#lane marking equipments

[swimmingpoolpumpsuk]

Swimming Pool Water Testing Kit - Swimming Pool Pumps UK

What is used to test pool water?

Testing pool water is crucial to ensure its safety and quality. Several tools and chemical test kits are commonly used to test pool water. These tools help monitor various parameters, such as pH, chlorine levels, alkalinity, and more. Here are some of the common tools and test kits used for testing pool water:

Pool Test Strips: Pool test strips are paper or plastic strips with chemical pads that change color when dipped into the water. These pads react to different water parameters, such as pH, total alkalinity, chlorine, bromine, and sometimes calcium hardness. You match the color change on the strip to a chart provided with the strips to determine the water's condition.

Liquid Test Kits: Liquid test kits are more precise than test strips and are used for testing specific water parameters. They typically include reagents and test tubes. Common liquid test kits are available for pH, chlorine (free and total), bromine, alkalinity, and calcium hardness.

Digital Testers: Digital testers are electronic devices that provide accurate and quick measurements of various pool water parameters. Some digital testers can measure pH, chlorine, alkalinity, and more. They often display the results on a digital screen, eliminating the need for color-matching or interpretation.

Photometers: Photometers are advanced electronic devices that use light absorption to measure the concentration of specific chemicals in the water. They offer precise and highly accurate readings for parameters like chlorine and pH.

Test Reagents: Test reagents are chemical solutions used in liquid test kits and digital testers to react with water samples and produce color changes or other measurable responses. These reagents are essential for accurate testing.

Comparator Test Kits: Comparator test kits consist of a test vial and a color-comparison chart. You add reagents to the water sample, and then you compare the resulting color to the chart to determine the parameter's concentration.

Specialty Tests: Depending on the pool type and water source, you might need specialty tests to check for specific contaminants or parameters, such as iron, copper, phosphates, or cyanuric acid (stabilizer/conditioner).

It's important to regularly test your pool water and maintain the appropriate levels of chemicals to ensure safe and enjoyable swimming conditions while preventing problems like algae growth, scaling, and corrosion. The frequency of testing may vary depending on factors such as pool usage, weather conditions, and water source, but testing at least once a week is a good general guideline.

[ms-demeanor]

Hi. I've followed you for a while and your advice to others always seems pretty good. You seem very knowledge about therapy and driving. This may be a bit out of your depth, feel free to delete this ask if so, but if you have any advice I would greatly appreciate hearing it. I've got a problem: the field I'm studying for and love doing will require frequent trips to places I cannot walk/bike/bus/fly to, and I'm terrified of driving. My father decided the best way to start teaching me was to put me behind the wheel on a small road in a big city with pedestrians and bikes on the road, and tell me to drive. It's been 4 years and I can't even think about getting behind the driver's seat without bursting into tears. Riding in the front passenger seat is fine. I want to get over this fear and finally learn to drive, with paid therapy if necessary, but I don't know what terms to search for to find a therapist that can help me with this. Any ideas?

So I think pretty much any decent therapist will be able to help you with this fear, just like any decent therapist will be able to help you figure out how to approach any fear that you've got.

But I'm also not sure this is something you need a therapist for so much as some very good friends and a lot of time. If you don't have your learner's permit I'd recommend getting one, and from there I think I'd say to ask some good friends, who you know are good drivers, to help teach you the rudiments of driving.

I think that you should do this by starting on a closed private property where there aren't people or pedestrians or anything else, and just put the key in the car, put the car in drive, and drive up and down a driveway until you are capable of doing so without panicking. From there, have your safe trusted driver friend take you someplace with no traffic of any kind but that does have some kind of lane markings (school parking lots on weekends, shopping center parking lots late at night, etc) and begin practicing things like stopping, turning, and acceleration. Do that until you're comfortable driving around empty parking lots, at which point I'd say that you should look at enrolling in a driving school with a closed course.

You were put in a very stressful situation that frightened you a lot, but there are ways that you can build up that should help you to see that it doesn't have to be stressful like that. Sit in the driver's seat of a parked car. Turn the car on without putting it into gear. Drive it back and forth just to get used to the car being in motion at very slow speeds.

If you want to work on this with a therapist you're probably going to want to be looking for someone who specifically discusses dealing with phobias around driving or accident-related trauma and recovery; cars can be terrifying and there are a ton of people who have had bad times with cars so there are lots of professionals who have dealt with getting people comfortable around cars as a necessity of our car-centric culture. That's the kind of stuff I'd be looking for, is people who talk about vehicle-related or accident-related trauma.

But also I think that's just a good thing to say out front if you're shopping for a therapist. "I am scared of driving and want to learn to drive, that is my primary current interest in therapy and I'm looking for a professional to support me while I work through this." Say this out loud as you call offices, and DO make calls, don't just look for reviews. People may not advertise this kind of thing specifically because it may just be taken for granted that it's something that their office can help equip you for.

Though, again, I think that you can likely do a lot of that yourself with the help of a good friend or a patient family member who is willing to respect your boundaries and work within them, but you need to think about what your boundaries are and what your goals are before you get to work.

[amuromi]

★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 7.7k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ┈ I would just like to thank the girlies for showing me the light of the Dominican-French Connie headcanon. Truly a beautiful thing that you’ve all created.

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ NSFW! modern!au, hurt/comfort, previously established relationship (childhood sweethearts to exes), pet names (baby, mami, mamita), oral (f!receiving), mentions of birth control, untranslated Spanish, ooc!Connie (canon is only a suggestion)

It’s late, just on the cusp of twilight. The sun is setting behind the skyline in flecks of amber light, flickering over the culdesac like a dwindling candle. Soon the streetlights will come on, buzzing in bright halos over the cracked pavement of the basketball court. It’s so strange to see the changes that had gone unnoticed in years prior suddenly become glaringly obvious. The old pavement of the basketball court has always been cracked and faded, dandelions pushing up between the rivers of dirt that worked their way through the broken concrete. The green paint has long since been washed away along with the white lines and red free throw lane. Somebody–probably the same person that tagged the mailboxes up the street–has made an attempt at renewing the paint job, wobbling lines of spray paint marking out half court and the foil line. The rest of the park is just as neglected, having never been updated since its first installation. The swings are old and rickety, creaking under the slightest weight, and all the plastic pieces of the playground have been bleached pale under the sunlight. But it’s still standing. 

All the pocketknife etchings in the picnic tables and sharpie scribbles on the underside of the tallest slide. This park has always been well-loved. There are memories tucked into the cracked asphalt and carved into trees. Some aren’t even tangible, just the wisp of a thought tucked to the back of your mind that comes loose when you hear just the right song at just the right time. A car driving by with the windows down, in the stifling heat of midsummer. Mostly just bass rattling through the frame of someone’s hoopty as they ease down the block just as it starts to get dark, hollering at someone loitering by the stop sign at the end of the road. Hear just the right baseline at just the right time throws you back to somewhere easier. When the biggest worries in life were getting home before the streetlight turned on. 

Age came through and shattered that simplicity. First crack was sacrificing half the summer to a job at some pop-up carnival that closed as soon as school started, then school started getting serious the closer it got to graduation, and that ceremony sent everybody off in their different directions. Like pulling out threads of a sweater until it starts to unravel. Mikasa went one way and Armin another. Eren stayed local. Coming back together has been like finding a dusty puzzle at the back of a closet and hoping it still had all its pieces. Mikasa graduated the same time as you, but Armin and his big brain still have two more years to go for his bachelor’s. Sasha is fresh out of culinary school and looking to set up something local, a little restaurant somewhere in town. 

What started as a throwaway story post that you expected nobody to see or care about–a simple “back where it all began” when you decided to walk to the park at 1AM–had turned into a rallying cry that brought everybody out of the woodwork. Now, after all the new neighborhood kids have gone home, the park is still full of people. A bunch of twenty-somethings too big to be messing with all this playground equipment. The streetlights buzz to life as the sky goes black, bugs crowding around the yellowish light, but no one moves to go home. You’re all grown. The only thing that can tell you to go home now is a half exasperated text from your Momma wondering how long you plan to be out of the house for. It’s still early enough in the night–hardly past nine–that you don’t need to worry about getting called home because you’ve been out of the house for too long or some other nonsensical reason. And even that won’t bother your Momma who’s out living her own life now that you’re older. Something about a weekend trip with her friend Mr. Vick, which you know from childhood, is something she calls all her dates, like it’s an inside joke that she still goes out and has fun. “Acting grown,” as you’ve always called it. 

And besides your Momma, you don’t really need to worry about much of anything right now. With a degree under your belt, this little return to living at home is only temporary. A brief stop while you’re waiting for everything with your new employment and the leasing office of your apartment to clear. Soon you’ll be working your own little corporate job with an office and everything, and you’ll have your own place away from your Momma’s house, too. Life is sweet and seeing all your old friends is making it sweeter, but there’s still that barest hint of bitterness lingering on the back of your tongue. No one has mentioned it, too busy focusing on who’s here rather than who’s not, but there is one glaring piece missing from the little jigsaw of your old group of friends. One soldier that didn’t answer the call of duty. 

Mikasa and Historia are over on the swings, Eren and Jean are playing one on one on the beat up court, and Sasha and Armin are sprawled out on one of the jungle gym platforms. You’re comparatively alone, sitting at the picnic table all by yourself. It’s like something frozen in time. The same chipped paint and rusted bolts. In so many years, it seems like none of the kids have added anything else to the splintered collage you all left behind. There’s still the little lopsided heart that Historia etched out after being convinced that no one would care if she defaced this particular piece of public property. She was always a stickler with things like that. But the park belongs to you guys more than it does anyone else anyway. It’s always been the property of the kids and it’s almost sad that they haven’t added their own touches in the time since you all graduated. Maybe they’ve hidden their tags in different places. On the underside of the jungle gym written in sharpie, or the frame of the swing set etched into the creaking metal. 

After a while, the sound of sneakers scuffing on concrete pauses just long enough for a shadow to cut across your line of sight, eyes half closed as you rest your head on the table.  

“Don’t tell me you’re tired,” Eren teases. He somehow looks the same as you last saw him yet so much different. He’s bulkier and his hair is longer. He’s sweating, looking sticky as honey under the golden haze of the streetlights as he smiles down at you. 

“M’not tired.” It only sounds the slightest bit fatigued as you mumble the words into your folded arms, but you’re not. You slept in today and even when you woke up you only got out of bed sometime in the afternoon. You’re as well rested as can be, but longing is making you a bit lethargic. Something about a watched pot never boiling. Each minute has stretched to a small eternity as you stare up the ridge of the slight hill that flanks the park. The road is mostly invisible from where you’re sitting but you keep hoping you’ll see someone coming down the dirt path worn through the grass. Eren follows your eyes then kisses his teeth, pushing your shoulder as if to break you out of a daze. 

“If he shows, he shows. Don’t sit here waiting for him.” Eren at least has the sense not to sound pitying. It’s not like he’s had the smoothest relationship in the past four years either. He’s been on and off with half a dozen girls since graduation, never seeming to settle down with any one of them. Eren is lucky he’s easy to like because he’s never been hounded by any disgruntled ex and it gives you hope for your own past, but that candle you’ve been holding is burning lower and lower everyday. Soon it’ll hiss out in a puff of smoke and that’ll be that. Another door closed, another chapter ended. 

“C’mon, you’re not ’bout to spend the night over here looking sad. Come by my cheerleader while I break Kirstein’s ankles.” Eren has always been something like a brother. Older by a couple months, always pretending he was more mature and had all the answers. Usually he’s no more insightful than you, but he means well and tonight it’s a welcomed distraction. You sit at the edge of the court on one of those rickety benches that rocks and sags under your weight, hooting each time one of them scores just so Eren can huff about you “only cheering for him.” By the time they’ve played themselves out everyone has gathered at the edge of the court. 

Armin has settled between your legs, shoulders knocking into your knees as you card your fingers through his hair. It used to be longer. Back in middle school he had a thick mop of hair that matched Mikasa’s. They’ve both shorn off their hair to something more cropped and manageable now, still matching somehow. Historia is leaned up against your shoulder, half-asleep but perking up now that Sasha has started talking about food. Something about everyone coming over to theirs tomorrow for brunch. It’s getting late enough that getting up early is starting to sound like a chore but the promise of a home cooked meal courtesy of your favorite chef has you setting an alarm in your phone. Jean sinks one more shot from half court before wiping his face on his soiled shirt and agreeing to call it a night. 

Home is only a couple minutes away, the path lit by merging rings of light pouring down from the streetlamps. The pavement strewn with grass clippings is far less intimidating than walking around campus at night. Here you know house 13 is Ms. Emma’s and the blue car parked on the corner belongs to Mr. Leroy. There’s nothing haunting the streets but a stray cat that meows at you as you split off from Historia at the end of the block. She lives in the next neighborhood over–where the sidewalks aren’t as cracked and the houses not so weathered–and you watch her drive off until her tail lights disappear around a corner. Your phone pings as the group chat erupts with the obligatory “I’m home” texts. You send your own before turning in for the night, trying not to mull over the missing name in the text chain. 

Morning comes in shades of pink and electric buzzing as your phone vibrates through your alarm. It’s early or at least earlier than you’ve gotten up in a while, but Sasha is already up and texting, reminding everyone that food will be ready by noon. There’s a pang of nostalgia as you get ready in the bathroom that saw you through so many formative years. It smells like your Momma now that you’ve spent so long living in dorms instead of at home. Her perfume and hair products, the sweet smell of vanilla and cocoa butter that clings to nearly every room of the house. Even your own perfume mimics the comforting scent as you spritz yourself in a generous cloud before stepping out for the day. 

A pair of sunglasses sits low on the bridge of your nose as you make the drive to Sasha’s new apartment. She moved out soon after she finished culinary school. A modest apartment that isn’t too far from the restaurant she works at. It’s humble but it’s hers, and you’re proud to see how well life has been treating her. A notification from Sasha pops up as you check your lipgloss at a stop light, asking you to run to the store for her. Something about running out of eggs. Historia chimes in a moment later asking if any of the liquor stores are open so she can make mimosas. You turn right at the next light and bemoan the lack of cars in the parking lot of the grocery store. It’s not so early that no one’s on the road but you hate to be that person rolling up into the store before everyone’s settled into the work day. 

Just make it quick, you tell yourself as you pass through the doors. There’s an immediate gust of frigid air conditioning that raises goosebumps over your skin as you grab a basket. The store is nearly empty as you meander towards the dairy section. There’s a lady pondering over avocados as you pass through the produce. About as old as your Momma, though her hair is finely peppered with streaks of gray. There’s a vague familiarity to her that comes with growing up in the same place. She might’ve been your old daycare lady or a secretary at your elementary school. You push your sunglasses a bit higher on your face, trying to hide behind the wide lens. It’s too early to navigate through a half recalled stroll down memory lane. She barely glances up as you pass, but you still take a sudden interest in the speckled pattern of the tiled floor, skirting past a display of tomatoes until you can dip around a corner. Halfway down the line of aisles you see an old classmate working the seafood counter. There’s a moment of hesitation before he nods at you and you return the gesture hoping that will be the last of the familiar faces you see until you get to Sasha’s place. 

By the time you make it to the self checkout you’ve only seen three more people in the relatively large store. No one that you knew, luckily. The scanner happily chirps to not forget your receipt as you tuck the eggs into your reusable bag, the motion interrupted as you hear a familiar song ghosting past your ears. It’s quiet, muffled, sounding like you’re only hearing it from a distance. It draws your eyes despite the machine reminding you to remove all items from the bagging area. There’s no one behind you to stir up a fuss about you lingering too long at the register, half lost in a memory. In fact the only other person in the self checkout area is a man that looks devastatingly familiar. Even with his back towards you, you could pick Connie out of the biggest crowd. His hair is a bit longer now, grown out of his militaristic buzz cut, and his shoulders have gotten broader since you last saw him, but it’s him. 

The music is coming from him, of course. A relic from a bygone era of your life, a song older than either of you that his mother used to play. A comforting sound from those awkward years of middle school. It’s faint but you can hear the soulful belting of the love song even from a distance. It sends you back to the time when you first met Connie. He’d been on the fringes of your life throughout childhood. That friend of a friend that you’d never formally met until your sixth grade English class when he was sitting next to you and cheating off your answers. It took a few months before you realized he was an ESL student and suddenly cheating wasn’t the worst thing in the world. 

The register chirps at you to pick up your groceries and grab your receipt and you nearly drop your bag and break your eggs in your rush to leave. Connie glances up from his own scanning at the sound of the commotion. It’s only a cursory glance from the corner of his eye but you see the recognition spark immediately. His whole body goes rigid, suddenly lined with tension at the mere sight of you. It’s too early for this kind of confrontation. Four years suddenly seeming too soon to see him again. You’re halfway to your car before you consider that he might not have recognized you. You try to rationalize that he could’ve just been bothered by some random woman staring him down while he’s trying to get groceries. It makes the lack of any notifications on your phone make more sense. The Connie you knew would’ve been texting you, then calling if you didn’t answer quick enough for his liking. He wouldn’t have let you walk away from him so easily. But, after so long, the Connie you knew only exists in memories. Like the song you only remember as a melody, no true words, just sounds and a feeling. 

It’s so strange how a day can sour so quickly. The bubbling happiness of getting to see your old friends has dissipated to a rueful melancholy. You get to see every friend but one. 

Masking your upset is easy when you can blame your lack of enthusiasm on the early hour despite having gotten more than enough sleep. Sasha puts you to work anyway, nudging you towards one end of the counter with a bowl and instructions to scramble the eggs. There’s a debate between Jean and Armin over adding milk to the mix, then Historia starts another over how much cheese qualifies as too much. Sasha bats all their hands away with a spatula, tossing in more cheese with a petty grin as you lament that you’re just following the chef’s instructions. You find yourself humming the song Connie had been playing as you cook, struggling to remember the words in Spanish. 

If anyone notices your overindulgence in the mimosas, they don’t question it. Historia seems happy to play mixologist as she measures out generous amounts of champagne colored with a splash of orange juice. By the fourth glass you’re feeling fuzzy and warm, like floating in a sun-dappled cloud. Mikasa’s shoulder is a nice place to rest as you drift in and out of the movie Armin put on. Some long, pondering art house film that you’re sure wouldn’t have been any easier to understand if you hadn’t only been half conscious through the whole runtime. The morning tastes like maple syrup and melted cheese. Sweet and savory as you try to ignore the soured note of your shopping trip. You try to imagine what might’ve happened if you hadn’t tucked tail and ran, then decide it was better that you had left in such a hurry. Connie had seen you but he decided to go back to what he’d been doing, ignoring you as if you were a stranger.

By the tail end of the second movie you’re sobering up and thinking of an excuse to duck out early. Sasha is back to banging around in the kitchen, cooking a late lunch, or maybe an early dinner, but you don’t have the energy to pretend to be upbeat for much longer. It isn’t quite sadness. That already came and went years ago. But it’s a strange aching like an old injury flaring up with the rain. Some time to yourself will help clear your head as you obsess over every second of the momentary interaction. Had that been a frown at the corner of his mouth or was it simply a trick of the light? Had he even considered following after you or was he glad to watch you go? The alcohol had dampened the anxiety but with each sobered moment it came roaring back to the forefront with a vicious ferocity. 

You make up some excuse about cleaning the house before your Momma gets home from her weekend getaway, ducking out of Sasha’s apartment to a chorus of disapproving whines. There’ll be other days together. You’re staying at home for at least another week and you weren’t moving so far that visits would be out of the question. Fifteen minutes was barely a drive at all, just a quick shot up the road from the high rise you’d closed on. They’ll be able to suffer one evening without you while you get yourself in order. 

Connie is all you can think about as you drive home. Him and the way he’d looked at you in the store. Like you were a ghost, a memory meant to be forgotten. And really, you have no right to be mad because isn’t that what you’d done to him? You’re strangers now. Hadn’t talked in years. What would you even say if you did? You consider the park as you drive past, but the sky has turned a steely gray and you’re not feeling like getting rained on in the name of nostalgia. It smells like lawn clippings and petrichor when you get out of the car. It’s still warm despite the storm clouds, a sticky sort of heat that ruins hair and melts makeup. The first crash of thunder comes rolling through as you lock your car, and you nearly unlock it just as fast when you notice someone sitting on your front step. 

The porch is outfitted with a cute set of chairs your Momma got from a yard sale a while back but Connie has decided to sit on the steps. He looks up at the sound of your approach and you try not to notice the way the hazel color of his eyes have shifted with the weather. They’re pulling more brown than green in the muted light of the storm as he watches you stomp past him. You hear him scrambling to follow after you even over the jangling of your keys as you rush to unlock the front door. But the porch is small and he’s already there by the time the deadbolt clicks out of the way. The weight of the screen door lifts from your back and the cold glass is replaced with the warmth of his breath skirting over the nape of your neck. It’s the closest you’ve been in years, too close to slam the door on him as he follows close behind you. He shuts the door like he lives here, locking it behind him with a sort of finality. There’s still the back door for you to escape out of and you’ve hopped enough fences to circumvent the enclosure of the backyard, but you aren’t about to let this man run you out of your own home. 

There’d been a draining sort of grief settled over you before but now it’s turned to boiling anger. He’s always been a bit desperate for your attention, though he looks a bit confused to be standing in front of you now. His eyes glance around the front room, taking in every detail as if he wanted to commit it to memory. It had been so long since he’d last been in your Momma’s house and you imagine it felt like wiping clean a window to allow the light through, the haze of dirt and lost memories removed as he breathed deep a smell that must’ve lingered in the back of his mind the same way the scent of his cologne lingered in yours. There’s an awkwardness to him that sits far too foreign on his large frame. His hands are shoved into his pockets, deep enough that they’re pulled just low enough for a peek of elastic to poke out over the waistband. You try not to focus on the strip of skin showing above the band of his underwear. If you look too long you’ll get lost in your head and you can’t let nostalgia cloud your judgment when he’s standing in the middle of your Momma’s living room uninvited, looking so fondly at the pictures of you she has framed on the wall. 

Connie seems to know you’re about to speak before the words even leave your mouth because his hand catches your chin. He tilts your head up to look at him as his thumb brushes over your lips, smearing your lip gloss just as soon as your lips part. 

“Not yet, baby,” he says and you can tell he talked to his mom recently. He’s got that little twang to his voice that he gets after speaking Spanish for an extended amount of time, the accent he outgrew somewhere in middle school slowly creeping back into his voice. You hate that you recognize it. That you wonder what he said to his mom, if he mentioned you. She used to keep a picture of the two of you in her wallet. The same picture your Momma still has framed somewhere. She took it down years ago when you’d come home in the middle of the semester with tears in your eyes, babbling about breaking up with Connie. But she never got rid of it, she said you’d regret it someday. Now, you were slowly starting to understand her insistence on preserving the sweet memory. 

The two of you were laid up on a couch, squished together even though you were small enough that there was more than enough space to spread out a bit more. One of your arms is tucked under your head while the other is laid over Connie’s back as he drools on your chest, leaving a wet spot on your shirt. You can still remember the sights and smells of that day. It was the first time you’d been invited to one of his family gatherings. 

His cousins had loved you, prattling on in a quick rush of Spanglish that you tried your best to follow as his mom kept handing you plates of food. Connie stuck close to your side the whole day, translating the slang that you missed and stealing your food when he got hungry. 

So many of your memories with him were so precious. It seems almost impossible that it had all come crumbling down so quickly. All it took was one phone call for your world to come crashing down because he couldn’t even give you the respect of doing it face to face. Maybe because he knew he wouldn’t go through with it if he could see your teary eyes. He always hated seeing you cry. Even just a pout would have him jumping to fix the problem. Any problem but your broken heart. You almost want to push him away as he leans his head against yours but it feels so good to be in his arms again. Almost like nothing has changed. But it has, and you aren’t about to let him pretend like it hasn’t. 

“Not yet.” He says again and this time he kisses you, stealing the words out of your mouth. It isn’t the kind of kiss you’d been expecting, though you truly hadn’t been expecting one at all. It’s deep and searching as if he’s trying to pour every kiss he’d missed giving you in the last few years into one. It feels like drowning and breathing all at once. As if you hadn’t realized you were starving until he gave you food and told you to eat. He tastes sweet, like cake. 

“You can be angry,” he promises between breathless kisses. “Later, you can be angry. But right now, let me pretend I never let you go.” But he had, and it hurt, and you are angry. Yet your hands are pulling him closer. 

“Not here.” He says between kisses, urging you towards the hallway. He remembers which door is yours–second on the left–even after so many years away. It’s damning how well Connie knows his way around your childhood home. He’s spent countless hours within these walls the same as you. It was like a second home for him. Now it’s like he never left as he guides you towards your bed. It isn’t the luxurious queen size you ordered for your new apartment, just a modest double that was just big enough for the two of you. Usually with room to spare because Connie never did like to sleep on his side of the bed. He doesn’t make an attempt at taking up any space after he sits you on the edge of the mattress, retreating towards the door as if he’s suddenly scared to be this close to you. 

It’s a mutual feeling, the excitement and hesitance. It’s like being lethargic and hyper all at once, locked in some shuddering equilibrium that will go off kilter the moment one of you makes a wrong move. So Connie stays pressed up against your door, hands back in his pockets like that’ll be enough to keep his hands off you after he’s already got the taste of you on his lips. He never was one to be satisfied with just a kiss. 

There’s nothing hiding his eagerness as you catch the shape of his dick pressing through the gray fabric of his sweatpants clear as day. The sight is enough to lead you down a well-worn path. It’s easy to go along with his wish, to pretend he never left, when you’re surrounded by the familiarity of the past. It’s like you’re eighteen again, watching Connie fight back tears as you tell him you’re leaving for college. It was the beginning of the end yet you can’t find it in yourself to regret it. College had been the right choice and you’re not sure what your Momma would’ve done if you told her you weren’t going to your first choice school just to stay close to a boy. Even if that boy was Connie. But that doesn’t matter right now. Later, he said, you can be mad at him later. Right now you want to forget all the lost years and unspoken emotions standing between you. 

There’s a bashful hesitance as you shrug off your shirt, trying not to think of how long it’s been since he last saw you like this. You look different, surely, but Connie doesn’t seem perturbed. His mouth falls open as if he hadn’t expected it to be that easy to get you undressed. Of course you should be a little less forgiving, more steadfast in your anger, but that can all come later. For now, you’re nearly tripping over your feet to get your pants off. Connie stays pressed up against your door, hands solidly in his pockets, but his eyes are greedy as they rove over your undressed form. Light eyes drag down your body, taking in the way your bra strap slips off the curve of your shoulder and your panties are slung low around your hips. It’s mismatched, nothing special, but Connie licks his lips and bites back a smile. 

“Show me.” He sounds breathless. “Show me what I’ve been missing, baby.” There’s a soft thud as he head falls back against the door. His eyes are half lidded, lashes fluttering as his eyes take in your state of undress. The slight gravel to his voice has your knees knocking and cheeks warming, and suddenly you don’t feel as confident as you did a minute ago. Connie smirks, a soft laugh falling from his lips. “Don’t be shy now, baby. Lemme see.” 

There’s an awkward tremor to your hands as you slide your panties off, thighs closing as soon as you kick them off your ankle. Connie clocks you immediately, sucking his teeth at your coy behavior. 

“Uh uh, mama. Spread your legs. Lemme see.” There’s something so familiar in his voice, that slow drawl as he looks down at you, that has your body reacting before you can think. Your legs slide open and Connie groans. “There she is. So pretty, baby.” 

He finally pushes off the door to come closer and the sight of him rushes over you like deja vu. It eases your nerves, the familiarity of it all. It’s been a while but not so long that your bodies have forgotten each other. Connie fits between your legs the same as he always did. Falling to his knees the instant he’s close enough to touch. His hands slide up the inside of your thighs, pushing your legs farther open, before dipping over the curve of your hips to pull you to the edge of the bed. 

“Missed this,” Connie says as he buries his face between your legs. “Missed you.” The words are spelled out with his tongue as he laps at the wet heat hidden between your thighs. His short hair still prickles against the palm of your hand as you look for something to ground you as he takes his time to reacquaint himself with your body. He’s mumbling a litany of English and Spanish that hums against your clit as he sucks the sensitive bud between his lips, tracing the shape of his name like he never left. The way he’s gripping your thighs, tight enough that his fingers are leaving dimples in the soft flesh, it feels like he wishes he hadn’t left. 

There’s regret and possession radiating from him as he eats you like a man starved. He catches you watching him as your nails scratch at his scalp, hazel eyes sparkling up at you as you squirm on his tongue. He’s looking at you like you’ve hung all the stars in the sky as you cum. He groans loud and long, eyes rolling as your legs try to snap shut. He lets you, loosening his grip on your thighs just enough to feel your legs lock around his head. Connie has the nerve to look perfectly happy to suffer the suffocation as he keeps sucking at your clit. It’s not until you’re pushing him away, whining about “too much,” that he comes up for air. He’s got a dopey smile on his face, your slick shining on his cheeks and chin. He licks his lips and kisses the inside of your thigh, leaving a shiny, heart-shaped mark. He does it again and again, a trail tracing up your stomach before he buries his face against your chest, tongue tracing hot shapes across the pebbled peaks of your nipples. He’s mumbling something, low and barely coherent as he sucks marks into the plush skin of your breasts. 

“–me.” It’s a slurred mess on his clumsy lips, his attention divided between spouting his little mantra and tracing the shape of his name against your collarbone with the tip of his tongue. “Only me.” He says it over and over. Only me, only me, only me…

“Tell me, baby,” he says, suddenly crowding over you. He’s pushed you up the bed so your head is resting on your mountain of silk-covered pillow. “Tell me it’s only gonna be me.” His voice, usually deep and dulcet, has risen to an almost whimpering tone as he blocks everything but himself from your vision. The bulk of his arms crowds your periphery, keeps your head from moving as he sits nearly nose to nose with you. He’s close enough that you can reacquaint yourself with the pattern of his hazel eyes, easily parsing which flecks are green and which are brown. “Tell me.” 

There’s still a shy hesitance as you thread your arms around his neck, but it’s less about the sudden proximity and more about the sudden outpour of emotion shaking itself awake, like frost melting in the sunlight. Connie has always been familiar even after so long apart, but the emotions he dredges up have been buried beneath years of hurt and the intensity of it all bursting through the wall you’ve carefully built around your heart is almost enough to drown you. Tears come unbidden, burning at your lash line and threatening to make your mascara run. 

“It’s always been you,” you promise him. “It’s only ever gonna be you.” It wipes the slate clean. Anyone you’d been with, anyone he’d been with, in the years of distance are wiped away with only a few words. They didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered but the two of you. Connie nearly drowns you in his next kiss, tongue dancing over yours as he groans into your mouth. You can taste yourself as he sucks at your tongue like he’s trying to reacquaint himself with every facet of your body. It’s a shared sentiment as your lips find that beauty mark at the edge of his jaw that you always pressed fluttering kisses to. He laughs, low and breathless, returning the favor as he finds all those favorite places he liked to put his lips. It’s soft and loving, staving off the inevitable as his dick ruts between your legs. Each thrust has his leaking tip pressing wet kisses against your clit, adding to the mess he’s already made between your legs. His hand is clumsy when he finally reaches between your bodies to guide himself home. 

“Fuck.” The word comes out as a languid drawl as he fills you to the hilt, reaching to hitch one of your thighs around his waist. Your body remembers the shape of his, bending and bowing with the practiced motions, but you can still feel the changes. Connie has bulked up since you last saw him and he was already a pillar of corded muscles the last time you’d touched him. You can feel the softer parts of your body pressing against the hard contours of his muscles as he wraps himself around you. His arms curl under your back, pulling you closer until your hearts are beating in tandem, chest to chest as he stretches you to your absolute limit on his dick. 

“Bésame,” Connie groans, nosing under your chin to lift your mouth to where he needs it. He hovers a hair’s breadth away from your lips, each panting breath mingled with yours. “Bésame, mami.” He says again and you realize he’s waiting for you to kiss him. You’re happy to close the gap he’s left, letting him swallow all the little noises you’re making. It’s reminiscent of the days before when you had to be quiet so your Momma could at least pretend she didn’t know what the two of you were doing behind closed doors. But she isn’t home now, so you’re free to make as much noise as he can draw out of you as he rocks his hips against yours. He isn’t going for speed. Instead Connie fills you with slow, deep strokes that stir up your insides and make you feel him in your stomach. It punches the air from your lungs, leaving you to breathlessly slur his name as your nails leave marks across the broad expanse of his shoulders. 

“That’s right, mami.” His teeth scrape against the shell of your ear. Each gruff sound slipping past his lips echoes in your head as he presses his nose against your temple. “Mark me up. Quiero ser tuyo.” 

“Tú eres mío.” You say, leaving sticky marks along his neck, lipgloss and spit shining between the beads of sweat. Connie groans as you nip at his pulse, hips stuttering as he pulls you impossibly closer. 

“Eres mía, mamita. Dilo, mami, dime.” He’s slurring his words, each one bleeding into the next as Connie fucks you into the mattress. You’re on the cusp of mindlessness as he reaches between your bodies to find your aching bud, nearly too far gone to understand what he’s saying. It’s only because it’s him, only because you’ve heard it a thousand times in what feels like another life, that you know what he wants to hear. 

“Soy tuyo,” you whine as he spells his name on your clit. “Soy tuyo, lo sabes!” 

“Yo sé, mamita.” His voice is damning. You can hear the smile in his tone as he grinds his hips in deep circles, drawing out the inevitable as you teeter on the cusp of a blinding orgasm. It burns low in your stomach, thrumming at the base of your spine as he kisses your fluttering eyelids. 

“Mírame.” He says, tone just short of begging. “Mírame cuando tu vienes.” When you open your eyes, all you can see is Connie. His half lidded eyes and parted lips as you cum with a choked cry of his name. He spits out a gruff “mierda” as your legs lock tight around his waist, keeping him locked in place as your body writhes underneath him. You can feel your muscles tensing, toes curling and back arching as pleasure sings through every inch of your body. You vaguely feel Connie’s fingers fumbling clumsily across your arm, pressing and squeezing like he’s looking for something. When he doesn’t find it, he sits up, lifting your body with him as he sits back on his knees. It draws forward the vague memory of when he used to poke at the little plastic bar in your arm; your birth control. It’s gone now, having run its course in the years since you’d last seen him. 

Still, you keep your legs locked tight around him. 

“Tu turno,” you pant, circling your hips until Connie reaches to hold you still. 

“No puedo, mami. Tienes que dejarme salir.” He says, patting your thighs where they’re still wrapped tight around his waist. It only makes you squeeze tighter and Connie groans, falling on top of you as you tighten around him. 

“Está bien, papi,” you whisper, rubbing soothingly at the marks you’ve left on his back as Connie nearly vibrates with how hard he’s trying to focus on not cumming inside you. Neither of you had been worried about protection before and you’re not worried about it now as you flex your legs, catching Connie by surprise as you roll the two of you over until you’re on top. 

“¿Lo quieres?” You ask, but his hands are already loosening, no longer holding you still. He paws at your thighs, nodding sheepishly like he isn’t sure if he’s truly allowed to want anything from you. He shouldn’t, not after what he did, but that’s a problem for later. All the anger and confusion can come after he does. 

“Dime,” you say just to tease him. It looks like he’s on the cusp of insanity, lips poured and eyes glassy as he stares up at you like you’re the only thing that matters to him.

“Te quiero!” He barely gets the first syllable out before you’re moving. Red lines appear on his flushed chest where your nails scrape for purchase against his muscles, pressing him into the bed as you bounce on his dick. Fatigue is creeping in, singing each stroke with the sting of overstimulation as the pleasure begins to burn away. But Connie’s close. You can tell by the way his vocabulary has shrunk to only a few desperate words, mainly your name, as his fingers dig into the bruises he already left on your thighs. 

“Hazme acabar,” Connie all but whines. “Estoy cerca.” He sits up suddenly, almost knocking you over as his arms wrap around your waist. He’s holding so tight that he nearly squeezes the air from your lungs as he cums with a hoarse shout of your name. It’s thick and graveled, resonating in your chest as he holds you against him. He’s gripping like you’re going to disappear the moment he lets go, looking at you like this’ll be the last time. Later, he kept saying. Later is now as you feel him spill inside you. 

“Lo siento,” he whispers against your lips as he steals a final kiss. It sounds more like a goodbye than an apology and the finality of it digs out the hollow that has been sitting in your chest all these years. When Connie pulls away it suddenly feels like no time has passed at all, like it’s the beginning of the end all over again. Later is now but the anger you felt before won’t come. Instead all you feel is desperation as you cling to him, sticky with sweat, as he lays you across the sheets and kisses your forehead. You can feel him trying to leave again. He carefully detangles himself even as you try to hold onto him, pressing deceptively sweet kisses to your lips as you whine for him to “please, stay.” It’s like he doesn’t hear you as he slips from the bed and pulls on his sweatpants. But when he leaves the room you don’t hear the telltale sound of the front door slamming. Instead, you trace the sound of his steps towards the bathroom, hear the faucet turn on. A few moments later, he’s back. 

“Don’t cry, baby,” he coos as he wipes away the mess he’s made of your body. “If you wanna be mad at me; be mad, but you know I can’t stand seeing my girl cry. No llores, mami.” He insists, wiping away the tears along with the sweat and cum slipping from between your legs. That had been an impulsive decision. One that will have to be dealt with eventually. Later, you think distantly. You can deal with that later. Right now you’re more worried about Connie. He sits sheepishly at the edge of your bed, offering his shirt for you to wear. It feels like a peace offering as you pull it over your head. It smells like him, it smells like home. You watch Connie fumble in his pockets until he pulls out a ring, one you recognize in an instant. 

It wasn’t one of those cheap Pandora princess rings that every girl in your grade got as a promise ring. It was something far more precious. You’d seen his mom wearing it for years before it suddenly appeared in the palm of his hand all those years ago when he asked you to be his forever. He hadn’t wanted to take it back when you broke up. Even as he broke his promise, he wanted you to keep the ring. It’s cold when he slides it back on to your finger, but it fits like it’s always been there, like these last few years had only been a few moments instead of a small eternity. It felt strange to let go of everything so easily. All the pain, all the anger. It shouldn’t be that easy but everything slides back into place as if it is. Everything is different now, yet still the same. You’re different, he’s different. But it reminds you of something your Momma said about distance making the heart grow fonder. She could never muster any trig anger towards Connie because she said this is what you needed. A brief interlude to become your own person after years of entwining yourself with Connie. Now you understand what she meant by all that. It’s too soon to tell if it’s worth it but you suppose you can worry about that later. 

[drnikolatesla]

The Lauffen-Frankfurt Experiment of 1891: A Landmark in Electrical Engineering

In 1891, an experiment in Germany transformed the future of electricity. The Lauffen-Frankfurt experiment marked the world's first successful long-distance transmission of three-phase electric power. Stretching approximately 175 kilometers (or 109 miles) from Lauffen am Neckar to Frankfurt am Main, it was a highlight of the International Electrotechnical Exhibition. Key figures included Oskar von Miller, the exhibition's chief organizer; Mikhail Dolivo-Dobrovolsky, who designed the three-phase generators; and Charles Eugene Lancelot Brown, an engineer from Switzerland's Maschinenfabrik Oerlikon, which supplied much of the equipment.

So, what made this experiment groundbreaking? They set up a three-phase AC system powered by a robust 300-horsepower generator, stepping up the voltage from 55 volts to an impressive 8,500 volts for efficient long-distance transmission. This setup, featuring three copper wires, successfully delivered enough power to run a 100-horsepower motor and illuminate 1,000 incandescent lamps at the exhibition.

What is three-phase? Think of it like a three-lane highway. With just one lane (single-phase), you can only have one car (or current) at a time, which leads to traffic jams. But with three lanes, multiple cars can move smoothly side by side, ensuring a steady flow. This means electricity can be delivered more efficiently and with less flicker, making it ideal for powering everything from lights to heavy machinery. While it might seem logical to add more phases for even better efficiency, three-phase systems are often the sweet spot. They provide balanced and constant power delivery, making them highly efficient for most applications. Adding more phases increases complexity without significant efficiency gains—like a six-phase system that might reduce ripple but complicates design, equipment, and maintenance.

The significance? This experiment demonstrated that electrical power could be transmitted over long distances with much less energy loss than DC systems. It achieved an impressive 75% efficiency, showcased the advantages of a three-phase system—like smoother power delivery—and highlighted the importance of voltage transformations for effective transmission. Essentially, they figured out how to make electricity travel like a well-coordinated relay race, where each runner (or phase) keeps the momentum going.

After the experiment, discussions arose about who truly invented the three-phase system. Charles Brown, a key figure in the German experiment, stepped up to give credit where it was due. In a letter published in The Electrical Review on February 12, 1892, he acknowledged the significance of the three-phase system while emphasizing that the main goal was to prove the feasibility of safely transmitting high-tension currents over long distances. He noted that although the three-phase current added complexity, its benefits for powering multiple motors simultaneously were worthwhile. Most importantly, he stated, “The three-phase current as applied at Frankfurt was due to the labors of Mr. Tesla and will be found clearly specified in his patents.”

Brown specifically referenced Tesla's patents filed on October 12, 1887: Patent No. 381,968 for an "Electromagnetic Motor" and Patent No. 382,280 for "Electrical Transmission of Power," which detailed a three-phase power system. These patents were foundational to the technology used in the Lauffen-Frankfurt experiment.

Brown’s acknowledgment highlights Tesla’s innovative spirit, which transcended borders and spurred advancements in Europe. His patents laid the groundwork for the three-phase current used in this experiment.

Tesla's patents weren’t mere formalities; they were foundational blueprints for modern electrical systems, including designs for polyphase AC systems that predated the Lauffen-Frankfurt experiment by several years. Brown's emphasis on the significance of Tesla's patents for the three-phase current demonstrated that many who discredit Tesla, even in today's debates, overlook their importance. This highlights Tesla's crucial role in developing the technology that both the German experiment and today’s innovations depend on.

In short, the Lauffen-Frankfurt experiment marked a pivotal moment in electrical engineering, proving the viability of long-distance AC power transmission and laying the foundation for today’s electrical grid. While it showcased German ingenuity, it also highlighted the collaborative nature of scientific progress, with Tesla's earlier contributions illuminating the path forward. The interplay between his theoretical innovations and the practical applications of this experiment illustrates how technological progress often builds on the brilliant ideas of others.

[visit-new-york]

The Williamsburg Bridge remains a beloved and functional part of New York City's infrastructure, offering more than just a physical connection between boroughs. It weaves together the social, cultural, and economic fabric of the city while serving as a reminder of the city's enduring spirit and resilience.

Accessibility for Bicyclists: In recent years, the Williamsburg Bridge has become increasingly popular among cyclists. The addition of dedicated bike lanes and paths has made it a key route for those commuting between Brooklyn and Manhattan by bicycle. This has contributed to the city's efforts to promote sustainable transportation options.

Emergency Services: The Williamsburg Bridge, like other major bridges in New York City, is equipped with emergency evacuation plans and protocols. It is considered an essential route for emergency vehicles and personnel during crises or natural disasters.

Cultural Influence: Beyond its practical role, the Williamsburg Bridge has had a profound cultural influence, particularly in the Brooklyn neighborhood it connects to. Williamsburg, with its vibrant arts scene, has become synonymous with the bridge's name, and it has featured prominently in local art, music, and literature.

In Popular Culture: The Williamsburg Bridge has appeared in numerous movies, TV shows, and music videos. Its distinctive architecture and picturesque views have made it a favorite location for filmmakers and artists looking to capture the essence of New York City.

Connecting Diverse Communities: The bridge has played a crucial role in connecting diverse communities in Manhattan and Brooklyn. It has been a conduit for the exchange of cultural influences, economic activity, and social interactions.

Historical Preservation and Restoration: Various organizations and government agencies have been involved in preserving and restoring the bridge to ensure its longevity. Efforts have included repainting the bridge, restoring its architectural features, and maintaining its structural integrity.

Design Features: The Williamsburg Bridge's towers are constructed of steel, and its suspension cables are made of wire rope. The bridge's overall design showcases elements of the Beaux-Arts architectural style, with ornamental details and decorative flourishes.

Maintenance Challenges: Maintaining a bridge of this size and age is an ongoing challenge. The bridge requires regular inspections, repairs, and upgrades to keep up with modern safety standards and the demands of urban transportation.

Future Developments: As New York City continues to evolve, the Williamsburg Bridge remains a vital part of the city's infrastructure. Future developments and improvements may include further enhancements to pedestrian and cyclist facilities, as well as ongoing efforts to reduce environmental impacts.

Centennial Celebrations: The Williamsburg Bridge celebrated its centennial in 2003 with various events and activities to mark its 100th anniversary. This milestone offered an opportunity for New Yorkers to reflect on the bridge's historical importance.

Artistic Expressions: Over the years, the Williamsburg Bridge has been a canvas for artistic expressions. Street art and graffiti have adorned its support structures and pedestrian walkways, contributing to the bridge's cultural identity.

Traffic Congestion and Alternatives: Like many urban bridges, the Williamsburg Bridge experiences traffic congestion during peak hours. This congestion has prompted discussions about transportation alternatives, such as improved public transit options, to ease the burden on the bridge and reduce environmental impacts.

Hurricane Sandy and Resilience: The bridge, like other infrastructure in New York City, faced significant challenges during Hurricane Sandy in 2012. The storm surge resulted in flooding and temporary closures. In response, the city has explored ways to enhance the resilience of critical infrastructure, including the Williamsburg Bridge, to future extreme weather events.

Iconic Landmark: The Williamsburg Bridge is not just a transportation link but also an iconic symbol of New York City's skyline. Its unique silhouette and the way it frames views of the city have made it a subject of admiration for photographers, artists, and tourists alike.

Community Engagement: The Williamsburg Bridge has been the focus of community engagement and activism. Local residents and organizations have advocated for improvements, safety measures, and the preservation of its historical and cultural significance.

Economic Impact: The bridge's role in connecting Manhattan and Brooklyn has had a significant economic impact on both boroughs. It has facilitated the movement of goods and people, supporting businesses and industries on both sides of the East River.

Night Illumination: The Williamsburg Bridge is often illuminated at night, casting a stunning glow over the East River. The changing colors and lighting schemes have been used to mark special occasions and holidays, enhancing the bridge's visual appeal.

Symbol of Progress: Throughout its history, the Williamsburg Bridge has symbolized progress, connectivity, and the spirit of innovation. It reflects the dynamism of New York City as it continues to evolve and adapt to the needs of its residents.

The Williamsburg Bridge stands as a testament to both engineering innovation and the enduring cultural significance of infrastructure in urban life. It has served as a lifeline for generations of New Yorkers, connecting people, neighborhoods, and opportunities across the East River.

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[spiritundaunted]

King George VI and Princess Margaret leaving the Theatre Royal on Drury Lane after the King took his family to see the musical South Pacific, January 30, 1952.

It's hard to believe the King only had about a week to live after this. He is looking so well here. Of course he was tired and frail, but he really did think he was getting better - he was pleased with his recovery from the lung operation he had on 23 September 1951. Under that gorgeous coat (isn't it marvelous!) he was wearing an electrically heated vest to ward off any chills that might cause a problem with his one remaining lung. (I think he liked these sort of "gizmos" - definitely a Bertie thing.)

But of course, his limited recovery was all an illusion, or a merciful reprieve at best. The King would pass away in his sleep on 6 February 1952.

Thinking about that operation today, as it is 23 September, seventy-three years to the day that Bertie went under anesthesia to have his left lung removed. It must of been quite harrowing and emotional for him. One of the attending doctors described him as being "significantly tearful" before going under. Perhaps he feared he would not wake up again. Or perhaps, the thought of what he faced after the surgery and simply the grief one feels at losing a part of oneself, just overwhelmed him in that moment.

But wake up he did! And to a certain extent, he did recover, from the surgery anyway. Obviously it didn't eliminate all his health problems.

The surgery was performed at Buckingham Palace, where a full surgical theater was set up.

Interestingly, the operating table that was used in the surgery was gifted to the Science Museum in 1984 from Westminster and Roehampton Hospital and has a small plaque commemorating the operation. Here it is on display at the museum in 2016.

Below is some insight on the preparations to operate on the King at Buckingham Palace. (The King wasn't opposed to having the surgery in a hospital; he said he had just "never heard of a King going to a hospital before." So it was decided it would take place at the Palace. The King, incidentally, had had two other surgeries that took place at Buckingham Palace: one in 1917 to remove a duodenal ulcer; and a more recent one in 1949 to relieve circulatory problems in his legs.)

In September 1951, Sarah Minter – then Senior Theatre Sister at Westminster Hospital – was about to go on holiday when Clement Price-Thomas (later Sir) a renowned Chest Surgeon came into her office. After carefully closing the door, he informed her that he had to perform a major chest operation on King George VI – and at the Palace’s insistence the operation would take place at Buckingham Palace. Sarah was tasked with coordinating the equipment and nursing team that would be needed for the operation. Cancelling her holiday, Sarah set to work. Absolute secrecy was essential. From sterilizing to lighting apparatus – Sarah selected what equipment she could from Westminster’s surgical theaters including the operating table, in order to create a replica theatre inside the Palace. Part of the challenge was to ensure enough of the right surgical equipment remained at the hospital so that operations could continue uninterrupted by what was happening at the Palace.  

Many, many professional hands helped the King through this very dramatic experience. They were all given honors of one sort or another.

At least Bertie did have some very nice days with his family at the very end of his life, doing what he enjoyed most. The plucky king, whose life always seemed to be marked by personal challenges of one sort or another, seemed to finally be allowed a little peacefulness in the end.

[whatsgoingoninpalestine]

Palestinian Life under Israeli Occupation

Every year on May 15, Palestinians mark the Nakba - the ethnic cleansing of Palestine in 1948 by Zionist militias.

In the 76 years since the Nakba, Israel’s control over the Palestinian people has affected every aspect of life, from services they can access and where they can travel, to what resources they can use and where on their own land they can build homes.

In this illustrated guide, Al Jazeera takes you through some of the daily struggles under Israeli occupation.

1. Control of land and natural resources

There is a physical separation between Palestinians living in Gaza and those in the occupied West Bank and East Jerusalem.

Israel essentially bars any movement between these areas.

But Israel still controls it completely and has built more than 290 illegal Jewish settlements and outposts on it, where some 700,000 settlers now live.

2. Control of housing

What would you do if you knew you needed a permit to build a home, but it is nearly impossible to get one because you are Palestinian?

Many Palestinians in the occupied West Bank and East Jerusalem are forced to build homes without permits because Israel refuses to grant them.

“All my memories were in that house,” Fakhri Abu Diab, 62, told Al Jazeera after Israeli authorities bulldozed his home in occupied East Jerusalem in February.

Israeli authorities typically require Palestinian residents to pay for the bulldozing of their own homes, leaving Abu Diab concerned that he may not be able to afford the demolition.

3. Control of human resources

Every morning, before dawn, tens of thousands of Palestinian workers squeeze into cage-like lanes to wait to pass Israeli military checkpoints on their way to work.

Israel, with its heavy restrictions on Palestinian movement and resources, has driven Palestinian unemployment rates to the third highest in the world.

The ILO predicts that if the war on Gaza continues until June, unemployment in Palestine will rise above 45 percent compared with 25 percent for the same period last year.

4. Control of financial resources

Israel has significant influence over Palestine's financial resources through mechanisms like the taxes it collects on behalf of the Palestinian Authority (PA), which has overseen parts of the Israeli-occupied West Bank since the mid-1990s.

Israel collects about $188m a month in taxes on behalf of the PA - 64 percent of the PA’s total revenue.

Israel has regularly suspended these payments, hampering the PA’s ability to pay salaries to its estimated 150,000 employees working in the occupied West Bank and Gaza.

5. Control of trade

Since 1967, when Israel occupied all of historic Palestine and expelled 300,000 Palestinians from their homes, Palestinian trade relations with the Arab world have been all but cut off.

Israel controls the movement of goods that Palestinians can import and export.

In 2001, Israeli forces destroyed Yasser Arafat International Airport in Rafah, southern Gaza, the territory’s only Palestinian-operated airport.

6. Control of technology

Palestine is digitally occupied too.

Israel restricts imports of information and communications technology (ICT) equipment, claiming it is “dual use”, or has both civilian and military applications.

Israeli networks can also monitor and censor online Palestinian content.

7. Control of infrastructure

Israel controls most water resources in the region, including the occupied West Bank's main underground aquifers.

Palestinians living in the occupied West Bank and Gaza often face restrictions on access and usage.

The World Health Organization recommends a minimum safe water consumption of 100 litres per capita per day.

In 2023, Israelis on average consumed 247 litres a day, while Palestinians in the occupied West Bank and Gaza got 82 litres.

8. Control of cultural heritage

Palestine’s rich cultural heritage is constantly in danger under Israeli occupation.

Since October 7, Israel’s bombardment of Gaza has destroyed more than 200 cultural heritage sites, including museums, libraries and mosques.

These are just some of the ways daily life in Palestine is restricted under Israeli occupation.

Israel’s control and domination violate international laws and deprive Palestinians of their right to self-determination. They have also diminished Palestine’s economy, making it dependent on Israel, according to a report by the UN’s Economic and Social Commission for Western Asia.

“We’re traumatised,” Abu Diab, who was forced to pay for the demolition of his own home earlier this year, said.

Palestinians say Israel’s continuing system of oppression has meant that the Nakba has never really ended.

[bomberqueen17]

car update

ok so i bought a subaru forester. now that i've bought one i see them everywhere. everyone is driving these cars.

i managed to find one that didn't have a power liftgate. which means it also, for some reason, doesn't have rear cross traffic alerts. but like. i never had those before so i don't super miss them. i just think it's wild that they bundled that with such an obnoxious feature.

It also has lane departure warnings and there's a super easy button you press to turn them off except it's not a physical toggle button so you press it and can't tell if it worked or not, and every time you turn the car off it re-sets to be on, so you don't realize the super distracting warning you hate is on until it goes off and super distracts you a lot and then in the midst of a tricky driving situation you're mashing the button to turn it off only you can't look so you're not sure if you missed it so you press it again and then it goes off later and you think you must've hit it twice so the next time you risk death to look at it and very carefully press it just once so it's definitely off this time, and then it goes off again later anyway, and anyway you give up on using the button and just grit your teeth because the thing is constantly beeping at you because it can't see the lane edges and freaks out. it is a useless feature, i have never once strayed from a lane and not known i was doing it, and if I were then a beep would not fix this. i want to find the wire that controls it and CUT IT but you of course cannot do that.

Anyway. As things go, not so bad really. I've been preoccupied with getting organizers and things and setting up the car interior to be nice, because I know from experience that one trip across the state where I'm having to half-unload and store things in there and shift everything out to make room for a thing and then load my life back into it, will mean that everything in the car is chaos and then I can't find the emergency equipment I know I have. I had a folding shovel in the Crosstrek, I bought it when the car was new, and was storing it in the rear driver's side footwell, and then when I needed it, well there was so much random bullshit in that car that I couldn't find it, and in fact I never found it, I sold the car without ever having found that folding shovel. So I bought a new one for this car, and I am sewing a seat-back organizer for the driver's seat, into which all of those things will go and then I will never remove them because I will not remove that seat back organizer because even if I have unexpected passengers or cargo surely a seat back organizer can be left in place.

This is my hope, anyway. We'll see. I'm finding myself without time to actually finish sewing the thing because shit keeps coming up. I thought it would take longer to get the car but no it just took up all of two days, and I have so much else to do around my house that I don't have time for anything else, so it's just as well I'd arranged to be off work this week too because I haven't had a moment to myself yet and probably won't at this rate but hopefully I can at least get my car set up.

I got the Most Boring Color; here's hoping I don't lose my nerve and do manage to find some artwork to have vinyl-wrapped onto the hood.

Suggestions welcome. Who could I commission, to do a fantasy-airbrush-style piece in wild colors? I want like a cool dragon or something, I really don't know beyond that. Probably the dealership will tell me not to because of the automatic lane-sensing cameras and things but like if they don't work maybe it will be time to cut the fucking wires so they stop beeping at me because they don't know where the lane markings are. IDK.

we'll see if that link fuckn worked or what

yeah for some reason the thing i'm most excited about is the moon roof, which is likely going to be the thing that breaks and makes this car terrible, but at the moment in the fading glory of autumn i just love it so much for some reason.

2 things remain: 1) I asked them if i could fit a full size spare in and they consulted and waffled and hemmed and hawed and finally said yes! you can! we'll just have to go over to the parts department and see about that! and then it was An Odyssey of multiple hours to get the car inspected (???) and registered and my insurance and whatever, and we didn't finish until nearly an hour after the dealership had closed, and I knew if I brought up the damn tire again somebody was going to cry, maybe me, so I didn't. but I have to call them... tomorrow now... and be like "so i was serious, also I want to discuss how to note this down in the maintenance logs so I get my rotations done five ways". and like, to be perfectly truly genuinely honest, it's not that I'm afraid I'll get stuck somewhere unable to drive, it is one hundred percent that I drive this car almost exclusively distances of 300 miles or more, and what WILL happen to me is that i get a flat as I get onto the highway or, better still, after I have gone maybe a hundred miles, and I can put the donut on but you cannot do highway driving for hundreds of miles on a donut, and so I will be stuck in fucking Utica or something and have to buy four new tires from literally wherever is open at the time and it will be a shitshow and it will be ten pm on a friday or something, and i absolutely will not do this.

So what will happen is, I will buy a spare fifth tire, I will at some point destroy one of my tires, and they'll say "ah you gotta buy four new ones" but i will say ha no i don't, and I will put the donut back in the trunk and store the spare rim somewhere until such time as I have yet another problem and then I will say, sadly, okay now I have to buy FIVE new tires, and will re-set. (This means that yes, then I will destroy a second tire on the Thruway near Nowhere at midnight on a Sunday, that's how it will go, but I will have put it off.)

2) I forget what 2 is. Oh yeah the fucking check from my fucking insurance. We floated the money to use as a down payment on this car, pulling it from some money we have earmarked but have not yet used for other things, and then the fucking check hasn't arrived yet, they claim to have mailed it on the sixth. So that's a headache. I just spent a thousand years combing through the website to see if there's a form where I can send a message to a person to ask them-- all the website says is "paid by check" but they don't mention mailing the check, so was there something else I was supposed to have done about it?

In the meantime, I got a loan from the dealership to finance part of the car purchase and while I am un-loan-to-able because my income is so wretchedly low, I was shocked to discover that somehow my credit score is insanely high, nearly perfect. Which is obviously meaningless because nobody will loan to me anyway. And it just highlights what a fucking stupid scam credit reports are. Because I have near-perfect credit, and am un-loan-to-able. Christ what a farce. (Dude co-signed, and the moment he appeared all communications were in his name, and the dealership texted me a request to leave them a review-- addressed to his name. On my phone! Which is the only contact info they have! Which is MY PHONE. It rankles! I'm going to leave them a good review but not until after I've calmed down about it. Come the fuck on.)

[automotivealchemy]

Pontiac Sunfire Coupe Concept

What if... Pontiac were revived and this was apart of their heritage lineup. Playing it safe with design as it's G6 kin, the Sunfire would be an entry level affordable coupe with first time buyers in mind. In this scenario, it is equipped with an in-line 5 cylinder motor and a front wheel drive platform, this is an affordable alternative to the Solstice, Firebird, Sunbird, G5 coupe and G6 coupes. Built with safety in mind, it would be structured to ensure occupants are safe from all impacts. And complete with standard driving safety aids like lane departure and 360 camera system, to solidify it's mark as a first time buyers car.

[lyncotek]

Enhancing Road Safety: The Lifesaving Power of Convex Mirrors, Barricades, Road Safety Gloves, and LED Solar Blinkers

Improving security through innovation: The evolution of product security:

Introduction: In the realm of road safety, every precaution matters. From highways to city streets, the potential for accidents and hazards is ever-present. In this blog post, Nevertheless, with the advent of innovative road safety products, we now have the opportunity to mitigate risks and save lives. we’ll delve into the lifesaving capabilities of four key road safety products like  Convex Mirrors, Barricades, road safety gloves, and LED solar blinkers.

Convex Mirrors: Expanding Vision for Safer Roads Convex mirrors provide a wider field of view, particularly at blind spots and intersections, improving visibility for drivers, cyclists, and pedestrians to detect approaching vehicles and pedestrians from various angles. Blind spots are reduced and awareness is enhanced by convex mirrors, preventing the occurrence of accidents.

Barricades: Creating Safe Zones and Managing Traffic Barricades serve as essential tools for creating safe work zones, diverting traffic, and managing crowds during road construction, maintenance, or emergencies. Additionally, these barriers act as physical barriers, preventing vehicles and pedestrians from entering hazardous areas. Whether it’s redirecting traffic away from a construction site or delineating lanes during an event, barricades play an indispensable role in maintaining order and safety on the road.

Road Safety Gloves: Protecting Hands and Improving Visibility Specially designed road safety gloves offer protection and visibility for workers and cyclists, featuring reflective strips or high-visibility colors for enhanced visibility, even in low-light conditions. They also provide protection against abrasions, cuts, and impacts, reducing the risk of hand injuries.

LED Solar Blinkers: Enhancing Visibility and Signaling Self-contained, solar-powered devices equipped with LED lights that flash or blink to attract attention are LED solar blinkers. They are commonly used to mark hazards, delineate lanes, or provide warning signals to drivers and pedestrians. By enhancing visibility and signaling potential hazards, LED solar blinkers help reduce the risk of accidents, particularly in areas with poor lighting or visibility.

Conclusion: Innovation and technology are crucial for safer roads. Products like convex mirrors, barricades, safety gloves, and LED blinkers help save lives and prevent accidents. They expand vision, create safe zones, protect hands, and enhance visibility. Let’s prioritize road safety by embracing these innovative solutions for a safer future.

[lulusdiary]

Part One: Load-In {Mary Goore x Female First Person Narrator}

Here we go, guys! I have so much more planned and written for this little series, but I wanted to go ahead and wet your appetites for Mary content. Lemme know if you want to be tagged when subsequent parts go live! [1115 words, SFW, no warnings yet.]

My shift started the same as any other on a show night: liquor inventory and stocking, putting out extra disposable plastic pints and shot glasses, testing each keg on the draft line for any blown and in need of changing. I was in the middle of changing one such keg when tonight’s band’s van pulled up outside the bar and flipped on their hazards. The bar manager unlocked the door for them and held it open as they began to pile in with equipment, chattering and arguing all the while, dropping their equipment and cases on the stage directly across the room from me.

To call it a stage was being immeasurably generous; it was really little more than a minimally-reinforced plywood platform about a foot high and painted black to match the bar’s dark, perpetually sticky floors. The boards creaked and groaned as a drum set was hauled in, piece by piece, and set up toward the back of the stage; cymbals rattled as booted footsteps vibrated the platform.

Outside, car horns honked at the band’s van blocking one lane of the one-way, two-lane street going past the bar, and I looked up from restocking paper cups at the free hydration station in time to see a skinny, dark-haired man flip off a car as he grabbed a guitar case. He was like most other musicians our bar attracted; thin and wiry, wearing torn and shredded and occasionally patched black jeans and a ratty black band tee so old and stained with what I could only hope was fake blood that it was impossible to make out what band it might have once represented. Heavy black boots and a black leather battle jacket completed the ensemble; patches for various metal bands, some I’d heard of, some not, were stitched haphazardly on to the battle jacket in thick waxed black thread. He was clean-shaven and hand a bit of a baby face, making it harder to pin down his age, but he looked young, maybe close to mid-twenties. One of his band mates shouted at him as he brought in just his guitar case, something along the lines of “Is that all you can handle, Goore?” which was met with a snarky, not-mean-spirited “Fuck off.”

I returned my attention to organizing my well liquors as the van outside sped off, hazard lights still blinking. The last band member brought his guitar case inside and dropped it unceremoniously on the stage platform, and I caught forward motion on my peripheral vision, and then there he was, leaning up against the black formica counter top of my bar.

“Hey,” he said with an easy, lopsided smile, “you got the keys to the green room?” I snorted. As if our back stockroom slash office slash dressing room slash employee breakroom and bathroom could even be called a green room. Still, I nodded and jingled the keys on a bungee cord around my wrist at him, carefully dropping the bottle of well vodka I’d been holding back into its slot in the well. I slipped out from behind the bar and motioned for him to follow me to a black-painted, heavily graffitied door marked employees only. I unlocked the door with my key and pushed it open for him.

The room was relatively small, with a liquor cage lining one of the longer walls, a desk with locked drawers perpendicular to it against the back wall, and an old, beat up green velvet couch facing the liquor cage. Between the desk and the couch, an ajar door led to the toilet, and the sink and mirror stood oddly outside the tiny toilet closet against the wall next to the couch.

“I know exactly how many bottles are in that cage,” I said, perhaps a bit more sharply than intended. “You pilfer one, you pay for it.” The guy raised his hands defensively with that same lopsided smile.

“Hey, you don’t have to worry ‘bout me, darlin’. I just needed somewhere to do my paints.” I nodded, and, figuring our interaction was over, turned to head back to the bar and finish my pre-show checks. The metalhead had been directly behind me when I opened the door; he now stood directly in front of me and in the way of my path back to the bar. He had about six inches of height on me; maybe a little less, given the thick soles of his boots. His eyes were a startlingly pretty shade of jade green. I scooted around him and made my way back to the bar, only to realize I had a follower when I caught his reflection off the black formica. He leaned on crossed arms against the bar top. “You gonna tell me your name?” He asked, still smiling that lopsided smile that was almost charming. Almost. I turned my attention to cleaning beer tap handles with a rag.

“Maybe,” I replied coyly, glancing over my shoulder at him. “How about you?” He raised an eyebrow. 

“Mary Goore,” he said, running a hand through his hair before resuming his lean on the bar. Behind him, his band had started soundchecks, tuning instruments and testing the acoustics of the small space. “I uh, play guitar. And sing a little.” 

“What kind of music do you play?” I asked, turning my attention to my as-of-yet unsliced fruit garnishes. I dug a knife out of the utensils drawer and set upon an unsuspecting lime. 

“What kind of music do you like?” He shot back, and frisson ran up my spine. Was he…flirting? I scraped lime wedges into their little container and picked up the next lime. 

“You gonna order a drink or just stand there?” I evaded. It was Mary’s turn to laugh, and he straightened. I thought for a moment he was going to walk away from the bar; I quickly realized he was reaching for his wallet. 

“Why the hell not. Can I get a, uh…double well whiskey, neat?” He pawed through his wallet for cash as I poured the drink and slid the plastic cup towards him.

“Six bucks. Tell you what, though, you play something I like, I’ll give you a refund after the show. Come find me,” I said, taking his cash with a wink and knowing I’d only charged him for a single anyway. I swear I thought I saw a flush creep across his face, but anything I thought I saw disappeared as one of his bandmates approached. 

“Oi, Goore, come plug your shit in, man!” Mary picked up his whiskey and gave me a small wave as he backed away from the bar and headed across the room to soundcheck. 

[byenycfm]

Event 04 - Immunity Part Two: Results

When: December 13, 2023 Where: The Wexley Penthouse Ballroom Who: All Residents

"Everyone, please, I just have a few things that I'd like to say before we get started." Hands rising to silence the crowd gathered once more in the Ballroom, Tobias took a brief breath to steady his nerves, resisting the urge to fiddle with his hands when they came back together in front of him.

"These results, I know they feel... heavy, for all of us. The temptation for Human beings to separate ourselves into us and them is sometimes overwhelming. It's in our nature. But the thing that sets us apart from other animals, from those things out there, is that we have the ability to overcome the worst parts of our nature, and to choose to come together for what's good for all of us. The results of these tests will be used to better organize ourselves, our resources, and to implement forward thinking planning on our future here in The Wexley.

Together as a community we stand facing a world we don't recognize, with no idea what lay beyond the skyline, but what is also in Human nature is our innate drive to survive. The future may be more unknown to us than ever, but if we continue to stay a united front, and take care of each other, I fully believe that no matter what is thrown our way, we will handle it without fail. Our strength is in our bonds, in our community, and these results, no matter what they say, are a tool toward these ends. Please, do not let them divide us, for myself, as the head of our little village here, can tell you now that I am not immune, nor delayed, as are the majority in this room.

Those that are immune... with that immunity comes added responsibility to look after those around you. It does not make you invincible, but it makes you better equipped to assist us all as we move forward. We also request a blood sample for testing by our new resident CDC official. For those who find they have a delayed response, any foray outside will mean a brief physical examination upon return, and an increased quarantine time to forty eight hours."

As he spoke a single fold out table was set up to one side, Lane and Liam setting down the test cards with their marked results in white envelopes out in piles by the hand written names on the front alphabetical order.

"Please line up single file at the table and give your name, your results will be provided to you inside an envelope for privacy reasons. The only people with knowledge of all results are myself, those who processed the results, and my staff. I'd also like to ask now while the line is forming, for volunteers. With winter really starting to bare down on us, no matter the results of the tests, we will need as many teams of two or three as possible to go out in the nearest vicinity buildings for supplies before the snow gets any deeper. Anything non-perishable, hygiene products, warm clothing in all sizes, medications, etcetera. Please come to me after receiving your results so we can take a head count and start pairing up teams."

With a little clap of his hands and a brightly optimistic smile, Tobias held up his hands and waved the people toward the table as he stepped off the raised platform of a stage. "Things are looking up, and from what I hear Charlie and Rosie from the diner are still putting up tree this year and preparing a Christmas feast for Christmas day! I for one am looking forward to a bit of Christmas spirit to pick us all up!"

The results are as follows:

Immune:

Rhiannon Wells

Charlotte Rose

Zach Sanders

Eric Sanders

Delayed Reaction

Ashton Ryder

Rosie Smith

Kang Jackson

Yeon 'Seven' Du

Vincent Blanche

Everyone else has no immunity and will change within twenty minutes if bitten. They cannot transmit nor contract the virus.

Infected people with delayed reactions can spread the disease through their saliva having direct contact with another's broken skin or mucous membranes in the eyes, nose, or mouth. This makes infected people with delayed symptoms asymptomatic carriers until their symptoms start to present within two to four months after initial infection.

Those who's characters would volunteer for the next event, which is the large scale supply run, please message the main or the admins on discord so teams can be put together before the next event is posted.

[blurban-form]

The Dump (1/?)

Dad takes the kids to the dump in S1E34 "The Dump".

The dump is interesting. At first I was assuming it was just going to be a solid waste transfer facility rather than a full garbage dump / landfill.

You can see outside that there is a gas line, I'm assuming this is either to fuel the equipment at the site, or possibly it's part of a methane extraction/collection setup. It's hard to tell, as the Heelers don't explore the entire dump but stick to the drop-off area.

Nice landscaping buffer around the site, access control, lighting -- you can see the local government takes pride in the facility.

Inside, here you can see Dad throwing away an unwanted chair over the railing into the garbage collection area.

Paper recycling is handled separately to garbage: Dad also has some paper recycling to take care of (some of Bluey's drawings) and he gets into a discussion with her about how disposing of the old drawings isn't entirely a bad thing, as the old drawings can be recycled into paper so that other kids can make drawings.

In this last shot, if you look through the open windows, it looks like you can see the hills that make up the dump site itself.

Like most of the infrastructure in Bluey, this facility is in a very good state of repair: the lane markings in the unloading area are in good shape, there isn't a lot of loose garbage lying around. Feels like a safe, functional facility.

Very nice! Maybe we'll visit the dump again someday.

[modernwizard]

Why I love the Spymaster #81: His retrospection!

Find my full series under the HELP I WUVS HIM tag.

#81: His retrospection!

The Spymaster is always reminiscing and comparing the present to the past. Let's look at some examples:

Example 1: In Spyfall I, he describes his use of the TCE on the real O as "classic."

In Spyfall II, he calls Thirteen's telepathic connection with him "old school:"

Example 2: In The Timeless Children, he reminisces about schooldays with the Doctor [H/T @themastergifs ]:

Example 3: In The Power of the Doctor, he uses the phrase "old school" again, this time talking about his forced regeneration of Thirteen:

In general, the Spymaster also hearkens back to his first incarnation [Delgado] and second incarnation [Ainley] in not just his words, but also his actions. His reliance on the tissue compression eliminator itself [#62: He likes dolls!] ties him back to Delgado and Ainley, who favored it as a weapon [#26: His Delgadesco flourishes!]. The Spymaster's affection for and admiration of Yaz [#36: Self-deprecating flirting with Yaz! and #59: Still not killing companions!] recall Delgado Master's warmth toward Three's companion Jo. He talks about the past all the time and in some ways embodies it. And there's also the little matter of the entire Matrix -- the entire history of the Time Dorks -- downloaded into his head.

The Spymaster's deep links to the past indicate his fundamental nostalgia. Just look at his approving label of the TCE as "classic," implying something strong, powerful, worthy of respect because it has withstood the test of time. As much as he reviles Time Dork culture and arrogant hierarchy, he also describes his reuse of forced regeneration as "a tribute to our elders," signaling that, on some level, he still appreciates the old ways. He refers to the past so frequently because he thinks that things were better back then.

More specifically, he thinks that he was better back then. The TCE signifies his Delgado and Ainley incarnations, which were marked by a neater, more self-controlled self-presentation [Delgado] and more gleeful destruction than self-reflection [Ainley]. He had his shit together back then. Now, feeling at loose ends, he uses his old equipment to regain that old sense of master.

He also thinks that his relationship with the Doctor was better in the past. The bit in The Timeless Children -- "We had some fun there" -- reminds him that, at some point, the Doctor and the Master both enjoyed each other's company. His call for Thirteen to join him in his trip down memory lane -- "Eh?" -- and his twice looking back at her show how much he wants her to join him. They don't have much fun with each other now, but he wishes that they could.

The Spymaster's obsession with the past shows the depth of his unhappiness. He's so unhappy with his present self that he's constantly trying to travel out of it by remembering, talking about, and acting like the way he used to be. Perhaps the incorporation of the Matrix and the Cyberium in his head allow him to escape into the minds and pasts of others so that he doesn't have to remain in the excruciating now.

@themastergifs @natalunasans @timeladyjamie @rowanthestrange

@whovianuncle @sclfmastery

[acedolphinswim]

Why Sengkang Swimming Lessons Is Ideal For Beginner Swimmers

When it comes to starting a new skill like swimming, choosing the right location can make all the difference. Good venues can really make all the difference for swimmers of any age group - Sengkang Swimming Complex in Singapore provides world-class facilities and offers pools ranging from certain depths in addition to specialized training programs like those provided by Ace Dolphin Swim School. Whether you're a parent looking for secure Sengkang Swimming Lessons for your child or an adult beginner, this complex offers the right ambience to learn the fundamentals and become confident in the water.

Facilities That Cater to Every Level of Swimmer

Among the major reasons why Sengkang Swimming Complex is suitable for beginners is its varied range of pools that serve various requirements. The complex has pools of different levels of depth, including a shallow pool for young learning students and beginners, to make it safe for individuals who are just starting with water. This range is beneficial as it offers instructors the opportunity to begin with water at a level comfortable for students and incrementally take them to much deeper levels, hence raising their confidence and skill.

The other side is that different pools can provide group classes on the ability of the swimmer, and therefore, the novice swimmer gets a chance to move ahead with others of the same ability. Such facilities assist the students in learning while at the same time offering a feeling of community in the activities.

Beginner-Friendly Pool Areas

Sengkang Swimming Complex is definitely one of the friendliest swimming venues for beginners in Singapore because of its focus on safety. The complex has reserved beginner areas with lane markings and adequate space for the instructors to hold their Swimming Lessons Singapore in a secure environment. The gradual increment in pool depth enables students to learn at their own speed, an aspect that resonates well with young swimmers and nervous adults alike.

In addition, the complex is well-equipped with swimming aids and beginner tools that instructors can use to facilitate learning. These aids, along with an environment conducive to learning, make Sengkang an optimal place for beginners to feel at ease in the water while receiving proper guidance.

Learning Made Fun and Effective

With certified instructors from Ace Dolphin conducting Sengkang Swimming Lessons, students enjoy a structured, interactive learning experience that goes beyond just swimming. The school’s unique teaching style combines the globally recognized SwimSafer program with the Japanese Tatsuki Curriculum, giving students the best of both worlds—safety training and precise swimming techniques. This blended approach ensures that students receive a comprehensive introduction to swimming, learning critical skills in a way that is both fun and effective.

Their classes are known for their engaging atmosphere, with activities like treasure hunts and friendly dolphin races designed to make each lesson memorable. These playful elements add excitement to the learning process, making Sengkang Swimming Complex a place where beginners can look forward to each session with eagerness.

Safety First: A Complex Built with Beginners in Mind

Safety is a top priority at Sengkang Swimming Complex. The facilities are equipped with safety features to ensure a secure environment for all students, especially beginners. Lifeguards are on duty to monitor the pool, and instructors are trained to handle emergencies, giving parents peace of mind when they enroll their children in Swimming Lessons Singapore.

Moreover, the SwimSafer program incorporated into the curriculum of Sengkang Swimming Lessons emphasizes life-saving skills, teaching students essential safety practices alongside swimming techniques. This focus on safety is invaluable for beginners, as it helps them build confidence in the water and develop a strong foundation in water awareness.

Conclusion: Dive into Learning at Sengkang Swimming Complex

For those seeking an ideal place for beginner-friendly swimming lessons in Singapore, Sengkang Swimming Complex ticks all the boxes. With its tailored beginner areas, diverse pools, and supportive amenities, the complex provides the perfect environment for anyone to start their swimming journey. Through Ace Dolphin Swim School’s structured Sengkang Swimming Lessons, beginners can develop water skills in a safe, engaging setting that encourages growth and enjoyment.

Whether you're looking to enroll a child or start swimming yourself, Sengkang Swimming Complex is a fantastic choice. Join the ranks of new swimmers discovering the joys of water confidence and skill through Swimming Lessons Singapore at this exceptional venue. Dive in and experience firsthand why Sengkang Swimming Complex is Singapore’s go-to spot for beginners.

[prismouae]

What to Look for in a Reliable Road Marking Company in UAE

Road markings play an essential role in ensuring traffic safety, guiding drivers, and facilitating smooth transportation. Whether it’s highways, urban roads, or parking lots, professionally executed road markings are vital for organizing road traffic and minimizing accidents. In a fast-developing region like the UAE, it’s essential to collaborate with a dependable road marking company in UAE that meets the highest industry standards.

This article will guide you through the key factors to consider when selecting the right partner for road marking services in UAE. We’ll also discuss how Prismo offers reliable solutions for road marking projects across the UAE and the MEA region.

Why Road Markings Matter for Safer Roads

Clear, durable, and properly designed road markings contribute to safer roads and better traffic management. They help direct vehicles, separate lanes, mark pedestrian crossings, and define parking spaces. In regions like the UAE, where traffic is dense and infrastructure is continuously evolving, maintaining high-quality road markings is crucial.

Choosing the right road marking company in UAE ensures the use of advanced technologies and durable materials such as paint for road marking in UAE, designed to withstand harsh environmental conditions and heavy traffic.

Key Factors to Consider When Choosing a Road Marking Company in UAE

1. Experience and Expertise

A company with extensive experience in the road marking industry understands the complexities involved in different types of projects — whether highways, urban streets, or parking lots. Experienced providers are familiar with local challenges and have a proven track record of delivering high-quality road markings.

When evaluating a road marking paint contractor in UAE, check their portfolio to assess the scale and variety of their completed projects.

2. Technology and Equipment Used

The best road marking services in UAE leverage modern equipment and advanced techniques to ensure precision and efficiency. Automated road marking machines, laser-guided tools, and thermoplastic technology are some innovations leading companies use.

Working with a company that invests in the latest equipment not only improves the quality of the work but also ensures timely project completion.

3. Use of High-Quality Paint for Road Marking

The durability and visibility of road markings heavily depend on the materials used. Reliable companies prioritize high-quality paint for road marking in UAE, including thermoplastic, waterborne, and reflective paints, which offer long-lasting performance.

Using eco-friendly and weather-resistant materials ensures that the markings maintain their clarity despite the UAE’s intense heat, dust, and heavy traffic.

4. Compliance with Local Regulations and Standards

The UAE has strict regulations governing road infrastructure to ensure safety and efficiency. Choose a road marking company in UAE that complies with local standards and is familiar with government guidelines.

This guarantees that your road marking project will not face legal issues or delays, especially if it involves public infrastructure or high-traffic areas.

5. Client Testimonials and Reputation

A company’s reputation speaks volumes about the quality of its services. Look for testimonials from previous clients, online reviews, or references to gauge the reliability of the contractor. Satisfied clients reflect the company’s ability to deliver on promises, meet deadlines, and provide excellent customer service.

Reputable road marking services in UAE will proudly display their client feedback and showcase their achievements in past projects.

6. Timely Delivery and After-Sales Support

Timely project execution is crucial, especially when it involves road closures or public access areas. A reliable road marking paint contractor in UAE should have a solid project management framework to ensure on-time delivery.

Additionally, after-sales services like maintenance or touch-up services reflect the company’s commitment to long-term customer satisfaction.

How Road Marking Services Impact Traffic Management and Safety

Investing in professional road marking services in UAE provides long-term benefits:

Enhanced Safety: Proper lane markings and pedestrian crossings reduce accidents and improve road safety.

Better Traffic Flow: Clear and visible markings guide drivers, ensuring smoother traffic movement.

Aesthetic Appeal: Well-maintained road markings enhance the overall appearance of urban infrastructure.

Compliance: Meeting regulatory standards ensures uninterrupted road usage and prevents penalties.

Prismo — Your Trusted Road Marking Company in UAE

When it comes to reliable and durable road marking solutions, Prismo stands out as a leading road marking company in UAE. With years of experience in delivering top-tier road marking services in UAE, Prismo specializes in high-performance materials and cutting-edge technology.

Our road marking services cover highways, urban roads, parking areas, and more, ensuring traffic safety and efficiency across the region. Prismo uses eco-friendly, weather-resistant paint for road marking in UAE, including thermoplastic and waterborne paint options, to meet environmental and quality standards.

With a reputation for timely project execution and exceptional customer support, Prismo is the preferred partner for road authorities and private businesses across the UAE and the MEA region.

Conclusion

Choosing the right road marking company in UAE is essential for ensuring safer roads and smooth traffic flow. By considering factors such as experience, technology, materials used, and client testimonials, you can select a partner that delivers high-quality results. A reliable contractor ensures that your road markings meet regulatory standards, enhance traffic safety, and stand the test of time.

Whether you’re working on a public infrastructure project or a private parking area, high-quality road marking services in UAE make a significant impact. With the right partner — like Prismo — you can be confident in receiving superior road marking solutions tailored to your needs. Contact Prismo today!!