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what-if-queen-camilla · 1 year ago

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Chapter 25

Celebrating my 50th entry, posting chapter 25 today... what a journey it's been so far! Thank you all so,very much for (still) reading, liking and commenting my little story - your feedback always means so much to me and I hope you're going to enjoy this little "happy chapter" in between all the drama... please do let me know what you think / wish for!

04th August 1995

Raymill House, Wiltshire

"Can I finally open my eyes now?", Thea asked, more excited than annoyed, as she was guided through an obviously long corridor at a house or place she didn't think she'd been before. It was her 8th birthday today, she was on summer school break, and Mummy had taken her on a very special surprise trip to a secret destination. The car ride from Middlewick House, where they were still living after Andrew had moved out right after New Year's, had only taken a few minutes so, wherever they were, it couldn't be far away, but she had no orientation left with the blindfold Mummy had put on her. "Just a few more steps, darling, we're almost there!", Camilla promised and carefully guided her birthday girl around the last corner and into the beautiful, bright room in their soon-to-be home that would soon be her's. She hadn't shown her the house with which she had fallen in love the moment she had first set a foot in yet; a beautiful, stone manor country house with a huge garden, acres, stables and a swimming pool, it was simply perfect for them, perfectly located at the end of a long driveway, hard to reach for uninvited guests and only just a short 15-minutes drive away from Highgrove. The only catch had been the price. 850,000£ was much more than she could actually effort, but thanks to the help of her father and some good friends she had eventually been able to purchase the six-bedroom house as a new home for her children and herself and she had no doubt that they'd be happy here. The room she had chosen to be Theodora's had a huge window front which offered a breathtaking view over the garden; just what her sweet little angel would love and make her feel comfortable. "Okay, darling, are you ready for your birthday surprise?", Camilla asked, feeling just as excited as the birthday girl herself. Thea nodded impatiently and Camilla solemnly removed the blindfold from her eyes. "Well, my darling… welcome to our new home!", she announced and after a few insecure blinks, Thea's eyes widened in astonishment, enchantedly wandering around the room, along the walls, up and down the ceiling and finally out of the window. "Wooow!", she exclaimed, looking at her mother in complete disbelief. "Is that true?", she asked and Camilla, wiping a few tears of joy away as she was so relieved and moved by her daughter's reaction, nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, darling, it is!", she confirmed. "And if you like it, this could soon be your room." "Oh Mummy!", Thea cheered, falling into her mother's arms. "Of course I like it! It's beautiful! Just look at the view over the garden… can we go down and have a look?"

"Yes sure, come on, I'll show you around!", Camilla said, took her daughter's hand nad happily showed her around their new home; there were six bedrooms on the first floor, one for Camilla, one for Tom, Laura and Theodora respectively, one for a guest and one which Camilla had decided to become the painting room; an entire room where she, and Thea too, if she liked as she was already a much better painter than she herself anyway and Camilla had no doubt that she had inherited that talent from Charles, could store all of their painting equipment and work on their pictures whenever they fancied and wouldn't ever have to worry about tidying it up afterwards, getting the easels out of the way or not to accidentally ruin a precious piece of furniture with a paint brush; an entire room where they could be creative, relax, dream and just do what they enjoyed most. She couldn't wait to get started! Downstairs, on the ground floor, the heart of the house was a huge kitchen which naturally invited to some cosy cooking or baking events and though it would most certainly end in a disaster, like most of her cooking or baking attempts, Camilla was still looking forward to officially inaugurating it with her children. Apart from the kitchen, the ground floor had a huge dining room where they could host the most fabulous luncheons or dinner parties with all of their friends and family, as well as two sitting rooms, one bigger and one smaller one, each with a fireplace, offering maximum cosiness, and wonderfully wide, floor-to-ceiling windows with the same, fantastic view over the garden as the ones in Thea's room. "Do you think we will be happy here, little darling?", Camilla asked as they had finished the little house tour and Thea nodded excitedly. "Yes, Mummy, very much so.", she assured her with sparkling eyes, and Camilla pulled her into her arms. "Wonderful. That makes me really, really happy.", she sighed, before enthusiastically adding: "Oh, by the way, sweetie, you haven't seen the garden yet! Come on!" With that, she took her daughter by the hand again and led her outside, where they toured the huge garden with the beautiful, mediterranean terrace, the pool area and all its wonderful trees and bushes which were all so nicely grown and surely already a home to all different sorts of local wildlife.

"And now let's go and see the stables.", Camilla said, pointing right over there. As if by command, in that very moment a horse neighed passionately, undoubtedly from the stables they were just about to view and Thea looked at Camilla irritatedly. "Mummy…? Did the former owners leave a horse here?" Camilla shrugged her shoulders in innocent unawareness. "Not to my knowledge. Let's just go and have a look!", she suggested and Thea immediately ran off to the stables. Camilla smiled as she knew exactly what was going on and she couldn't wait for her darling to discover the very special birthday present that was already waiting for her at their new home: being just as much of a pony-mad girl as her mother, Thea had been wishing to have her own horse for years and, of course, they had ponies at Middlewick House and she had been allowed to ride on some of Andrew and Camilla's horses but now that she was eight, she was old enough to have her own horse, not only for the fun things, but also to take on the less fun responsibilities that came about with owning a horse, properly looking after an animal, feeding and grooming it, mucking out its stable and all that sort of stuff, of course not on her own, but Camilla thought it'd be good for her, especially after the divorce and now with the relocation, to have something, or rather someone, she could care for and who could care for her, and unsurprisingly, both her men, Charles and Andrew had wholeheartedly agreed. What had taken her by surprise though, was Charles' suggestion to gift her one of the retired Cavalry Blacks who had been helping to guide the Royal Family taking part in huge ceremonial occasions like Trooping the Colour - an incredibly patient, strong, resilient and calm, very special breed that not even Andrew, despite all of his years served in the Household Cavalry, had ever been able to call his own yet. Of course, it was all different for Charles, who had insisted that his daughter should have the very horse that had served himself over several years, before it got too old for all the pomp and circumstances, especially the loud noises and huge crowds, but aged 18, the good-natured gelding was just perfect as a first horse for a little girl like Thea. He had arrived a few days ago and Charles had temporarily sent over someone from Highgrove to look after him for as long as Camilla and the children hadn't moved it yet. His name was Albert and Charles had even commissioned an incredibly noble, royal blue saddle pad with his name embroidered, as well a as very special blanket, also in royal blue, saying "Happy 8th birthday Theodora", which he himself had carefully put on Albert's back once he had heard Camilla’s car rolling up the driveway. "See, old boy, here comes your new owner.", he whispered as he noticed Thea running over. Hopefully it was going to be a success…

Of course it was a success. Thea was absolutely over the moon with both, her birthday present as such, and the fact that it came from Sir and that he was there. She excitedly ran into his arms and Charles picked her up, twirling her around, both of them happily giggling and laughing. Once more, Camilla had to turn around and wipe a few tears away. It was such a relief to see her little girl, who'd been through quite a lot recently, so happy again, and of course it always made her particularly emotional to see Charles and Thea together like that. If only… - "no, stop it!", she admonished herself, before straightening her shoulders, putting on a brave face, smilingly greeting the love of her life with a firm kiss, while Thea was already bonding with Albert, friendly introducing herself, speaking to him and patting him carefully. "Perhaps he'd like some polos.", Camilla suggested and handed her daughter a box of polo mints, which gave them a few private seconds. "Hello darling.", she whispered, looking at him in pure love and adoration. Sometimes, her feelings for him still overwhelmed her. "It's so nice to see you." Of course, Charles noticed the tears in her eyes immediately, pulled her in his right arm and tenderly stroked her back. "You're alright, darling?", he asked concernedly, looking at her in sorrow. "Yes, yes, darling. It's just that days like this always make me a bit… melancholic.", she said. He didn't reply but instead pulled her even closer and gently kissed her forehead. He understood. And he felt the same. But for him this birthday was an enormous improvement compared to the years before. He still wasn't in her life as her father and probably would never be, but at least he was there as her mother's partner, he could be with his ladies at all, and express his endless love for them both and it almost felt like they were a really, normal, happy family. "Wanna go for a little walk?", he asked, offering her an arm to link and she agreed only too happily.

#king charles #queen camilla #royal family #royal baby #fanfiction #fanfic

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dankusner · 2 months ago

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Madonna and Guy - the singer's brother reveals intimate details of her life

Christopher Ciccone has been his sister Madonna's constant confidant

By CHRISTOPHER CICCONE | 13th July 2008

Few know Madonna better than her 47-year-old brother Christopher Ciccone. They grew up together in Michigan in America and learned to dance together. Then Christopher followed Madonna to New York, where she began her long journey to wealth and superstardom. From early childhood, through the years of determined struggle to the iconic figure she has become today, Christopher has been Madonna’s constant confidant and shoulder to cry on. He has been her personal assistant and dresser, her interior decorator and artistic director of her show-stopping world tours. While much has been written about the most famous pop star in the world, only he knows the riveting untold story behind Madonna’s carefully constructed mythology.Here, in unparalleled and intimate detail, Christopher tells their compelling story.

Madonna and I are standing in the driveway of her new house in Beverly Hills.

She is facing me and I am facing the front gate when Guy Ritchie turns up in Madonna's black Mercedes and drives at me.

When he is about a foot from from me, he veers the car away, just missing my foot.

I neither flinch nor move from my position.

He stops the car, rolls down the window and says: 'Are you trying to prove a point?'

I say: 'No, but I think you must be.'

He winds up the window and drives into the garage.

Madonna turns to me.

'What just happened?' she asks.

I say: 'I don't want to talk about it,' and leave.

No matter how much I dislike Guy, he's her husband and I want her to be happy with him, even though their life together is sometimes difficult.

When Madonna paid our sister Melanie's air fare so she could stay with her and Guy at Ashcombe House, their country estate in Wiltshire, she told me the atmosphere between them was very tense.

A Kabbalah rabbi would regularly come down from London to mediate between them. This does not surprise me. I believe that Kabbalah is helping keep Guy and Madonna together.

I worry about my sister.

At 39, Guy is ten years her junior and she has given him latitude to pursue his own interests.

But they are very different people with different approaches to things, and I wonder whether they will be able to bridge the divide.

I send her a positive letter, in which I try to help her understand him.

I tell her that he is living in an incredible world with her, has an ego of his own and an idea of what he is, and that she may have shattered the illusion.

She responds immediately, telling me that she is hopeful she will find her way.

I hope she will.

I first heard about Guy in late 1999, after Madonna was introduced to him over lunch at Sting and Trudie Styler's home.

I knew Guy was a British film director and that he was younger than her.

Like her first husband Sean Penn, Guy comes from a solidly middle-class family and yet both are prone to present themselves as tough street kids.

My sister, I believe, has always played the identical game.

After all, she is a middle-class girl who propagates the story that she landed in Times Square with just a pair of ballet shoes and $35 to her name.

But that's pure mythology and the further she progresses, the more mythological her life story becomes.

Although our father wasn't really allowed to tell us about his job because it was top-secret, he worked in the defence industry in Detroit, designing firing systems and laser optics, first at Chrysler Defense and then at General Dynamics.

Far from being this lost and friendless little waif who didn't even have a crust of dry bread to eat, when Madonna went to New York she had money in her pocket, plenty of contacts and a support system all in place.

I often wonder whether her taste for self-invention explains her attraction to both Sean and Guy.

Many of Guy's forebears were highly decorated army officers.

He clearly has a great deal to live up to.

Which is why I can understand, in a way, why he chose to use his talents in a different arena by making what some term a 'homophobic' movie about London gangsters — Lock, Stock And Two Smoking Barrels.

Nevertheless, I was eager to meet this Brit who appeared to have captivated my sister so much.

Madonna and Guy Ritchie. 'His arrival in her life,' says her brother, 'was the death knell for my relationship' with her'

On Millennium Eve we are both at Donatella Versace's party at Casa Casuarina, her Miami mansion.

Guy is friendly to me and seems like a nice guy.

He is conventionally dressed in a white shirt and dark-blue trousers and jacket, and I warm to him.

He is personable and respectful and seems as if he might be fun to hang out with.

Nonetheless, I tell myself that I doubt he'll outlast Madonna's usual two-year relationship cycle.

We have cocktails at Donatella's table, along with Rupert Everett and Gwyneth Paltrow, and later move on to the VIP room of a new club.

It's now four in the morning.

I pull Gwyneth on to the dance floor.

Madonna is dancing on the table.

Gwyneth joins her and they dance together.

In the middle of the dance, Madonna grabs Gwyneth and kisses her full on the mouth.

It's that sort of a night.

My friend Dan has brought a 19-year-old boy to the party with him.

Madonna, in a knee-length pink chiffon Versace dress, is on the dance floor, dancing with a group of people.

We all look good together, and we know it.

Suddenly the boy squeezes up to Madonna.

He edges between us, puts his arms around her, and they dance a slow dance close together.

Within an instant, Guy strides across the dance floor.

He kicks the boy in the leg to get his attention and drags him away.

Then he swings his fist at him.

I push Guy back and yank the boy out of the room.

The moment passes.

The dancing restarts.

I'm on the dance floor with Gwyneth again.

Suddenly I sense someone coming up behind me.

Guy grabs me from behind and starts bouncing me up and down like a rag doll.

'Put me down!' I demand.

I extract myself from his grip, shove him up against the wall and grind my hips right into him.

'If you want to dance with me, this is how we dance here,' I say grimly.

He flushes and pushes me off.

I walk away.

I don't give Guy another thought.

Rupert, however, is watching us intently.

Later, in his autobiography, he comments: 'Guy and Chris were from different planets, and in a way the one's success relied on the other not being there.'

The next day, Guy and I don't say a word to each other at a barbecue in Madonna's garden.

I decide that he is a bit of an oaf, particularly on the dance floor, a drawback with regard to Madonna because she likes her lovers to dance well.

And it has always been of paramount importance to her that the man in her life should be able to deal with the gay men in her life.

I can't imagine that Guy will be around for long.

I am wrong, of course.

I have no idea that the arrival of Guy in Madonna's life is the death knell for my relationship with her.

In August 2000, Madonna and Guy's son Rocco is born.

Madonna is now firmly settled in England and she breaks the news to me that she and Guy are getting married.

I tell her I am glad for her.

Apart from the fact that Guy must remind her of Sean Penn, she is getting older and needs a father for her children.

She casts such a big shadow and most men just aren't prepared to subjugate themselves to her.

I guess that Guy isn't either, but at least he is prepared to marry her.

A previously unpublished picture of Madonna pregnant with Lola in 1996, with Christopher in the background

In a note with my wedding invitation, she says she is inviting 'my close friends and family members that are not insane to the wedding at Skibo Castle' in the Scottish Highlands, adding:

'We will be married by a vicar in the Church of England because Catholics are a pain and GR doesn't want to convert and besides I'm a divorcee.'

I am not keen to attend the wedding because I really can't afford it.

Moreover, I no longer have any affinity for Guy.

But Madonna owes me the final payment for the interior design work I did on one of her houses and when I call to make my apologies, her assistant tells me the debt will be paid in the form of a ticket to Scotland, with the rest of the money sent separately.

I spend a few days mulling over the situation.

I feel I don't know this person who is attempting to blackmail me into attending her wedding.

So I capitulate.

I'm told I will fly to London a week before the wedding, be fitted for a tuxedo and the following morning fly to Inverness, a 45-minute drive from Skibo Castle.

On December 21, Rocco will be christened and the wedding will take place on December 22.

Staff for the wedding are forced to sign a four-page confidentiality agreement, none of the guests is allowed a mobile phone and we are all banned from leaving the castle during the five-day celebrations.

Seventy security guards will keep the Press out and the guests in Colditz Castle, here I come.

A business-class air ticket is sent to me from Madonna's office.

When I check the price, I discover that only a few hundred dollars of my fee remain outstanding.

Once in London, I follow instructions and go to Moss Bros on Regent Street to rent my tuxedo.

It's pure polyester, and when I slide the jacket on, it burns my fingers.

The shop assistant presents me with the rental bill.

'Put it on Guy's bill,' I say, and walk out.

Madonna, centre, in 1970 with, from left, sister Paula, Uncle Chris, brothers Christopher and Marty, sister Melanie, stepmother Joan and father Silvio

A car meets me at Inverness Airport.

After about an hour, we arrive at Dornach, turn into a sweeping drive lined with beech trees and Skibo Castle looms in front of me cloaked in mist - big, beautiful and mysterious.

My first sight of the main hall is straight out of Hollywood.

A crackling log fire burns brightly, the walls are oak-panelled, there are stuffed animal heads, a sweeping oak staircase and the landing with a stained-glass bow-window where Madonna's wedding ceremony will take place.

At the reception desk, I am asked to hand over my credit card for incidentals.

I tell the receptionist that I didn't bring my card with me and that all my charges will be billed to Madonna and Guy.

I just can't forget her bullying behaviour.

My room is in the attic of a turret.

I go through a door into a small hallway, then into a room about 6ft by 6ft, with a claw-footed Victorian bathtub in the middle and a toilet against the wall.

That leads to another door, another low-ceilinged room, and there is my bed.

Back outside, a pretty girl rides by on a horse.

She introduces herself as Stella.

The penny drops.

Stella McCartney - Madonna's maid of honour.

As far as I know, she and Madonna have only just met, yet Madonna has chosen her - not her close friends Ingrid Casares or Gwyneth Paltrow - to be her maid of honour.

Stella designs and makes a free dress - worth £15,000 - especially for Madonna.

Stella explains the drill.

Every morning the men will go shooting and the women will have a themed luncheon.

Shooting is out of the question for me.

Later I dress for dinner and go into the library.

Guy's friends are in there.

I don't know any of them, but one or two look familiar so I guess I've seen them in a film.

They are relatively friendly and they all clearly have a history with one another.

We have cocktails and I try to make small-talk.

I ask how the shooting went and they tell me that they have shot 300 birds.

I ask them if they are kidding.

They tell me they aren't.

'So are we having them for dinner?' I ask.

They all laugh and tell me that we aren't.

In the dining room, Madonna walks in, says 'Welcome to Scotland' and gives me a hug.

Guy shakes my hand.

The large table is set for ten.

Madonna has a seating chart.

Scottish food is served and I pick at it halfheartedly.

Then I ask for some chicken.

Tonight, and every night afterwards, the guests toast the bridal couple.

Tonight one of Guy's friends makes the toast, which culminates in a crack with the subtext: '

Wouldn’t it be funny if Guy were gay?'

I don't laugh.

It wouldn't be funny.

Guy's pride in his own heterosexuality swells noticeably when he's in the presence of a gay man like me.

And in his wedding week, with these after-dinner toasts seemingly aimed at underscoring his overt masculinity, he is in his element.

I, however, am far from amused when many of the speeches trumpeting Guy's heterosexuality include the word 'poofter', a derogatory British expression for gay.

The next evening, I am seated between Sting and Trudie.

At first they talk about the castle and the weather.

Then Trudie leans in to me and says: 'Christopher, do I have BO?'

'Huh?'

'Do I have BO? Do I smell?'

'Not that I can tell,' I say, perplexed.

Then she asks:

'Are you into that sort of thing?'

Before I can think of an answer, she chips in:

'Mightn't you be?'

'Isn't the smoked salmon delicious?' I say.

Madonna stands up at the top of the table and issues the instruction:

'Christopher, tonight it's your turn to give the toast.'

I lean down the baronial table and, with great emphasis, reply:

'Madonna, you really don't want me to do that.'

It's a statement, not a question.

'No, Christopher, it's your turn!' she barks in a tone identical to the one she always used as a kid when she and my siblings all played Monopoly together.

If she didn't get Park Place [Mayfair in the English version] she invariably stamped her feet and said:

'But it's mine.' In those days, in the face of her strong will, I always capitulated and rescinded my purchase of Park Place.

Nothing seems to have changed.

I stand up.

My fellow guests fall silent out of respect - the brother of the bride is about to make a speech.

I raise my glass:

'I'd like to toast this happy moment that comes only twice in a person's lifetime.'

Then, without skipping a beat, I go on:

'And if anybody wants to **** Guy, he'll be in my room later.'

Everyone erupts in laughter.

Everyone, of course, except Madonna, who keeps saying: 'What did he mean?'

Guy, who I suspect knows exactly what I mean, says nothing and avoids looking at me.

Soon after, Trudie tells me:

'That was hysterical. I've been listening to all those homophobic jokes. I just want you to know that we were aware of how you must be feeling.'

On the day of the christening, Range Rovers pull up in front of the castle to take us to Dornoch Cathedral.

A Press pack of 500 photographers and even more journalists is waiting for us outside the castle gate.

We drive past them but they follow us all the way to Dornoch.

Inside, the cathedral is lit with candles and garlanded with ivy and flowers.

I sit with Gwyneth and Rupert and only see Rocco - swaddled in his white and gold £20,000 Versace christening outfit, a gift from Donatella - from a distance.

I learn later that a journalist has been hiding in the massive pipe organ for three days.

By the time someone discovers him, he has passed out cold.

After about 30 minutes the service is over.

We are driven back to the house.

Dinner is served, toasts are given.

I experience an urge to smoke but know I can't because Madonna has banned smoking.

Gwyneth and I leave the table at the same time.

On the way up to my room we stop at her suite, which is massive and beautiful.

It occurs to me that I - who sometimes signed my letters to Madonna 'Your humble servant' just to annoy her - have been relegated to what must be one of the smallest rooms in the castle, perhaps even servants quarters.

A joke?

Or just my sister's way of keeping me in my place?

Madonna and Guy at son Rocco's christening at Dornoch Cathedral in 2000

The next evening, just before 6.30pm, we all gather in the candlelit Great Hall and take our seats at the foot of the staircase, the balustrades of which are garlanded in ivy and white orchids.

It is beautiful.

I am sitting in an aisle seat, five rows from the front.

The strains of the hymn Highland Cathedral, played by a lone piper, fill the foyer.

He is replaced by a pianist, Katia Labeque, who plays as Lola [Madonna's daughter Lourdes], in a long ivory high-necked dress, descends the staircase to the landing above us, scattering red rose petals in front of her.

Lola is sweet, winsome and adorable.

Then Madonna, beautiful in a fitted ivory silk dress, enters on our father's arm.

On the landing in front of the bow-window, she joins Guy, who is wearing a green Shetland-tweed jacket, green tie, green and diamond antique cuff-links (which, I later learn, are a gift from Madonna), white cotton shirt and a kilt that someone tells me is in the plaid of the Mackintosh clan.

Rocco, snuggling in his nanny's arms, is dressed in a kilt made from identical fabric.

Guy and Madonna exchange diamond wedding rings.

Then, in front of a female pastor, they speak the vows they've written themselves.

I wish I could hear them, but the ceremony is so far from where we are all sitting that none of us can make out a single word.

Deja vu - Sean and Madonna's wedding all over again!

After 15 minutes, the wedding party descends the staircase and we all congratulate them.

We sip champagne, then Madonna and Guy go up to their rooms to change.

At dinner, I have been allocated a seat at the back of the room, sitting with my back to the bride's table.

I'm not surprised because, after all, I've been a bad boy.

The best man, nightclub owner Piers Adam, stands up to give his toast.

Behind him, a screen shows images of Guy as a baby, Guy as a schoolboy, and even Guy in a dress.

Piers points at it. 'You see, Guy was a poofter early on,' he chortles, really pleased with himself.

I restrain myself from getting up and throwing a plate at him.

I glance at my sister, hoping to see a look of outrage on her face, but there is none.

I am sad that Madonna, whose early success was built on her legions of gay fans, can listen to these comments without protest.

I feel even sadder that she is now married to a man who seems so insecure in his masculinity that he thrives on homophobia.

I leave the dinner, go upstairs and fall asleep.

In the morning, we all pile into the bus taking us to the airport and we fly back to London.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

I've served my time at Skibo and it's over.

I have always designed Madonna's stage shows, but in March 2001 I make the chilling discovery that she is going on the road again but isn't hiring me.

Perhaps this is a retaliation for my wedding toast and the disdain I have demonstrated for her new husband.

But a few weeks later she writes inviting me to one of the rehearsals.

In the same letter, she tells me that she, Guy and the children are now eating a macrobiotic diet - no meat, chicken, bread, sugar, dairy produce or alcohol - prepared by a French macrobiotic cook.

She also invites me to come to a Kabbalah class.

Although I am slightly intrigued by Kabbalah, I decline.

But I do accept the invitation to the rehearsal.

The overall vibe is angry, violent and not fun to watch.

Then she hires me to do the interior design of the house she has bought from Diane Keaton in Roxbury Drive, Beverly Hills.

But before I start work, Madonna takes me aside and says: 'You know, Christopher, I've got kids now and a husband and you are going to have to design the house for the kids and to deal with my husband as well.'

I tell her it won't be a big deal, but I am wrong.

In theory, decorating Roxbury should be easy.

The only construction required is changing the bathroom upstairs so it suits Madonna, building a closet for Guy and enlarging the pool.

But Guy's closet turns out to be a massive enterprise, particularly as it involves dealing with Guy directly.

We meet at the house and he tells me what he wants:

'Nothing mincey, mate. Nothing twee.'

I stop myself from knocking his front teeth in.

He tells me that the closet must be 6ft long and 5ft wide, with hanging space just so, drawers of only one kind, and - most important of all - a glass case for his cufflinks and watches.

The case, he says, must be lined in red velvet and have lights so he can see his cuff-links and watches displayed there.

It has to be made out of dark wood.

The grain must match and run from left to right.

Through it all, he addresses me as 'Chris' even though he knows I prefer Christopher.

He is lordly, not in the least bit friendly - as if I am just another employee and not his brother-in-law.

Madonna, too, treats me as if I am nothing other than a serf paid to decorate her home.

In the past, I researched fabric and furniture for her, narrowed the choice down to three samples of fabric, or three types of chairs, and brought her the samples and photographs so she could pick which she wanted.

Now, though, she says three samples are not enough.

She instructs me to bring her at least ten samples, photographs of at least ten types of chairs, and so on.

And when I do, she says, she will then confer with Guy regarding the right choice.

I sense that her obstinacy stems from a deep desire to please Guy, and that he is secretly working to edge me out of every aspect of her life.

When it comes to selecting the wood for his closet, I show him 12 samples and he tells me that they all look 'twee', using the word over and over.

I get the message:

I am gay and he doesn't want the house to reflect my sexuality, which is hardly likely.

Madonna and I argue over the slightest detail - a doorknob, a light switch.

We've never argued over such details before, and I feel as if I am falling into a strange, dark hole.

In August 2002, Madonna invites me to her birthday party at Roxbury.

The invitation is from 'Mrs Ritchie'. When she was married to Sean, she never called herself Mrs Penn.

Now she has relinquished practically the most famous name in the universe - just to make Guy feel better about himself.

A kind and loving gesture, perhaps, but I also feel that she is acting a part.

The invitation states that the dress code is kimonos only.

Anyone not wearing one will not be admitted.

I have a red cotton kimono with white writing all over it, which I bought in Tokyo, so I wear that.

At the house, all the pathways are lined with votive candles and the garden looks pretty.

Gwyneth and I start chatting.

All of a sudden she screams: 'Christopher, you're on fire.'

I look down.

Flames are curling up my kimono.

I rip it off and pour water over it.

Gwyneth and I step on it and stamp out the fire.

I am wearing black trousers and a black shirt underneath.

I stay at the party dressed like that.

Madonna walks by.

I show her my burned kimono, which has a large hole in it.

She shrugs.

'Put that back on. No one is allowed to stay at the party if they aren't wearing a kimono.'

Don't ask me if I am OK, don't ask me if I am burned, just stick to your rules.

I ignore her and go back to dancing with Gwyneth.

The next time we meet is in London, to see her opening in the play Up For Grabs.

Guy is in the audience but we don't talk.

The next day, Madonna invites me to lunch at her house in Marylebone.

The Georgian terrace home has a dramatic staircase, five reception rooms, a large library, eight bedrooms and a huge drawing room.

We go out for a walk.

Suddenly she says: 'Guy told me about this pub - let's take a look.'

'But you don't drink beer, Madonna.'

'I do now.'

We go into the pub and she orders a pint of bitter.

I watch her face as she drinks it.

She pretends to like it but I can tell she doesn't.

'My husband is a beer drinker and I want to experience what he experiences,' she says in explanation.

I realise that it isn't just Kabbalah that has saved their marriage.

Madonna is striving hard to please him.

In the spring of 2003, Madonna tells me she is selling Roxbury and has bought a new house on Sunset Boulevard.

At her suggestion, I go to see the house, a bizarre reproduction of a French chateau with a swimming pool, a tennis court and an indoor theatre.

I hate it on sight, but when she asks me to design and decorate it in three months flat, I agree.

If I hadn't needed the cash so badly, I would have turned her down because the time is so short.

We exchange ideas by email and Madonna senses my feelings.

An argument blows up between us, which rages in our emails.

The conflict escalates when she sends me a vitriolic fax on September 23:

'You hate the fact that you have to work for me. There is no sense of urgency or gratitude and I'm fed- up with all of it. This is not a healthy relationship and when you have gotten rid of your issues with me over the fact that I am what or who I am then perhaps we can work together again.'The message is clear: for my sister, our working relationship is over.

I write straight back to her.

'Fine . . . fire me . . . I will consider this my last day of work for you. Believe me, I have always worked for every penny you have paid me, and generally it was pennies. You need to take another look at Kabbalah and its teachings and start practising it yourself instead of using it as a weapon on others.'

The following morning, she fires off another fax to me in which she ends our working relationship.

She admits:

'Perhaps I expect too much because of history, water under the bridge and the fact that you are my brother. Who knows, but it's not good chemistry.'

I suspect that Guy is somewhere in the background, pulling my sister's strings.

Either way, she has made my life a misery during the entire job.

Finally, the house is completed according to schedule.

But I don't receive the final payment of £7,500, so I call her assistant, Caresse.

'Madonna wants me to tell you that she doesn't feel you did enough to warrant the final payment. So she isn't going to pay it,' she says.

For a moment, I digest the latest blow my sister has dished out.

'You tell Madonna that if she wants to see any of the rest of the furniture I bought for her and for which she's waiting, she had better pay me.'

Caresse gulps and hangs up.

Within a few hours my final cheque arrives by messenger and I arrange for Madonna to get the rest of her furniture.

By now, Madonna and I are hardly on speaking terms.

But we are not completely estranged.

Then, at the end of October 2003, she decides to return one of the light fixtures I've purchased for her.

Caresse takes it back to the shop and learns that I have charged a percentage above the cost - the standard mark-up every designer takes.

On October 24, Madonna calls me and says that she can't believe I've done this to her, calling me a thief, a liar, the most untrustworthy person she's ever met and accusing me of betraying her.

The accusation that hurts the most is when she yells: 'I've made you what you are. You wouldn't be anything without me.'

I do my best to defend myself.

She hits back with a fax in which she hurls further accusations at me, ending: 'Please never contact me again.'

It is as if my sister has taken a knife, stuck it into my stomach and twisted it 25 times.

Or ripped my heart out and carved it into a thousand pieces.

I've spent the past 20 years helping make her a star, supporting her and protecting her without much financial reward.

And now this.

I read her poisonous words over and over, enraged.

In frustration, I smash my fist on my desk.

I break a bone in my hand and, for weeks after, have to wear a cast, but the physical pain is negligible next to the psychological pain my sister has just inflicted on me.

Every bit of anger I've ever felt at her, every disappointment she's caused me, every iota of pride I've swallowed on her behalf, every bitter rejection – it all comes to the surface.

I reply to her.

'You have never in the entire time I have worked for you since 1985 paid me even close to what I was worth. I gave up my life to help make you the evil queen you are today. Fifteen years listening to your bitching, egotistical rantings, mediocre talent and a lack of taste that would stun the ages.

'Every ounce of talent you have, you have sucked dry from me and the people around you. I certainly never worked for you for the money, now you accuse me of lying and cheating you. You've got some nerve. 'You have lost all sense of reality. I always thought that one day you'd see my worth and behave accordingly, but you never did. A little respect was all I ever wanted from you, and you couldn't even manage that.'I end with: 'Don't forget to remove me from your will.'

Then I press Send.

As I do, the weight falls off my shoulders.

All of a sudden, I am free of Madonna.

I don't have to protect her any more.

I don't have to worry about how my public behaviour will reflect on her.

I can be myself at last.

Christopher, not Madonna's brother.

Then I am overcome by a deep sadness.

The woman I loved above all others, the woman I thought was incredibly creative and loving has surrounded herself with sycophants who do nothing but agree with her and who, I feel, have poisoned her against me.

The Madonna I once knew is lost to me for ever.

I am sorry for her, and us.

Abridged from Life With My Sister Madonna, by Christopher Ciccone with Wendy Leigh, published by Simon & Schuster on July 15

$64,000 �� the debt she left me to pay

I am flicking through a Sotheby’s catalogue and notice three 19th Century landscapes – nothing major, just decorative items costing a total of $64,000, but perfect for Madonna’s Coconut Grove house in Miami.

I send the catalogues to Madonna’s apartment, with the paintings highlighted.

Madonna says she wants the landscapes.

Normally, for ‘small’ purchases, I lay out the money myself and Madonna pays me back.

So I go over to Sotheby’s and, with the bulk of my savings, win the auction and pay for them.

Invoice in hand, I take the paintings to Madonna’s apartment and present them to her.

‘I don’t want them,’ she says.

I assume she must be joking.

‘You’re kidding me, Madonna.’

‘I don’t want them any more and I’m not paying for them.’

As she is well aware, Sotheby’s policy is that if paintings bought in auction are returned, they will re-auction them but will retain half the proceeds.

But, for her own reasons, Madonna is pretending that she doesn’t know that.

I feel as if I am going to throw up.

‘But, Madonna, I’ve spent my own money on them. I don’t make the kind of money you make. I can’t just drop $64,000. That’s all the money I have.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘But you can’t not care.’

‘Sell them to somebody else. If they are worth that much money, sell them to somebody. I don’t care what you do. I don’t want the paintings.’

She gets up and sweeps out of the room, leaving me standing there, clutching an invoice for $64,000 and three paintings, and feeling as though she has punched me in the stomach.

I reason that in her head, she must be telling herself that because I am her brother, I should cope with whatever hand she deals me.

Still, I never dreamed that she would ever treat me with such a lack of caring or lack of respect.

Today, I suppose, is a milestone.

My first experience of the full force of my sister’s dark side, her lack of concern for someone she purports to love.

Our father instilled the values of loyalty and honour in us.

But over the years, my sister’s sense of loyalty and fairness has clearly been eroded by the adulation, the applause and the sense of entitlement.

It takes me six months to resell the three landscapes.

Six months during which I can’t pay my rent, have to borrow from friends, have to struggle to survive.

My sister, the cause of my predicament, knows this, yet does nothing.

By the time I finally recoup my money, my feelings for her have undergone a radical shift.

#Youtube

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firstimpressionsus · 1 year ago

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How much it cost to install an imprinted concrete driveway

Pattern imprinted concrete floors are highly sought after for areas like patios, walkways, driveways, poolside gardens, etc. It can be also used in combination with aggregate or acid staining. You can also use pattern imprinted concrete Wiltshire in the below give ways:

You can add pattern-imprinted concrete to

Kitchen, bathrooms entry and exit points basements and family rooms

Stamped concrete floors enhance the appearance of walls and fire places or refurbish your existing concrete floors

You can also use the stamping on concrete kitchen counters to get a new design element

How much it will cost?

Stamped concrete paving may cost you lots of money depending on the materials and labor demand in the local market. Cost will be also worked out taking in consideration of elements like complexity of the project. However like it is said “you get what you pay for” so you expect to high quality patio or driveway floor by using stamped concrete. By installing the floor you will enjoy the benefits like long lasting paved floor for driveway, patio and pool deck etc. it should be noted that maintenance cost of imprinted concrete driveways is negligible or nil. You can easily sweep away the dust, fallen leaves and dirt brought inside by your automobile and shoes.

The flooring is impact, water and heat resistant thus won’t crack easily despite heavy traffic. At the most you can use detergent water to clean the imprinted concrete floor. Coming to the cost you may have to spend $8 to $12 per square foot for basic flooring and $12 to $18 for midrange jobs if you introduce borders or applying contrasting colours in the pattern. You will have to spend $18 for a square foot if it is a high profile custom made job.

Employ professionals for pattern imprinted concrete pavements Employ the best Concrete driveway contractors who are hardened and wizened with experience and derived knowledge over the years. You can employ the services of First Impression Driveways, UK the best concrete driveway contractors in the country. You can contact them on phone numbers 0800521658, and 01865582767 or by sending mail to [email protected].

#Concrete Driveway Contractors #Pattern Imprinted Concrete Wiltshire #Pattern Imprinted Concrete Reading

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stonesuredrives · 4 years ago

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By improving the way your home looks from the outside, the entire property can be given a new lease of life and a fresh look. Stonesure Drives & Patios Ltd offer a professional installation service for patio & driveway surfacing, all aspects of groundworks & commercial surfacing including car parks & forecourts.

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Phone Number: 07389729914

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brajeshupadhyay · 4 years ago

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Whether, like Plumber Manor in Dorset, they’ve been owned by the same family for hundreds of years or are a cherished new project such as Caer Beris in Wales, manor hotels have a family at their hearts. Packed with history, these hotels pride themselves on delightfully old-fashioned hospitality with generous meals, antique furniture, gardens to wander in and countryside to admire. There are famous ones, including Le Manoir aux Quat’Saisons, and Gravetye and Cowley Manors, but there are plenty of others to discover, and some of them have superb deals this year. Lympstone Manor, Devon Lympstone Manor in Devon has a Michelin-starred restaurant and 21 bedrooms in the main house, with high levels of indulgence that include a resident artist and a vista of the River Exe Stunning: Pictured is one of the bathrooms, which features two freestanding gold baths and a marble double sink When chef Michael Caines bought this Regency mansion near Exmouth in 2017, part of the appeal was the surrounding farmland which he thought would make an ideal terroir for English sparkling wine. More than 17,000 vines were planted, and the first vintage is due in 2021. In the meantime, there’s a Michelin-starred restaurant and 21 bedrooms in the main house, with high levels of indulgence that include a resident artist and a vista of the River Exe. New this year are equally luxurious shepherd’s huts that sleep up to five guests. Doubles from £560, including breakfast and lunch (lympstonemanor.co.uk). Ockenden Manor, West Sussex Sussex treat: Ockenden Manor, near Cuckfield, serves afternoon cream tea with scones and finger sandwiches Tucked into the countryside near the South Downs, next to the boutique-filled village of Cuckfield, parts of this mansion date from the 16th Century. If you want to delve into the oldest part of the hotel, ask for the Master Timothy suite, which has wooden panelling, reading nooks and an adjacent room for children. Downstairs is given over to a bar, drawing rooms and a restaurant which overlooks a semi-wild garden; its wine list reflects the burgeoning Sussex vineyard scene. The former walled garden now houses a spa with an indoor and outdoor swimming pool; there are also a handful of suites, allowing guests to drift between their rooms and treatments. One-night Spa Break Getaway costs from £143pp for dinner, B&B with £25 voucher towards a spa treatment from Monday to Friday (prideofbritainhotels.com). Buckland Manor, Worcestershire Chef Will Guthrie raids the nearby Vale of Evesham for produce both in the restaurant and for hampers to take on picnics around Buckland Manor and beyond There are 15 rooms, some of them with four-poster beds and views of church spires. Distinctly more family-friendly than many Cotswolds hotels, there are interconnecting rooms as well as special menus for children Domesday mention: The manor house has ‘Domesday Book history and plenty of modern-day appeal’ A manor house with Domesday Book history and plenty of modern-day appeal. The 15th Century timbered hall provides the backdrop for afternoon tea in winter, although in summer it spreads out into the gardens. The beautiful village of Broadway is a gentle hike away, so are the gardens at Snowshill. There are 15 rooms, some of them with four-poster beds and views of church spires. Distinctly more family-friendly than many Cotswolds hotels, there are interconnecting rooms as well as special menus for children. Chef Will Guthrie raids the nearby Vale of Evesham for produce both in the restaurant and for hampers to take on picnics around the hotel and beyond. Two-night stays from £315pp, including B&B plus one dinner and a National Trust card worth £127 (bucklandmanor.co.uk). Plumber Manor, Dorset Generations of the Prideaux-Brune family have lived at Plumber Manor in Dorset since they built it in the 1600s – and it shows A textbook West Country manor house, from the long driveway surrounded by fields to the mullion windows framed by roses. Generations of the Prideaux-Brune family have lived at Plumber since they built it in the 1600s and it shows, with resident black labradors, proper family portraits and a collection of classic cars. There are six bedrooms in the main house, ten others in a restored stone barn. Spread over three dining rooms, the menu is classic country house, strong on cheese souffle and peppered beef, followed by home-made puddings. B&B from £155. For a three-night minimum stay, dinner, B&B is from £137.50pp per night (plumbermanor.co.uk). Manor House, Wiltshire The 14th Century ivy-clad manor house in Wiltshire is filled with stained-glass windows, beams and a Michelin-starred restaurant There are 21 rooms in the main house and 29 cottages around the grounds, some of which are dog-friendly With its charming honey-stoned houses, Castle Combe is often described as England’s most beautiful village, and it has caught the eye of many a Hollywood director. It has a 14th Century ivy-clad manor house – in the same honey-coloured stone to match – filled with stained-glass windows, beams and a Michelin-starred restaurant. There are 21 rooms, including the delightful Lordsmeer suite in the main house and 29 cottages around the grounds, some of which are dog-friendly. There’s an 18-hole golf course and a glorious Italianate garden, and the Bybrook river meanders through the grounds. B&B doubles from £250 (exclusive.co.uk/the-manor-house). Titchwell Manor, Norfolk A hotel that catches the posh but gently boho North Norfolk vibe beautifully; this Victorian building is too close to the beach to have any airs and graces, but there’s a lot of breezy charm. Meals are served in an expansive conservatory and there are 26 rooms, some with hot tubs. Owned by the Snaith family, it is managed by their son Eric, who also runs Norfolk’s smartest fish and chip shop in nearby Thornham. Family-friendly, it’s also a stylish bolthole for birdwatchers; there’s an RSPB reserve next door. B&B from £140. A two-night walking break including dinner, B&B plus a packed lunch on one day costs from £265pp (titchwellmanor.com). Longueville Manor, Jersey Longueville Manor, Jersey, puts food and wine at the centre of its appeal This Relais & Châteaux hotel may put food and wine at the centre of its appeal, but there’s much more on offer. The 30 rooms and suites are cream and serene, generously sized and with French-accented luxury. For extra privacy, there’s a two-bedroom cottage in the grounds, alongside tennis courts and a spa. The hotel also has its own yacht. Longueville became a hotel in 1949 and is now in the third generation of family ownership. There’s a fine cellar, with more than 5,000 bottles, a forager on staff to supplement the extensive kitchen garden and honey from hives dotted around the grounds. Doubles from £225, room-only (longuevillemanor.com). Aynsome Manor Hotel, Cumbria Aynsome Manor Hotel, Cumbria, has 13 bedrooms, some in the beamed eaves of the building, all with the sort of views that will have you pulling on your walking boots For those who like the wilder side of Cumbria, here is a handsome, good-value manor near Cartmel, now run by the second generation of the Varley family. There are just 13 bedrooms, some in the beamed eaves of the building, all with the sort of views that will have you pulling on your walking boots. Guests eat in the dining room rather than a restaurant and the food aims to make the flavours sing with minimal fuss. The menus are set-price and a bargain at three courses for £30. B&B from £90 per night (aynsomemanorhotel.co.uk). Caer Beris Manor, Powys The Southwick family bought Caer Beris Manor in Powys last year and spent lockdown continuing their renovation programme Lord Swansea built this mock-Tudor mansion, surrounded on three sides by the River Irfon, in 1896 on the foundations of a 13th Century castle. It was bought by the Southwick family last year. There are 22 rooms spread across the estate, ranging from suites to single rooms. The family spent lockdown continuing their renovation programme and have created picnic areas throughout the grounds, which also hold orchards and an otter hide, while there’s trout, salmon and grayling to fish for. The 1898 restaurant sources its ingredients locally. Mains start at £16. B&B from £90 (caerberis.com). Manor House, Argyll and Bute Manor House, Argyll and Bute, is ‘delightfully gentle’ with just 11 rooms and spectacular West Coast views The Scots don’t do manors in quite the same way as the English – fortified castles were more their thing. This hotel is one of the exceptions, and it’s delightfully gentle with just 11 rooms and spectacular West Coast views. It was built for the Duke of Argyll in 1780, next to Oban’s harbour. Staying here is a superb introduction to the Inner Hebrides, from the freshly caught seafood in the restaurant to sunset views from McCaig’s Tower behind the hotel – although watching from the Nelson bar at the hotel with a fine whisky in hand is nearly as good. Sailors can use the hotel’s own mooring. Double B&B from £224 (manorhouseoban.com). The Manor at Sway, Hampshire Pictured is one of the bedrooms at The Manor at Sway, Hampshire, where ‘William Morris mixes with a touch of modern design’ All the space and grace that the Edwardians could muster comes into play at this hotel on the southern edge of the New Forest, where William Morris mixes with a touch of modern design. It’s a great car-free option as it’s near the railway station and there are wonderful walks into the forest and heath to explore from the hotel. There are just 11 bedrooms and a restaurant serving local produce. Dishes include local pork with black pudding, crisp ham and charred baby gem lettuce, while puddings include lemon curd tart with basil. Doubles from £189, including dinner, breakfast and afternoon tea (themanoratsway.com). Moonfleet Manor, Dorset Room with a view: Moonfleet Manor, a Georgian mansion in Dorset, overlooks the magnificent Chesil Beach Not just for adults: One of the lounges at the hotel, which is child-focused, with play areas and picnics If you want to get your child manored up, head here. Overlooking Chesil Beach and part of the Luxury Family Hotel group, it’s thoroughly child-focused. There are interconnecting rooms, indoor and outdoor play areas, including a pool, and in a Covid-made-fun way, picnics are available for every meal including breakfast. The South West Coastal Path runs alongside the back garden. In the Georgian mansion, there’s a playfulness that adults will appreciate too, with high teas and grown-up meals and, above all, Snoopy, the venerable hotel spaniel. Two nights from £329, including breakfast and dinner for two. Children stay free but are charged for meals; two hours of childcare a day is included from September 7 when the creche reopens (moonfleetmanorhotel.co.uk). Long Crendon Manor, Buckinghamshire Long Crendon Manor in Buckinghamshire has bedrooms with original features, a bakery, farm shop and florist Not a hotel as such, but you can stay in this manor, which is stacked with beamed charm. Parts of the main house date from the 12th Century. It’s still a working estate, with ducks and geese in the orchard that creates the cider, and Gloucester Old Spot pigs that provide the morning bacon. Head into the courtyard and there’s a bakery, farm shop and florist. The farm shop cafe serves lunch and it’s walking distance from two pubs in the village. B&B doubles from £145 (longcrendonmanor.co.uk). Rothay Manor, Cumbria This small foodie hotel in the heart of the Lake District is owned by Jamie and Jenna Shail, who have bought significant flair and rolltop baths to the low-slung white house near Ambleside. Eight of the rooms on the ground floor are dog-friendly; first-floor rooms have balconies. Its main restaurant has three AA rosettes and five courses start from £70 a head, but there’s also a more casual restaurant. B&B from £221 (rothaymanor.co.uk). The post Give your British mini-break some real style and book a stay in one of these 14 grand houses appeared first on Shri Times News. from WordPress https://ift.tt/3ld1rKb

http://sansaartimes.blogspot.com/2020/08/give-your-british-mini-break-some-real.html

#SEO #Local SEO training #daily news paper #daily news india #daily news newspaper #technology news a

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dracomai · 6 years ago

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answer this LATER cause ur having fun but: what kind of luxuries the malfoy manor have ? like specifically extravagant things they own or even rooms designed for one activity? and what kind of rich muggle things are in them (like jacuzzis or like tvs idk)? the PEOPLE wanna know

MALFOY MANOR. first, i wanna say thank you for giving me a reason to ramble on about the malfoy manor. i’m gonna take this time to just talk about everything i possibly could. okay so to talk about the history, i need to introduce you to the first malfoy, the founder of the malfoy manor.

ARMAND MALFOY. armand was a french born wizard who arrived in great britain with the norman invasion ( he gained the friendship of william the conqueror ). he was also the first malfoy in britain. sometime after william I was made king of england in 1066, armand provided various services to the king. while the exact details of the services are unknown, they were known to be shady and magical in nature. ( probably: threatening with hexes, hexing enemies of the king, using various dark spells. ) in exchange for these services, king william granted armand a piece of land in wiltshire, seizing the property from it’s former landholders. the malfoy manor would over the next ten centuries, be the home of the malfoy family. the family would expand the estate even further by annexing more property from surrounding muggles but also gain more riches by coming into contact with muggles and making money off of their ways. properly doing business with them. ( this was before the international statute of wizarding secrecy. of which the malfoys initially opposed the imposition of the statute. upon the realization that further opposition would distance them from the new heart of power being the newly formed ministry of magic, they cut all ties with muggle families and became supportive of the statute. holding all denial that they had ever fraternized with non magic families. ) ( malfoys had historically been associated with high-born muggle circles, such as royalty and aristocracy, which, in part, resulted in their vast collection of muggle treasures and works of art. all of which are stored within the manor. )

I. DRIVEWAY. " they turned right, into a wide driveway that led off the lane. the high hedge curved with them, running off into the distance beyond the pair of impressive wrought-iron gates barring the men’s way… the source of the noise proved to be nothing more than a pure-white peacock, sturring majestically along the top of the hedge. “ — description of severus snape and yaxley walking along the driveway.

the gravel driveway to the manor house is wide and has a large hedge curving alongside it. the driveway and hedge go past a pair of wrought-iron gates. these gates permit select individuals ( those who make some sort of salute ) to pass through them as if they are smoke, and with others the iron contorts into a face, which demands the purpose of the person trying to enter the manor. the yew hedge is known to have albino peacocks roving along the top of it. the outside of the manor is grand and the land surrounding it is vast, filling many acres. those acres contain numerous types of trees and various plant and perhaps other animal life.

II. THE MANOR. " a handsome manor house grew out of the darkness at the end of the straight drive, lights glinting in the diamond-paned downstairs windows. somewhere in the dark garden beyond the hedge a fountain was playing… the hallway was large, dimly lit, and sumptuously decorated, with a magnificent carpet covering most of the stone floor. the eyes of the pale-faced portraits on the walls followed snape and yaxley as they strode past. “ — description of the manor and the entrance hall.

malfoy manor is a " handsome manor house " surrounded by elaborate gardens, including a fountain. the front door swings inward at the approach of a person ( or perhaps just a select group of people ) without anyone visibly opening it. the hallway is large, dimly lit, carpet covering the stone floor. the walls of the entrance hall display pale-faced portraits lining the walls ( presumably former malfoy family portraits ), and at the end of the hall is the bronze-handled door to the drawing room.

III. THE DRAWING ROOM. " the drawing room was full of silent people, sitting at a long and ornate table… illumination came from a roasting fire beneath a handsome marble mantelpiece surmounted by a gilded mirror. " — description of the drawing room.

the drawing room was a widely proportioned room. probably the grandest room of the house, it had ceilings 30 feet high, two chandeliers, and a pipe organ at one end. it had a long ornate table, where the death eaters and voldemort sat during their meeting. also, during the death eater meeting, the usual furniture was pushed carelessly up against the walls. the drawing room has a ‘handsome’, ornate marble mantelpiece with a gilded mirror which has an intricately scrolled frame on top. many of the known activities of the death eaters took place in the drawing room, which had dark purple walls with more portraits, and a large crystal chandelier, which was eventually destroyed by dobby ( their house elf ) during the escape of several prisoners. It was probably restored ( by magic ) to where it was previously hung.

IV. CELLAR. during voldemorts stay in the manor, this room functioned as a holding cell for prisoners. this room is one hundred percent escape proof with only house elves able to bypass the room’s securities. it is below ground level, no light, damp floored, and made of stone with stone beams . the family’s collection of dark artefacts are hidden below within the cellar to prevent any being seized during ministry raids. one such raid having been conducted in december 1992. considering that a vast amount of dark artefacts reside in the cellar, this makes it an immensely dangerous room to step foot in if you’re not fully aware of what is held in the room. touch the wrong thing and you could possibly die.

V. ITEMS WITHIN THE MANOR. because of their association with muggle royalty, they gained a vast collection of muggle treasures and works of art. they also have an abundance of dark artefacts. some items can be bewitched by dark magic for various purposes, which is where the name dark artefacts originates from. it is unsure what these items specifically are, but draco keeps a small amount of them in his bedroom along shelves and around the house displayed. he keeps a lot of his own dark artefacts, cursed items, taxidermized dark magical beings. there are also journals from every malfoy stored, detailing their lives during that period and about muggle societies during that time. including the journal of his own father, and dracos own.

#trisoul #* ◞ 🐍 send an owl: answered.#* ◞ 🐍 convicted by his convictions: notes.#a lot of this was half headcanon and half canon / taken from the wiki information

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ginaakers · 6 years ago

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Because it’s #Friday night! The start of the #weekend. What are you up to? - Big hair short skirt! Try on about 100 outfits and always end up going back to the first one you put on 😂 - If you’re off out #clubbing this is for you x Night at Da Club (The Ladies on a night out): Ladies it’s like ya birthdays Making that walk down your driveways Eyebrows on point, ya best hair days Wearing ya threads in the new craze (Your friendly neighbourhood Taxi Driver): Back of cab Hittin the clubs Just havin fun They’re Tearin it up Out with ya friends Hang ups there’s none Back in cab when their nights done (The Ladies on a night out): Ladies it’s like ya birthdays...... (Mr. Securitee, Da Big Bad Doorman): Yo ladies I’m ya man on door Let’s see some ID (“No way we been here before”) C’mon c’mon now you know the drill Show me your creds (so we can keep out the feds) and you can go get and hit that dance floor (The Ladies on a night out): Ladies it’s like ya birthdays..... (She’s the Coolest Cloakroom Concierge in the City): Nice jacket girl, let me take that for you, And wow where did you get that awesome hair do Y’all so on fleek tonight Da club is bangin�� alright No time to waste go set that dance floor alight (The Ladies on a night out): Ladies it’s like ya birthdays...... (Mr. Smooth Bartendah): Who’s Next! What can get for you? Gin and coke now is that one or that two? Have tried this club special, no? Well it’s new Can I join you later when you’ve had a few? (The Ladies on a night out): Ladies it’s like ya birthdays..... (The Club DJ): Now I’m ya house DJ I’m a master of bass Scratchin and mixin, this is MySpace Ya feelin my tunes before ya seeing my face I’m first and last thing ya hear when come to this place (The Ladies on a night out): Ladies it’s like ya birthdays Making that walk down your driveways Eyebrows on point, ya best hair days Wearing ya threads in the new craze (at Wiltshire) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bnb9j08FaZv/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=i9hy69jgxq6z

#friday #weekend #clubbing

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rocyfanandez30 · 3 years ago

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wiltshiredriveways

New Driveways, Patios and Landscaping Expertly Installed Throughout Wiltshire, Somerset and B & NES.

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farmingdalepaving · 4 years ago

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Farmingdale Paving Contractor

Farmingdale is a unique town in the county of Wiltshire. It is located on the valley floor between Oxford and the River Tamar. The name is derived from an old French term that meant 'farming'. Fierce competition among paving contractors in the area, made this town a unique market town. Contractors from all over the country have shifted their headquarters to Farmingdale in order to take advantage of the strong market. Today, many of these paving contractors have taken up the craft of setting new contracts with the owners of land and development companies.

There are several benefits of hiring a good paving contractor. It makes your job easier by reducing strain on your back and also provides you with a sense of pride in doing a good job for your business. With such a variety of surfaces available and the large number of companies that operate in this region, you can be assured of getting a paving contractor who is reliable, competitive and trustworthy. In short, you need to search online for a reputable paving company in Farmingdale. You will find plenty of websites that offer their services for various reasons, like finding a contractor or paving contractor and looking for quality paving materials.

The place where you plan to build your farm is also of importance. This is especially so if you are looking at developing land around an irrigation channel or river. The drainage of the land will have to be managed effectively in such a scenario and paves can do the job perfectly. Farmland that has drainage that is good usually grows well and yields a lot. However, good drainage can help in keeping excess rainwater away from the land, which can cause damage to the underlying soil.

Farmingdale is known for its excellent weather conditions and it doesn't disappoint even during the winter. You can find a paving contractor here if you want to hire one. The main shopping center, Sizzler, is located in this town. There are many places where you can eat, drink and shop. The town also has a shopping mall, that offers a wide variety of different stores, along with restaurants.

There is also the Central Shopping Center in the town. It has over one hundred and fifty shops and restaurants. There is a movie theater in the town that offers some good movies. There are many different entertainment options in the town.

Farmingdale is located on approximately eleven kilometers of landfill that was once used for industrial purposes. The land has since been re-developed into a residential area. Most people come to the town and settle down after work. The population has been steadily increasing and the roads and infrastructure are in very good condition. If you are thinking of starting a new business, why not hire a reputable paving contractor to build a beautiful lawn for your home? Farmingdale paving contractor offers

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rballandsonltd · 7 months ago

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R. Ball and Son Ltd is the leading residential concrete driveway contractors near Redlynch. With a commitment to quality and customer satisfaction, we pride ourselves on delivering exceptional driveway solutions to enhance the aesthetic appeal and functionality of your property.

#drop kerbs in hampshire #new driveway company #driveway installation companies #new driveways in wiltshire

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raygoodwinmajournal · 4 years ago

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Epochal Territories Shoot #5 - 28/12/2020

Winter tightens it grip amongst the masses, with a bitter chill blasting through the streets and waving the frost ridden grass and frozen ponds. Parked cars litter the side of the streets with one wondering if some will even start in the morning. The Christmas break sees us staying in Wiltshire for the last time before the in-laws move locally. This particular time of year has seemingly been subdued and subjugated by the pandemic which is completely unavoidable, stuck in the back of ones mind no matter how much you try and do things normally like walking around a village or photographing for a project.

Marshfield is a small village local to where I stayed, with a much larger footfall and right next to a main road which eventually leads to the M4 and Bristol. I had never been to Marshfield so I wasn’t really expecting anything, but it is architecturally similar to a French pre-war village, with massive limestone cottages packed onto one main street. These houses are massively expensive and give one the thought that they’re either for local people or people wanting to escape the city, or want a second home that isn’t too far from a main road. The village then turns into a weird space where expensive homes meddle with a council estate and nearby road noise. For the walk, I tracked my location including my mileage just to keep a track of where I have been and how long I was out for.

I chose to use the Canon 5D because at the current point in time of shooting this, I already have three rolls of film to be developed shot through the Mamiya 7ii, so the decision to shoot digitally was to create some work to have instantly whilst I await the developing of my film. The 5D was yet again paired with the Yongnuo 35mm F2 and the same B&W preset that I used for the Talbot Gardens Estate shoot. My ISO was set to 400 and my aperture ranged from between F8 an F11, with shutter speeds going from 1/125s to 1/40s. The batteries weren’t enjoying the almost zero degree temperature, with one of them going flat fairly quickly. In post production, the shadows were brought up whilst the highlights were lowered to maximise the dynamic range.

Here you can see the odd mixture of more classical building design and newer council houses from the mid 20th century. There is something estranging with the newer cookie cutter designed housing knocking on the doors of buildings that have been a part of Marshfield for hundreds of years. The petroleum sign is also something from another time, with the dated logo design and notifying the driver can use their Visa card to pay.

Another garage is situated around the corner, where you have to ask the attendees to have your car filled up. A skip is parked in-between filled with all sorts of house related ephemera, presumably from a house clearance. The streets weren’t that desolate, with a multitude of families walking around a quaint village whilst the bitterly cold wind blasts up the high street. I found that the village didn’t really have a notable aesthetic tying it to Britain. I feel that you could plonk it anywhere within the U.K or France it would be right at home, seemingly with the look and feel of it being anonymous.

Perhaps the most alienating landscape, a barren driveway with rusty scaffolding, another skip filled with rubbish and traffic cones littering the drive. Shooting in this environment was extremely difficult, as it is so detracted from what I am usually photographing, whether that is housing estates, military bases or urban sprawl.

Soon enough, the village started to turn into a bleak housing estate where the wind stopped and the road noise loudened. Immediately I felt the feeling of alienation from the quaint village to the drab council estate. The other notable aspect was nobody was walking around, compared to the many families we bumped into in the village. The area felt a lot more rough, with the social status being presumably lower and most likely a notable decrease in house prices.

It would seem that the houses situated in the council estate in Marshfield seemed a similar design to those photographed in Martins Croft in Colerne whilst shooting for Mileage May Vary. The junction acts as a leading line towards the road that crosses the frame, with the sidewalk splitting the frame in two, with the road taking the lower half and the houses taking the upper half. I always find these houses to invoke a massive feeling of malaise, which is probably down to their cookie cutter design, and the ambiguity of their location. If I was to remove any idea of it’s location, it could be anywhere within the U.K. The roads are completely temporary, as are the sidewalks one uses to traverse the estate. Looking towards these houses with the complete depersonalisation is to me, deeply uncomfortable. These are places where people live their lives, a place to come home to after working a job which is probably slowing killing them. Yet nobody is around, almost creating a liminal space - a place of transience.

The community centre hide behind the bare trees, with it’s cathedral-esque design utilised to be a beacon of activities for the village. I enjoy the idea of the architecture being hidden from view, but not completely where hints are still visible like some windows the the sign to enter the property. The roads and sideways again act as transient spaces where time is only measured in seconds.

Transcript:

village on the doorstep of the M4 roadnoise gateway to the city limestone cottages in a line better breeze frozen lake houses for sale selling for too much money out of the price bracket for most village experience ask for assistance at the petrol pump looming council house in the range of the laymen grotty boxes beaten up cars on the driveway football field they play local games here for locals again outsiders welcome but frowned upon are you new here elderly crossing please be careful this is residential this is a main road here for all the traffic linking counties renovated housing make a house a home away from home from the city country getaway stones throw from the city

A coda. The experience of walking from a village into a council estate within a matter of minutes is a strange experience. The quaint nature of the limestone cottages with Christmas decorations in the window mixed with the unwashed façade of council houses brings up an odd feeling of ennui and listlessness. It brings up the feeling that where could be some animosity between the village dwellers and the council house tenants. Something I do enjoy however is writing down my thoughts and feelings of where I have been. I often have loads of things going around my head when I am shooting, so the ability of unloading the total word vomit in my head is therapeutic, almost cathartic. It also goes along with my images, giving them a somewhat consistent context to where my head is when I am on location.

But, I am beginning to enjoy shooting film again. Despite the price of developing and buying film, the look and film is totally unbeatable and something which is massively undeniable to me. This does bring up the question whether I use both film and digital, or just use the film images. For the time being, there might be a possibility that they can coexist depending they can have a visual consistency (same tones and aspect ratio). If they can be made to be similar in aesthetic, then there would be no reason for them to not be together, which just means I have to make sure that what I include in the final product are visually consistent with each other. The zeitgeist is somewhat hidden when in a village setting, where the urban doesn’t entirely appear to be present in the typical sense of contemporary architecture, shops rammed with consumers and overpriced coffee shops. Instead, the alienation within the space is a lot more nuanced compared to the more suburban areas such as the council estate. In the village setting, the alienation is instead coming from the aspect that the majority of the housing within the area is placed upon a pedestal, away from those trying to climb the property ladder buying their first home. Instead, it is primarily aimed for the wealthier, middle class crowd who are financially better-off and maybe even looking to have another home away from the city, creating a faux-countryside aesthetic for their lives. It comes to a point where the necessity of the home diminishes and then becomes a commodity, a material thing to gain to say to your friends that you own a property in a certain county or village oh look at me in my new_house painted with farrow & ball with the new electric landrover on the drive wecarefortheenvironment.

#101

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