#leather cricket bat

[cricketbatblogss]

Best English Willow Bats: The Ultimate Guide to Superior Cricket Performance

When it comes to cricket, owning the best English willow bats can significantly enhance your game. Known for their excellent grain structure, durability, and powerful performance, English willow bats are a favorite among professionals and enthusiasts alike. In this blog, we’ll delve into the top features, benefits, and recommendations to help you choose the perfect bat for your needs.

1. What Makes English Willow Bats Special?

English willow, sourced primarily from England, is a premium wood known for its lightweight and strong structure. The soft grains allow for superior performance, making these bats ideal for players aiming for long innings and powerful shots.

2. Key Features to Look For in the Best English Willow Bats

When selecting an English willow bat, consider:

Grade of Willow: Higher grades (Grade 1 or 2) offer better performance and aesthetics.

Number of Grains: More grains generally indicate enhanced stroke power.

Weight and Balance: A well-balanced bat is easier to control and swing.

Handle Type: Oval or round handles cater to different grip preferences.

3. Caring for Your English Willow Bat

To maximize the lifespan of your bat:

Always knock it in properly before use.

Apply anti-scuff sheets and oil regularly.

Store in a cool, dry place to avoid damage from moisture or heat.

4. Benefits of Using the Best English Willow Bats

Investing in a high-quality English willow bat provides:

Enhanced shot power and precision.

Durability for long-term use.

Confidence on the pitch, thanks to superior build quality.

Conclusion

The best English willow bats are an essential asset for any serious cricketer. With the right choice, you can improve your game, play with confidence, and achieve remarkable results on the field. Explore trusted brands, consider essential features, and maintain your bat properly to enjoy its benefits for years to come.

Whether you're an aspiring cricketer or a seasoned player, choosing the right English willow bat is a game-changer. So, step up your cricketing journey today with the perfect bat tailored to your style and needs!

[kunalverma0]

Discover the Best Cricket Bats for Top Performance

Searching for the best cricket bats to elevate your game? From powerful strokes to precise control, the right bat can make all the difference. Explore our curated selection of high-quality bats, designed for players of all levels. Whether you’re a hard-hitting batsman or a finesse player, find the perfect bat to suit your style and take your cricket skills to new heights!

[wolfer01]

The Perfect Partnership: English Willow Cricket Bats – Combining Power and Precision

Cricket, often referred to as the “gentleman’s game,” is a sport where every element of equipment plays a crucial role in a player’s performance. Among the various gear used by cricketers, the choice of a cricket bat is paramount. One particular variety that has stood the test of time and is favored by professionals and enthusiasts alike is the Leather Cricket Bat English Willow. Renowned for its unique characteristics, this type of bat offers the perfect balance of power and control needed for an exceptional batting performance.

The Essence of English Willow

English willow, scientifically known as Salix alba caerulea, is a specific variety of willow tree that grows predominantly in the United Kingdom. What sets it apart from other woods is its exceptional combination of lightness and strength, making it the wood of choice for crafting high-quality cricket bats.

The Ideal Balance

The essence of a great cricket bat lies in finding the perfect equilibrium between power and control. English willow, with its inherent characteristics, strikes this balance seamlessly. Its lightweight nature ensures that bats made from this wood are easy to maneuver, allowing players to execute both defensive and attacking shots with precision.

Power and Precision

Cricket is a game of strategy and technique, and the choice of bat can significantly impact a player’s performance. English willow cricket bats provide the power needed to strike the ball with authority, ensuring that boundaries are reached effortlessly. Yet, they also offer the control required for delicate and precise strokes, such as the late cut or the perfect cover drive.

Crafting Excellence

Crafting a cricket bat from English willow is an art form that requires skill and expertise. The wood must be carefully selected, dried, and shaped by master craftsmen who understand the nuances of the game and the importance of a well-balanced bat.

Preferred by Professionals

It’s no surprise that professional cricketers worldwide prefer English willow cricket bats. They recognize that these bats offer the optimal blend of power and control, giving them a competitive edge on the field. Whether it’s facing fast bowlers or spinners, the reliability of English willow ensures that every shot is executed with confidence.

A Choice for Enthusiasts

While professionals seek excellence, cricket enthusiasts and amateurs also appreciate the value of a high-quality cricket bat. The Leather Cricket Bat English Willow is a choice that allows players at all levels to enjoy the benefits of a well-crafted bat.

Embrace the Excellence

In the world of cricket, where the fine line between victory and defeat is often determined by a single stroke, the choice of a cricket bat is critical. Embrace the excellence of English willow and experience the perfect balance of power and precision. Whether you’re a professional cricketer or an enthusiast, a Leather Cricket Bat English Willow is an investment in your performance and enjoyment of the game.

Discover the difference that this exceptional wood can make in your cricketing journey. Choose English willow, and elevate your game to new heights, one powerful and precise shot at a time.

[pringle-slut]

have the urge to write something where edwin feels like he's allowed to Look At Charles now and charles is fucking losing it. edwin's eyes will catch on his mouth when he's smirking, skate over his arms when he twirls his cricket bat, linger on his shoulders when he's down to his white vest, (on more than one mind-numbing occasion, drag up the entire length of his body with a naked hunger that leaves charles fucking reeling) and every single time, charles finds himself preening about it. he likes it when people think he's fit, always has, LOVES that shit, but there's something properly intoxicating about not only being the subject of edwin's attention, but the subject of his desires. it doesn't take long for him to start seeking out the attention, purposefully stirring the desire.

edwin is. trying to cope.

edwin's perpetually sixteen just like charles is, and since coming to terms with his sexuality, he's had a much more difficult time ignoring it. the desire he'd never quite looked at now suffuses every corner of his mind. sometimes he laughs inwardly at the idea of rose-tinted glasses in regards to one's love - edwin's own have been tinted red since he realized he had them. of course there's the desire to hold and cherish charles, to be romantic and soft, but there are also the...other desires. the ones that edwin isn't sure aren't borne of his time in Hell. and it's like charles is trying to make it worse.

he's taken to wearing nothing but his vest and some "lounge shorts" (according to crystal) when it's just the two of them in the office, and edwin cannot silence the voice in the back of his head begging him to get his mouth on every bloody inch of that golden skin. he's also increased the amount of casual touches he gives edwin, much freer than he used to be with hugs and shoulder squeezes and the brush of hands and - and edwin has to use all of his self control to stop himself ravishing charles completely.

there's one night in particular after charles has returned from a concert he went to with crystal where the tension doesn't snap, but only barely. charles is buzzing with energy still, chattering away at edwin about the lights and the music and the people, and he'd dressed up a little, so edwin's attention is strictly on the tight leather pants almost painted onto charles' lean legs and the crop top showing four torturous inches of skin (bitebitebite). he genuinely doesnt remember any of what charles told him about the concert itself.

charles clocks this and tries to shrug off his leather jacket as nonchalantly as possible. he's not looking at edwin while he does, eyes darting to the floor almost shyly, but he hears the sharp intake of breath edwin makes when his shoulders are bared. he's noticed edwin staring particularly entrancedly at them when he wears his vest, and a burning wave of satisfaction washes through him at the shaky exhale he hears next.

"charles," edwin says, his voice low and velvety.

charles supresses a shiver and meets his eyes

"yeah?"

edwin's looking at him so intensely he can fucking feel it. he can feel those eyes trace his bare skin and his leather-clad legs and his mouth and all of it again and he's trembling with want, frozen where he stands.

cue ghost post!

[astridsports011]

Cricket bats in Seattle Washington

Highlights Of CRICKET Bat And The Importance Of Bat 

Cricket is a sport that is loved by people all around the world, and one of the most important pieces of equipment for any cricketer is their bat. The cricket bat is the main tool used by the batter to hit the ball and score runs. With so many different types of cricket bats available, it can be difficult to know which one to choose. Here, we will discuss some of the most popular types of cricket bats, where to buy them, and what to look for when purchasing a cricket bat.

Types Of CRICKET BATS And The Best Place To Purchase 

One of the most popular types of cricket bats is the English Willow bat. These bats are made from the finest English willow and are known for their durability, balance, and power. They are ideal for professional and advanced-level players who want a high-quality bat that will last for many seasons. Another popular type of cricket bat is the Kashmir Willow bat. These bats are made from the finest Kashmir willow and are known for their lightweight design and excellent performance. They are perfect for beginners and intermediate-level players who want a high-quality bat that is easy to handle.

If you’re looking to buy a cricket bat, there are many options available to you. You can buy cricket bats at your local sports store or through a number of online cricket bat stores on the Internet. When shopping online, it’s important to make sure that you’re buying from a reputable seller and that you’re getting a high-quality bat. Astrid Sports is also the best website to buy cricket bats, and for years we have been in this industry and are selling a top-quality cricket bat collection. This is a team-driven business that tries hard to make cricket accessories accessible for every cricketer to live their dream happily. 

Things that you need to take care of while purchasing the cricket bats

When purchasing a bat, there are a few key factors to consider:

Material: 

Bats can be made from a variety of materials, including wood, aluminum, and composites. Each material has its own advantages and disadvantages, so it’s important to consider which one will best suit your needs.

Weight: 

The weight of a bat is an important factor to consider, as it can affect your swing and control. A heavier bat will typically generate more power but may be more difficult to control. A lighter bat will be easier to control but may not generate as much power.

Length: 

The length of a bat is also important, as it can affect your swing and control. Most of the time, a longer bat will have more power, but it may be harder to control. A shorter bat will be easier to control but may not generate as much power.

Grip: 

The grip of a bat is also an important factor, as it can affect your comfort and control while swinging. A bat with a good grip will be more comfortable to hold and will help you maintain a better grip on the bat.

Brand and Price: 

Some of the top brands are Louisville Slugger, Rawlings, DeMarini, and Easton. The prices vary based on the material, design, and brand, so it’s important to find a balance between quality and price. Well if you are purchasing cricket bats from ASTRID SPORTS then also you will not find any kind of “room for doubt” because they import the cricket bats directly from the U.S.A. 

Size of the bat – 

The first thing to consider is the size of the bat. You want to make sure that the bat is the right size for you, as this will affect your ability to control and handle the bat. 

Overall, there are many different types of cricket bats available, and the right one for you will depend on your skill level, budget, and personal preferences. Whether you’re an advanced player looking for a high-quality English Willow bat or a beginner looking for a lightweight Kashmir Willow bat, there are plenty of options available to you. With the right cricket bat, you’ll be able to hit the ball with power and precision and enjoy the game of cricket to the fullest. If you’re looking to buy a cricket bat in the USA, Astrid Sports has a wide range Cricket bat in Seattle

 of options online as well as at sports stores. With the right bat, you’ll be able to take your cricket game to the next level and make the most of your time on the field.

Buy the best English and Kashmir willow Cricket bat in Washinton 

[duplicitywrites]

Harry is wiping down the front counter when he notices the boy staring at him.

Full blown, wide-eyed staring—an amusing expression on a precocious boy no older than twelve or thirteen at most, with warm brown irises and a head of cute, lolling curls that must have taken his mother ages to style.

“Hello,” Harry says in a friendly way, giving the boy a little wave.

No response, though a flush of pink seems to be steadily spreading across the boy’s soft, round cheeks.

“Are your parents around?” Harry asks, now cautious, glancing around the mostly deserted parlour.

The boy coughs. Clears his throat with a tiny harrumph that sounds more cricket than croak. “No.” His chest puffs up, his chin tilting with pride. “My father lets me go around on my own.”

Not a reassuring answer, though the use of ‘father’ draws Harry’s attention to the boy’s clothes—definitely posh, from his fancy branded polo shirt to his little leather loafers.

“Wow,” Harry says, pretending to be impressed. “You know, I think I used to run around my neighbourhood at your age.” The Dursleys never batted an eye if he came home late, and probably wouldn’t miss him if he never came home at all. “How old are you?”

The flush is more prominent now, a pretty pink-red that creeps towards the shirt collar.

“Fifteen.”

That’s absolutely a lie. Harry nods like this makes perfect sense, never mind that this kid probably couldn’t even sit in a booth without his feet dangling over the floor.

“Did you want some ice cream?” Harry asks. If he keeps this boy here, at least he’ll be safe until the parents show up.

“My name is Tom,” says the boy. His keen eyes narrow in on Harry’s plastic name tag. “Nice to meet you, Harry.”

The way Tom says his name—Harry—is perfectly polite. Rich kid with manners.

[boasamishipper]

LARROQUETTE POLL ROUND ONE RECAP

our original pool of sixteen sexy larroquette characters has been winnowed down to an elite eight. if your faves won the fight, congratulations! pat yourselves on the back for a vote well cast and a propaganda campaign well run. if your faves sadly did not emerge victorious, don't worry: the round one losers will have a bracket of their own after this tournament is over, so they'll all have one more shot at the crown.

let's meet our elite eight!

Billy Ace (Choose Me)

though David Bedford (Blind Date) fought the good fight, Billy Ace (of tall dark and handsome, leather jacket, and motorcycle riding fame) emerged victorious with 18 votes to 12. hopefully David will find consolation in his gigantic pile of teddy bears.

Carl Sack (Boston Legal)

his bitchiness, stoic demeanor and steadfast refusal to take part in the Shenanigans™️ around him have bewitched larroquette nation body and soul: Crane, Poole, and Schmidt senior partner Carl Sack beats serial killer-turned-attorney Joey Heric (The Practice) 33 votes to 9. 'no hard feelings,' says Joey amiably while sharpening his knives. sleep with one eye open, Carl.

Jenkins (The Librarians)

this race saw the highest voter turnout, and while things were close in the beginning, TWW's Lionel Tribbey's faithful cricket bat was no match for Jenkins's sword, or his crossbow, or his lightsaber, or his bow ties, or his clubbing outfit. with 36 votes to 24, our beloved caretaker moves onto the next round, and Lionel Tribbey can take a much needed vacation someplace warm, with as many drinks with little umbrellas in them as his heart desires <3

John Hemingway (The John Larroquette Show)

hemingway during the final hours of the race:

it was close, but our favorite well-read bus depot manager John Hemingway emerged victorious over ex cop turned lawyer curmudgeon with a heart of gold Mike McBride. congratulations john! see you next time, mcbride!

Bob Anderson (Baa Baa Black Sheep)

our good baby-faced second lieutenant took the lead early on and maintained it all the way to the end. rip Captain Stillman. back to commanding officer duty at an alaskan weather station you go.

Mark Bannister (Madhouse)

in a race that led many (my dear friend emily @footnoteinhistory) to ask Why Are You Doing This To Me, sexy yuppie driven to madness Mark Bannister (Madhouse) beats nice handsome single father Don Moore (Summer Rental) 26 votes to 9. Mark may be going onto the next round, but does he have a boat? No? Didn't think so.

Roan Montgomery (Chuck)

another nailbiter of a race, but much like rock beats scissors, legend suave debonair secret agent man (Roan Montgomery) beats cigar-smoking businessman with a predilection for child murder (Lawrence Van Dough) every time. off you go to your next assignment, Agent Montgomery. Mr. Van Dough, back to court-mandated community service on the sprawling lawns of the Rich mansion with you.

Dan Fielding (Night Court)

he couldn't beat a dead man, he couldn't beat a spunky blonde, but by god, our favorite ADA absolutely trounced paranormal detective Wilbur Willis (Second Sight) in a battle of sexiness. good work as always, mr. prosecutor - let's see if you've got what it takes to go all the way!

Round 2 will begin at 12pm CT on 9/16.

[pipwasreal]

Day 11: dream + hand/glove kink

Characters: Edwin Payne, Charles Rowland, the Cat King (mentioned)

Content warnings: sexual fantasy, finger-sucking, frottage

Edwin blames the Cat King. It's petty and childish, but he doesn't care. If the Cat King hadn't made himself look like Charles, hadn't slid his gloved hand up Edwin's chest and tweaked his bow tie, then perhaps Edwin wouldn't be so extremely aware of Charles' hands now. It's incredibly distracting.

He has always admired Charles' dexterity, the strength in those long arms and slim fingers, the sure way he handles everything from his fiddly little lockpicks to his beloved cricket bat. But now... Edwin's gaze lingers.

He wonders how it would feel to take Charles' gloved hand in his, to press a kiss to the leather pulled tight over his knuckles, then another to the smooth exposed skin on the back of his hand.

He could turn Charles' hand in his, kiss the leather-covered palm, then press it to his own cheek. Would Charles slip his hand down to cup Edwin's jaw? Or back, to cradle his skull? Fingers firm and sure, pressing at the nape of his neck.

Maybe he would bring his other hand up, to grip and tilt his chin just so for a kiss. Or to lightly trace Edwin's features with a leather-covered finger, following his brow out, his cheekbone in, stroking down his nose, then rubbing gently at his lips until Edwin parted them to let him in.

Would Charles press in or stay there, teasing? Make Edwin lick out, craning forward to suck the finger into his mouth? He can imagine the feel of the leather against his tongue, soft and smooth.

And what if Charles went further? Running his hand down Edwin's chest and stomach and lower, pressing firmly between his legs, cupping his cock through his breeches. Edwin wouldn't be able to stop himself thrusting forward, rubbing himself against the smooth firm pressure...

"Oi, what are you dreaming about?" Charles says, suddenly very close.

Edwin gasps, but Charles is smiling.

"I called your name twice. You were miles away."

Edwin clears his throat and straightens his jacket.

"We are ghosts, Charles, we do not dream."

Charles settles into his customary position, perched on the edge of the desk.

"Maybe not, like, sleeping dreams. But I still daydream, don't you?"

Edwin swallows, and tries very hard to look anywhere other than at Charles' hands.

"I suppose I must do," he says. "Though I will endeavour not to make a habit of it."

[leighsartworks216]

The Viper: Rewritten

Chapter 6

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 7

Jaskier x gn!Witcher!reader

AO3 - I recommend reading it there

Warnings: swearing, struggling with emotions

Word Count: 4872

Masterlist

Tag List Form

Jaskier was quiet. He’d hardly said a word since Geralt blew up on him. His fingers would rub against each other every now and again, as if he wished to pluck the strings on his lute, but he did not reach for his instrument. The whole time you set up camp, laying out bedrolls and blankets, setting up a campfire, and so on, he sat silently on a rock you dragged over. He was completely zoned out - not even offering to help when you grunted from the labor or winced from your injuries. He only came back to his senses when you held a strip of dried meat under his nose. He’d startled slightly at the sudden smokey scent of seasoned meat, but he took it with a brief, weak smile nonetheless. But even then, he just looked at the food with a frown.

“You need to eat something,” you urged, as he’d once done for you. “You won’t have the strength to make it down the mountain if you don’t.”

“I didn’t even have the strength to stand up for myself!” he cried. As quickly as it was there, the energy and frustration was gone, swallowed up by the night. “Sorry.” His nimble fingers picked apart the jerky. You watched attentively as he pulled off a bit and ate it.

Once he began eating, you did, too. Your eyes never left the bard, watching him sulk all too knowingly. You were just the same way growing up. You could so easily imagine yourself in Jaskier’s place, sat across from Stuldweck. He would have been comforting you after a failed test on alchemy or monsters, or telling you exactly how to get back at Oalvir for a prank or for some taunting remark from the others, or encouraging you to keep trying on the obstacle course. “So you learn how to.”

He looked up. “What?”

“You learn how to stand up for yourself, for next time.”

He sighed. His whole body hunched forward, closing himself away from the harsh world he found himself in. “Next time…” He stared back at the fire; you’d carefully avoided staring too deep into its cruel flickering. Within the embers, he could see those long, dreary nights spent out in the wild with Geralt, chasing after some creature or another. He continued to long for those adventures. He craved stories and tales and wild escapades. “Next time, I’ll tell him to shove it up his arse.”

You chuckled. He lightened up a bit at the sound. “That’s a good start.”

The higher up you went, the less wildlife that seemed to be around. Now that you were descending the mountain, the crickets seemed more abundant. Their incessant chirping mingled with owls’ cries as they searched alongside bats for food. The high-pitched clicks and chirps of echolocation didn’t bother Jaskier, but they were easily picked up by your sensitive ears. Occasionally something would swoop down to catch its prey.

You couldn’t revel in the harmony of nature for long - you had put off tending to your injuries for long enough as it was. With a sigh and the rest of your jerky gone, you began undoing the straps of your leather armor as easily as the last thousand times before. Half of the buckles undone, you reached inside the chestpiece to feel your ribs. They were tender, but you couldn’t find any signs of fractures.

You undid the other half and tugged it all off. The armor itself was lighter and more flexible compared to Geralt’s. It also had less tears. The only noticeable damage was the long cut down the back. You sighed just thinking about having to stitch it back together; you were never very good at sewing.

Reaching behind you, you ran a hand slowly along your back until you felt the tear in your black tunic. You’d have to fix that, too. A little further, and your fingers brushed against the open, scarred tissue. It stung, and the blood around it was dry and crusted. But it felt clean enough. Your armor must have protected it from dust and dirt when you rolled along the cave floor.

“Are you alright?”

You’d nearly forgotten Jaskier was there, watching as you doffed your armor. You weren’t uncomfortable getting rid of that barrier, of removing that protection; so much so you didn’t even realize you were doing it.

You hummed, wincing as your fingers brushed a tender spot. “From the fight,” you explained. “One of them cut through my armor. Got me pretty good.”

He floundered for a moment. “Do you want some help? I mean, I could- Well, I know how to wrap a bandage or-”

“I’d appreciate it.”

You met his eye across the fire. His eyes did not shine and gleam at every new thing. Self-doubt clouded them, dulling them to a soft cornflower blue. He cleared his throat and jumped up. “Supplies?”

You nodded over to your bag, laying by your bedroll. He reached inside, shifting vials and jars of monster parts and ground herbs aside to find bandages. They weren’t really bandages, per se, but long strips of cloth torn from clothes or bedding, wrapped up into a ball. You also instructed him to find a small container of salve, which looked greenish-yellow in the light. As he brought over the items, you shifted to sit with your back to him, and pulled your shirt over your head. He sat awkwardly beside you on the rock, trying not to stare at your back, as you studied the tear in your tunic.

“U-Uhm, this one?” he asked about the container, holding it over your shoulder so you could see. You glanced at it briefly and nodded.

“You’ll need to gather some and spread it on the cut.” You listened to the clinking of the jar as it was opened. You almost grinned at the thought of Jaskier scrunching his nose up in disgust. “Don’t worry about hurting me.”

He scoffed and began dabbing the salve onto the long, inflamed slash, all the while mumbling to himself. “‘Don’t worry about hurting me.’ Yeah right.” The talking helped him gather his nerves. “What is this stuff anyway?” He took an experimental sniff of the jar’s contents, and found the smell actually not unpleasant.

“That same mixture from before; when I fought Geralt at your camp,” you reminded him. He’d remembered the small amount you’d spread on your cheek, then. He glanced over your shoulder to see the mini scar that ran along your cheek. It distracted him from the mention of his former adventuring buddy. “Celandine and white myrtle - helps with the pain and the infection, to some extent.”

“Smells nice.”

You chuckled. “I always found them to have a bitter smell,” you admitted.

He smelled it again, pausing for a moment to try and smell the bitterness. It was faint, on the edge of his senses. In his next breath of the cool night air, it was gone. He shook his head and gathered up more, gently guiding it within the cut. He tried not to think about how he could see the muscle-y tissue just right there, at his fingertips.

It was quiet as he continued to work. He kept trying to think of ways to fill the silence - what questions he could ask, or if he should hum or whistle a tune. You enjoyed it. You traced your fingers over the fabric in your hands, listening to the wind as it moved through the scattered foliage. After a little while, he finished coating the cut with salve and wiped the excess from his fingers onto his pants (they were dirty, anyway).

“Alright, so just, uhm.” He unraveled a bit of the bandage cloth and tried to figure out how to start wrapping it around. You held out a hand for one end of the roll, and held it to your chest so you could tie the ends together when it was all done. He would pass it around your back, and you’d wrap it around your front, until almost your entire back was safely wrapped up in the cloth. You tied the ends together and threw your shirt back on - you could fix it later.

“Is that alright?” he asked. He’d never actually helped anyone patch themselves up before. Geralt would barely let him know when he’d been hurt; Jaskier usually had to guess from the Witcher’s body language.

You turned your body to once again face the fire. “It’s not the worst I’ve ever had,” you teased, but you were sincere as you thanked him.

He fiddled with his fingers. “Thank you, too, by the way,” he rushed out, as if he would never be able to say it again if he didn’t say it now. You looked at him with those sharp snake eyes, and he floundered a little more. “For, erm, yelling at Geralt, like that.” The gratitude came from him stiff and stumbled, but it was genuine.

You smiled. “It was my pleasure.”

He grinned, too, and eased into the silence that came after.

-

The sound of Jaskier’s boots skidding on uneven gravel followed you down the mountain. You took the lead, eyes and ears constantly looking out for monsters or wild animals. It was hard to hear anything over the crunching-sliding sounds of his boots - a cougar with soft paw pads could easily walk right next to you and you’d not notice. You looked over your shoulder and watched as the bard slid down a steep incline, holding an arm out to balance himself while clutching the strap of his lute. Some steps he took were accentuated with grumbles and winces, undoubtedly from the sharp points of rocks poking through the thin soles.

“After all this time traveling,” you called back, waiting for him to catch up, “you never thought to get better boots?”

“Ah, well, I thought about it.” He reached even ground and trudged his way to your side. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths from the exertion. “Never had the extra coin to actually get any.”

He turned to the path ahead, shoulders falling with a sigh as he saw the next slope and the one after that. You had managed to get halfway down yesterday, but there was still much farther to go. Before he could start the long descent down the mountain, you placed a hand on his chest and stopped him.

“What?”

You looked around, eyes scanning the rocky terrain. Nervously, he did the same. You could feel his heart against your hand, beating wildly.

“What is it? Did you hear something?”

Shaking your head, you make your way over to a bolder. It fell decades ago, eroded by time to be smooth. You sat down. Jaskier watched, astonished, as you began removing your boots.

“Now, wait- Hang on!” His boots scraped along as he rushed to stand in front of you. His hands waved all over, trying to stop you without actually touching you. “You’re going to need those! Viper, wh- You don’t even know what size I am! Your boots might not fit! Or my boots might not fit you!”

You paused for a moment, stopped in the middle of unlacing your travel-worn footwear. He watched as you slid one foot to be next to his. Then, you continued unlacing. “They’ll fit well enough.”

He scoffed and paced around, unable to grasp that you would want to do anything so… chivalrous for him. Saving his life on a whim was one thing - it was probably just instinct that made you throw yourself over him - but to fully go out of your way to ease his (dare he say) suffering just because you could?

In no time at all, you were left barefoot on rough gravel. Unlike him, you did not wince or even flinch as the sharp points dug into your heels. He could only imagine it was because they were so calloused after who-knows-how-long of adventuring. You pressed your boots to his chest, giving him no choice but to hold onto them and accept the gesture.

“Put them on. We’ll worry about new boots when we get into town.” You stepped away from the boulder, waving a hand for him to sit down. He hesitated, staring at the worn down, well-loved boots. You nudged him. “C’mon, jaskier, my feet are hurting.”

He glanced down, realizing fully that you were actually barefoot on a rocky mountain. He rushed to sit down and take off his boots so you’d have something to walk in. All the while, his mind ran rampant.

Had Geralt ever done anything this nice? Had Geralt ever done anything to help Jaskier? Anything that didn’t involve the bard’s near death, that is. The White Wolf never even let him touch his steed, no matter how long he had been walking or how badly his feet ached. But you! You just took off your boots and gave them to him like it was such a simple thing, no more important than passing the salt at a meal. You didn’t even think twice about it, no matter how many complaints he brought up. Hell, he hadn’t even complained about his feet aching or his boots doing very little to protect him with their thin soles; you just noticed!

Another voice, less astonished but just as bitter toward his past companion spoke up: They are not Geralt.

He handed over his boots, still dazed by your altruism and perhaps slightly embarrassed over the act of trading shoes, and watched as you slipped them on without sitting back down. You kicked the toe onto the ground, measuring how much space you were left with, before giving him a nod.

“Better?”

He stepped a couple times. The boots felt odd on his feet, but he could already tell they were built for traveling. His, well, they were mostly for appearance.

“Good. Let’s keep going.”

-

Your feet were hurting by the time you reached the base of the mountain, but sweet relief was found in Bayard. The speckled horse greeted you both with loud whinnies and dramatic head bobbing. You wasted no time in stroking his neck and head, pressing your forehead to his nose.

Jaskier looked between your horse and the one tied up next to it, a mare with a light grey coat and dark hair. “So, is your horse named after a fish, too?” he asked, a teasing lilt to his voice.

You snorted. “No, absolutely not.” You walked around the side, running your hand along his coat all the way. “No, his name’s Bayard.”

Jaskier watched with twiddling fingers as you prepared your trusty steed for a ride. “Why Bayard? Isn’t that a bit of a mouth full?” He glanced around at the other hitching posts. Some had horses that no longer had owners. One of them was definitely Roach, but he had a feeling she didn’t really want anything to do with him either. The one hitched up next to yours tried reaching out to nudge his arm. He jumped back, unsure how to really act around such a large, terrifying creature.

You shrugged from underneath Bayard, working on a stubborn buckle. “It was just sort of the first name that came to mind. I think it suits him.” You stood and Bayard nudged his side against you. He was excited to finally stretch his legs. You watched as Jaskier nervously patted the top of the mare’s head. “Can you ride?”

He chuckled, shaking his head and stepping away from Hendrick’s horse as she tried nibbling on his doublet. “No, not at all. Geralt usually rode and I’d just sort of,” he gestured his hand moving along a path, “walk alongside.”

“Well, if you’re going to travel with me, you’ll need to move a bit quicker than that.”

He frowned, almost scoffing as he watched you saddle up the mare with some spare tack laying around. “What, like, run? Cuz these legs aren’t really good for sprints or- or jogging.” You looked around for a moment, searching the ground. You set a log on one end and tested it with your foot. Jaskier watched with a sinking feeling in his gut. “What are you doing?”

“You,” you began, grabbing his arm to drag him to the horse’s side, “are going to learn how to ride.”

“What?!” He flinched away when he accidentally ran into her flank, apologizing on impulse.

You patted his shoulder. “Relax, Jaskier, you’ll do fine. So, what you want to do is hold onto the saddle, right here and here, put your foot in the stirrup like this, and pull yourself up. Okay, good, now swing your leg over the back- careful.” You moved the stump away once he was on, but you kept careful watch. It would be unfortunate if he fell off. Or if the horse bucked him off.

He watched you too, but less in a ‘watching a child so they don’t injure themselves’ way and more of a ‘dear god I’m going to die’ way. His blue eyes practically bulged out of his skull in fright. His hands held onto the horn of the saddle for dear life, afraid to even actually touch the horse. “What do I do now?”

“Name her.” Bayard nudged his nose under your arm as you worked to undo the knot in her lead. You had to shove him away before he panicked Jaskier any more.

“Name her?” he parroted. You could hear his panicked breathlessness. “Like what? Doesn’t somebody own it? Am I stealing a horse right now?”

You chuckled under your breath. It was interesting trying to give the bard a crash course in horses when you worked with them for almost a decade of your life. “No, we aren’t stealing; nobody owns her anymore. And it can be anything.” You handed the lead for him to hold as you untied Bayard’s. “You’re poetic - you’ll think of something.”

“Some-thiing!” Jaskier nearly fell forward in panic as you guided both horses onto the road.

“Calm down.” You slung the lead over the mare’s head. He caught it and held onto it like a lifeline while watching you hoist yourself into Bayard’s saddle like it was nothing. He couldn’t picture himself as at-ease with a horse. “Don’t pull the lead too tight, make sure she has room to move.”

“Are you absolutely sure about this?”

“Bayard can’t carry two people for very long, and I’m not going to wait up for you if I’m on the tail of a contract. So, it’s either this, or I’ll wait for you to walk 2 hours to Hengfors by yourself.”

He sighed, pouting as he worried the leather in his hands. “Fine! But if I fall off, I’m blaming you. Now how do we move these things?”

-

The entire ride was spent teaching Jaskier how to ride. He was a surprisingly fast learner, but he also almost slid off the saddle several times. He also spent a grand majority of the trip brainstorming names for his new steed. Due to her silvery grey coat, he tried some names like ‘Silver’ and ‘Snowflake’. That trailed off into names like ‘Furt’, ‘Furtie’, and ‘Hove’ after his memories of home. (Oxenfurt and Lettenhove, respectfully.) Deeply dissatisfied by any variation of those names, he did a full 180 and decided randomly naming things he saw or thought about would be the best way to name her.

By the time you reached the town and zoned back into his random mutterings, he decided to call her Adhara, after a star he read about as a child.

The first stop in town was to the first armorsmith you saw. You almost slid off the saddle before Bayard even had a chance to stop, eager to get Jaskier some proper boots and get yours back. It cost a mite more than you expected, but you saw the glint in the smith’s eye when he told you the price; he was no doubt asking for more due to your profession. So while Jaskier muttered about how unreasonable that was and tried insisting on paying for it himself, you just handed over the coin and left without another word to the craftsman.

Jaskier noticed during this time how you were different. It was hard to notice the change in Geralt - the Wolf was always moody and miserable; but from the moment you stepped into Hengfors, your face was unreadable, even stern. Your eyes shifted around constantly, and when Jaskier cracked a joke or offered a witty remark, you did not even grace him with a soft grin or huff of laughter. It was all part of the job, he supposed.

Once he was settled with his brand new boots and yours were safely returned to your feet (his old boots only fetched a few crowns from the craftsman), you led your steeds to the nearest inn and showed Jaskier how to properly tie up Adhara and remove her tack. Watching him try to lift the saddle and hang it on the wall hook, you’d never suspect he ever set a foot out into the real world.

He insisted on buying the room since you bought the boots, but you insisted he only get one room. There was no point in spending more coin than necessary and you were accustomed to sleeping on hard floors. Perhaps Melitele decided to show you some grace, though, as the bed in the room was plenty large enough to fit two people.

You both trudged into the room and dropped (or carefully set down, in the case of Jaskier’s lute) everything you carried to the floor. The floors creaked and groaned, and the walls were thin enough to hear somebody breathing on the other side, but a warm place to lay your head was enough reason to relax.

“Oh ho ho ho! You beauty!” Jaskier’s voice came from the corner of the room. You paused in the middle of removing your leather armor, watching with quiet amusement as he moved around behind a screen divider. If you cocked your head just enough, you could see the large bathtub, steam wafting from the basin already filled to the brim with hot water. “I have not bathed in days,” he bemoaned. He rushed to his bags, tugging off his doublet all the while, and pulled out various bottles of oils. He practically dumped all of their strongly perfumed contents in.

You huffed a laugh at his enthusiasm (He silently praised the gods that you felt comfortable enough in here to do so.) and pulled off your chestplate. It would be best to patch it up now. With Jaskier safely behind the screen, cursing to himself as he undressed, you pulled your own shirt off and dropped it to the bed with the armor. You would have plenty of time to fix your gear as the bard allowed himself the comfort of a long, hot soak.

The water shifted and sloshed as Jaskier lowered himself in, all content hums and satisfied groans. He always expressed his emotions so plainly. You envied him for it. Even as a child, emotions were scolded or punished; crying in dark corners was not uncommon in the Viper Keep. It was hard to shake off those grueling years when humans looked at you with such open disdain. A Witcher seen laughing would surely bring more ridicule than one that stayed silent.

As you dug through your stuff, you allowed yourself to breathe in the strong smells. They were overwhelming at first, especially with senses as sensitive as yours, but they soon became bearable. “Is that sandalwood?” you called across the room.

“Mhm.” He sighed, spreading out in the water and resting his head on the edge of the tub. He wondered behind closed eyes and private screens what you were moving around the room for, what you were doing. Did Witchers ever rest? “And vanilla.”

With the sewing kit in hand, you gracelessly plopped onto the mattress. It was soft and springy. Your muscles relaxed instantly against the clean fabrics. You readied a thick needle with leather thread and pulled the chestplate into your lap. The cut was clean, which meant it would be easy to fix. And while you’d never been the best at sewing, you were plenty good enough now not to poke your fingers or misalign the edges. “It smells nice.”

He sat up in the tub, water shifting around him as he moved to see what you were doing. His eyes glanced over the bandages around your torso only briefly. “You think so?”

You hummed, nodding as you pulled the thread through. “I don’t get many opportunities to smell something sweet on my travels.”

“Don’t pass by many bakeries, then?”

“No,” you chuckled. “I try to avoid towns whenever possible.”

“How come?” he asked before he could stop himself. Your pointed glance was all the answer he needed. He forgot how unwelcome Witchers were, when the couple he knew were so… Well, he couldn’t say normal, but when you’re around oddities and strangeness all the time, it becomes normal. To him, they were just people. Strange, brave people. “Feel free to use it then, if you’d like,” he offered. The water announced his gestures. “Wash away all that Witchery-ness.”

You pulled taught another thread, leaning in closer to focus on what you were doing. It was a bad habit. Stuldweck always grabbed you by your collar and sat you up straight when he caught you doing it. You sat up a little straighter.

“I wouldn’t wish to waste your expensive oils. Monster guts have a difficult stench to cover,” you dismissed. You tied a knot at the end of your repair, cutting off the excess with a knife. As you worked to thread a smaller needle with cotton thread, you added, “Besides, I think it smells much nicer on you.”

Jaskier stared at you for a minute, trying to think. When he could not cobble together the words, despite how fast his mind raced with a mixed bag of teasing remarks, self-deprecating put-downs, and ways to assure that you surely would also smell nice if you bathed in sandalwood and vanilla, he leaned back into his bath, rested his head against the rim, and stared at the ceiling.

-

You woke up to a dark, empty room. It was disorienting at first; you pulled your knife from under your pillow on reflex. Jaskier and his lute were nowhere to be found, but the smell of sandalwood and vanilla lingered in the air. All his other belongings were still dropped to the floor with your own.

Sharp spikes of pain shot up your spine as you sat up. You carefully prodded at your back, now covered by the patched up shirt. The cut was sensitive, but it would heal well enough. Another scar for the collection, atop an old training injury no less.

The door creaked slowly open on its rusty hinges. Your hand tightened around your blade, prepared to fend off intruders even in your post-nap drowsiness. You sighed when you saw Jaskier poke his head in. He stopped trying to be sneaky once he saw you were awake.

“Ah, good! You’re up.” He sauntered inside with an easy confidence, a slight pep in his step. He dropped his lute onto the bed by your feet and a small pouch full of coins in your lap. “I have just earned enough money for dinner,” he sang proudly.

As you tugged open the bag, he struck a match to light the lamp by the bed. Coins were packed so tightly inside that they didn’t have room to shift or clink together. You raised an eyebrow at the amount. “And drinks.”

He waved his hands about. “Yes, well, I may have stopped by a few of the taverns around town.”

You looked up at him. He cracked under the pressure.

“Or, maybe, all of them.” He sighed, dropping to sit next to you on the bed. He gestured to his shoes. “You spent a lot on these boots! I felt bad!”

You cinched up the purse and tossed it into his lap. “You bought the room,” you reminded him.

“And it definitely didn’t cost as much.” He nudged your arm, jumping up excitedly. “C’mon, Viper! Meat and mead on me!”

Part of you wanted to decline. It wanted to remain completely self-reliant. It wanted to keep some distance between you and the bard, especially when you let your guard down around him so easily. It wanted you to build your walls taller and stronger.

But then he looked at you with those bright, hopeful eyes, and that little part of you fizzled out. You sighed, but you pushed the blankets aside and pulled on your boots. He rambled about his concerts while you pulled your armor back on and holstered your daggers, telling you about drunk patrons who fell over themselves singing along or women who waited until he finished singing to flirt with him. You offered your own input when he took a breath.

You ate and drank more that night than you had in months.

---

Tag List:

@writeawaythepain

@sleepyqueerenergy

@lastwandastan

@adozenforks

@plaguedoctorsnake

@solomonsimp

@cool-ontherun-world

[aurorauroboros]

[image Description: a chart titled “you’re in a horror movie”. The word Horror is in a bloody font. There are chibi versions of jason and michael myers, one on either side of the text.

First column is titled The Killer. It reads: Birth month

Jan- Jason V

Feb- Freddy K

Mar- Chucky

Apr- Pinhead

May- Wolf Man

Jun- Dracula

Jul- Zombie House

Aug- Pennywise

Sept- The Thing

Oct- Michael Myers

Nov- Xenomorph

Dec- Leather Face

The second column is titled Your Protector. It reads: 1st initial of your first name

A- Ash

B- Pick a friend

C- Pet cat

D- Trusty dog

E- Dr Loomis

F- A cop

G-Pick a friend

H-Pick a friend

I- On your own

J- Tommy Jarvis

K- The jock

L-Laurie Strode

M- R.J. Macready

N- Nancy Thompson

O- On your own

P- Sidney Prescott

Q- Cheerleader

R- Ripley

S- Shaun and Ed T- T800

U- On your own

V- Van Helsing

W- Pick a friend

X- On your own

Z- On your own

Z- Zombie friend

The third column is titled Weapon. It reads: Birthday

1st-3rd -Handgun

4th-6th -Samurai sword

7th-9th -Cricket bat

10th-12th -Nunchucks

13th-14th -Machete

15th-17th -Gatling gun

18th-20th -Good cardio

21st-23rd -Survival Instincts

24th-26th -Frying pan

27th-28th -Shotgun

30th-31st -Water pistol

Small text on the bottom of the image reads “Never stay dead”. End ID]

[cricketbatblogss]

Master the Game with a Leather Cricket Bat English Willow

Experience unmatched performance with a leather cricket bat crafted from premium English willow. Designed for power, precision, and durability—perfect for every cricket enthusiast!

[kunalverma0]

Leather Cricket Bat: The Classic Choice for True Cricket Enthusiasts

Cricket has always been a sport deeply rooted in tradition, and one of the most iconic pieces of equipment is the leather cricket bat. While modern innovations have introduced new materials and designs, leather cricket bats continue to captivate players due to their durability, superior performance, and classic appeal. Let’s explore why a leather cricket bat remains a favorite among players.

1. What Is a Leather Cricket Bat?

A leather cricket bat typically refers to a cricket bat made from English or Kashmir willow, designed specifically to strike a leather cricket ball. The term emphasizes the traditional nature of the sport, as the leather ball has been used for centuries. These bats are crafted with great precision to handle the impact and power required when hitting a leather ball, making them an essential tool for serious cricketers.

2. Why Leather Cricket Bats Are Different from Others

Unlike tennis ball bats or those designed for soft balls, leather cricket bats are constructed to withstand the heavy impact of a hard leather ball. They offer a large sweet spot, excellent rebound, and enhanced stroke play. This makes them more suitable for competitive matches and high-performance players who aim for longevity and control over their shots.

3. How to Choose the Right Leather Cricket Bat

When selecting a leather cricket bat, several factors come into play:

Material: Bats made from English willow are generally considered the best due to their superior quality and performance. Kashmir willow, while more affordable, is a great alternative for beginners.

Weight: The weight of the bat is crucial. Heavier bats offer more power, while lighter bats give more control.

Grain Structure: The number of grains on the bat’s surface indicates the maturity of the wood. More grains often mean faster knocking-in and better performance over time.

Handle Type: A bat’s handle can be round or oval, depending on the grip and comfort preference of the player.

4. Maintenance of Leather Cricket Bats

Leather cricket bats require proper care to maintain their performance and extend their lifespan. Regular oiling, knocking-in, and avoiding exposure to extreme conditions are essential to keep the bat in good condition. Many players also opt for toe guards and bat covers to protect the bat from damage during transport and play.

5. The Rise of Custom Leather Cricket Bats

Many players now seek custom leather cricket bats that match their exact specifications. From handle size to weight distribution, customization allows players to get a bat that suits their playing style perfectly. Whether you're a hard-hitter or a precise stroke player, a custom bat can enhance your performance on the field.

Conclusion: Why Leather Cricket Bats Are Still a Top Choice

While cricket equipment has evolved over time, the leather cricket bat remains a symbol of the sport's heritage and quality. Offering unmatched performance, durability, and a sense of tradition, it’s no wonder that serious cricketers still favor these bats. If you’re looking for a bat that enhances your game and delivers consistent results, the leather cricket bat should be at the top of your list. Choose wisely, maintain it well, and enjoy the timeless appeal of this classic piece of cricket gear.

[wolfer01]

Explore and Shop Online for English Willow Cricket Bats at the Best Price from WOLFER

In the world of cricket, where every shot and stroke resonates with a legacy of excellence, the choice of your cricket bat can make all the difference. Introducing WOLFER, a name synonymous with cricketing prowess and craftsmanship. Elevating your game to new heights, WOLFER offers an extensive range of English Willow cricket bats, available for online shopping at the best prices.

The Essence of English Willow: Cricket aficionados understand the significance of the English Willow, revered for its superior quality and performance on the field. The unique properties of English Willow bats, including their impeccable balance, powerful strokes, and exceptional durability, make them the preferred choice of professional cricketers and aspiring talents alike.

Your One-Stop Online Cricket Bat Shop: At WOLFER, we understand that your cricket bat is an extension of your skills and aspirations. Our online cricket bat shop is designed to cater to the diverse needs and preferences of cricketers at all levels. Whether you’re a seasoned player seeking the perfect blade or a young talent looking for the ideal bat to kickstart your journey, WOLFER’s wide range of English Willow cricket bats has something for everyone.

Quality Craftsmanship: WOLFER takes immense pride in the craftsmanship that goes into each and every cricket bat we offer. Our English Willow cricket bats are meticulously crafted to maximize performance, striking the perfect balance between power, precision, and finesse. Each bat is a testament to the fusion of tradition and innovation, resulting in a tool that empowers cricketers to excel on the field.

Choose Your Perfect Bat: One of the joys of shopping online for cricket bats from WOLFER is the ability to choose the perfect bat that aligns with your playing style and preferences. Our range includes options that cater to various playing techniques, ensuring that you can find a bat that complements your strengths and enhances your performance.

Best Price and Value: WOLFER is committed to offering the best value for your investment. Our online cricket bat shop ensures that you can access a premium range of English Willow cricket bats at competitive prices. We believe that quality should never be compromised, and with WOLFER, you can be confident that you’re getting the best bang for your buck.

A Symbol of Excellence: Every English Willow cricket bat from WOLFER carries with it a legacy of excellence and a commitment to quality. When you wield a WOLFER bat, you’re not just holding a piece of equipment; you’re embracing the spirit of cricketing greatness and unleashing your potential on the pitch.

In Conclusion: WOLFER’s online cricket bat shop offers cricket enthusiasts the opportunity to shop for the finest English Willow cricket bats at the best prices. Elevate your game, make your shots count, and experience the thrill of playing with a bat that embodies the craftsmanship, innovation, and legacy of cricket. Choose WOLFER for a cricket bat that’s more than just equipment — it’s a companion on your journey to cricketing excellence.

[grandmaster-anne]

The King’s cousin David Linley on his new career

The Times article by Lisa Grainger | Published 25 January 2023

The Earl of Snowdon talks to Lisa Grainger about his book on English crafts, and mentoring future creators at his furniture-making college at Highgrove

There aren’t many people who’ll admit that crafts can reduce them to tears. The Earl of Snowdon is one of them. At one event, he recalls, musicians including Jeff Beck, Mike Rutherford and the Clash were invited to meet and interact with “incredible luthiers, who make violins and guitars and cellos”. It was “just magical”, he says. “It really did bring a tear to the eye . . .”

Since David Linley, King Charles III’s cousin, became the first royal to follow a vocation — producing handmade furniture — and set up an eponymous business, he has been one of Britain’s most vocal champions of crafts. Which is why he wrote a book, Craft Britain: Why Making Matters, co-authored by Helen Chislett, to bring attention to extraordinary craftspeople around the country.

The glossy tome, with an erudite introduction by the design writer Stephen Bayley, is not only a directory of all the key crafts organisations from Cornwall to the Hebrides but a compendium of some of our nation’s most remarkable makers. It takes in embroiderers based in Hampton Court Palace and chair craftsmen from Orkney, leather sculptors and cobblers, marquetry specialists and even a whip-maker.

Sadly, Chislett says, some crafts were left out of the book because the skills have died out. For instance, England no longer has a cricket ball manufacturer even though the game was invented here, “and we probably won’t make bats for much longer”. Hand-stitched kilt-making is on the Heritage Crafts Association Red List of Endangered Crafts, as is neon sign-making; even bell-making is on its way out, with churchgoing declining.

On the other hand, there are crafts that are growing. Ceramic-makers, for instance, have sprung up in the southwest of the country. In Newcastle metalworkers whose families previously might have made ships are constructing metal furniture. Chislett adds that crafts fairs are becoming increasingly popular, particularly with the younger generation. “They’re a lot more into sustainability . . . and you are less likely to throw something away if you know who made it.”

There’s a growing appreciation of bespoke objects at the very high end of the market, Linley says. At his furniture company (from which he resigned in November) clients loved coming in to commission bespoke pieces with little quirks: a secret drawer with a martini shaker in it, or an inkwell filled with a specific colour of ink. “You can fantasise about what you like and get someone to bring it to life,” he says.

His own London home — “a little flat, which I am very lucky to have” — is filled with handcrafted items that have meaning: a pair of candlesticks that belonged to his theatre-designer uncle Oliver Messel; cushions embroidered by British seamstresses; tables turned by fellow carpenters; a pair of bespoke British shoes made “in precisely the colour and style and shape I like”. Each of them feels special, because “there is something rather lovely about a piece that’s come from the hand of a human”, he says. “It resonates with the human spirit.”

The next part of Linley’s professional journey, he says, will be nurturing others who want to work with their hands. At Street Farm at Highgrove, the Gloucestershire home of the King, an old barn has been converted into the Snowdon School of Furniture, where Linley is going to help to mentor the next generation of furniture-makers. “I am 61 now,” he says, “and it’s time to step back and allow the young people at Linley do things how they want. I have worked all my life creating a brand. And I can now do things for the Prince’s Foundation that are enjoyable and freeing.”

Having made furniture for almost 40 years, Linley says he’s relishing the fact that crafts are becoming more mainstream. “Today you’ll hear Tracey Emin talk about craft, and even sportsmen. This morning on Radio 4 a commentator was talking about a footballer as a craftsman and comparing him to Picasso. That might have been a comparison too far — but there is now far more recognition of the skills needed to do something well. And that can only be a good thing.”

[angelswing236]

"I never said it would be easy."

Fictober 2023

Category: Fanfiction

Fandom: Downton Abbey

‘God, I hate cricket,’ Tom groaned as another ball flew past him, striking the net, not making even the tiniest bit of contact with his bat. ‘I thought you were supposed to teach me how to play.’

‘I am teaching you,’ Matthew protested, picking up another ball.

‘Well, you’re a rubbish teacher,’ Tom called as he walked back to viciously kick at the red ball that had become his nemesis.

‘I never said it would be easy,’ Matthew replied, backing up for another bowling run. ‘You’ll love it once you get the hang of it.’

‘I won’t because it’s the stupidest game known to mankind.’

‘It’s the greatest game known to mankind. The sound of leather on willow is quintessentially English.’

‘I’m Irish,’ Tom pointed out. ‘Maybe that’s why this game hates me.’

‘It doesn’t hate you. Just be patient.’

‘We’ve only got until tomorrow for me to learn all these ridiculous rules.’

‘Maybe we should just stick you on the boundary. All you’d have to do them is catch a ball.’

‘Great. Let’s do that,’ Tom said, brightening up.

‘One more try,’ Matthew said, letting fly with the ball.

*Thwack*

It was hard to know who was more surprised.

[talesfromsiteredacted]

List Of Resident Requests to Anomalous Enrichment

The dropbox and surveys have barely been open, and I'm swamped with ideas. Some are bad, some are good, some just make me wonder about who I work with. Here's the list so far, in no particular order. See who asked for what, if you feel brave.

A karaoke machine. Denied due to lack of vocal chords or a body 90% of the time.

Operation. Yes, the old tabletop game. Granted.

A 55 gallon fish tank, and supplies. Pending approval from Command.

An ice cream machine. (Trick entry, multiple suggestions on this one) Granted.

A huge screen tv, DVD player, and several monster movies. Denied on the grounds of encouraging bad behavior, at least the monster movies were.

A Ninja Warrior training course. Approved, merely for exercise purposes.

One of those stupid inflatable clown punching bag things. Granted.

A surfing trip to Hawaii. Granted, as entity is a Safe class.

An ice cream social for the kids and sentient non violent anomalies. Granted, locating supplies.

A shooting gallery, for bow shooting. Granted, with non lethal arrows.

Golf clubs. Granted. But... why?

Giant bounce house. Where the hells would we inflate it safely here? Denied.

Treasure hunt. Granted.

Glitter. Denied. Nice try, though.

A rubber chicken with squeaker. Granted.

A half dozen live ducks. Pending.

A flock of sheep, a pasture to graze them in, a nice little quiet hut nearby. Pending, but... sounds good to me, man.

Twelve dozen donuts. Granted, but not in one sitting.

Dance lessons. Granted, and I might just sign up too.

A literal buttload of red wine. Denied due to the no alcohol policy. Sorry. Besides, over 1300 gallons might be a bit much in one go.

Drawing tablet. Granted.

A rabbit. Granted.

A catnip mouse, new plush bed, and window perch. Granted, with laser pointer bonus.

A dartboard. Pending. Not sure we can trust the recipient with pointy objects, but... with good behavior it is possible.

Queen sized four post bed with curtains. Do they even make those still? Pending.

Giant chocolate donkey. Not sure where to even find a mold for that.

Rats. Denied.

An idiot from the Chaos Insurgency. Pending, next raid I promise.

Five minutes alone with Dr. Clef's ukulele. Denied, not worth the risk of 4 gage slug to my head. Sorry.

A cricket bat. Granted.

Wild strawberry plants. Granted, there's a ton around here.

Huge Snorlax plushie. Granted.

Full set of kitchen pots and pans, new kitchen, and "ingredients" for a gourmet dinner. Denied due to choice of protein.

Massive smoking apparatus in the guise of the Grim Reaper. Denied, but it looked badass. Policy is policy. Sorry.

Deep red corset dress. Granted, but... why? Corsets are painful.

Patent leather platform boots, blackest black. Granted. Nice choice.

A hammock. Granted.

A rock hammer. Denied to to weapon policy.

5 kites. Granted, go ahead and pick designs.

Cast iron clawfoot tub. Granted, pending plumbing install.