#guildford appreciation day

[personinthepalace]

Emily and Edward sharing their support on Jane and Guildford appreciation days, respectively 🥺

[cazzyf1]

My favourite quotes from 'Champion Year' by Mike Hawthorn

Tw: Description of Peter Collins death

Three days after the manuscript of this book was delivered to the publishers Mike Hawthorn was killed on the Guildford by-pass. When the book was going to press Mr. Matthews, a New Zealand poet, kindly sent to the publishers the following verse which the tragic accident had moved him to write:

He was a nation's Golden Boy

At twenty-nine the brightness failed,

And he was dead.

He went as he had lived, flashing

A lonely pathway to the stars:

What's to be said?

I think for him a nobler crown

Now wreathes that many-laurelled brow-

The course is run.

For England's laughing cavalier

The Race is won.

This book is dedicated to the memory of 'Mon Ami, Mate' Peter Collins

The 1958 series achieved a new high in mismanagement, due mainly to the invetable question of money; it was on and then off and on again almost as many times as a chorus girl's costume in a Windmill revue - p20

From there to Milan we had one of the most hair-raising rides I had ever experienced; our coach was driven by a completely manic driver who just pressed on down the autostrada as though it was a clear soup rather than the traditional pea soup type of fog. He obviously couldn't see a thing so I decided it was best to curl up and get to sleep before the accident happened. Anything he came up behind just pulled out and passed. At one point his nerve failed him and he tucked in behind a large lorry crawling along about five miles an hour. After a while he plucked up the courage and passed it; once we were all safely past the passengers gave him an enormous cheer, whether of reielf or genuine applause I still can't make up my mind! - p21/22

It might have been a better party had Peter been there, but he and Louise were in America; he was the only really notable absentee from the party - p22

I had doubtful distinction of not scoring a win on either sports or racing cars throughout the whole season and had anyone asked me what the chequered flag looked like I should have referred him to Stirling - p22/23

Stirling did 1m 44s driving with one eye bandaged after Katie had bashed him accidentally - p27

I decided not to swim, the Argentine sun and my fair skin didn't get on, so I lazed under an enormous sun brolly and read the papers in the shade. I suppose we were there about four hours and although I had not been in the sun for more than a few minutes I noticed my legs smarting rather as we flew back. Tito's pilot let me fly as far as Montevideo where we stopped to clear customs. The smarting, a sort of tingling like pins and needles, got much worse and by the time we got back to Burnos Aires my legs were really hurting. Back at the hotel I found they were bright red and very painful. During the night they started swelling up badly and I got a doctor in who gave me some sort of jollop for them. Apparently it had been the reflection of the sun off the sand and I was lucky that I had kept my sweater on as otherwise my body would have got it too. I spent the next two days in bed in great pain and thus missed the first day's training for the sports car race. Enormous water blisters blew up under the skin and the thought of driving horrified me- p33

Feeling lousy and looking like a lobster I reported for duty on race day - p34

Like a flash Boy Scout instinct always latent in Hawthorn sprang to the fore. "Why not let Ggendebien take my place," I said to Tavoni "and he can drive with Taffy." Nobody seemed to appreciate my noble gesture, but anyway I didn't have to drive although some reports say that I did - p35

After four days or so my legs got better although they were still upsetting me, but I met a very nice Argentinian girl who had a Cadillac and she drove me to and from the circuit. Martha Pristerini, I think her name was. She had a very little penthouse flat with the smallest swimming pool ever. You dived in and hit your head the other end immediately, all in one easy movement - no trouble at all - p36

It was an uneventful period except for the news of Fangio's kidnapping - p41

Apparently a lot of the voters thought the money involved in staging a motor race could have been better spent on the half million unemployed characters in Cuba - knowing what South American race organisation is like I was all for the rebels - p41

Fortunately the whole thing was done as a gesture and Fangio was never in danger although I did read somewhere that he was tortured. It turned out that he had been locked up in a room with a television set, which comes to the same thing, I suppose, if you don't like the television - p41

Bonnier had a beard and while he was walking in Havana a car screamed up and characters with Tommy guns searched him because they thought he was one of the rebels. Evidently the rebels rather went in for the beards - p41

Pete and Louise stayed there too and we had a lot of fun buying our own food which Louise cooked for us. We would go to one of the self-service stores and we always ended up with an enormous bill and far more food that we needed - p42

The evenings we spent quietly watching the television and once I get in front of the goggle box I stay there. I'm a complete fan and I look in whenever I can at home - p42

Peter had driven down with Louise from New York in a borrowed Chev. and collected his usual ticket for speeding - p42

I got back to our motel and went up to Pete and Louise's room. He had just run his bath, which he had been looking forward to, but he didn't get it - I stepped straight into it without even taking my clothes off! - p45

After changing I went off with Ivor on a party which we ended up about six o'clock in the morning playing poker in a hotel bedroom with three State Troopers, motor cycle 'cops'. I was getting a bit worried as we were winning, which upset them, they had very large guns; they kept nudging me and saying: "Don't you think it's time you went home?" So we went. - p45

I had always wanted a boxer and Ian gave me one of the pups. His name was Boris and he was a fine character, so ugly he was beautiful, but I didn't like the name. - p51

The main drama of the day came from the public address system which broadcast frequent and impassioned appeals to a schoolboy not to eat the sandwiches his mother had prepared for him as they contained broken glass. It was reported the next day that he had eaten them before the announcement and hadn't noticed anything odd about them! - p52

On the Sunday Carol and I flew home taking the dog with us; we had still not thought of another name for it. When we got to the Aero Club we had a drink; I had my usual pint of light ale and bitter and was chatting to Carol when I looked round to find the boxer tucking into my grog. So that was it - from then on he was Grogger - p52

The tragic thing was that I eventually ran him over. Much later in the year, during the Motor Show, I had the Ferrari demonstrator car out and a friend at Tilford Green wanted a ride. As I drove off just to go round the houses, Grogger tried to follow us but someone called him back. As we drove back he must have seen me and he jumped straight in front of the car. I don't think he knew anything about it, but I felt utterly terrible. He was my first dog and the first dog I had ever run over. I felt the only thing to do was to get another one quickly, which I did, another boxer, nine weeks old, Grogger the second - p52

Phil and Pete had quite an experience when out on the Ferrari mule they met a real live one which reared up - no doubt in imitation of the prancing horse of the Schuderia Ferrari badge - and threw its rider off - p61

We did several laps with the little Fiat and when we weren't driving round we spent the time swimming and sunbathing in a little bay. Peter, Louise and me and sometimes Phil Hill would go; sometimes Taffy or Seidel and his wife would join us. We'd take a picnic basket and eat and doze and swim. They were good times that I shall always remember - 61

In this book I am expressing my own opinions, and often those of Pete, whose views on motor racing were very similar to mine. It is more than possible that we were alone in these, but there it is. I recently read a survey of British eating habits and I was just as horrified to read that thirty million Britions eat custard every Sunday. So here is Hawthorn, sticking out his neck again: I don't like custard or the Targa Florio - p63

Taffy started off on our car with instructions from me that if he was going to bend it, then he must bend it well and truly, which made him laugh and eased the tension of the start! - p63

Louise was waiting for me in their little vespa. Louise let me drive it back to Monte Carlo, and we had enormous fun throwing it around the corners - p68

It was a long way back for Stirling, but he had me for company in the same row! - p71

Pete and I went straight to his boat after the race where a party started that was to end in the small hours of the morning in the Tip Top Club. I cannot recall who was there, but my definition of a memorable party is one that I don't remember much about. - p78

It was an irony of fate that Pete was to lose his life on my favourite circut - p90

As is usual on the start we were given the time signals, one minute to go, thirty seconds to go and then from then seconds we were given a count down. I suddenly decided I would play a joke on Stirling and when the count reached "One" I started to run like hell for the car. Stirling correctly waiting for the zero shouted: "You bastard, Hawthorn!" This made me laugh so much that I could hardly find breath to run, when I did get to the car I was still laughing and made a complete nonsense of the start. I had not intended to jump the gun to gain time, but the final laugh was well and truly on me because Stirling, Tony Brooks, Salvadori and Behra all got away in front of me - p92/93

As I got away the Autosport report says: "Mike gave what might be described as a jocular wave to Reg Parnell." The gesture I made was certainly jocular, but I wouldn't have called it a wave! - p95

I got an enormous applause from the crowd who throughly enjoyed the show, so before jumping in I bowed to them and went off feeling rather like the conjurer who says his next trick is impossible. Needless to say my act did not go down well elsewhere, as it had put paid to our chances and had given Stirling a handsome lead of over four minutes - p96

Always after the Nurenburgring races we meet up in Pete's and Louise's room in the Sporthotel for drinks. It is usually a fairly gay party as most people are staying there and so don't have far to go home. Pete had got some whiskey and beer and we sat around and talked - p97

It was obvious I had had it for clouds of white smoke from a racing car does not denote a happy event, as it does in the Vatican circles in Rome. There it means a new Pope has been elected, but in Grand Prix racing circles it means you had it in a big way! - p109

He has written books on Continental travel so when we set off by taking a road I used to take to the circut I said nothing. Then we turned off again. "Are you sure this is the way?" I asked, "Oh yes," said Rodney, "it's a short cut, a special way I know. I recognise it." This went on until late that evening when we got to Dinant, which is only about fifty miles from Spa, so we decided we would stay there. I was in no hurry, and Rodney never is. Roy would have liked to press on but he was out numbered. We had quite a night at Dinant, but the funny thing was that it only takes about four and a half hours to get to Paris from Spa, and it had taken us all that to get to Dinant. The next day we set off about ten and Rodney said he would get us near to Paris as he could, drop us off and we could get a train. So off we went, and I'm certain that we came across roads that the French and the Belgians don't even know exist to this day. Show Rodney a side road and he will take it, especially if it isn't signposted. We travelled about forty miles an hour, which is Rodney's cruising speed, and one which I throughly enjoy. I cannot bear the type who tries to impress you by driving fast. We made innumerable refuelling stops which I also enjoy. Rodney's favourite is gin and French. After seven hours of this we eventually reached Rheims and Roy and I decided we would stand a better chance at getting to Paris that night if we took a train; I think Rodney was rather relieved as he could press his own way, but I had throughly enjoyed the experience - p113/114

I set off for Le Mans on Wednesday with Bernard Cahier, a motoring correspondence for one of the American motoring magazines, in his very much modified Renault Dauphine - at a rate of knots that would have horrified Rodney; it certain did me - p114

In the morning we drove up to Paris and caught the train back to England and Pete and Louise came down to Farnham with me to stay the night in Frensham Ponds Hotel. We actually heard the results of the race at my garage in Farnham. At the hotel they were quite shattered to see us and could hardly believe their eyes! - p120.

Duncan was taken off to hospital with bruises all over him, and that is a lot of bruises because that is a lot of Duncan. Many amusing stories are told of his stay in hospital but I like best the one that describes Duncan's agony lying in bed watching all the 10,000-franc notes of his second prize floating out of the window one after the other. This upset him much more than his physical injuries! - p121

Poor Stirling was again accused of being frightened and only doing it for the money. As a professional driver he was entitled to race for money and as for being frightened I can only say that even if he was not, I certainly was - p123

I immediately said to Tavoni that I thought Luigi should drive in place of me, the old boy scout instinct in me coming to the fore again - p126

On Tuesday night we went to the Crazy Horse Saloon, a very popular night club with strip-tease acts and waiters with twirling Victorian moustaches and long white aprons. The place is so crowded that you are usually drinking out of someone else's glass and it's a very good spot. During the evening Stirling asked me how I was going down to Rheims and I told him by plane if possible, but that I had nothing fixed. He offered me a lift in his Mercedes 22oS. I looked at Katie and asked her what he was like on the road now. Katie said: "Oh, he's very good now and drives quite slowly." So I said: "Thank you, Stirling, very much, I'd love to come." Off we set next day, stopping for lunch at Soissons, where we met up with Ken Gregory and his wife and Harry Schell, also en route to Rheims. I was able to tell them that Stirling was driving very well and quite capable of controlling a car on the roads! - p133

I asked if I might be permitted to drive around the circuit to have a look where it all was. Pete said he would lead me round and show me the worst bits, and eventually we got permission to do this. Before we set out I asked Peter if the lap would make any difference as far as fuel was concerned. All our cars had had auxiliary side tanks fitted; I had an extra big rear tank and my side tank, but he had a smaller rear tank than mine as well. I had asked about the fuel situation and had been told that I would be able to get through the race all right, but that with Peter's car it would be a close thing. I asked Pete about it and he said: "Not to worry; it will be all right, I'm sure it will." So we went off and drove this one lap and took our position again...Right on the last lap trouble came to Pete; he was lying fourth and ran out of fuel. If he had not done that extra lap to show me where the oil was he would have made his fourth. As it was he pushed it over for fifth. - p139-141

I could see the place where Luigi had gone off; I could not see the car, which was hidden in the cornfields beside the track. I was terribly worried, but there was nothing I could do. I remembered his crash at Spa and how he got away with that and I just hoped he had been lucky again - p140

One night a crowd led by Luigi had somehow manhandled Harry Schell's car, a little 4-wheeled Vespa, through the main door of the hotel and up the stairs to the first floor. Unfortunately Harry was on the fourth floor. They couldn't get it into the lift and so the plot, which was to drive it along the corridor to Harry's room and blow the horn, misfired. They left it outside the managers office on the first floor and put a few flowers around it. Then they had a new idea and they went up to his room and lit long strip of newspaper which they pushed under the door. Poor Harry had a rather disturbed night and when he got up in the morning and found his vespa he was a little upset! However, his sense of humour asserted itself in the end and all was well. It turned out to be his girlfriends birthday and a gift of scent and some flowers put everything right. That night Harry and Monique went out to dinner and when he fame back and went up to his room he opened the door to find it completely empty except for a vase of flowers in the middle of the floor. There was no carpet, no curtains, no bed, no table, chairs, clothes or wardrobe; nothing. The lot had gone! The boys, led by Luigi had ransacked the room and carried all the stuff out. Harry's face was a picture, but he took it very well and everyone piled the stuff back again. Strange though it may seem, I can report that I was in bed and sleep during both of these parties! - p144

Anyway, we sat around for a while and then someone said that it was no good being miserable about it. "He's gone and that's it; nothing we can do. Let's go out and have a drink." Maybe it wasn't the right thing to do, but that is what we did - p144

He wanted to know whom I would like to have as team drivers if the project reached that point. I said I would like to have Pete and Phil Hill. I knew Pete would come and drive with me, and I thought Phil might to - p150

All you had to do was leave the pits, walk into the pub and have a pint of draught Guinness, which I absolutely love. I know that one can get it over here, but to me it is not the same thing; it's not got that tang to it. But in Ireland it is wonderful and very cheap and with my Rheims winnings to come I did not exactly stint myself - p151

It was pouring with rain and I had been sheltering in the pub behind the pits, weatherproofing myself with the Guinness - p152

It is just a case of too much Hawthorn chasing too little car - p154

Peter and I talked over our plan for the race. Pete, on his typically generous way, had said that he was going to do everything he could to help me win the championship - p157

On the continent this wishing one good luck is considered unlucky and the way to wish a driver all the best is to murmur a very rude word in French; polite society refers to it as "cinq lettres". There is also an Italain phrase, in bocca al lupo, which means, literally, "in the mouth of the wolf", to which there is a rude answer, the origin of the phrase has never been satisfactory explained, but this too serves to wish a driver well. It may sound silly, but those minutes on the starting gride are twitch making in the extreme and small things can assume an importance quite out of proportion - p158

I remember the last few laps of the race very well because I was very hot and thirsty and every time I went through the Becketts the marshals on that corner, Tony Rolt, Bill Ruck-Keene and David Phillips, were standing there drinking beer from pint mugs and taunting me by swigging the stuff as I went through - it made me even thirstier. On the last lap I signalled to them that I would like a drink myself, so after I got the flag I kept going fairly fast until I reached the Becketts where I stopped and was given a pint of shandy. Then I drove on sipping the shandy. I had my crash hat off and drove in with the drink - it foxed a lot of people. A friend of mine overheard a couple discussing this. One chap said that he wondered how I had got ahold of the beer. His friend, obviously out to impress, said: "Oh, that's just a gimmick, he had it with him all through the race!" It made a sort of triple pint act, because at Goodwood when I raced the Grand Prix car Peter had got hold of a black board on which he had drawn a wonderfully lifelike picture of a pint of beer and he had shown me this on my last few laps; the thought of it helped me on my way. Then during the May Meeting at Silverstone when Pete was well in the lead I got a pint of beer from the beer tent and stood in front of the pits with it holding it out so that he could see what was waiting for him besides the chequered flag - p162/153

This called for drinks and Pete, Louise and I repaired to the beer tent for a few before he and Louise went off to Kidderminster. Unfortunately they took my sports jacket with them in their car and, of course, my money, my keys, my pipe and everything. I hadn't a clue that they had taken it and I thought it had been stolen from my car - p163

Each morning I used to get up at eleven o'clock, put on my dressing gown and go along to Pete and Louise's room to have breakfast with them, and just laze around. One day we spent all day in our various rooms lounging in pyjamas and dressing-gowns, just slipping into overalls for practise and then coming back to our rooms to read and talk. It was a wonderful way to relax - p171

On his way up to Nurburg Pete had brought one of those wooden puzzles to make up a circle. Then you slide them all out and start afresh. Pete had taken the pieces apart and tried to memorise them, but when he tried to put them together again he just couldn't remember how. He spent hours poring over this thing, getting furious with it. On the morning of the race I went along to their room fairly early. Louise was already awake, but Pete was still asleep, snoring his head off. I looked down at him sleeping there and for some reason I felt happy looking at him. He is one that won't die, I thought. Then he woke up and saw me standing there and swore at me for waking him. "Come on," I said, "It's a nice bright morning and time for you to get up." And so, moaning and groaning, he did get up, put on his dressing-gown and got back into bed again. Then we shouted for breakfast, a sort of combined breakfast and lunch, as the race was not due to start until 2.15pm. I remember we had a couple of boiled eggs each and bread and jam and toast and lashing of tea and milk and when we'd drunk the tea we finished off the milk. Then Pete really got down to his puzzle and various people came in and tried to help, Phil Hi and Jo Bonnier amongst them. I had given up; it was far beyond my brain power. I think it must have been about an hour before the race, just before we were due to go down, that he gave a triumphant shout: '"I've done it, I've done it!" Sure enough he had done it, and Louise was terribly intrigued and started peering at it. "Jolly good," she said. "Do you think if I take it to bits I could do it?" Pete nearly hit the roof at this and said: "Don't touch it. I've done it and it can stay like that so I can show everybody." So it was left just as he had solved it, all the pieces in their appointed place. I am glad he did so, glad too that he completed it before he was killed, it had meant so much to him in those last few hours - p171/172

Despite the fact that Peter's win at Silverstone had brought him within striking distance of Stirling, he was still determined that he wanted me to win the Championship - p172

Pete and I did exactly what we had done the previous year. We got side by side and Pete signalled to me that he wanted me to be first and he would take second place - p174

He was driving as well as he had ever driven - p175

He went round the corner perfectly normally but running wide, and the car slid, drifting out. His back wheel hit the bank and the car lifted, running with the rear wheels on the bank which is about twelve inches high. God, I thought, the silly fool, we're both going to be involved in this. I thought he would spin off the bank across the road and I would hit him. I was just thinking up some choice words to say to him when we climbed out of the two bent Ferrari's when, without the slightest warning, fantastically quick, his car just whipped straight over. It gave no indication that it would do this, is just turned over. I could not believe that it had happened, it came as a completely paralysing shock. There was a blur of blue as Pete was thrown out and I put the breaks on hard and almost stopped as I looked round. I saw the car bounce upside down in a great cloud of dust, before it came to rest. What shall I do? Shall I stop or shall I go on? The thought raced through my head. I was desperately worried, it was so obviously a serious accident. I just did not know what to do. I was beset by doubt and anxiety. Shall I go on round and stop at the pits? No, I must not do that because Louise will be there and she'll be dreadfully worried. I'll go on and do another lap and then come in to see if by then they have some news on him. The race was forgotten, I could think of nothing else as I drove on almost automatically. - p176

By the car was Pete's crash helmet and one shoe and glove. His crash hat had been pierced, but had sprung back rather like a piece of cardboard does when you poke your finger through it. I was relived to see that there was no blood on the helmet and felt happier about things - p178

"How is Peter?" We asked, "Peter is dead," they said. I went into the hospital which was full of reporters and doctors, but they let me through when I told them who I was. I went to Louise and Tavoni - he was very calm and looking after her wonderfully well; she was being very brave. There was nothing to say; it would not have done any good if there had been. Pete was gone - p179

Pete was a public figure in death as well as life and the questions, the interviews and the clicking cameras proved a grim trail which broke me up completely. One cannot blame the reporters and the camera men who are only doing their job, but grief is a private thing which can only be borne alone - p179

I have tried very hard in this book - which is dedicated to his memory - to give the reader some idea of my friend, Peter Collins, of his gaiety and generosity, of his great courage and ability. I hope that I have succeeded; it was the hope of being able to contribute something to his memory that decided me to write this book. It tells of the year in which I became the first Englishman to gain the title of World Champion Racing Driver - with the help of mon ami, mate, Pete - p179/180

It makes clear his fame and achievement in motor racing, though it was not for his fame that I, and others, loved him - p180

An extract of a newspaper: A headmaster writes: May I be allowed to add a few words to your very fine obituary notice of Peter Collins? One of his less widely known interests was that of education, and it was through this that I first met him in 1955, when he became a member of the governing body of my school. He was keenly intrested in ever facet of education and derived much pleasure on his visits to the school from wandering around the classrooms talking to the children and inspecting their books; he interested himself in their sporting activities too, and, needless to say, the children for their part loved to have such a famous young man in their midst and always responded to his innate charm. Peter always had to wade through piles of autographs books each time he came! I always recall one particular incident which took place in my study when Peter talked unceasingly for a couple of hours to a group of grammar school boys who had been invited to meet him; the boys were spellbound and thrilled by all he had to tell them, and I well remember how welcome tea was to Peter on that occasion! Beneath his gay (happy) exterior Peter Collins was a young man of great maturity and unsweriving loyalty. I, personally, respected his judgement and advice; on one occasion in particular his wise counsel saved me from a serious error of policy. This tragic and untimely death of Peter Collins had removed from our midst not only a racing motorists of world renown but also a humble and unassuming young man endowed with wisdom and vision out of all proportion to his physical age - p180/181

Fame, someone once said, is the span of a day, but to live in the hearts of people - that is something. They are words that might as well have been written with Pete in mind - p181

Peter's death was a tragic blow to his wife, his family and his friends and also to motor racing; but he was not compelled to go motor racing, he wanted to, as do all of us who drive racing cars. There is left the sole consolation that Pete - and the others - died doing something they wanted to do - p184

Peter's death had affected all the drivers and none of us had much heart for the job ahead. I know that I drove with much more restate than usual, and so too did Stirling. I was upset also to find that my race number was 22. Both Pete and Luigi had been killed on cars with 2 as their number, and the sight of 22 on mine really put the wind up me. I rushed off to Tavoni and asked if I might have 24, which was Taffy's number, and he and Taffy both agreed; only the numbers were changed, not the actual cars. - p185

The crowd were obviously enjoying the Moss-Hawthorn duel, but I cannot say that I was myself - p189

I turned my head round, and to my astonishment it was not Stuart, but Stirling. I pulled a face at him as though to say: "Oh no, not this, the final indignity!" Stirling saw my expression of suprise and woe, and obviously thought: Well I mustn't rub it in - and very sportingly dropped back behind me - p190

In turning round I stalled the engine. I leapt out to push-start it and I had got it to the pavement prior to pushing it off into the road when a spectator rushed up to give me a hand. I lashed out at him furiously, because if he had touched the car I would have been disqualified. It had already happened to Tony Brooks earlier in the race, although I did not know that at the time. I am told I hit the poor chap quite hard; so if he should happen to read this, in the rare event of it being translated into Portuguese, I hope he will accept my apologies - p192

I was ushered into a room in which the officials were seated round a large table. I felt just like a schoolboy up before the Headmaster after being found smoking behind the five courts, or having been caught out of bounds with the Maths master's daughter, which is even more serious but far more fun - p193

Everyone was glad that Portugal was over. All the drivers admitted to having been very nervous; I know that I was and Stirling told me afterwards that he had the feeling that he was going to have an accident; happily he didn't, nor was there any untoward incident in the race - p197

On the aggregate Stirling had won the Kentish Trophy which I presented to him together with a large Laurel wreath and a big kiss on each cheek in the correct Continental manner! The spectators seemed to like that very much, although Stirling said it wasn't so hot - p197/198

Peter's road Ferrari was still at the works in Maranello and on his last visit to England with the car Pete had had fitted a set of Dunlop disc breaks of the type that are used on Jaguar XK 150. Just before his death he had driven the car back to Maranello so that Ferrari technicians could have a look at them. Ferrari said he would transfer these to my racing car, so Pete was still helping me in my efforts to win the Championship - p198

When Louise arrived in Millan she shook me somewhat by saying that someone was coming out from England to try Peter's Gran Turismo coupé with a view to buying it and driving it home. I had to break the news to her that I had the discs taken off the car and put on my racing car - it was slightly staggering news, which she took very well. The prospective buyer also took the news very well and still went down to see the car. In the end he decided against it, but not, I am glad to say, because I had pinched the breaks off of it - p201

I ran in to Stirling who had also just arrived. We chatted for a moment or so and I asked him how he was feeling about the race. "Absolutely terrible," said Stirling. "Thank goodness for that," I said, "it's exactly how I feel too!" - p203

Ronnie Noble of Sportsview had a television team down to cover the race and Stirling, who does a lot of interviews for the programme, interviewed me after the last practise session. We talked about the next say and then to round it off Stirling asked: "What are you going to do tonight?" Ronnie was obviously expecting an answer along the lines of "a quick meal and early to bed to get a good night's rest". Instead of that, I told Stirling what I had thought of doing. "What a jolly good idea," he said, "I think I'd do the same!" This all went down in sound on the film; I believe it caused quite a commotion when the rushes were run through in the projecting theatre at the B.B.C as Ronnie, who had entered into the spirit of thing, sent the film back without warning them. He had his own back on me because they did actually show Stirling having dinner with Katie and his parents, the going to bed at ten o'clock and putting out the lights. But Ronnie caught me later than that having a final drink at the bar of the Palace Hotel in Milan. Stirling's approach to motor racing is no doubt the right one, but mine is much more fun - p204

As we set out Taffy said he was worried because he didn't think he could go round the corners any quicker than he had in practise. I told him not to take them any quicker than he felt he could, that he was no to take any chances at all. "For goodness sake," I said, "don't have an accident." ... as they moved into the corner Taffy's car went straight up the back end of Schell's B.R.M and into the air. It was a horrifying sight. I saw the car, a blur of red, turn over in mid air and plunge behind the barrier on the outside of the corner. Just when the car was about ten feet in the air I saw Taffy come out of the car head first and dissappear into the bushes. There was an enormous cloud of dust as the car landed and then we were past. Tony and I were very near and it shook us both, but there was nothing to do but press on. As it turned out, both drivers were extremely lucky to get away with it. Harry was badly brushed and Taffy broke a leg. - p204/205

At the presentation Fangio make a long speech in Spanish which none of us understood, but there was no doubt that he was most moved by his reception - p209

I did not feel too well and Nevil Lloyd, who was with me, said that he reckoned that I had washed myself in that particular detergent that makes white things even whiter - p210

Everywhere I went people would say: "Oh yes, and when's this deciding race? Next Sunday?" And I would have to say: "No, not next Sunday, it's in four week's time." Then it got down to: "No, it's in three weeks' time." Then two weeks, and I was heartily pleased when I was able to say: "Yes, it is next Sunday, and I'm off tomorrow." - p213

In the citation which accompanied the awards they mentioned "difficulties of such a nature that many less courageous drivers would not have gone through trying as he did", to show that they appreciated the overwhelming loss of Peter. - p214

Lofty England also came with me. He had telephoned me a week or two before to tell me that by some strange coincidence he found it necessary to go out to Casablanca and have a look at the Jaguar sales organisation there and found it a coincided with the Grand Prix. I said it reminds me of that other classic case of coincidece; the football enthusiast whose grandmother used to die regularly every year and was always buried on the day of the Cup Final at Wembley! I was very happy about this because Lofty is one of the greatest team managers in racing and the thought of having him in the pit for this vital race was a most comforting one. Although Tavoni, too, is a very good team manager, it would mean a lot to me to have Lofty standing by - p215

Marie Claire, Oliver Gendebien's wife, who had come over to watch, suggested that I should take the Ferrari mascot out for a lap or two to bring me luck. She had found a chameleon; it was an odd little creature, and had a pair of beady eyes which could look in different directions at once which was a little disconcerting but very useful for watching motor races. It was quite tame and Gendebien had had it in his car with him when he put his fastest lap. I thought it would be better for the chameleon not to come round with me as he might get car sickness and turn a very peculiar colour - p219

As I passed it the Autocar said I gave a great wave; Autosport said I gave myself a boxer's salute. I don't know what I did; all I knew was that I had just become the Champion Driver of the World, the first Englishman to achieve the title - p224

The death of Peter Collins had made up my mind for me - at the end of the season I would retire - p225

I felt completely exhausted and in no particular mood to celebrate my victory. I went back to the hotel, had a bath and shaves and then went on to the prize-giving where I was given a special award - p227

My office was submerged beneath sacks of mail; the telephone rang unceasingly. Invitations poured in with every delivery asking me to speak at this dinner, be the guest of honour at that function, endore products of Messrs. So and so, open fêfes, close bazaars, appear here, there and everywhere, in person or on the television or the radio. About the only thing I was not invited to do was stand as a Liberal candidate in the next election - p228

By far the greatest honour accorded me was an invitation to a private luncheon party at Buckingham Palace on Thursday, November 6th. Her Majesty The Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh had adopted the custom of inviting various people from different walks of life to lunch with them informally - p229

After Pete had gone I had no wish to go on motor racing - p234

Instead of having flags waved a me I hope in the future to be waving them at others - p234

"Why have you retired?" Is so much nicer a question than "Why don't you retire?" - p234

[brookston]

Holidays 1.31

Holidays

Appreciate Your Social Security Check Day

Backwards Day

Brexit Day (UK)

Broccoli Day (French Republic)

Child Labor Day

Dicing for Maid's Money Day (Surrey, UK)

Eve of Brigantia (Ireland)

Final Fantasy VIII Day (Japan)

Feast of Great Typos

Hell Is Freezing Over Day

Hug an Economist Day

Inspire Your Heart With Art Day

International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Men & Boys

International Day of the Magicians

International Omphalocele Awareness Day

International Street Children’s Day

International Zebra Day

Jackie Robinson Day

Me-Dam-Me-Phi (Assam, India)

National Appreciation Day for Catholic Schools

National Bug Busting Day (UK)

National Gorilla Suit Day (Don Martin, in Mad Magazine)

National Music Therapy Day (Mexico)

National Pick on Lindsay Day

National Punk Day

National Seth Day

Play An Old Game You Haven't Played In Years Night

Rabbit Rabbit Day [Last Day of Every Month]

Saint Brigid’s Eve (Ireland)

Scotch Tape Day

Street Children's Day (Austria)

St. Veronus' Day (patron saint of Lembeek & Belgian brewers)

Thermos Bottle Day

Train Hijacking Day

Tupiza New Year (Indigenous Bolivia)

Twist Off Cap Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

Brandy Alexander Day

Day of Russian Vodka

Eat Brussels Sprouts Day

National Hot Chocolate Day

World Vegan Chocolate Day

5th & Last Wednesday in January

Bell Let’s Talk Day (Canada) [Last Wednesday]

Independence & Related Days

Ladoland (Declared; 2016) [unrecognized]

Nauru (from Australia, 1968)

Varladia (Declared; 2022) [unrecognized]

New Year’s Days

Año Nuevo en Tupiza (Tupiza New Year; Indigenous Bolivia)

Festivals Beginning January 31, 2024

Calabash South Africa (Capetown, South Africa)

Carnival of Santa Cruz de Tenerife (Santa Cruz de Tenerife, Spain) [thru 2.18]

Cattlecon (Orlando, Florida) [thru 2.2]

Festival of Literature (Dubai, UAE) [thru 2.6]

La Folle Journée (Nantes, France) [thru 2.4]

NBBQA (National Barbecue & Grilling Association) National Conference (San Antonio, Texas) [thru 2.3]

Southern Farm Show (Raleigh, North Carolina) [thru 2.2]

Feast Days

Adamant of Coldingham (Christian; Saint)

Amartithi (Meher Baba; India)

Anacreon (Positivist; Saint)

Banyu Pinaruh (Water Purification Ceremony; Bali)

Celebration of the Triple Goddess (Goddess of the Moon and the Seasons; Old European Lunar New Year) [Thru 2.3]

Cyrus and John (Christian; Martyrs)

Day of Hecate (Goddess of Crossroads; Starza Pagan Book of Days)

Dicing for Maid’s Money (Guildford, UK)

Disablot (Norse celebration of new beginnings)

Disfest (Sacrifice Honoring the Disir, all female relatives from forever)

Domitius (Domice) of Amiens (Christian; Saint)

Eusebius (Christian; Martyr)

Feast of Isis (Ancient Egypt)

Festival of Transmission Errors

Francis Xavier Bianchi (Christian; Saint)

Geminianus (Christian; Saint)

Honey Badger Avoidance Day (Pastafarian)

Imbolc Eve (Celtic Book of Days)

Imbolc Eve: Day of the Bean Sidhe (Pagan)

John Bosco (Christian; Saint)

Julius of Novara (Christian; Saint)

Ludovica (Christian; Blessed)

Máedóc (a.k.a. Maidoc, Mogue, Aidan, Aiden; Christian; Saint)

Marcella (Christian; Saint)

Mary the Gorilla (Muppetism)

Max Pechstein (Artology)

Me-Dam-Me-Phi (Ahom Veneration of the Dead; Assam, India)

Navajo Sing (Preparation Festival for Coming Agricultural Season) [Through 2.8]

Nicetas of Novgorod (Christian; Saint)

Norman Mailer (Writerism)

Peter or Pedro Nolasco (Christian; Saint)

Rodolphe Töpffer (Artology)

Samuel Shoemaker (Episcopal Church (USA))

Seapion (Christian; Saint)

Theodore Kaczinski Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Tysul (Christian; Saint)

Ulphia (Christian; Virgin)

Valkyries’ Day (Norse)

Veronus  (Christian; Saint) [Lembeek & Belgian brewers]

Wilgils (Christian; Saint)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Prime Number Day: 31 [11 of 72]

Tomobiki (友引 Japan) [Good luck all day, except at noon.]

Premieres

Ali Baba (ComicColor Cartoon; 1936)

All My Children (TV Soap Opera; 1949)

The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman (TV Film; 1974)

Barney’s Hungry Cousin, featuring Barney Bear (MGM Cartoon; 1953)

Being and Time, by Martin Heidegger (Philosophy Book; 1927)

Bellerophon, by Jean-Baptiste Lully (Opera; 1679)

Black Sunday, by Thomas Harris (Novel; 1975)

Cheerful Little Pierful or Bomb Voyage (Rocky & Bullwinkle Cartoon, S1, Ep. 19; 1960)

Down and Out in Beverly Hills (Film; 1986)

Family Guy (Animated TV Series; 1999)

Gia (Film; 1998)

The Green Hornet (Radio Series; 1936)

Key & Peele (TV Series; 2012)

The Lone Ranger (Radio Series; 1933)

McDougal’s Rest Farm (Terrytoons Heckle & Heckle Cartoon; 1947)

A Mouse Divided (WB MM Cartoon; 19353

Mr. & Mrs. Smith (Film; 1941)

Murphy’s Romance (Film; 1986)

Mystery Girl, by Roy Orbison (Album; 1989)

Pagan Moon (WB MM Cartoon; 1932)

A Perfect Day for Bananafish, by J.D. Salinger (Short Story; 1948)

Ragnarok (TV Series; 2020)

The Saint on the Spanish Main, by Leslie Charteris (Short Stories 1955) [Saint #31]

The Soup Song, featuring Flip the Frog (Ub Iwerks Cartoon; 1931)

The Spiderwick Chronicles (Film; 2008)

Summer Squash or He’s Too Flat for Me (Rocky & Bullwinkle Cartoon, S1, Ep. 20; 1960)

Teddy, by J.D. Salinger (Short Story; 1953)

These Are My Children (TV Soap Opera; 1949) [1st TV Soap Opera]

Thoughts In Solitude, by Thomas Merton (Spiritual Book; 1956)

The Village Smitty, featuring Flip the Frog (Ub Iwerks Cartoon; 1931)

The Witness for the Prosecution, by Agatha Christie (Short Story; 1948)

The Wonder Years (TV Series; 1988)

Today’s Name Days

Johannes, Marcella (Austria)

Ivan, Julije, Vanja (Croatia)

Marika (Czech Republic)

Vigilius (Denmark)

Meeland, Meelik, Meelis, Meelit, Meelitu, Meelo, Meelu (Estonia)

Alli (Finland)

Marcelle (France)

Johannes, Marcella, Rudbert (Germany)

Evdoxia, Kyros (Greece)

Gerda, Marcella (Hungary)

Geminiano, Giovanni (Italy)

Dekla, Jalna, Tekla, Tikla, Violeta (Latvia)

Astra, Budvilė, Marcelė, Skirmantas (Lithuania)

Idun, Ivar (Norway)

Cyrus, Euzebiusz, Jan, Ksawery, Ludwik, Marceli, Marcelin, Marcelina, Piotr, Spycigniew, Wirgiliusz (Poland)

Chir, Ioan (Romania)

Ksenia (Russia)

Emil (Slovakia)

Juan, Marcela (Spain)

Ivar, Joar (Sweden)

Cyrus, Kira, Kyra, Lona, Loni, Lonnie, Scarlett, Zane (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 31 of 2024; 335 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 3 of week 5 of 2024

Celtic Tree Calendar: Luis (Rowan) [Day 11 of 28]

Chinese: Month 12 (Yi-Chou), Day 21 (Jia-Wu)

Chinese Year of the: Rabbit 4721 (until February 10, 2024)

Hebrew: 21 Shevat 5784

Islamic: 20 Rajab 1445

J Cal: 1 Grey; Oneday [1 of 30]

Julian: 18 January 2024

Moon: 71%: Waning Gibbous

Positivist: 3 Homer (2nd Month) [Anacreon)

Runic Half Month: Elhaz (Elk) [Day 7 of 15]

Season: Winter (Day 42 of 89)

Zodiac: Capricorn (Day 10 of 28)

Calendar Changes

Grey (Month 2 of 12; J Calendar)

[brookstonalmanac]

Holidays 1.31

Holidays

Appreciate Your Social Security Check Day

Backwards Day

Brexit Day (UK)

Broccoli Day (French Republic)

Child Labor Day

Dicing for Maid's Money Day (Surrey, UK)

Eve of Brigantia (Ireland)

Final Fantasy VIII Day (Japan)

Feast of Great Typos

Hell Is Freezing Over Day

Hug an Economist Day

Inspire Your Heart With Art Day

International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Men & Boys

International Day of the Magicians

International Omphalocele Awareness Day

International Street Children’s Day

International Zebra Day

Jackie Robinson Day

Me-Dam-Me-Phi (Assam, India)

National Appreciation Day for Catholic Schools

National Bug Busting Day (UK)

National Gorilla Suit Day (Don Martin, in Mad Magazine)

National Music Therapy Day (Mexico)

National Pick on Lindsay Day

National Punk Day

National Seth Day

Play An Old Game You Haven't Played In Years Night

Rabbit Rabbit Day [Last Day of Every Month]

Saint Brigid’s Eve (Ireland)

Scotch Tape Day

Street Children's Day (Austria)

St. Veronus' Day (patron saint of Lembeek & Belgian brewers)

Thermos Bottle Day

Train Hijacking Day

Tupiza New Year (Indigenous Bolivia)

Twist Off Cap Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

Brandy Alexander Day

Day of Russian Vodka

Eat Brussels Sprouts Day

National Hot Chocolate Day

World Vegan Chocolate Day

5th & Last Wednesday in January

Bell Let’s Talk Day (Canada) [Last Wednesday]

Independence & Related Days

Ladoland (Declared; 2016) [unrecognized]

Nauru (from Australia, 1968)

Varladia (Declared; 2022) [unrecognized]

New Year’s Days

Año Nuevo en Tupiza (Tupiza New Year; Indigenous Bolivia)

Festivals Beginning January 31, 2024

Calabash South Africa (Capetown, South Africa)

Carnival of Santa Cruz de Tenerife (Santa Cruz de Tenerife, Spain) [thru 2.18]

Cattlecon (Orlando, Florida) [thru 2.2]

Festival of Literature (Dubai, UAE) [thru 2.6]

La Folle Journée (Nantes, France) [thru 2.4]

NBBQA (National Barbecue & Grilling Association) National Conference (San Antonio, Texas) [thru 2.3]

Southern Farm Show (Raleigh, North Carolina) [thru 2.2]

Feast Days

Adamant of Coldingham (Christian; Saint)

Amartithi (Meher Baba; India)

Anacreon (Positivist; Saint)

Banyu Pinaruh (Water Purification Ceremony; Bali)

Celebration of the Triple Goddess (Goddess of the Moon and the Seasons; Old European Lunar New Year) [Thru 2.3]

Cyrus and John (Christian; Martyrs)

Day of Hecate (Goddess of Crossroads; Starza Pagan Book of Days)

Dicing for Maid’s Money (Guildford, UK)

Disablot (Norse celebration of new beginnings)

Disfest (Sacrifice Honoring the Disir, all female relatives from forever)

Domitius (Domice) of Amiens (Christian; Saint)

Eusebius (Christian; Martyr)

Feast of Isis (Ancient Egypt)

Festival of Transmission Errors

Francis Xavier Bianchi (Christian; Saint)

Geminianus (Christian; Saint)

Honey Badger Avoidance Day (Pastafarian)

Imbolc Eve (Celtic Book of Days)

Imbolc Eve: Day of the Bean Sidhe (Pagan)

John Bosco (Christian; Saint)

Julius of Novara (Christian; Saint)

Ludovica (Christian; Blessed)

Máedóc (a.k.a. Maidoc, Mogue, Aidan, Aiden; Christian; Saint)

Marcella (Christian; Saint)

Mary the Gorilla (Muppetism)

Max Pechstein (Artology)

Me-Dam-Me-Phi (Ahom Veneration of the Dead; Assam, India)

Navajo Sing (Preparation Festival for Coming Agricultural Season) [Through 2.8]

Nicetas of Novgorod (Christian; Saint)

Norman Mailer (Writerism)

Peter or Pedro Nolasco (Christian; Saint)

Rodolphe Töpffer (Artology)

Samuel Shoemaker (Episcopal Church (USA))

Seapion (Christian; Saint)

Theodore Kaczinski Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Tysul (Christian; Saint)

Ulphia (Christian; Virgin)

Valkyries’ Day (Norse)

Veronus  (Christian; Saint) [Lembeek & Belgian brewers]

Wilgils (Christian; Saint)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Prime Number Day: 31 [11 of 72]

Tomobiki (友引 Japan) [Good luck all day, except at noon.]

Premieres

Ali Baba (ComicColor Cartoon; 1936)

All My Children (TV Soap Opera; 1949)

The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman (TV Film; 1974)

Barney’s Hungry Cousin, featuring Barney Bear (MGM Cartoon; 1953)

Being and Time, by Martin Heidegger (Philosophy Book; 1927)

Bellerophon, by Jean-Baptiste Lully (Opera; 1679)

Black Sunday, by Thomas Harris (Novel; 1975)

Cheerful Little Pierful or Bomb Voyage (Rocky & Bullwinkle Cartoon, S1, Ep. 19; 1960)

Down and Out in Beverly Hills (Film; 1986)

Family Guy (Animated TV Series; 1999)

Gia (Film; 1998)

The Green Hornet (Radio Series; 1936)

Key & Peele (TV Series; 2012)

The Lone Ranger (Radio Series; 1933)

McDougal’s Rest Farm (Terrytoons Heckle & Heckle Cartoon; 1947)

A Mouse Divided (WB MM Cartoon; 19353

Mr. & Mrs. Smith (Film; 1941)

Murphy’s Romance (Film; 1986)

Mystery Girl, by Roy Orbison (Album; 1989)

Pagan Moon (WB MM Cartoon; 1932)

A Perfect Day for Bananafish, by J.D. Salinger (Short Story; 1948)

Ragnarok (TV Series; 2020)

The Saint on the Spanish Main, by Leslie Charteris (Short Stories 1955) [Saint #31]

The Soup Song, featuring Flip the Frog (Ub Iwerks Cartoon; 1931)

The Spiderwick Chronicles (Film; 2008)

Summer Squash or He’s Too Flat for Me (Rocky & Bullwinkle Cartoon, S1, Ep. 20; 1960)

Teddy, by J.D. Salinger (Short Story; 1953)

These Are My Children (TV Soap Opera; 1949) [1st TV Soap Opera]

Thoughts In Solitude, by Thomas Merton (Spiritual Book; 1956)

The Village Smitty, featuring Flip the Frog (Ub Iwerks Cartoon; 1931)

The Witness for the Prosecution, by Agatha Christie (Short Story; 1948)

The Wonder Years (TV Series; 1988)

Today’s Name Days

Johannes, Marcella (Austria)

Ivan, Julije, Vanja (Croatia)

Marika (Czech Republic)

Vigilius (Denmark)

Meeland, Meelik, Meelis, Meelit, Meelitu, Meelo, Meelu (Estonia)

Alli (Finland)

Marcelle (France)

Johannes, Marcella, Rudbert (Germany)

Evdoxia, Kyros (Greece)

Gerda, Marcella (Hungary)

Geminiano, Giovanni (Italy)

Dekla, Jalna, Tekla, Tikla, Violeta (Latvia)

Astra, Budvilė, Marcelė, Skirmantas (Lithuania)

Idun, Ivar (Norway)

Cyrus, Euzebiusz, Jan, Ksawery, Ludwik, Marceli, Marcelin, Marcelina, Piotr, Spycigniew, Wirgiliusz (Poland)

Chir, Ioan (Romania)

Ksenia (Russia)

Emil (Slovakia)

Juan, Marcela (Spain)

Ivar, Joar (Sweden)

Cyrus, Kira, Kyra, Lona, Loni, Lonnie, Scarlett, Zane (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 31 of 2024; 335 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 3 of week 5 of 2024

Celtic Tree Calendar: Luis (Rowan) [Day 11 of 28]

Chinese: Month 12 (Yi-Chou), Day 21 (Jia-Wu)

Chinese Year of the: Rabbit 4721 (until February 10, 2024)

Hebrew: 21 Shevat 5784

Islamic: 20 Rajab 1445

J Cal: 1 Grey; Oneday [1 of 30]

Julian: 18 January 2024

Moon: 71%: Waning Gibbous

Positivist: 3 Homer (2nd Month) [Anacreon)

Runic Half Month: Elhaz (Elk) [Day 7 of 15]

Season: Winter (Day 42 of 89)

Zodiac: Capricorn (Day 10 of 28)

Calendar Changes

Grey (Month 2 of 12; J Calendar)

[isabelleneville]

Tell me some things you like about Mary I please

Sorry, this took a while to answer.

I really appreciate that with women (apart from Anne B) she saw past the matter of religion and was actually good friends with leading members of the Protestant cause, I am thinking of Catherine Parr during her reign and Anne Stanhope/Seymour.

That she saw the best in her father during the hardest moments in their relationship. The same can be said of her brother too.

Related to the above that she honoured the wishes of her father later in her life no matter what pain it caused her.

That she remained steadfast to her country and did not abandon it when she may have had more of a better time possibly in the court of her cousin Charles V.

I also appreciate she did wait to try Jane Grey and her accomplices until she had no way out.

That she welcomed Jane Dudley back into her court after the execution of John, Guildford and Jane Grey. She was actually quite merciful to the female members of the family of men that had been executed on her orders.

I admire her strength on so many occasions after Henry demoted her, the reign of Anne B, the moments during Kathryn Howard's reign (though not as bad as portrayed in shows like The Tudors), her brother's reign, the moments after both failed/phantom pregnancies, the moments that Philip disregarded her and was unfaithful to her and ultimately the moment she realised her dream of a Catholic England would not happen under her sister and heir.

I also really like that her plight and story is really understandable and relatable to the modern-day reader/historian. You may not like her but you can totally understand her motives and actions and why they happened.

In my honest opinion, I like how honest she was, I do think she knew politics and knew how to play the game for the long run but you can see the truth to her actions in various reigns.

In some things she and her council did pave the way for her sister and her council that are taken as Elizabethan accomplishments and should be Marian accomplishments too.

Also, side note, I am super glad we are getting way more nuanced portrayals of her rather than black and white portrayals.

Send me topics and instead of salt or hot takes, I MUST talk abt smth I like about it.

[doomandgloomfromthetomb]

Robyn Hitchcock - The Lion's Lair, Denver, Colorado, April 5, 2005

It's a post-Thanksgiving Summer of Robyn installment! This is a show I not only attended, but also wrote a review of for a certain internet publication. I'm rescuing it from there ... Enjoy.

“This next song is the hat from which I was magically pulled out,” Robyn Hitchcock before launching into a reverent rendition of Bob Dylan’s Blonde On Blonde epic “Visions Of Johanna.” Hitchcock is known for peppering his live sets with colorful banter, usually of the non sequitur or surrealist variety. But this remark was particularly revealing.

Hitchcock is most often compared to his English songwriting brethren John Lennon and Syd Barrett, but it’s with Dylan that Hitchcock’s true alliances lie. His best work captures the waking dream quality of “Johanna”. Hitchcock’s often-hallucinatory imagery isn’t simply weirdness for weirdness’ sake — it’s an attempt to convey the restless and strange inner-workings of the human imagination. Such a trip can be alternately dark or whimsical, lucid or confusing, openhearted or cynical — like Dylan in the mid-1960s. And yet Hitchcock is never merely imitative — it’s more as though he’s absorbed Dylan’s greatest music directly into his bloodstream.

The Lion’s Lair gig was the final date in a solo jaunt supporting the songwriter’s latest release, Spooked, though you might not have known it — Hitchcock didn’t bother playing anything from the new record for the first 45 minutes. Which is fitting; he’s far too deep in his career to stick to concert convention. Hitchcock has nearly 30 years worth of songs, a wealth of tunes spanning from his days with the Soft Boys to his mainstream flirtations with the Egyptians to his ongoing acoustic troubadour tunes. He spent this show dipping into this vast catalogue, weaving both reliable warhorses like “Madonna of the Wasps” and “Queen of Eyes” as well as fan-appreciated curios like “Trash” and “Nietzsche’s Way” into a frequently mesmerizing two hour set.

Particularly affecting was a dusky reading of “No, I Don’t Remember Guildford”, one of Hitchcock’s best recent songwriting efforts. The song features a haunting, unresolved melody, a perfect fit to the lyrics’ regretful tone. Hitchcock capped off this rendition with a long, winding harmonica solo, conjuring up the ghost of Dylan’s 1966 acoustic sets. Another stunning moment was the nimble-fingered guitar work that closed a gorgeous version of “Glass Hotel”. Hitchcock’s acoustic guitar sound is unmistakable, drawing equally from English folkies like Martin Carthy and the bell-like tones of Roger McGuinn.

As with most performers in their fifties, Hitchcock can’t quite reach the notes he hit as a younger man, but what he’s lost in vocal range, he’s made up for in warmth. His vocal chords have acquired a pleasing rasp that (again) recalls a certain Mr. Zimmerman. And he’s never seemed happier to be onstage, trading some of his past aloofness for an easy rapport. As if to prove this newfound fondness for his devoted followers, Hitchcock spent the encore navigating through the crowd, singing and playing guitar sans amplification. The Lion’s Lair — a small club for someone of Hitchcock’s cult hero status — was close to sold out, so this was a tricky maneuver. But Hitchcock pulled it off with witty aplomb, segueing from a hilarious rendition of David Bowie’s “Sound and Vision” into Carl Douglas’s “Kung Fu Fighting.”

The ’70s seemed to be on the singer’s mind this evening — not only did he play his own “1974” he also (somewhat ill-advisedly) attempted to cover the BeeGees’ “Stayin’ Alive.” More successful was Hitchcock’s take on The Beatles’ “Day In the Life” which captured all of the world-weariness of the original. Even when he’s imitating, Hitchcock is hardly imitative. He may toy around in the shadows of others, but as tonight’s show reminds us, when he steps into the light he casts a pretty long one himself.

Robyn Hitchcock | Web | Patreon | Bandcamp

[mobscene-london]

BASIC INFORMATION:

NAME: Nora Berkeley. AGE: 37. PLACE OF BIRTH: Guildford, United Kingdom. AFFILIATION: Neutral. The Hathaway Family.  OCCUPATION: Paediatric nurse.   FACE CLAIM: Annabelle Wallis. AVAILABILITY: TAKEN.

BIOGRAPHY:

(Warning: Mentions of cancer/death.)

Sometimes, it felt like London had known her before she’d even known herself.

That was the nature of being a Berkeley, she supposed. Their place in the public eye made them free game for the press; often criticised and held to an impossible standard like they weren’t really people at all. It’s funny to imagine that one of the saddest and most profound periods of her life was observed by the masses as though it was their right to be privy to it. Picked apart and mourned by people who had never even met them…

It would never change.

Though Spencer had always been closer to their big brother, George, none of the Berkeley children idolised him quite the way Nora did. Where the other two siblings followed after their father—smart, with even smarter mouths—Nora and her brother had been more like their mother. To see him always treat others with kindness, to look beyond status and appreciate the good in everyone, to be endlessly patient with those he cherished? They were all the things she loved about him most. The very qualities she tries every day to cling onto in his absence.

Nora was seven years old when he left them.

People had assumed she was too young to truly understand the impact of his death at the time, but they were wrong; never quite giving credit where it was due to a girl consistently mature beyond her years. Nora had watched quietly as her parents mourned their son before they’d even lost him, and that alone had all but ripped her soul from her body. There hadn’t even been any hope. Succumbing to the leukaemia had seemed inevitable, and when he finally did, their family as she knew it died with him.

Losing their son had been too much pain for her parents to navigate. In the months that’d followed George’s death, one thing had been made abundantly clear: they planned on dealing with what’d happened by not dealing with it at all. They didn’t talk about it, they didn’t communicate with each other. They didn’t reminisce or honour his memory, because by association, all it did was cause more hurt. When her mother sought to address what was happening in their family, her father shut it down—not out of anger, but his own pride not allowing the inevitable breakdown it would cause. Just under a year later, they finally divorced. For a family that’d always been idolised and aspired to by the masses, she could scarcely believe it was all over.

The remaining Berkeley children lived with their mother, because her political role had always been far less demanding than that of their father’s, but they retained a good relationship with him regardless. All three of them progressed through life dealing with the void left behind by their brother differently. Spencer was so angry at the loss of his best friend, and it did him no favours with the world around him. Camilla had a wild streak that said she wanted to live her life to the fullest now she understood how delicate it was. But Nora, well she was just sad.

For a long time, she didn’t know how to deal with it.

But there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

Expectations of what a Berkeley should be had always been set in stone. They were political heavyweights, first and foremost, but their upper class familial status spanning centuries had carved a path for them to dominate several facets of society—banking, law, and the press in particular. Their faces were well known amongst London’s elite, and they always topped the guest lists of events thrown by the city’s most important inhabitants. Her brother had befriended royalty at Eton, and her sister had pursued philanthropy like their mother even in her younger years. But Nora had always marched to the beat of her own drum. As the press watched her blossom into a young woman, all holding their breath to see how she would contribute to the family’s impressive legacy, nobody expected the bright and ambitious woman to become…a nurse.

Though her family said they didn’t look down upon the career she’d chosen to pursue, it didn’t always feel that way. Not that it mattered much to her, mind you. Nora had truly made the decision as a youngster, sat at her brother’s hospital bedside, watching as they worked. They had been there to look after him in his final moments, and the best and most constructive way she could think of to confront her own pain was to be that source of comfort for others.

There was nobody better suited for the role.

Nora had focused every aspect of her life on achieving her goals. There had been two compromises to keep her family sweet along the way: a university degree before she went to college to study nursing, and a promise not to let her personal life fall along the wayside. Whilst she had lived up to one half of the bargain—snagging a first from LSE with ease—her relationship of two years with the youngest British Prince came to an end midway through as a result of her aversion to the limelight. The Berkeleys had been devastated; though she was sure it was more about unrealised status than her own sadness. Unlike her siblings who readily embraced the attention of the British press, however, Nora still held onto the pain of how invasive it had been during the death of her brother, and couldn’t face it again.

They’d followed her around constantly when things were good in her relationship, but after the breakup, had pestered for the reasons why, to within an inch of her sanity. Though she never once stopped smiling—perpetuating the same kind, positive, and graceful attitude that people adored her for, even in her hardest moments—she was suffering. All she had to cling to was the promise that at the end of this, she would have a rewarding career that would not only fulfil her, but offer the closure she needed to find peace.

As soon as she was able, Nora sought out a position as a paediatric nurse at St. Catherine’s Hospital in Lambeth. The qualities she possessed—those she liked to credit her brother for inspiring in her—meant she didn’t just do the job, she invested herself both in it, and those she helped through their treatment. The kids and their families adored her in equal measure because it was impossible not to. Even though the days in which children were lost to them were some of the hardest to deal with, all of those she got to see through their recovery reminded her that it was worthwhile to do right by them.

Now almost a decade into the career that she loves, even her stubborn family has taken note of how happy working has made her. Nora has relationships in the hospital she values immensely, and takes great pride in supporting those who seek to follow a similar path as her. Amongst the student nurses she is a figure of support and tenderness, and with her colleagues, a constant reason to smile when the days get grim. Despite her initial aversion to allowing herself back into the public eye, in recent years, she has also taken more opportunities to use her experience and family status to dedicate her free time to charity work—most often championing groups that focus on helping young children in need, or supporting those who similarly dedicate their lives to the NHS.

Nora knows that life will never be what it should’ve been had George stayed with them, but for the first time, she is starting to feel like maybe that’s okay. There’s nothing left to stop her making the most of what she has, nor would her big brother want anything else.  

SOCIAL CONNECTIONS:

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single.  FAMILY: Alistair Berkeley (father, unplayable), Catherine Ainsworth (mother, unplayable), Spencer Berkeley (brother), Camilla Eliades (sister, unplayable), George Berkeley (brother, deceased), Vivienne Hathaway (aunt, unplayable), Ethan Hathaway III (uncle, deceased), Edward, Charlene, Cecelia Hathaway (cousins), Everett, Carmen, Elliot Hathaway (cousins, unplayable), Colette, Ethan Hathaway IV (cousins, deceased), Leighton Berkeley (cousin)  CONNECTIONS:

Cassandra Acton: Best friend. They first met at LSE; the same time that she met Gideon, and Cassie met Spencer. The four of them have been a part of each others’ lives ever since, but the connection she has with Cassie has been unwavering. Whilst Nora knows the politician can appear a bit of a prickly bitch on the surface, she’s grateful that she’s one of the few she truly trusts enough to let see the real her. Nora wouldn’t be without their friendship.

Gideon Rutherford: Best friend/colleague. Outside of her family, it’s hard for her to imagine someone who has supported her more. Meeting Gideon via Spencer is one of the things she’s most grateful for in life, and without him, she almost certain she wouldn’t be as comfortable in her existence as she is today. Nora was more than happy to return the favour through his failing marriage, and knows that no matter what horrors London kick up next, they will always be there for each other. 

Edward Hathaway: Cousin/good friend. Nora loves all of her family dearly, but of the Hathaways, Edward is undoubtedly her favourite. Though their distance as youngsters meant their relationship didn’t really blossom until they were older, she’s so happy to have him in London with her now; particularly when she knows he’s struggling with a drug problem she’s keen to help him out of, without judgment, before the rest of the family catches wind of it. 

Damon Rutherford: Good friend. Though she met Damon through Gideon, it wasn’t until much later in life. Luckily enough, that didn’t stop a friendship from blooming immediately. Despite the sometimes negative press attention he’s received, Nora knows that deep down he’s a good person, and over the past couple of years, she has seen that confirmed as they work side-by-side on fundraising projects together. Nora knows that their charitable partnership has the potential to pave the way for great things.

Leyla Yılmaz: Colleague/friend. Just like herself, Leyla is considered one of the most positive influences in the hospital, so it was natural the two gravitated toward each other fairly quickly. They share similar temperaments, and Nora loves her kind-hearted attitude; this, one of the reasons she was so quick to take Leyla under her wing when she first started working at the hospital. 

[personinthepalace]

Everybody’s Thirsty For Guildford - Song by @sandrapytel

Happy Guildford Appreciation Day!

Huge thanks to @sandrapytel for creating this amazing, catchy song!! And another huge thanks to @holdingoutforapiratehero for setting up this collab! You two are amazing 💜

[silver-lily-louise]

Planes, Trains, and Portalmobiles

‘Y’know, there’s a lot more standing around and waiting than I thought there’d be.' Magnus shrugs. ‘Why do you think I haven’t bothered with planes before now? Compared to a portal, they’re horribly inefficient.’

Post-Canon. On their way back to Alicante from a trip to Scotland, Magnus and Alec decide to take a few Mundane modes of transport for once. There are... mixed results.

Read it on AO3, or below!

~oOo~

‘Y’know, there’s a lot more standing around and waiting than I thought there’d be,’ Alec comments, readjusting the straps on his rucksack for the seventh or eighth time. Magnus shrugs. ‘Why do you think I haven’t bothered with planes before now?’ he points out, managing to add a surprisingly high dose of disapproval to his quiet words. ‘Compared to a portal, they’re horribly inefficient.’

The line moves up, and Magnus turns to him more fully, frowning a little. ‘You still have the passports, right?’ ‘Yes, Magnus,’ he says, fondly exasperated. They’ve been in this line for less than twenty minutes, and he’s given that same answer three times already. He leans closer, dropping his voice low enough that it’s only for his husband’s ears. ‘Not like you couldn’t conjure another couple if I had lost them, anyway.’ Magnus gives him a half-hearted glare. ‘True, but I might make a mistake if rushed,’ he insists. ‘What, like, put your real birthday or something?’ Alec says, his lips twitching up into a small grin. ‘I already think you’re pushing your luck claiming to be thirty-seven, by the way.’ Magnus smirks. ‘Hm. Afraid of being seen with a partner so much older than you?’ he teases, reaching out to straighten Alec’s collar. ‘Whatever will the good people of Edinburgh Airport think?’ Alec just stares at him, barely suppressing a laugh. ‘Everyone we know is fully aware that I married someone who’s started counting in centuries,’ he says, his tone ringing with exaggerated patience. ‘But sure, ten years would make me self-conscious.’

Whatever reply is undoubtedly forming on Magnus’ tongue is lost as they reach the front of the line, Alec producing their tickets and passports with an easy smile. Ordinarily, he’d let Magnus take the lead in situations like this, especially with things that require a little deception. But he hasn’t missed the tension in how Magnus is holding himself, nor the way his eyes dart to each unexpected sound. Alec doesn’t want to give him anything else to be nervous about. Or, for that matter, for his anxiety to be noticed by any airport staff and arouse suspicion.

Thankfully, it’s not too much longer until they’re actually on the plane. ‘Aisle or window?’ he asks, stowing his rucksack overhead. Magnus had insisted that they fly first class, which means that their seat is a duo, rather than the usual trio. Alec’s grateful for that now – they’ve got enough to think about without having to be mindful of a random Mundane sitting right next to them. ‘Aisle,’ Magnus says decisively. Alec had expected that, knowing that being hemmed in gives Magnus less space to wield his magic if he needs to. ‘Okay,’ he says, taking his window seat and settling back into the comfortable padding with a quiet sigh. Magnus snorts. ‘How are you so calm?’ he asks, taking his own seat. ‘It’s not like you’ve been on a plane before, either.’ Alec shrugs. ‘Thousands of Mundanes use them every day,’ he says. ‘And statistically, they’re incredibly safe. I was probably in way more danger walking around New York, especially while I was glamoured and invisible to traffic.’ ‘You have a point,’ Magnus admits.

Alec doesn’t miss how his husband still doesn’t relax, though. ‘It’s gonna be fine,’ he says quietly, reaching across to squeeze Magnus’ hand. ‘You know that, right?’ ‘For the most part,’ Magnus says, wearily. He gives a small, frustrated smile. ‘I’ve just… grown used to being in control of my own transport,’ he says. He gestures vaguely around them. ‘I’m not in control of this. I wouldn’t know how to be, without jeopardising the whole operation. And I know that it’s ridiculous to be anxious, but I also don’t know how my magic reacts at high altitudes, without proper connection to the earth – if we get into trouble, I don’t know if I can keep us safe, or – ‘

‘Well, that’s what the parachute is for,’ Alec says, cutting off Magnus’ increasingly-agitated tirade. Magnus looks at him, stunned. ‘…Alexander,’ he says carefully, ‘you are aware that planes don’t come with parachutes as standard, right?’ ‘Of course I am,’ Alec says, rolling his eyes, though carefully keeping his soft, reassuring smile in place. ‘That’s why I brought my own. Why else did you think I needed a carry-on?’ Magnus’ eyes briefly do their best impression of dinner plates. ‘You - Where the hell did you even get a parachute?’ ‘The Gard armory’s pretty well-stocked,’ Alec says, shrugging. ‘Even with some of the more obscure stuff. And there’s no metal in the mechanism, either, so the airport scanners would have just thought it was a bunch of fabric. A blanket or something.’ He smiles, a little pleased that he hasn’t lost the ability to surprise Magnus just yet. ‘So, if things go wrong when we’re up there, hold on to me and we’ll get out,’ he says simply.

Magnus just stares at him for a few moments longer, shaking his head silently as a voice over the intercom welcomes them aboard. ‘Nephilim,’ he says eventually, sounding practically awed in his disbelief. But when he settles back in his chair with a quiet, breathy laugh, he doesn’t look quite so nervous.

And when the seatbelt signs turn off a short while later, and a quick shimmer over his fingertips apparently confirms that his magic is under control, he relaxes completely, returning Alec’s smile with an honest one of his own.

***

The flight takes about ninety minutes, and by the time they’ve disembarked, collected their luggage (which is mostly for show, because travelers without luggage might draw Mundane attention) and are standing on the right platform at Heathrow’s train station, it’s mid-afternoon. The train pulls up from the right-hand-side, and they board. They’re promptly asked to show their tickets; but once that’s done and the conductor moves on, they’re practically alone, the rest of their carriage almost empty. (When they booked the tickets, Magnus said something about super-off-peak, which Alec still doesn’t see the point of. Surely the train runs the same no matter the time of day?)

Magnus leans against Alec’s shoulder, letting his eyes drift closed. ‘Perhaps it’s the adrenaline comedown, but I’m suddenly exhausted,’ he says, stifling a yawn. ‘Remind me why we had to get up at such an ungodly hour?’ ‘I asked you that this morning, and you said it was all part of the experience,’ Alec reminds him, letting his voice turn a little husky as he quotes his husband. Magnus huffs in displeasure. ‘I do not sound like that, Alexander,’ he protests. ‘Yeah, you do.’ ‘Hm. Do not,’ he argues, closing his eyes.

Alec chuckles. ‘Are you seriously going to sleep through this part?’ he asks. ‘What happened to experiencing Mundane transport?’ ‘I’ve been on trains before,’ Magnus points out, lazily waving a hand and throwing up the barest shimmer of a ward, just around their seats. ‘You can appreciate it enough for the both of us,’ he suggests. Alec snorts quietly - but Magnus really must have been tired, because he’s already asleep.

Alec looks out of the window, surprised to find that they’re already surrounded by greenery, despite having left London a relatively short time ago. Apparently, England’s not quite as rural as Alicante, but it’s a damn sight less urban than New York. His gaze flicks up to the scrolling banner above the doors, the one that declares which stops are coming up next. Their stop, Guildford (which, for some weird British reason, is apparently pronounced ‘Gill-furred’, instead of by saying the words which actually make it up) is pretty far along the list.

Magnus’ breathing is slow and rhythmic, now, and Alec feels tiredness tugging at his own awareness, like it’s trying to pull a comforter over his thoughts. But they can’t both fall asleep in public, no matter what the alluring quiet and warmth of the train carriage is saying. He ought to activate a stamina rune. Unfortunately, his stele’s in the pocket that Magnus is currently lying on top of; and he doesn’t want to wake his husband up, knowing that he didn’t sleep well last night.

I’ll grab it in a few minutes, he reasons. He’ll let Magnus sleep a while longer, and then make his attempt, just in case he wakes him irreversibly. He can make it a few more minutes.

He jumps to attention as Magnus’ phone goes off, reaching for a seraph blade that isn’t there – before gaining a little awareness and settling back down, glancing around to check that he hasn’t inadvertently made a scene. Thankfully, the only person close enough to have noticed his reaction is his husband, who extinguishes the dim sparks at his fingertips, raising a seemingly-amused eyebrow at Alec’s jumpiness before answering the offending cell phone. ‘Hello?’ ‘Magnus, w… ‘l are you?’ Alec catches through the speaker. ‘You sh… Gilf… ‘ly’n hour ago.’ ‘Ah,’ Magnus says, looking over at the scrolling banner – which now says The next station is Portsmouth Harbour, and Alec’s stomach drops as he realises what must have happened. ‘It seems we’ve taken a little detour. We’ll get off at the next station and portal straight to you as planned.’ He pauses, Ragnor’s reply lost in his grumpy tone. ‘Yes, all right. See you soon.’

Magnus hangs up, turning to Alec and giving him a sheepish smile. ‘It seems that we’ve missed our stop.’ ‘Looks that way,’ Alec mumbles. ‘Well, no matter.’ He snaps his fingers, apparently unfazed. ‘There. Two tickets for Portsmouth Harbor. Problem solved.’ ‘Great,’ Alec says, attempting a smile of his own. He sits back in his chair, looking down at where he’s unconsciously started fiddling with his wedding ring.

Magnus is too well-versed in his brush-off tactics to let him get away with that, though, and Alec soon finds his face gently pivoted towards his husband with a careful hand. ‘Alexander, is everything okay?’ he asks, his brow furrowed in soft concern.

‘Yeah,’ Alec says. ‘I mean it,’ he insists, when Magnus tilts his head as if to say come on, now. ‘Everything’s fine. It’s just…’ He sighs, one corner of his mouth twitching up into a rueful smile. ‘It might not have been. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I’m sorry.’ ‘It’s okay,’ Magnus says, his frown deepening a little in confusion. ‘You fell asleep first. Which means it was my watch,’ Alec points out.

At that, Magnus rolls his eyes, heaving a long-suffering sigh, though a gentle smile tugs at his lips. ‘It wasn’t your watch, darling,’ he says. ‘We’re not on some… quest through dangerous territory. You fell asleep on a train. It happens.’ ‘We’re still out on our own in public – ‘ ‘Which makes it a little embarrassing, especially since we missed our stop, but not dangerous,’ Magnus says firmly. ‘You saw me put up a ward before I fell asleep. I doubt your subconscious would have let you sacrifice your alertness, otherwise.’ ‘Magnus-‘

But he’s silenced by his husband holding up a finger to his lips, just shy of touching. ‘It’s good to let your guard down sometimes, Alexander,’ Magnus says softly. ‘It’s good to feel safe.’ He flashes a small, teasing smile. ‘Especially when you’re with me.’

Alec’s stomach twists again, but this time, it’s a warm, fluttery sensation, and he relents. ‘Okay,’ he murmurs – and he hums a little in contentment as he’s rewarded with a kiss.

They get off the train, their magically-adjusted tickets not giving them any problems at the gate, and they quickly discover that Portsmouth Harbour is a fairly literal name for this station – it’s practically on the water. ‘Those seagulls are huge,’ Alec says, as they wander through the streets to a quieter area, trying to find a safe place to glamor and portal without visibly disappearing. ‘Disproportionate,’ Magnus agrees. ‘A tiny country and a tiny stretch of water, and they’ve practically got albatrosses? I can’t say it makes a lot of sense to me.’

It’s not long before they’re ducking into an alleyway, and Magnus twirls one hand, calling a portal. His other hand reaches out to Alec’s, and he orders, ‘Hold on,’ like he always does when he knows their portal destination is new to his husband.

They step out onto a rolling expanse of green – large enough that the clouds above them cast the soft outlines of shadows, slinking across the grass like ships going by. Ragnor is there waiting, standing before them with a raised eyebrow and a small smile. ‘Took you long enough,’ he comments. ‘Oh, shut up,’ Magnus says lightly, stepping forward and embracing the other warlock briefly. They hadn’t seemed like those sort of friends, at first – both from what Alec himself had seen of them, and from what Clary and Jace had told him. He’d mentioned that casually to Magnus, once; and Magnus had thought for a second, before quietly explaining that he’s just found himself doing that more often – reaching for a hug, or accepting one – since Ragnor’s apparent ‘death’.

Which… yeah. Alec can definitely understand that.

He’s pulled back to the present moment as Ragnor extends an arm towards his impressive house, at the top of the hill and not too far from where they’re standing. ‘Shall we?’

Ragnor’s home proves to be pretty much exactly what Alec expected. With the eclectic furniture, old-world charm, and shelves of copious books and artifacts, it’s similar in a lot of ways to Catarina’s home, and to Magnus’ loft before it was Alec’s, too. Or, actually, if he’s being honest, for the first few months after. It was only in the process of moving their lives to Alicante that Magnus had insisted Alec assist with ‘a long-overdue redecoration.’ Magnus, he’d protested, we don’t have to, I like your place the way it is- But that’s exactly it, Alexander, Magnus had interrupted him. It’s our place. And if it’s going to feel like our marital home instead of my bachelor pad- (Alec had smirked at the phrasing, and had received a withering glare) - then it needs your input, too. Now: couches facing northwards, or east?

And maybe Alec had gone along with it just to appease his husband, at the time. But these days, he can’t deny that there’s a certain comfort in coming back to a home he’s had a hand in shaping.

Across the room, now, Magnus is looking at a painting hung in the stairwell, out of Alec’s eyeline, and shaking his head. ‘When will you get rid of this thing?’ he asks, with no small amount of distaste in his expression. ‘It reeks of a narcissism that doesn’t become you.’ ‘I will get rid of it when – or, more likely, if – it stops being useful,’ Ragnor says, holding a cup of what smells like very good coffee out to Alec, and returning his smile of thanks before pointing at a seat, silently inviting him to make himself comfortable. ‘Especially since you insisted I get rid of my wall of fire,’ he continues, glancing back at Magnus. ‘Because it was a ridiculous drain on your resources, and beyond superfluous once Valentine ceased to be a threat,’ Magnus scoffs, summoning his own drink before collapsing into the seat next to Alec’s like he owns the place. ‘If you’re not careful, you’ll end up with this place looking as tacky as Lorenzo’s,’ he adds, pointing accusingly at their host with his free hand.

Ragnor glares at him. ‘You ought to take that back whilst you still can, Magnus,’ he warns. Magnus raises his eyebrows, his mouth shrugging irreverently. ‘Or?’

But Ragnor doesn’t answer him directly. ‘Tell me, Alexander,’ he says, a wicked shine seeming to spark in his eyes. ‘Did your husband ever regale you with the story of the weekend he spent in Tuscany with Signor Simoni? How he ended up –‘ ‘All right,’ Magnus says loudly, huffing out a disgruntled breath. ‘All right, comment withdrawn.’ He glowers, though the effect is somewhat lost when he’s peering above his cup of tea. ‘Blackmailer. I try to look out for your good taste in your dotage, and this is how you thank me?’

Alec chuckles, not too bothered by the loss of a promised story. They’ve hosted Ragnor enough times by now that he has a general idea of how this evening’s going to go, and so he’s fairly certain he’ll get to hear it anyway.

One excellent roast beef dinner and several glasses of honeyed wine later, he’s proved exactly right.

***

The night they spend at Ragnor’s passes quickly. The three of them while away most of it talking, and when they eventually turn in, Ragnor’s guest room is inviting and comfortable, from the wooden floors that are warmer than they ought to be to the cool cotton sheets that are almost as soft as Magnus’ preferred silk. The magic that hums around them, guarding the house, is different, of course – it’s a little less heady, quieter and more distant, yet more persistent than the wards around their own home. But just when Alec is beginning to wonder if it’s too different for him to be able to fall asleep, Magnus rolls over and semi-consciously wraps an arm around his waist, his breathing evening out against Alec’s neck moments later.

A more familiar hum seems to resonate within Alec at the possessive gesture, and he smiles, closing his eyes. He sleeps the whole night through, peaceful and undisturbed.

The house comes to a sleepy start after the late night, and they partake in an indulgent ‘Full English’ brunch before deciding to make the most of the sunshine, going for a walk around a few of the meadows and small stretches of forest bordering Ragnor’s own land. Alec walks a little in front, taking in the fresh air and occasionally thinking of practical uses for what’s growing around them. The small flowers underfoot, he’s pretty sure, are birdsfoot trefoil, and he knows that Catarina sometimes combines the darker petals of that with powdered adder scales, to make an infusion for patients with particularly stubborn fevers. The treeline nearby is fairly yew-heavy, and Alec’s thoughts drift once again to the fanciful idea of taking up bowyery someday. After so long refining how to use a bow, he guesses it’s pretty natural that he’d catch some sort of interest in how they’re made. He’s heard that old mundane bows were often made of yew wood, so perhaps that’d be a good material to work with; providing he avoided prolonged, long-term exposure, the kind that used to poison traditional woodworkers.

When he isn’t busy daydreaming about craftsmanship that he definitely doesn’t have the time for right now, he listens to what Magnus and Ragnor are discussing as they walk along. Right now, for instance, they’re debating the usefulness of platinum cauldrons – Ragnor claims that they’re a trinket and a fad, whilst Magnus is preaching the merit of their unique and subtle inert energies during the potion-brewing process. Sometimes, when they get like this – bickering over magical theory, neither willing to give an inch – Alec wonders how on earth they ever managed to live together. Maybe he ought to ask Catarina about it sometime.

They eventually turn back towards the house, Magnus linking arms with Alec as they walk. ‘I hope we weren’t boring you,’ he says, more indifferently than Alec suspects he feels. ‘I do worry about leaving you out, sometimes.’ Alec leans a little closer to his husband in reassurance, nudging Magnus’ ribs affectionately with his elbow. ‘Are you kidding?’ he says. ‘You know I find all that magic stuff interesting. Especially when you’re the one talking about it.’ He grins. ‘Though, I gotta say, I think Ragnor has a point about moose antlers being more potent than reindeer.’

Magnus looks at him in sheer offence, apparently speechless in the face of such betrayal. Ragnor chuckles, clapping Alec on the shoulder. ‘I knew I liked you for a reason, Shadowhunter.’

 ***

In the evening, they take their leave, thanking Ragnor for his hospitality before stepping through their portal. It takes Alec a moment to notice, because the world looks different at night, but they end up in the exact same alleyway they portaled to Ragnor’s from. ‘See?’ Magnus says, as they step out into the streetlight and the last remnants of dusk. Across the water, orange lights flicker from where the coastline curves round, like stars at the horizon. ‘Our train mishap was helpful, as it turns out,’ Magnus continues, linking his arm with the one Alec isn’t currently using to drag their suitcase behind them, the wheels rumbling quietly over the sidewalk. ‘This is far closer to the ferry port than I would have been able to portal us before. We won’t even have to call a cab.’

He’s right; it’s a very manageable walk to the ferry port. The city is quiet at this time – though a New Yorker’s perspective on that is always a little skewed, Alec will admit – but they do pass a couple of dog walkers, among others. And when they run into a third group of young people, laughing raucously and moving in herds, Alec raises an eyebrow. Magnus shrugs. ‘College town,’ he says by way of explanation, gesturing to a building nearby – one that bears the same purple livery as several others they’ve passed tonight. ‘And eighteen’s the drinking age here, so they’re not limited to the secrecy of frat parties.’

They reach the ferry port soon after that, and board quickly. Magnus finds a quiet corner to surreptitiously banish the suitcase, and then they head out to the stern of the top deck. The boat begins to move towards Caen, the water rushing loudly below them, and Magnus’ arm is warm around Alec’s waist as they watch the city lights grow distant across the sea.

He wakes to a heavy weight on his chest, smiling fondly even before he opens his eyes. At home, Magnus might be justified in calling him an octopus; but when they’re sleeping away from the loft, his husband gains a certain charming clinginess of his own.

Alec turns his head to the left, gazing out of the porthole. Neither of them had wanted to be underwater – or in a windowless room that might make them feel as if they were – so they’d paid the extra for a glimpse of the outside world, and at this moment, Alec thinks it might be among the best decisions they've ever made. He breathes slow and steady, a sense of calm washing over him, and watches as the dark orange clouds twisting across the violet sky gradually shift into a brighter hue.

Magnus shifts, his breath tickling Alec’s chest a little as he yawns. ‘Good morning,’ Alec says softly. Magnus rolls off of him, stretching and sighing heavily before curling back in, planting a light, smiling kiss to Alec’s shoulder. ‘Morning.’ Alec turns his head back towards his right, deciding that watching Magnus watch the sunrise makes for a better view than watching it himself. His husband is beautiful in any light, but something about the blue and gold of dawn makes him look soft and ethereal - like a really good dream, but one that Alec’s somehow gotten lucky enough to hold and taste and keep.

‘Hey,’ he says after a few long, quiet moments, drawing Magnus’ eyes back to him. He flicks his own gaze briefly over his shoulder. ‘Nothing against air travel or trains, but I think that this one might be my favorite,’ he says with a small smile. Magnus chuckles, the laughter creasing kindness around his cat eyes as he reaches up, tenderly brushing Alec’s hair away from his face. ‘Mine too,’ he agrees.

 ~oOo~

[thisbibliomaniac]

"Lady Jane Grey Beheaded

Lady Jane Grey had the misfortune to be born with royal ties. She was the granddaughter of Henry VIII’s sister Mary, making her the king’s grandneice and a first cousin once removed of his son King Edward VI. On the strength of that tie, Jane’s parents and in-laws tried to make her queen of England, supplanting King Henry’s daughters (Edward’s half-sisters) Mary and Elizabeth.

Jane’s father, Henry Grey, Duke of Suffolk, sided with the English church reformers, as did John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland. Scheming for power, Northumberland arranged to marry his son Guildford to Jane.

When Edward’s health declined, Northumberland and Suffolk felt uneasy at the prospect of a Roman Catholic successor—Mary. They seem to have been motivated less with concern for the Reformation than for their own power and influence. They manipulated Edward’s religious sympathies to have him appoint Jane as his successor. Edward was willing: he liked Jane, with whom he had played as a child, and knew she was staunchly Protestant.

When her ambitious family announced to Jane that she was to be queen, she wept uncontrollably, rejecting the idea. However, her parents and in-laws insisted. Later she would reproach her father that he, whose responsibility it was to seek to prolong her life, had helped bring it to an untimely end.

Jane was proclaimed queen on July 10, 1553. Northumberland rode off to capture Mary but failed. The common people of England so detested him that they rallied behind the Catholic heir.

And so, just nine days after ascending the throne, Jane became a prisoner in the Tower of London. She wrote Mary a repentant letter, but pointed out that she had been forced into her action, which was not of her own seeking. Mary was lenient.

However, Jane’s father soon participated in another rebellion against Mary. It sealed his daughter’s doom. She was condemned to death. Mary’s chaplain, John Feckenham, persuaded the queen to delay Jane’s execution so that he would have a chance to convert her to Catholicism. But while Jane appreciated Feckenham’s kindness toward her, she clung to her religious views. She had been well-tutored, could read and write several languages fluently, and appreciated the positions of the reformers, some of whom she had met and corresponded with.

On this day, February 12, 1554, Jane and her husband were executed. Guildford was beheaded publicly but, fearing to produce an angry mob, the authorities beheaded pretty, seventeen-year-old Jane inside the Tower.

Feckenham accompanied her to the place of execution. There Jane thanked him for his kindness, insisted once more that she had been innocent of any desire for the throne, recited Psalm 51 in English, and forgave her executioner, asking him not to strike the blow until her neck was on the block. After a blindfold was wrapped around her eyes, she groped for the block, crying out, “What shall I do? Where is it?” Someone guided her to the spot. Her last words were, “Lord, into thy hands I commend my spirit.” Then the executioner brought down the axe."

Today is the anniversary of the execution of one of my personal heroes

[queensofsaigon]

OUT NOW!!! Link in Bio ❤️ Any streams/shares will be incredibly appreciated. Have a wonderful day. (at Guildford) https://www.instagram.com/p/B7LflkhFgvg/?igshid=1vhjxc09shu63

[ashleyswrittenwords]

How To Be A Queen

Note: This is my debut LoZ fanfction! Yay! I really want to explore a deeper part of Zelda’s character, and eventually Link’s later on. I think it’s interesting to explore the mental and physical toll of what it is to have a planned fate. I just think it’s neat. Also hopefully a slow burn somewhere in there, well, a lot in there. Lots of ZeLink slow burn. Is it obvious I like those sorts of things? Anyway, please critique. It’s going to be very AUish because the games don’t exactly spit out Link’s personality, but it will be heavily based off of BOTW. Let me know what you think!

Summary: Princess Zelda is at a loss. Her handed royal responsibilities have begun to weigh heavily on her and she is eventually backed into a corner. Live a life she loathes or run away from everything she's ever known? Navigating life is hard, and Link forces her to learn that she doesn't have to do it alone.

Warning: Some mentions of body weight and general mental health.

Want to read it on Fanfiction.net?

Next

How To Be A Queen

“Princess?”

Goddesses spare me.

Please, what did I do to deserve this.

Just a few more sips and I’ll be done. That will be it.

Oh, Hylia, end this suffering soon.

“Princess?” Old Grog Guildford sounded concerned.

“Oh! Yes, Lord Guildford?” I replied attentively, trying with every once of my will to not sound adverse. Lord Guildford is a minister and a relatively good friend to Father. Don’t get me wrong, he’s well-meaning but Goddesses in heaven can he make awful bread pudding. I can’t even remember why I’m here to taste it.

“How is it?” He looked at me eagerly expecting. One look at the old man’s face and I realize why no one has been truthful to him. He’s like a little boy asking if his art is good, only the cold-hearted can say anything negative. But, wouldn’t it spare the other poor bastards that would fall victim to it if I spoke up? I cleared my throat, trying to find anywhere else to look at beside the brown puppy dog eyes of Old Lord Guildford. Alas, I couldn’t escape.

“It’s delicious!”

Hylia, forgive me for I am weak.

“Oh, joy! I must share it with the chef for the next festival! Your Father comes up with the most fantastic ideas, Princess.”

I smiled weakly and nodded. I watched as he talked his way into the kitchen. Something about the winter solstice festival. I stood slowly, afraid to upset my stomach anymore. The dining room was one of the largest in the castle, and here I was alone and possibly poisoned by bread pudding. Well, it wouldn’t be the worst fate. I grinned up at the large, stoic murals. Here I am laughing at my own jokes as I stare up at ancestors who were able to do so much more than I ever will. Somehow I feel at ease, it’s been a while since I was alone today.

“Princess Zelda!”

The irony of it almost hurts.

“There you are!” It’s one of the head maids. She looks relieved to see me. “You must come for a dress fitting for the solstice, Your Highness.”

A feel myself politely smile and my hands grip themselves behind my back. So close. “We should be on with it, yes?”

This has been amongst the many things that have conspired in the recent weeks. As Father grows older, he’s believes that more responsibility should fall onto me. Whether it be bread pudding taste testing or short discussions about land disputes, it has indeed begun to take a toll.

It’s been so hectic that I’ve barely been able to think. Learning who the ministers are, their wives, their political leanings has been one thing. I can deal with simple studying. An entirely different venture is the world of pandering.

Forget physical activity, trying to suck up to people is by far the most exhausting activity I have ever experienced in my life. Oh, Lord Hicks how impressive it is to learn how to differentiate milkwine by simply looking at it. Lord WhatsYourName, how is the mistress you’ve been having an affair with? And the kids?

Can you believe I was taught how to laugh properly a week ago? And here I thought I laughed just fine. Oh no, how wrong I was. Last week I was introduced to a woman who told me I sounded like an old rat stuck in drain pipe. I still haven’t recovered from it.

A middle-aged blonde woman pulled a measuring tape around my waist. I looked at myself in the mirror as she focused. It’s been a while since I was last measured. I stood there in my shift and stared. The old woman made a weird noise, “It’s been a couple months since I last measured you, girl.”

“I believe so, Mrs. Bea.”

“You’ve widened by a few centimeters, Highness. Tsk tsk,” she shook her head.

My cheeks lit up in embarrassment. Did she have to say that in front of two other maids? I didn’t really know what to say. Sorry? It was the bread pudding, I swear. I have a feeling if I told her the joke wouldn’t land well.

I looked at the mirror again as she took measurements elsewhere. It wasn’t like I was overweight, but I suppose my cheeks did fill out a little. It wasn’t awfully noticeable, but being the person that stares at themselves every other hour – it was more apparent now.

The day trudged on, and my thoughts moved elsewhere. To say that my head wasn’t with my body was an understatement. Too much was going too fast. Between the pudding and the Mrs. Bea incident, the day was already becoming bigger than I can take on. With the sun now descending, I was able to slip away from preparations to climb the staircase. My quarters were on the fourth floor and what a long journey it was. I started to reconsider if I should exercise more.

Once I made it to the hallway, I saw a man standing next to my door. He stared straight ahead as if studying the lines on the opposite wall. There was a law somewhere in the books that soldiers were not to make eye contact with royalty. One of the many questionable rules that leave me wondering “What’s the point?” Link always stood very straight. It’d been a couple years since he was promoted to my guard and the man had said a handful of sentences to me since then. There wasn’t a law about talking to royalty, so instead I suppose he doesn’t like talking. Or maybe just talking to me. It makes the relationship as awkward as you can expect. The castle walls aren’t as thick as you think and I’m positive he’s heard me ranting to imaginary no ones more than a few times.

I tried catching my breath before speaking, but the words came through breathless anyway.

“Um, Link,” I spoke.

Much to my disappointment, he didn’t answer. But the small shift in his step told me he was listening. As I looked up at him a thought occurred to me. We could easily have that forbidden Princess/Knight relationship. It’s not like I lock my quarters anyway, with having one of the top men in this society outside to protect me and all.

Oh, Hylia, I need some sleep.

Not without a light flush, I responded to his lack of, “Link, could you keep anyone from disturbing me? It’s been an awfully long day.”

Again, he didn’t move to say anything. So, I continued, “Tell them something along the lines of how I’m planning out my solstice speech.” Which wasn’t a complete lie. I’d at least think about it. And Link didn’t disagree, I assumed it sounded alright. He was dressed in the traditional royal guard uniform. It was plated in a type of metal and I wondered if it weighed down on him.

You know… there’s nothing wrong with a man in uniform. Or one without for that matter.

I told myself to shush and smiled a little, “I trust your day went well?”

Again, no response. Oh well, a girl can try. I walked past him and went for the door handle, “If another guard in your squadron comes by, you should tell him to cover your shift tonight. I know it’s not the most thrilling job.”

With that, I went into my quarters and shut the door behind me. I want to say we were close despite the lack of words, but we aren’t. I don’t know too much about him other than that he came from a small village in the southeast, my father trusts him, he talks to his peers often (those thinner-than-you-think castle walls), and that he’s a prodigy in his profession. He also tends to fidget with his holster sometimes when I have a one-sided conversation with him. It’s quite the resume.

I put down whatever journal I was holding for my manners courses and try to undo the outer layer of my dress. The laces have a tendency to tangle if I don’t focus. The dresser mirror only gives so much visibility.

So what I have eaten a little more than I usually do? I’m a little stressed, okay?

I frown at my inner dialogue and shift my thoughts away from Mrs. Bea. Finally, the laces come apart and I lift the mess of fabric over and away from my form. What is left is my white shift. I sigh and sit in a red cushioned chair. It’s in front of my desk filled with small trinkets. This is when I realize the fatigue in my legs and I almost slump over. I swear aloud at the relief and fumble through my things to find a small book.

Meanwhile I hear conversations outside. All I can make out is Link’s deeper tone and a lighter, more uplifted voice – probably Anju, a personal maid. I can’t help but smile a little, she’s probably just checking in, but I appreciate Link’s attentiveness. I don’t think I can handle another interaction now. I grasp the metal ink pen and wipe off dried ink from the tip with a loose garment. The lid of the ink pot always gets a little stuck. I flip through my diary to find a blank page and fill my lungs with a breath.

“Dear Diary,” I mouth, it does make me spell better if I do so. What follows is a recap of today’s events and general frustration. Much of how I hated that bread pudding, the fake laughter, fake smiles of the court, Mrs. Bea’s comments, and my inability to be able to connect to people on a personal level. The latter concern bothering me the most. Based on the books I’ve read and the interactions I’ve witnessed, every person I’ve talked to has been on business terms. The lords, the maids, and even Father at times.

I frown deeply as I spell out my thoughts in whispers, “One night many years ago, not long after Mother’s passing he told me after hours of drinking that my conception was for the state’s sake, and only for the state’s sake.” My throat closed, but I continued scratching the words into the paper.

“I’m starting to believe him.”

[bathunterofdevon]

Update

So I might as well give some commentary on my cryptic last post. Basically, I have had to fly back to the UK immediately due to the coronavirus - cutting my Canada trip short. I have had a wonderful time living and working in Collingwood, Ontario, and I made plenty of good friends. But after getting laid off, due to the place closing down, and being unable to pay the rent, I was actually pretty lucky to get back here when I did. I have heard stories of family friends being stranded in many far away places unable to get back, due to airport closures.  I am a little upset that I had to leave Canada - there was so much I wanted to do there. But in all honesty, working the minimum wage job I had, much though I enjoyed it, I never would have been in any position to do anything else beyond that point. It sure is expensive being an immigrant. When I came over to Canada, I have over £3,000 in life savings that I had stashed away. But in the very first month, I lost all of it; just by looking for a place to live. (This was when I was in Toronto). Toronto is a pretty expensive place to live. It's so expensive - I swear there is a tax on the oxygen you breathe over there. I worked a shitty job over there for the first three months, as a server... except, not quite. What I did was basically like serving food, except I only did menial tasks that that were beneath the main service staff, like cleaning tables, and the floor. I didn't even get to collect tip money. And three months later, I was suddenly fired for some minor indiscretion. I won't talk about it here, because I'm a little worried that if I tell you, you might not take my side.  But basically, if you have a job in Canada (and I found this out the hard way) for the first three months, you are on a kind of probationary period. You can be terminated immediately during that time with no notice whatsoever. That devastated me more than a little, because I had never been fired before. It ate into my psyche and made me wonder if I would ever really amount to anything, and whether I would have to give up and fly back early.  Fortunately, after that, it turned out that I had a contact, who was a friend of a friend of my mother, who worked further up north, in this little resort by the Blue Mountain Ski Range, in Collingwood, Ontario, who managed to get me a referral for working at the front desk over there. I did a FaceTime interview, and accepted the position.  Working at the resort was wonderful. Not only did I get given accommodation, but I had staff lunches, and basically all of my immediate needs were seen to. Best of all, my staff accommodation was ten times better than the last place, where I lived. I had a room all to myself, with a desk and everything. I had the resources and time schedule I needed to work on my Youtube videos all the while I was having off time from working at the front desk. After 11 whole months, I finally finished Dirty Danganronpa, while out there and breathed a sigh of relief. That sure took a lot of energy out of me.  I had some troublesome flatmates though. I say troublesome, because they were difficult and unreasonable at times. They could be really unreasonable when it came to cleaning the dishes... and I later discovered that they were not equally unreasonable when it was THEIR turn to clean up after themselves. While I was initially friendly towards them, in the months gone by, I was avoid them as much as possible, because it was tricky talking to them. It was for the best that we became isolated from each other. They were nice to me at times, and I was grateful for their company at times - but their moods were often unpredictable and transient, which made me feel unsafe and unsure as to whether I could trust them.  The whole time, I reflected on my status as a foreigner, and how much more useful it would be if I had a skill of some kind, and if only I had finished my driving test before I came there. Thinking about my real life situation was enough to drive me into a deep despair and self-pitying fest that would leave me feeling too exhausted and miserable to produce anything. But it wasn't all bad. I still have some positive memories of that place. I did leave a good lasting impression with my employer. And while I did eventually lose my job, unlike last time this one was not my own fault. Everybody was getting laid off, left, right and centre. And the resort itself, incidentally has closed down indefinitely. It is astonishing how far-reaching the effects of the virus have proved. I never would have predicted this level of hysteria before - I'm old enough to remember the Bird Flu, the Swine Flu, the Zika Virus, and Ebola... all I remember of those, was nothing more than there being a huge media craze; even some Youtube stars talking about them, besides a couple hundred thousands of deaths too far away for any of us to know or care.  But... this was different. To be honest, though it may sound heartless of me to say this, part of me is actually excited at all the chaos that's happening. The world is in full-blown panic mode. And now government and health ministers are advising everyone to self-isolate. I just want to let these government officials and everybody else know, that I had been self-isolating long before it was fashionable. Else I would not have found the time to make these.  Anyway, the day finally came when we all heard the announcement - the owner of the resort was laying off virtually everyone in the housekeeping/maintenance/front desk department, and we were being faced with a choice - either I would have to work in a different (less glamorous) department, like maintenance, or cleaning, or I would choose voluntary redundancy, and claim unemployment benefits. For me, it was a no brainer. I don't have the brain, nor the mentality to do menial, repetitive tasks like painting, and cleaning. In spite of the fact that I have worked for years in MacDonalds, and in restaurants doing tasks like that. But considering everything that was going on, I had a chat with my Mum and Dad, and they insisted that I fly back home as quickly as possible. I was reluctant to do so at first. I didn't want to throw away everything for which I'd worked so hard to achieve. It was meaningful that I was living entirely by my own means, and providing for myself. I basically wasn't a kid anymore. And I didn't want to put an abrupt end to that. But then, everything changed. Dominic Raab (The UK Government's Foreign Secretary) basically told all Brits abroad to return home as soon as possible. By then, I figured I ought to get back as soon as possible, so that I didn't end up stranded with nowhere to live.  Officially, the UK is under lockdown due to the virus. But honestly, based on what I've seen, it does not feel like we are under a lockdown at all. Most of the local shops down my road are still open. Even some of the restaurants are still open - except they only do takeouts instead. I have not seen any police roadblocks, nor checkpoints of any kind.  In fact, I've seen quite a few people out cycling, walking their dogs, basically just life as normal. I have to wonder how they are going to enforce this lockdown, seeing as so many people are ignoring it? Not like I care either way. If we are officially under lockdown, then I have a better reason to stay indoors, and work more on my computer. :D  Now, it is estimated that we will remain under lockdown for approximately 3 months - although I don't know the actual figure. Everybody fails at predicting the future. What am I going to do in that three months time? Well, the only thing I can do at this point. If there are things that my Canada trip have taught me, it's that I have a Creative disease. I have to find ways to satisfy my urges and channel my creative instincts effectively. One of those channels is through this - my Youtube Channel. But there are three others.  Another one for me is voice acting. I've mentioned earlier that I have another account where I take part in voice acting, except I'm not sure if I'm ready to introduce you to my real voice and real self yet. The third one is music. Not a lot of you may know this, but I actually have a background in music. My grandmother on my mother's side was a concert pianist (Just like another girl we all know, hmmm?) I am also an alumnus of the Academy of Contemporary Music, in Guildford, Surrey, UK. There are three videos dated about 5-7 years ago on this channel which I had to make private, because they all feature me, singing and playing guitar in them. One of them is me playing a guitar cover of the Hollyoaks Theme Tune (God - what a loser I was. So desperate for validation I would actually cover the Hollyoaks Theme tune) I don't even like Hollyoaks. I hate it with a burning passion - like every other Godawful soap opera on British Television. In fact, TV in general is just so depression and despair inducing that I refuse to watch it. Anime/Video games and Music is my escape from all that. I despise pretty much anything that depicts the real world in a realistic life setting.    But to give you an idea of what else I sometimes do in my time, there is an old video - 6 years old - of a remix I did of the Allegro Cross Examination theme tune for Ace Attorney, which I made on Garageband. I make quite a lot of music using Garageband. Music is actually an even bigger part of me, than Danganronpa is - well in any case, it goes back way further than my interest in Danganronpa, that's for certain. At some point, maybe when I reach a certain point in terms of how many subscribers I have, I would love to introduce you all to my real self. It would be a rewarding experience to have all of you get to know me, and all of my facets. ...Oh, and before we all forget: 

Happy Kayay-day, everybody! Let's all give a show of appreciation to Best Girl, and wish her love and happiness in Heaven. Happy Birthday, Kaede Akamatsu. - Bat Hunter

[thelifeoflorna]

~17/8/2019~ We've actually had a pretty good day today... Quite a busy morning - cleaned out the bunnies 🐰🐰💜, popped to the shop to get my stepdad some veg for his stew 🥕🥔 and got stuck into my next illustrated poem🖌⭐ Was really peaceful painting in the quiet front room... 🦄 After lunch managed to persuade my stepdad to take us on a road trip to Guildford - I asked parentals not to give me anything for my birthday - I'd like to go on trips out instead to places I can't get to myself 🌳☀️ My grandma is staying so that added another dimension to the trip out - she talks constantly in the car! We said to her before heading home that we were all quite tired after the trip out so we'd prob want to be quieter on the way back - she said, "Oh that's good, because I'm a really quiet person!" (Literally the loudest person you'll ever come across!) 😂 My mum had to stay with my grandma, who had announced that her capability in Guildford extended only to walking round Debenhams (she is capable of walking, just believes she isn't!). Me and my Pom went off - looked in a few of the shops, visited the castle and had a short walk by the river - really appreciated the trip out! 🌳☀️ 🦄 Physically I am noticing a bit of a difference - I have been upright for over 10 hours now without feeling as though I need to lie down - it's incredible really! 😮 Still can't walk far without having to sit down, and struggled walking up a hill in Guildford 🙈 but I find that when I do sit down, it offers me more relief than it previously did. Going to carry on with my painting now while the light's still good 🖌⭐ 🦄 #instablog #instadaily #happy #mentalhealth #dissociativeidentitydisorder #cptsd #anxiety #family #creative #potsie #posturalorthostatictachycardiasyndrome #midodrine #dysautonomia #chronicillness #walking #disability #adventure #lindfield #sussex #quaint #timeless #bwphotography #bw #streetphotography #storm #moody #positivevibes #recovery #cloudporn https://www.instagram.com/p/B1Rg03vHHOI/?igshid=1wzqyjr305u47

[brittanythescrivener]

Behind Trinity Lines - Chapter Two: The A-Team

Tags: @embracetranquilityson @eintausendschoen

2016

Guildford, Surrey, England

 Konstantin lay in bed, the cool cotton sheets tangled around his naked body. His chest was heaving, and his skin was covered with a thin dew of perspiration. She was laying on his chest, the weight of her grounding him. Nothing mattered outside of that bedroom at that very moment. Nothing but the two of them.

The idea of having a partner again after so long was new for him. It was hard to get used to another person’s quirks and eccentricities, but he found that having someone to come home to again was comforting. The mere fact that there was another person who needed him and wanted him warmed his heart like he never imagined could be possible again.

Konstantin gently traced his fingertips down her spine, his hand coming to rest on the small of her back. A year ago, he never would have imagined that he and this woman would be drawn together, but he was glad they were.

Lara lifted her head abruptly and said, “We need to talk.” She rolled onto her side and pulled the sheet up to cover herself.

“What is it?”

“I’m going to Mexico,” she said.

Konstantin could see the excitement in her face. She started to say something, but his cell phone rang loudly, startling them both. He reached over to the bedside table and picked up his phone—it was Ana. He ignored the call.  “What’s in Mexico?”

“Shouldn’t you take that?” Lara asked.

“Go on. What’s in Mexico?”

“We’ve been tracking another Trinity cell,” she said with a grin. “They have several ongoing digs in Cozumel, led by someone named Dominguez. I’ve seen his name in my father’s journals, but I haven’t found much information about him yet.”

Konstantin frowned. “Who is we? You and Jonah?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I don’t like the idea of you chasing Trinity,” he said. “When does it stop?”

“You know that I am more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“And you know that they will be more than ready to slaughter you this time.”

Lara sat up in bed and said, “That’s a risk I am prepared to take.”

Konstantin frowned at her. “You are a foolish, careless woman, do you know that?”

Lara grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t one,” Konstantin said gruffly. He climbed out of bed and started dressing.

“I handled myself just fine in Siberia, didn’t I?” she said.

Konstantin froze. He zipped his pants and slowly turned to face her. “I thought we agreed we weren’t going to bring up Siberia.”

“Shit,” Lara muttered. “I’m sorry.”

Konstantin pulled his shirt on and left the room.

 It was well after midnight, and Konstantin was still wide awake. He was set to be on a plane to Cozumel in less than twenty-four hours, and he couldn’t shut his mind down long enough to fall asleep. He was struggling with a moral crisis and had nowhere to turn to for advice. As he walked outside for a moonlit stroll through the gardens, he found himself longing to sit down and talk to the one person he knew would be able to tell him what to do.

Jo had always been his moral compass. He could talk to her about anything, and she always seemed to have the right answers. The truth was, he missed her dearly. He hadn’t seen or spoken to her since she’d saved his life in that frozen hell. He’d been trying to locate her for months, but she was refusing to take his calls and even Rourke wouldn’t tell him where she’d been assigned. He didn’t even know that she was okay after everything that had happened.

What Lara didn’t know was that he too was traveling to Mexico. Konstantin didn’t know how to tell her, and there was no way in hell that he could let Trinity find out that he and Lara were together. He was quite anxious about his new assignment—his first after Siberia—and he was eager to prove to Rourke and the High Council that he wasn’t a complete failure. He was thankful he was even given the chance to redeem himself; most people who screwed up badly enough to require a disciplinary hearing in front of the Council were quietly disposed of and never heard from again. He supposed his many years of faithful service, or at least Ana’s favorable reputation, had been in his favor.

Shit, Ana, he thought to himself. He’d left his cell phone upstairs in the bedroom. He trudged back into the house and started up the stairs when he heard Lara’s voice coming from the library. He quietly moved to the door, stopping to listen.

“Jonah, I have everything arranged. We leave for Mexico first thing in the morning,” Lara said.

Konstantin clenched his jaw. He knew that she was a headstrong, stubborn woman, but she was still blatantly ignoring his opinions on the matter.

“Of course I can trust him,” Lara said. “Jonah—.”

Konstantin clenched his fists and pried himself from the doorway, moving down the hall toward the bedroom once more. He grabbed his phone, which lay on the bed unlocked.

She’s been looking at my phone, he thought. Must not be as trusting as she lets on.

He had a new text from Ana. Come to the hospital right away.

*                    *                    *

Providence, Rhode Island

 The sterile, pastel halls of Griffith General Hospital were vacant as Dr. Joanna Wilkens hurried toward her office. It was late, and she had only just left the O.R. after a particularly long and gruesome night. She was tired; no, she was mentally and emotionally drained and just ready to be home.

As she unlocked the door to her office, she looked up and saw her own reflection in the windowpane. She looked like the ghost of herself with dark circles beneath her eyes and gaunt cheeks. She longed for the days when she could feel happy and beautiful in her own skin.

Jo opened the door to the office and made her way to the closet to retrieve her coat and purse. She was digging her car keys out of her purse when a loud, rough voice filled the silence.

“Hello, Dr. Wilkens.”

“Holy shit!” she shouted, dropping her purse to the floor. She spun around, searching for the light switch. She clicked on the lights and saw a familiar man sitting in the chair behind her desk.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Commander James Rourke stretched his long legs out in front of him and leaned back in Jo’s desk chair. He looked attractive in dark jeans, a black tee, and a black leather motorcycle jacket. She thought to herself how odd it was to see people outside of work in their “everyday” clothes. It was silly to think that he would wear a Trinity uniform every day, but there were probably people who would be surprised to see her in something other than blue surgical scrubs since she seemed to be living in them so much lately.

“Maybe next time try coming during office hours instead of lurking in my office like a serial killer. What do you want, Rourke?” she said with annoyance.

“I’m fine. How are you?” he asked with a wry smile. “You haven’t been returning calls. It’s like you fell off the grid.”

“That was my plan.”

“How’s Konstantin?” Rourke asked, the same smug expression still on his face.

“I wouldn’t know,” Jo said sharply. “Is there a point to this little reunion, or did you just miss me? I haven’t slept in thirty-six hours. I’m not exactly in the mood for social hour.”

“We want you back,” he said immediately.

“Well, you can forget it,” Jo said. “I thought I had made that pretty clear when I told you I quit.” She picked her purse up off the floor and pulled it onto her shoulder.  “Good night, Rourke.”

She had scarcely made it back to the door again when he stood and said, “Neither one of us is leaving this office until you agree to come back.”

“Are you threatening me?” Jo asked. “That sounded like a threat to me.”

“I’m here to negotiate,” Rourke said, sitting down on the edge of her desk. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and said, “What’s it going to take?”

Jo laughed out loud. “More than you’re willing to give.”

“What’s your salary?”

Jo scoffed. “This isn’t about money!”

“We’ll give you $400K,” Rourke said.

“I don’t think you understand. It has taken months of physical therapy to get me back in the O.R. I was so close to never being able to perform surgery again. My life has been turned completely upside down—.”

“You can choose your assignments,” Rourke interrupted.

Jo sighed. “I appreciate the lengths you’re going to to try and get me back. I do. I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

“We can provide you a low stress environment,” Rourke said.

Jo laughed out loud. “As tempting as that is, I must respectfully refuse.”

Rourke stood up and said, “Well, then, I guess I should be going.” He moved to the door and handed her an envelope. “But you might want to look at this before it gets sent to the hospital administrators tomorrow morning.”

Jo snatched the envelope from Rourke’s hand and ripped it open. Inside was a photograph of a brunette woman in powder blue scrubs straddling an unconscious patient in the operating room.

“What the actual fuck is this?” she demanded.  She shoved the picture back into his hands.

“A trauma fellow hard at work.”

“This isn’t me!”

“I can see the resemblance, though.”

“You son of a bitch. You’re blackmailing me?” Jo cried.  "You think this is how you're going to get me to come back?"

Rourke shrugged. “I’m motivating you. I told you I wasn’t leaving this office until you agreed to come back.”

“I never agreed to anything,” Jo said through gritted teeth.

“Then you may be in need of a job come morning. Of course, you’ll have to find a completely new career because you won’t be allowed to practice medicine anymore once that photo gets out.”

Jo stared at Rourke contemptuously. “You double my salary, full benefits, pension, the works. I want a fully-stocked infirmary. And I want a fucking Tempurpedic mattress in my quarters.”

Rourke smirked again. “Anything else?”

“Goodnight, Rourke.”

Jo turned to leave the office.

“We leave for Mexico at 1700 hours, Wilkens,” he called after her.

Jo proceeded through the door, raising her hand and giving him the finger on the way out.

 Jo exited the hospital and stepped outside on that crisp autumn night, taking a deep breath and filling her lungs with the cold air. It was refreshing to be out of that fluorescent prison after so many hours on the clock. As she walked down the street toward her car, the flashing red and green neon lights of the corner bar, The Ale House, beckoned her to turn around and walk the other way. She decided she was better off sharing drinks with friends than going home alone with nothing but her mind to occupy her. The sad thing was she knew that a shot of tequila was already sitting at her spot at the bar.

When she walked through the heavy wooden door, she was met with the familiar smells of over-fried foods and cigarette smoke.  The Ale House was a dive, but it was her dive.  She'd frequented that bar since she was old enough to buy her first drink and reckoned she could be a partial owner with the amount of money she'd spent there during her college years at Brown.

“Hey, Sammy,” she said as she climbed up onto a stool at the worn wooden bar.

The bartender slid a shot of tequila to her and rested his elbows on the bar.  “Rough night?”

“Story of my life,” she said. She drank the shot of tequila and slid the glass back.

The doorbell rang shortly after, announcing the arrival of another customer.  

“Hey, hey, hey!” Sammy shouted. “Look who it is! Jamie Rourke, long time no see! How the hell are ya, guy?”

“Never been better,” Rourke said, sitting down at the bar beside Jo. “Wild Turkey neat.”

Sammy returned with Rourke’s drink and another shot and said, “Looky here, it’s the Dream Team all grown up. I can remember how the two of ya used to run around tearing up Blackstone before you were this high.”

Jo smiled. She thought back to thirty years ago when things were so much simpler. Growing up, Jo was different than most girls. She was a tomboy, and her best friend was the shaggy-haired, brown-eyed, freckle-faced boy who lived next door. The only thing she ever had to worry about was meeting her best friend in the backyard to play Army.

“A smile from the ice queen?”

Jo realized that Rourke had been watching her during her little reverie into the past.

“I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

Jo stared into the glass in her hands. “Do you remember how innocent everything was when we were kids? Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and just stay there forever. I thought that people were good, that happily-ever-afters really existed.” Jo choked back tears. “And all I wanted to do was grow up. Now look at me. I’m all grown up, and I’ve seen just how very wrong about the world I was. People are evil, and there is no such thing as a happily-ever-after.”

Her hands shaking, Jo tossed back the shot of tequila.  “It’s been a year since Siberia, and I am still so fucked up that I can’t even close my eyes without seeing it all again.”

“That why you’ve been refusing my calls?” Rourke asked.

She ignored his question and said, “I just don’t know if I can go back, Jamie. Why is Trinity willing to go to such lengths to get me back? Doubling my salary is just ridiculous.”

“Dominguez told me to do whatever I had to do. I think it’s his way of compensating you for everything you did after the shitshow at Kitezh. He thinks a lot of you.”

“Are you sure it’s all Dominguez?” she asked, turning to face him.  She met his brown eyes and held his gaze for several moments.

Jo’s phone buzzed loudly on the bar beside her. She glanced at it briefly and realized it was a text from Konstantin. We need to talk.

Rourke saw it too. He looked up at her and said, “I thought you hadn’t spoken to him?”

“I haven’t,” she said, clearing the notification and ignoring the message. She had no intention to reply to it. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Rourke drank from his glass and said, “So what’s the story there?”

“Keep ‘em coming, Sammy,” Jo said to the bartender as she downed another shot. “We were close friends, that’s all.”

“You weren’t fucking?” Rourke asked bluntly.

Jo choked on the tequila and began coughing violently. Her face red and eyes watering, she shook her head. “No.”

Rourke looked amused by her little outburst.

“Is that so hard to believe?”

He shrugged. “There was a lot of talk about the two of you. And he always gets this crazy ass look in his eye anytime I come around.”

“Maybe because you are always shamelessly flirting with me,” Jo muttered.

“Nothing wrong with a little flirting,” Rourke said.

 "Another!" Jo called to the bartender.

“I think you’ve had enough,” Rourke said as Jo reached for her fourth (or fifth?) shot. He moved the glass out of her reach. “Remember your guidelines: one tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor.”

Jo laughed loudly. “I can hold my liquor way better than I used to.”

“Let’s not test that theory,” Rourke said. He tossed some money onto the bar to pay their tab and helped Jo down off her stool.

 Once outside, Jo unsteadily turned to Rourke and said, “What now?”

“What do you want to happen now?” he asked, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Drunk Jo would invite you back to her place,” she said. “But Responsible Jo realizes that she has been awake for almost forty hours and needs to get some sleep.”

“Does Jo always talk about herself in the third person?” Rourke asked with his signature crooked smile.

Jo cackled loudly. “Drunk Jo does.”

“At least let me drive you home,” he said. “You don’t seem to be in any condition to drive.”

“Okay,” she said.  They walk slowly to the black Jeep Wrangler Unlimited parked at the curb.  "I live over on Elmgrove."

"I know."

"That's just creepy, Rourke," Jo said as she climbed into the Jeep.

"Why?"

"That you just know where I live."

"You live literally twenty fucking feet from where you grew up," Rourke said, rubbing his forehead.  He pulled away from the curb and headed south toward Elmgrove.  

A few minutes later, Rourke parked along the street in front of Jo’s house.

Jo leaned across the console and said, “Before I go, can I touch it?”

Rourke narrowed his eyes and cast her a sidelong glance. “Touch what?”

"Your beard," Jo said. "It looks so soft. It looks good on you."

Rourke rolled his eyes and laughed out loud. “You are so annoying when you're drunk."

Jo scoffed and said, "Drinking is my coping mechanism."

"And what are you coping with?"

"With you being a dick. What the hell did you think I was asking to touch?" she asked loudly.

Rourke stifled another laugh.  "Never mind.  Go to bed, Wilkens."

Jo kissed Rourke on the cheek and said, “I’ll see you at 1700 hours, Commander.”

*                    *                    *

Konstantin stood on the sidewalk in front of the Royal Marsden Hospital and stared up at the brick and glass facade. After Ana had told him to come to the hospital right away, he was running every possible scenario through his head, wondering just what was so urgent. He tried to tell himself that it was something mundane. She wanted him to bring more clothes. She wanted Chinese take-out. She was lonely and needed company. A feeling of dread weighed heavily in the pit of his stomach as he entered the building.

He walked quickly down the halls, searching for the ward she had been admitted into. When he finally found the room, he found her resting peacefully in bed. There were IVs in both of her arms and a cannula in her nose. He hadn’t seen her in a couple weeks and was shocked at how much her appearance had changed in such little time.

Her blonde hair had thinned considerably, and her face was gaunt and colorless. Her eyes were sunken and red-rimmed. She was breathing irregularly. Konstantin sat down beside her and reached for her hand; she stirred slightly and opened her eyes slowly.

“Ana,” Konstantin said, “I got here as fast as I could.”

Ana forced a smile and said, “I knew you would.” Her voice was faint and hoarse.

“What are the doctors saying?” Konstantin said hopefully. He had tried telling himself that perhaps there was some miracle, some act of God, that had resulted in a complete turn-around.

“Brother,” Ana croaked, “they told me it is time to say my goodbyes.”

“No!” Konstantin cried. “They’ve been wrong before. They’ll be wrong again.”

Ana shook her head. “No. I can feel it. I can feel it in my bones. I can feel it in my soul. It’s time.”

Konstantin held her hand tightly in his and fought back tears. He’d been preparing himself for this moment since she was diagnosed with late stage lung cancer five years earlier, but he didn’t realize it would hurt this damn bad.

“I’m sorry for everything I have put you through, Konstantin,” Ana said weakly.

Konstantin kept his eyes on the floor, not able to look his dying sister in the face. He couldn’t bear to see Ana look so frail and sick. Since they were children, Konstantin had seen his sister as the strong one; she was always guiding him and giving him hope. It had been just the two of them against the world since their parents died.

“You have to hold on,” Konstantin said. “I have orders to ship out to Mexico tomorrow. I can’t stay long.”

“Mexico?” Ana asked with surprise. “What is Trinity doing in Mexico?”

“Looking for some artifact,” Konstantin said. He moved his eyes to the wall across the room. “That’s all I know. I’ve been assigned to vehicular support. I’m not in a need-to-know position anymore.”

“Who’s in command?”

“Rourke.”

“Rourke?” Ana asked with surprise.

“Yeah,” Konstantin said, running a hand over his hair. “I guess they aren’t messing around this time.”

Ana squeezed his hand for a brief moment and said, “Konstantin, promise me that you won’t let the hand you've been dealt make you a bitter, unhappy man. I want you to be happy. Promise me that you’ll be happy.”

Konstantin scoffed loudly.

“Promise me,” Ana insisted.

Konstantin heaved a sigh. “I promise.”

“Good,” she said. “Now go.”

“I can’t go,” Konstantin said. “I’m not ready yet.”

Ana gently squeezed his hand and said, “But I am ready. I’m ready for all this to go away. All the tubes and needles and drugs. All the pain.”

Konstantin finally allowed himself to look at his sister.

"To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure," Ana said confidently.

"Who said that?" he asked.

Ana laughed softly.  "A famous wizard named Albus Dumbledore."

Konstantin laughed.  He dropped his head into his hands and said, "Now is not the time for Harry Potter humor."

“Go!” Ana ordered gently. “Let me die in peace.”

"I love you, Ana."  Konstantin stood and slowly left the room, knowing full well that could be the very last time he saw his sister alive.

Note:  Some sources say that Shadow takes place just a few months after the end Rise. The timeline in this story is closer to real-time, setting the events of the games apart by approximately 3 years.

[youngdereamer1996-blog]

Hey guys!!! 

I was recently accepted into the Guildford School of acting in London. It's an amazing opportunity but very expensive for me as an international student. It is a extremely prestigious program, listed as 2nd best for drama schools in England, and they only allow eight people in their program. It is a two year program in which I will graduate with a Masters Degree and a fight choreographers license. At the end of the program I will do a showcase on the Westend where I will audition for agents in the professional world. As a performer this opportunity will help expand and globalize my scope of knowledge and skillsets. With a Masters degree I can also be able share what I learned with others as a professor one day. I will need help affording the housing and living expenses as well as the actual school payments. Most of the money is due up front and I will need it by August. Any help at all is appreciated! Loans are an option but as a performer they limit my ability to support myself. I will send everyone who helps me out a personal thank you letter!! 

If you guys could also help by sharing this and help me spread this as far as possible I would love you guys so much! 

Thank you guys so much!!!