of the storm. A dreadful noise filled the air, a complicated noise made up of the roar of crashing breakers, the howl of the wind, claps of thunder. The wind shifted to every point of the horizon, and the cyclone left the east to return there after passing through north, west, and south, moving in the opposite direction of revolving storms in the southern hemisphere. Oh, that Gulf Stream! It truly lives up to its nickname, the Lord of Storms! All by itself it creates these fearsome cyclones through the difference in temperature between its currents and the superimposed layers of air. The rain was followed by a downpour of fire. Droplets of water changed into exploding tufts. You would have thought Captain Nemo was courting a death worthy of himself, seeking to be struck by lightning. In one hideous pitching movement, the Nautilus reared its steel spur into the air like a lightning rod, and I saw long sparks shoot down it. Shattered, at the end of my strength, I slid flat on my belly to the hatch. I opened it and went below to the lounge. By then the storm had reached its maximum intensity. It was impossible to stand upright inside the Nautilus. Captain Nemo reentered near midnight. I could hear the ballast tanks filling little by little, and the Nautilus sank gently beneath the surface of the waves. Through the lounge's open windows, I saw large, frightened fish passing like phantoms in the fiery waters. Some were struck by lightning right before my eyes! The Nautilus kept descending. I thought it would find calm again at fifteen meters down. No. The upper strata were too violently agitated. It needed to sink to fifty meters, searching for a resting place in the bowels of the sea. But once there, what tranquility we found, what silence, what peace all around us! Who would have known that a dreadful hurricane was then unleashed on the surface of this ocean?