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[classicmemorialbenches]

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Classic Benches are handcrafted to order in our workshop in the Lancashire village of Lathom.

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[claireinnc]

Savannah

May

I'm standing at the spot of the bench where Forest Gump sat in the opening of the film, as above. The bench has been removed due to the number of visitors picking bits of it as souvenirs, hence the standing. I always think it's quite cool to see film locations and how they've adapted a place to look slightly different. My view from this spot shows the opposite direction.

Savannah is a great coastal city in Georgia! Lots of history, beautiful buildings and great restaurants. It's always the place of haunted houses and so many ghost tours. We didn't actually take one of those, but heard a few tales on our cycle tour.

The water front is a pretty area full of restaurants and a pleasant boardwalk. Our first evening was spent strolling along the front enjoying the view and the atmosphere which included a live group entertaining the crowds by the river.

On our second day, we were entertained on a cycle tour. Although not the longest one we've done, it gave us a good feel for the park area and the historic district. We were shown the first house to have electric , owned by the Turner family - who would have guessed - and some other historic places. It was definitely starting to get warm and by the end of the tour, we needed an air-conditioned place to rest and have lunch.

In the afternoon, we cycled off to find the Bonaventure Cemetery. This was listed as one of the best things to do and despite it feeling a little weird, we decided to cycle out and explore. After about a mile, I was beginning to think it hadn't been a good idea. The neighbourhoods started to feel a little more intense. Porches with locals lined the streets and children roamed the streets. I cycled faster than usual! After what seemed an eternity, well in fact 6 miles, we eventually arrived at the cemetery.

It was worth the cycle! It really was beautiful. Spanish moss hung from great Oak trees creating mystery and shade. Long, wide paths and beautifully manicured resting areas made this feel like a park area. We cycled round the area before embarking on the rather fast cycle home!

On our third day, the morning was grey. We headed to the Prohibition Museum in the market area. The prohibition was an attempt to stop the production and consumption of alcohol in the states. This was a fascinating place telling the story of the years of 'No alcohol" and the actual reality of it. Richard felt quite comfortable propping up a replica of one of the bars that was destroyed during that time.

As the day went on, the sun came out to brighten the day. We wandered down to the river and took an impromptu boat ride. Whilst the river isn't surrounded by beauty, it is a major route for enormous cargo ships carrying up to 1000 containers. It was pretty impressive to see a couple of these pass by, towering over our boat.

In the evening, we found what can only be described as the perfect pub to have dinner at. This was the location for the film, 'Something to talk about' with Julia Roberts. It is a quaint British style pub full of items and paintings depicting the British Isles. The food was pretty good too. It didn't surprise us to end up talking to a man who was fascinated by the Royal family and the UK in general. He had lots of questions about Harry and Megan!

Savannah was beautiful. The one memory that will be clear is the Spanish moss hanging from the the oak trees all over the place. It's not exactly moss, but hangs down from the trees. We were told that it was once used to fill car seats, but then they realised that it was actually full of parasites and this was obviously not appreciated by those sitting on the seats. What ever it actually is, it just gives the trees an eerie, but beautiful appearance.

[bentleydesignsoutlet]

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[a-copper-butterfly]

Title Suggestions Needed!

OK so i posted this before but i have edited it a bit and added a new intro. im still not sure if i should continue this but what the hay, have a look and give us some feed back. :)

here is my re-write of good omens where the ineffable husbands raise Adam.

Monday, five days before the end of the world.

It was sunny, well, as sunny as it every was in the centre of London.

For those you don’t know, London is a vaguely potato shaped blob about ten miles across, with its own weather system which is almost entirely different to that of the rest of the UK.

Warlock was moping along his nose glued to his phone (not literally, thought Crowley sometimes wished he could get close enough with some glue without the little nuisance noticing.) Warlock had perfected the art of nearly completely ignoring the world around him, but remining just aware enough that he could complain at anyone who might distract him. His mother was walking along admiring the sculptures, pausing now and then to read an information sign. She did this much in the same manner as most people the world over when they want to look more intelligent than they are. They don’t actually read what is written on the information board, just frown and nod like you agree with what ever had been said then point to it and repeat a few lines when a friend or family member joins you. Thus, the whole cycle repeats itself.

A little way from the stroppy pre-teen, representatives of both heaven and hell discussed the fate of the world.

“I mean, he could just disappear,” suggested the Demon. He was slouched on the wooden bench. This was a master level slouch of someone who had trained for years to hold his body in such a position. A normal person if attempting this would pull a muscle if not worse.

The Angel that sat prim and proper next to him frowned,

“I don’t see how hiding him would help?” he said, which earned a glare form his companion. The thick sunglasses that covered the Demons yellow eyes obscure the fond irritation directed at the angel.

“I mean kill him Angel,” he clarified.

The Angel shuffles in his seat uncomfortable about this conversation. He tried to change the subject, but not too much avail.

“Are you going to get him a dog?” Azriaphale looks over at Crowley, know full well that he had been asked to provide the hound and that this was purely a diversion.

“I thought you were going to sort that out.” Crowley responded, rolling his concealed eyes.

“Why are we getting him a dog anyway.”

Crowley gave a side glances at his companion, silently noting the use of “we”.

Azriaphale wasn’t done with his grumbling, “Do remember the hamster?” he continued.

“Sir hamserlot? Yeah.” Crowley cringed at the memory of the tan and white little rodent. The poor thing when through so meant names it was a wonder it didn't have identity issues.

“How meant times did we have to pull that poor creature back from the jaws of death?” Aziraphale says shaking his head. The poor thing had eventual snuffed it permanently when the boy had gotten it into his head that hamsters could swim. They can, much like rats, but being put in a crudely made ship and pushed out on a duck pond in the middle of winter would be terminal for most rodents or any other small mammal.

A dog is a bit bigger. This was the only argument Crowley could come up with at the time.

“Well” Azriaphale relented “he is a bit older now.”

Crowley shuffled further into his slouch.

“It's the end if the world Angel.” He muttered gloomily, “Just give the kid what he wants. And he wants a dog.”

Aziraphale flinched at this painful truth.

“Well you have a point dear. Fine, he can have a dog.”

There was a pause as they watched Warlock ignore the world around him and play on his phone. The cartoonish sounds of games annoying the people around him. Crowley smirked; apps had been one of his ideas. Well, according to hell they were. Humans were always doing his job for him; he just took the credit when the higher ups asked about it. He sighs and slips back into the conversation about the end of the world.

“We’d better be there when the dog arrives” Crowley said darkly.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary. I think he can look after himself and a dog for a few hours. He is old enough now, don’t you think?” Aziraphale smiles nodding in agreement with himself.

Crowley shot the angel a withering look.

“I meant the hellhound and Warlock, not some overly excited puppy with a bladder size of a spoon. This is going to a monster. The biggest they have got, according to downstairs.”

Aziraphale lip touched in a pout. “Oh” was all he said.

“I'm going as waiting staff don't want people recognizing me.” Crowley continued. “Can you bring him?”

“He said he doesn’t want to go. Said warlock isn't fun to hang out with anymore.” Aziraphale said, fumbling with a button on his sleeve cuff.

“Too bad. He is going to seeing a lot more of him whether he likes it or not. That is if there is anything after.” Crowley responded darkly. He still hadn’t figure how they were going to make it through the next few days.

A sudden though shot through Aziraphale mind.

“I could be the entertainment! I’ll brush up on my magic!” he said excitedly, beaming at the idea.

“Oh no, angel, please don’t. Really, it’s humiliating.” Crowley protested, “You can do miracles, why bother doing sleight of hand when you’re not good at it?” Aziraphale bounced in his seat. This was going to be fun.

  One late august night just outside the small village of Tadfield,

 When a snake regurgitates its food, its normally because it had been grabbed or handle soon after eating or is otherwise subjected to stress.

As Crowley knelt in damp grass on the bank beside the road, he wiped his mouth. The light from the Bentley’s open door revealing the grey sludge that was even now burning the grass. The small part of Crowley’s mind that wasn’t screaming in panic wondered when the last time he had eaten was. Without the help of the rest of his brain, he guessed around six years ago.

Pushing himself up onto wobbly legs, Crowley slid back into the driving seat, switched on the radio as he did so. As he pulled the car back onto the road, Crowley checked the rear-view mirror. The carry cot was still there. This was real.

“Shit, shit, shit, why me, why me?” he muttered to himself. The radio crackle,

“BECAUSE YOU EARNED IT CROWLEY” came the voice of Freddy Mercury.

“Fuck…” though Crowley.

 Sister Annabelle Houghton was totally normal, much to the annoyances of her parents. They were traditional occultists who gave her supposedly cursed china dolls and pretty, frilly dresses in attempts to get her possessed. They had even moved at an old house which the nice estate agent had made very clear was the site of quite a few murders and ghost stories. It even had its own graveyard in the garden. Her swing was hung in an old knarred oak tree which legend had it was used as a hangman’s gibbet, but she never used it. When Annabelle eventually grew up, her parents had lamented and had sent her off to the Sisterhood of Chattering Nuns of St Beryl. Not too worried about this, Annabelle went along as she thought it might be interesting.

Now she sat looking out of one of the convent’s window keeping watch for the arrive of Master Crowley and the baby boy he carried with him. The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of this world, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness. She was very excited; this was a big day and she, Sister Annabelle, would be part of it. A cup of tea sat on the windowsill beside her. It had gone cold hours ago, No matter.

A car came screaming through the gates of the convert an excitement jolting up her spine. Sister Annabelle leapt from her seat and began to quickly click her way down the hall towards the foyer. She turned the corner expecting to see one of her sisters talking to Master Crowley but broke into a run when she saw which sister it was. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Sister Mary Loquacious, she was a lovely person when you were sat having a chat, it was just that things, important things, tended to go wrong when she was involved.

“Mother Superior! Mater Crowley is here!” she half-yelled, her fists full of her skirt as she leaped down the three little steps leading up to the corridor. Crowley quickly ducked behind a column in responses to the shouting. Shouting mostly lead to pitchforks, torches and a bad time for him.

“Greeting Master Crowley” she said, tried to smile and make her voice sound cheerful but her eyes were screaming at Sister Mary Loquacious. If she wasn’t holding The Anti-Christ, she may have shoved her out of harm’s way (harm’s way meaning any damage Sister Loquacious could cause to others, not the other way around). Sister Annabelle stopped next to her sister, peering at the bundle in her arms. The baby gurgled quietly. She quickly curtsied to Master Crowley who was still looking between the nuns wondering if he could slip out before anyone noticed.

The double doors leading to the hospital rooms flew open and a furious old nun stormed through. This was not part of the plan. She ran her icy gaze over the two nuns, who both know the consequences of that stare. Her eyes found Crowley who was trying not to look like a rabbit in the headlights, he was a demon after all. There was no escape now.

Long hair, sunglasses, modern suit, snakeskin shoes? Not what she though one of hell’s best demons would look like. She raised an eyebrow and forced a smile.

“Master Crowley, you’re just in time.” she walked slowly with an air of control. Crowley drew himself up to his full height. The Mother Superior had the eyes of a school master and they are well known for making even the naughtiest individuals squirm.

“Sister Annabelle, please go and retrieve the child of the ambassador and inform the other sisters that the switch will be taking places presently.” she smiled at the terrified nun who swallowed and nodded, turning to hurrying down the hall. Crowley tried to sidle towards the door. He stopped dead when the older nun eyes dropped on him. He tried to give her a confident smile.

“Master Crowley, if you would just pop over to the desk, we have a few papers for you to sign just to keep everything in order.” she turned and glided over to the foyer desk and began to draw papers out of a file. Crowley reluctantly followed her, dumping the now empty carry cot on the desk before propping himself up on it.

Sister Mary Loquacious frowned. She rocked the Anti-Christ in her arms. He was chewing on his hand. She had checked, it didn’t have claws. She looked up at Master Crowley and frowned again. She walked over to the desk,

“Umm Master Crowley?” she asked and terrifying yellow eyes looked at her over dark sunglasses. Something in the very pit of her soul screamed and told her to run. It was the same part that makes skulls scary, even though they are always smiling. She took a step back,

“Yeah?” he grunted. Mother Superiors levelled her glare at the Sister. She didn’t notice, now over the shock of yellow eyes she felt bolder,

“What is going to happen to the spare baby?” she asked. Crowley rolled his eyes to the Mother superior who was trying to set the younger nun on fire via sheer force of will. Without taking her eyes of her pray the Mother Superior said,

“Yes, that was something I was going to ask you as well Master Crowley. We are willing to go through with the switch, but we want nothing to do with disposing of the baby,” her eyes now turned on Crowley “We may be satanic Nuns, but we are not monsters.” Crowley paused at this juxtaposition. He huffed and turned back to the paperwork, one of hells better inventions,

“Put it in the carry cot, I will deal with it,” Crowley replied absentmindedly. “Sure, why not?” Crowley thought “Not like it will matter in a few years anyway”. Sister Mary Loquacious ginned the kind of grin that would suggest she didn’t quite understand what was going on.

“Sister Mary, please take The Young Lord down to Sister Annabelle.” Mother Superior said as she started pulling out more official looking papers. Crowley slouched at the prospect of more paperwork. Sister Mary Loquacious nodded happily and pushed through the double doors leading to the hospital rooms. Now that The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of this world, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness was out of eyesight, Crowley felt a weight off his back. He no longer wanted to vomit.

Sister Mary Loquacious had found a potable cot for the anti-Christ, in which he now rested. his red blanket tucked around him. She pushed him down the hall spotting sister Annabelle pushing a similar cot out of room 4. Sister Mary paused outside room 3 ready to make the swap. A putrid smell began to waft up the hall. Both sisters gaged. A similar smell began to rise form the baby in the cot in front of Sister Mary and the babies began to cry in unison. Sister Annabelle reached Sister Mary, her face pushed into her shoulder and her eyes watering.  

“I think our lord has made us an offering,” she gaged as she spoke, “and this little man has also given us a gift too”. She pushed open the door to delivery room 3 and hurriedly pushed the cot in. Sister Mary followed with her own charge.

 “You change the babies and I will fetch the carry cot from Master Crowley.”. It was clearly just a excuse to getting out of having to be in same room as the stench for any longer but Sister Mary didn’t want to argue. The smell was truly awful.

In the bed, Mrs Young turned over a frown wrinkling her brow, some internal mothering instinct told her that a baby needed changing but something else told her it wasn’t hers so sleep on.

Sister Mary hesitated as she plucked the Anti-Christ from his cot and laid him on the changing table beside the door. She unwrapped the blanket and dropped it back in the cot. The baby whimpered as she removed the dirty nappy and cleaned him. She cooed at him. “Imagine little me changing the Destroyer of worlds’ nappy and powdering his little tush.” Sister Mary thought to herself. The baby in the other cot began to cry.

The mother in the bed yawned but stayed asleep. In an attempted sooth the baby, Sister Mary picked the ambassadors baby up. He was a chunky baby and quite heavy. Sister Mary had to shift him about a bit before they were both comfortable. The white blanket was lost in this juggling. As she bounced the baby the door to the room opened. Expecting sister Annabelle, Sister Mary turned to face the door where a man peering around the door.

“Err Hello. I’m the father, the husband, whatever.” He stammered, walking over to stand by his wife. Looking up he wondered over to the babies looking down at the baby on the changing table.

“Is this him?” he asked in awe. The baby looked up at him and immediately began to cry. Terrified about what he had done he scooped up the baby and began to pat his back.

“Umm no, these two not yours. Your baby is with your wife over there.” She nodded towards Mrs Young and the cot next to her.

Sister Mary was beginning to gag over the smell coming from the baby in her arms, she laid him on the changing table and began to clean him up.

After soothing the baby in his arms, Mr Young laid the baby down in the empty crib. He picked up the white blanket and tucked it around the baby. He walked over to the cot next to his wife and looked down at the baby. A small part of him was hopeful that he would look upon the face of his child and instantly recognized it as his own. But when he looked down at the sleeping baby, he looked identical to the two with the nun. This one was a little smaller but there wasn’t a moment of recognition. Of course, he didn’t say that. He smiled and looked back at the nun who was disposing of the nappy in a small bin next to the table.

“You know he looks like me.” He said proudly. The Nun smiled at him, rewrapping the baby,

“Have you thought of a name?” she asked. There was a nervous air about her. That probably came with having to look after two babies at once. He had new respect for people with twins and triplets.

 They had discussed names but not come to any solid concoctions, they had a name if it had been a girl and after twitching the blanket back it couldn’t be used anymore. The baby snuffled in its sleep; Mr. Young jumped back afraid that he would make it cry like he had the other child.

“We haven though of any names for a boy,” he explained as the nun had finished changing the baby in front of her. Then, looking down at the second with a frown, she looked at the baby in her arms. After a moment hesitant, she seemed to come to a conclusion and plopped it in the second cot wrapping it in the red blanket.

 “Well, what about the classic like Luke, John, Adam. Bible names and the like?” She rocked the babies in the cots. Mr. Young though about this for a second as he looked back at his son. He didn’t really look like any of those names, but they were good honest names. Suddenly a nun scuttled into the room. She looked a little out of breath. She looked at Mr. Young the way one would look at a velociraptor. She managed to school her features and smile at him.

Sister Annabelle had returned to the front desk and immediate run into Mr. Young who had asked what room his wife was in. Directing the man to the room without a though until she had picked up the carry cot. She had just sent an imposter into the same room as The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of this world, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness. Picking up her heels again, she took off down the hall and was now stood with Sister Mary, two babies and the carry cot. She turned her slightly manic smile on Sister Mary. She winked. Sister Mary Winked back. They smiled at each other.

 “Baby removal services,” she laughed pushing the baby with the red blanket out of the room. She pointed at the carry cot next to the remaining baby and nodded down the hall. Sister Mary nodded back. She placed the carry cot on the changing surfaces and placed the remaining baby in the white blanket in it. Scooping up baby and carry cot she moved to leave the room,

“Umm,” said Mr. Young using the tone of someone who doesn’t want to be a bother but is no doubts going to be a problem.

“Is there any paperwork I need to fill in,” he asked nervously. Always ready to be helpful, Sister Mary nodded and beckoned for him to follow her. It wasn’t until they entered the hall that she realized this might have been a bad decision. She could see Master Crowley’s back to her when Mr. Young held the door open. Trying to think fast she walked up to him putting the now full carry cot next to him on the desk.

 “Here is you son Master Crowley,” she said as way of explanation. The yellow eyes turned on her and the primal urge to run shot up her spine. Mr. Young was too distracted to notice, walking up next to her and leaned against the desk.

“Umm, does the birth certificate need signing?” he asked looking over the desk at all the papers. The Mother Superior who had been overseeing Crowley filling out all the correct papers in the right places. It wouldn’t do to have buggered up the paperwork on such a big job. She pulled a file over the papers and put on her best plastic smile. She flicked through the relevant files and produced a birth certificate for Mr. Young. She also pulled one out and handed it to Crowley. Conscious of the presents of Mr. Young, Crowley took the offered page. Mr. Young peeked into cot at the baby.

“He’s a cute one,” he says trying to rope Crowley into a conversation so he can talk about his own kid. Crowley doesn’t acknowledge him. Not deterred, Mr. Young filled in the birth certificate leaving the name till last. He still needed to talk to his wife about it.

“Though of a name yet?” he asked. Again, this was met by silenced. Mr. Young looked over at Crowley, he was well dressed and very out of places here. He didn’t have the look of expectant father. He looked worried.

“We were thinking about Adam,” he continued. This conversation was going to happen even if he had to do it himself. However, this got a reaction out of the other man. He laughed. He snorted then laughed out loud.

“Something wrong with Adam?” Mr. Young questioned, getting slightly defensive over a possible name for his son. The man pushed his long hair back away from his face. He was handsome, even Mr. Young had to admit that.

“No, it’s a fine name. But I knew an Adam once, he was a complete bastard,”.

Sister Mary giggled under her breath. But then frowned at the thought of how a demon knew the original Adam. She puzzled over this for the rest of the conversation.

Mr. Young let his shoulders drop,

“What would you suggest then?” he asked sheepishly. Crowley turned on him and Mr. Young had to squash a sudden urge to back away and make himself small. Crowley looks him up and down before speaking. His emotionless sunglasses making it feel like he wasn’t blinking. He wasn’t but behind the glasses no one could tell.

“Something royal may be. Henry, James, William?” he suggested. Mr. Young felt better about these names.

 Crowley looked back at the almost complete page in front of him.

“It doesn’t matter, it will all be over in eleven years anyway.” Crowley mumbled glumly as he looked at the last section of the certificate

FIRST NAME:

It was blank. He stared at it. Did he have to name it?

“Oh,” Mr. Young said confused. In an effort to change the typic he looked into the cot again, “You know, he looks like an Adam.” he added.

Crowley huffed but he couldn’t think of anything better. Plus, it made sense in an ironic way. Crowley scribbled the name down on the final dotted line on the page pushing it towards the nun. He snatched the carry cot of the desk and strode out the lobby. Mr. Young tried to wave goodbye, but Crowley was long gone.

 Sister Annabelle handed the baby to the ambassador’s wife who looked down at him with the love of a first-time mother,

“Sorry that took so long Your Ladyship, he is such a scrumptious little man. Every nun in the convent had to coo at him,” Sister Annabelle sighed as she stood back, her job was done. She really needs a cup of tea now.

Mother Superior quietly pushed open the door and came in.

“Oh what a little lord,” she said causing all nuns in the room to smile. “Have you thought of a name?”

 The convent burnt down that night. However, the only paperwork that was destroyed was form that night. Apart from the birth certificate of one James Henry Young

 Crowley pulled the Bentley into a short dead-end road that was the entrances to a farmer’s field. He cut the engine and the lights of the snarling beast of a car disappeared, leaving only the dark hedgerow in front of him.

The silence enveloped the car, seeming to seep in through all the gaps in the doors and poured out of the vents. Soon Crowley was engulfed in it. He paused, appreciating the moment. The sound of the engine cooling was the only noise that could be heard inside the car. The carry cot next to him cooed. He looked over at his new acquisition and pulled it closer to him. He carefully pulled the small and oh so delicate baby out and laid him across his knees looking up at him. The baby yawned but seemed very much awake. The white blanket that was bundled around him stopping his arms from moving.

Crowley huffed and rubbed his faces pushing his glasses off slightly. He squeezed his eyes shut and began to mutter at the baby,

“Okay first test,”

He pulled his glasses off completely and crouched over the baby sticking his tough out. Letting the glamor over it drop so the tips flicked over the babies scrunched up little nose. His eyes almost glowed yellow in the darkness he didn’t show his true, true form just these small parts. The Baby screeched and Crowley jerked back worried, but unsurprised, that he had terrified the poor thing. When the screech turned into a gurgling laugh, he looked back at the baby who had wiggled free an arm and was grabbing at Crowley with a gummy grin. Slight confused Crowley rewrapped the baby in his white blanket and shifted it to be cradled in his arms,

“Okay so you passed the first test. Now we need to go other some ground rules if this arrangement is going to work out.”.

The baby babbled at him trying to wiggle free of his confines. He seemed fine with the whole yellow eyes and snake toung though. Probably knew no different, Crowley wondered leaning back in the driver’s seat.

“So I will house you, feed you and take care of you until you have worked out how to use a toilet after that we can look into the walking, talking, reading, writing business but there are some conditions that you have to uphold,”.

The baby sneezed, looked shocked at this strange turn of events, blinked a few times before looking back up at the demon. Now that he had the baby’s attention again Crowley continued,

“Firstly, the family you came from, the one that has the antichrist.” The baby watched him with uncanny eyes that seemed to understand what he was saying. That or more worryingly for Crowley he was ranting at a newborn infant that had no idea what was going on and was just watching him make noises in the dark car.

“Warlock, they called him Warlock.”

The baby gave him a half smile, hoping that the smile was from recognizing the name.

“You’re gonna have to be friends with that brat. secondly you will not get in my way or interfere with my work.”

The baby yawned at him. It seemed that all the excitement was getting the better of him its eyes began to slip closed. Crowley rocked him slightly trying not to enjoy holding the child, a small part of him that was thought to be long dead, started to thaw. He placed the baby back in the carry cot in the passenger’s seat. The baby whimpered at the movement but settled back in the crib snuggling into the blanket.

Crowley backed out and onto the road, where was the nearest mother care?

 Azriaphale had just got back to the book shop when the phone rang. He paused hanging his coat up on its peg, before picking it up, he suspected who it might be but wasn’t sure. He plucked the phone from the handle and held it daintily to his ear,

“I’m dreadfully sorry but I’m afraid we are closed at the...,” his polite but discouraging scripted was cut by a very familiar voice,

“It’s me Angel.”

It sounded although Crowley was making this call from a phone box. Oh dear, what trouble had he gotten himself into now.

“Crowley? Is that you?” he asked anyway knowing the answer,

“Yes. We need to talk.” He said matter of factly.

“Yes, I rather think we do.” Azriaphale thought of the conversation he had had with Gabriel earlier that day.

Crowley looked through the window of the Bentley at the sleeping baby inside. He hung up the phone and got back into the car. He looked over at the child. He was so small. Crowley stroked his cheek with a black nailed finger.

“You have no idea what is going on. I envy you Adam,” the baby sighed in his sleep.

[wineftw]

LIFE, THE UNIVERSE FARMS AND EVERYTHING

A story about chairs and Czech Riesling.

The girl walked up, cool as a cucumber, and laid down in front of me.  

Our group had just arrived at Sonberk Winery, an impressive 40-hectare estate in the South Moravian region of the Czech Republic.

We stepped off the bus and spread out across the front lawn, overlooked by a large, architect-designed tasting room. Phones were whipped out of pockets to capture the moment. Indeed, the view from the lawn across the vineyards is so stunning that it made the front cover of Jean-Baptiste Ancelot's book Wine Explorers*.

Hunting around for a different angle (who wants to take the same picture as everyone else?), I spied a large, irregularly-shaped plaque set on the grass. Rambling sentences comprised of esoteric terms adorned it: Universe Farms was the title of the clumsy English translation. I read it and was none the wiser. Was this perhaps a tribute to a leftfield agricultural method practiced at Sonberk?  

“Eames bench of the parallel world” - something had certainly been lost in translation. Was there perhaps a religious significance? Could there be someone - or something - buried beneath the plaque?

As I mused, along came one of our group. She promptly laid down on the plaque and started taking pictures of the vineyards before her. I was taken aback: wasn't this potentianlly - well, disrespectful? Reverie broken and feeling indignant, I stepped away and left her to it, resolved to discover if some inappropriate behaviour had occurred.

That evening, I googled Universe Farms and went straight down a rabbit hole. Click through on the link and you'll see what I mean. It's trippy. For reasons I couldn't begin to fathom, Sonberk Winery had allowed Eames Demetrios (grandson of legendary American husband-and-wife design team Charles and Ray Eames, no less) to uh, create a Universe Farm on their property.

Say what?

To put it simply (sort of), self-styled Geographer-at-Large Eames Demetrios is the creator of Kcymaerxthaere, an alternative, parallel universe coexisting with our world. For the past decade he has been travelling around our linear world installing markers and historic sites that honour events from this parallel world. Eames is “on a journey to add to the imprecision of the world,” and he's been busy conjuring up an alternative universe and creating stories.

“I install markers, forms, shapes and installations to create sites,” he says. According to the official Kcymaerxthaere website, “142.5 installations have been installed in 30 linear countries. The .5 refers to an installation planned for the Moon...”

I've popped the map of Kcymaerxthaere below for your reference.  

Righty-ho, then.

The next day I tasted my way through flights of wine samples submitted for the 2020 Concours Mondial de Bruxelles, held in the city of Brno (as judges, we had been taken to Sonberk - the name means sunny mountain - as part of our programme). A discrete but friendly Czech chap on my tasting panel turned out to be none other than Sonberk co-founder Tibor Nyitray.

How perfect was this? The Universe was obviously speaking to me. I seized my opportunity: when we'd finished tasting I asked him if he'd sit down with me to answer my questions about life, the Universe Farms and everything. Here's what I gleaned.

Back in 2003, Tibor and his partners formed a consortium to create the best Czech winery. They went large, investing €4m in the project which assembled 40 hectares of vineyards from a dozen previous owners to create one single area of vines located 10 km north of the Pálava hills.

Cue 28 ha of new vines planted, a state-of-the-art winery and tasting room designed by leading Czech architect Josef Pleskot, and the hiring of Oldrich Drapal, one of Moravia's most innovative young winemakers.  

Their investment started to pay dividends in 2010 when Sonberk's Rhine Riesling 2008 won a Regional Trophy in the Decanter World Wine Awards. In 2017, not one but two DWWA Platinum medals went to wines from Sonberk (Pálava 2015 and Riesling 2014), and the 2020 results were equally impressive, as you can see:

Sonberk has an annual production of around 130,000 bottles, most of which are sold on the domestic market, and judging by the praise and plaudits, the stated ambition of creating a leading Czech winery has been fulfilled. I asked Tibor about plans for the next five years.

“The goal is to achieve such success regularly. In the Czech market we're well established, we combine wine with culture so we host a lot of cultural events at the estate. We're trying to persuade people to come and visit our winery and create beautiful memories in this way. The big goal is to get into the US market and increase the ratio of our exports - we export only about 5%, but we're looking for more. And of course, we want to keep the quality as high as possible.”

What's the secret of Sonberk's success and your Platinum medal-winning Riesling?

“We have an exceptional terroir for white wines, south/south-west exposure and poor soils,  mainly loess. In the vineyards we work in the most eco-friendly way possible, the harvesting was only done by hand until this year. We strictly reduce the yield per single vine to 1.5 kg of fruit. For the Riesling Noble Rot, about 40% of the grapes were botrytised and picked on the last three days of that year's harvest. We vinified them mainly in stainless steel, with a few weeks in 30 HL oak vats, just to give the wine some air. We made 8,000 bottles, the 2017 vintage was exceptional.”

We chatted about the quotation I had spotted on an oak vat in the barrel cellar -  quod hodie non est, cras erit - which roughly translates as “if not today, then tomorrow” - apparently a saying favoured by winemaker Oldrich Drapal.

And what about the Universe Farm on the front lawn?

Tibor was less forthcoming about this, but after some probing, I got an explanation. The Sonberk tasting room features some fancy furniture, including some DKR wire chairs (Tibor’s leaning on one in the photo above) designed by (yup) Charles and Ray Eames, available through Swiss company Vitra.

While on a visit to the Czech Republic, Eames Demetrios was invited to Sonberk by the Vitra folks. Favourably impressed by what he saw, he decided he'd like to create a Universe Farm there: Sonberk's marketing director approved, the investors gave it the green light... and the rest is history.

Having a Universe Farm on your estate certainly creates a talking point, if nothing else. I was fascinated to have learned about the Kcymaerxthaere project, and if you've got some time to spare and an enquiring mind, you can identify the sites nearest to you (and read the wacky stories woven around them) by consulting this page.

Me? I've resolved to be a bit less judgemental, and to stay curious.  

*If you're keen to try Sonberk wines, you'll have to hunt them down as they don't export to many countries (yet). They can be purchased online in France via Wine Explorers, and in the UK there is a limited selection available through Ellis of Richmond.

[classicmemorialbenches]

Personalised Memorial Benches

Personalized memorial benches are a unique and meaningful way to honor the memory of a loved one. These benches are typically made from high-quality materials such as wood, metal or stone, and can be customized with engravings, plaques, or other personal touches.

Personalized memorial benches can include the name and dates of the person being remembered, as well as other personal details such as favorite quotes, hobbies, or interests. The engravings or plaques can be created in a variety of materials, including brass, bronze, or stainless steel, to ensure they withstand the elements and maintain their beauty over time.

[classicmemorialbenches]

What is best wood for garden bench?

Oak is a strong, durable, and hard-wearing timber that is ideally suited to the manufacture of a timeless piece of outdoor wood bench. Oak has some characteristics that are important to understand.

SILVERING OAK : When allowed to weather naturally, oak takes on a beautiful silver-grey patina which for many is a sought-after look.

HAIRLINE CRACKS IN OAK : All hardwoods will expand and contract in ever changing weather conditions. This can occasionally cause some very fine hairline cracks on the surface of the wood.

Oak, having a more lively grain pattern is particularly prone to this. As the oak stabilises and weathers over time they tend to disappear and in no way affect the integrity of the bench.

[classicmemorialbenches]

What are the specifications for benches?

Benches come in various sizes and designs, depending on their intended use and location. Here are some general specifications for benches:

✅Length

✅Width

✅Height

✅Seat and Backrest

✅Materials

✅Design and Features

When selecting a bench, it's advisable to consider factors such as intended use, location, durability, comfort, and any applicable local regulations or standards.

[classicmemorialbenches]

Cultural Significance and Symbolism of Memorial Benches

Memorial benches hold cultural significance and symbolism in various ways. These benches are often placed in public spaces, Here are some key aspects of their cultural significance and symbolism:

✅Remembrance

✅Commemoration

✅Symbol of comfort and solace

✅Connection with nature and the environment

✅Legacy and impact

[classicmemorialbenches]

Tips for Designing and Personalizing a Memorial Bench

Designing and personalizing a memorial bench allows you to create a unique and meaningful tribute to your loved one. Here are some tips to consider when designing and personalizing a memorial bench:

✅Choose Meaningful Symbols or Images

✅Select Inspiring Quotes or Messages

✅Include Personal Details

✅Consider the Bench's Surroundings

✅Involve Family and Friends

✅Ensure Readability

✅Consult Professionals

[classicmemorialbenches]

What is the best way to clean old wood furniture?

To clean old wood furniture, follow these steps:

Dusting: Begin by removing dust and loose dirt from the surface of the furniture. Use a soft, dry cloth or a feather duster to gently wipe away the particles.

Mild Soap and Water: Fill a bucket with warm water and add a few drops of mild dish soap or a gentle wood cleaner.

Stubborn Stains: For stubborn stains or sticky residue, you can use a slightly more concentrated solution of water and soap. A

Rinse: Once you have cleaned the furniture, dampen another cloth with clean water and use it to remove any soapy residue.

Drying: Thoroughly dry the furniture using a clean, dry cloth or towel. Allow the furniture to air dry completely before applying any wax or polish.

Polishing: If desired, you can use a quality wood polish or wax to restore shine and provide additional protection.

Maintenance: To preserve the beauty and longevity of wood furniture, consider applying furniture wax or polish regularly.

Remember to test any cleaning or polishing products on a small, inconspicuous area of the furniture before applying them to the entire surface.

[classicmemorialbenches]

Why do most of the furniture is made of wood?

There are several reasons why wood is commonly used in furniture manufacturing:

Abundance and availability: Wood is a natural resource that is widely available in many parts of the world.

Strength and durability: Wood is known for its strength and durability, making it suitable for constructing sturdy furniture.

Aesthetics: Wood has a natural beauty and warmth that many people find appealing.

Workability: Wood is a versatile material that can be easily shaped, carved, and joined together using various woodworking techniques.

Environmental sustainability: Wood is a renewable resource when responsibly managed.

Comfort: Wood has inherent properties that provide comfort in furniture. It has natural insulating properties.

Welcome to Classic Memorial Benches. Established in 1989 and based at our workshop in the village of Lathom, Lancashire, Classic is a family-run carpentry company that specializes in the manufacture of the finest quality hardwood memorial benches.

[classicmemorialbenches]

How do I clean outdoor furniture?

Brush off any loose dirt or debris from the furniture using a soft brush. Mix a solution of warm water and mild soap or a wood-specific cleaner. Gently scrub the wood furniture with a soft brush or sponge, following the direction of the grain. Rinse thoroughly with clean water and let it air dry. You can also apply a protective finish or sealant if required.

Click here to know more about how to clean your wood furniture

[classicmemorialbenches]

Hand-Carved memorial benches available in the United Kingdom

A memorial bench should possess durability, impeccable proportions, and be constructed to withstand the test of time. Some individuals may prefer a modest and unassuming bench design as a suitable tribute, while others may desire a memorial bench that captures the essence of celebrating the life and reflecting the personality of the honoree.

The inscription on a memorial bench can encompass humor, inspiration, sorrow, or a combination of emotions, or sometimes be as simple as a name, dates, and a few words of remembrance.

Over the years, we have developed a stunning collection of benches meticulously crafted to harmonize with their surroundings, ensuring they will enhance the environment for many decades to come.

[classicmemorialbenches]

Is oak wood good for outdoor benches?

Oak wood is an excellent choice for crafting enduring and sturdy outdoor furniture. It possesses remarkable strength and durability, which makes it an ideal timber for creating timeless pieces. As oak ages, it develops a stunning silver-grey patina that is highly desirable to many people.

Oak wood can be a good option for outdoor benches, as it is a strong and durable hardwood that can withstand weather and outdoor conditions. Additionally, regular maintenance, such as cleaning and resealing, may be necessary to maintain the appearance and longevity of the bench.

[classicmemorialbenches]

Custom Decorative Engraved Memorial Garden Benches

At Classic Memorial Benches, we blend conventional and contemporary approaches and technologies to provide our clients with an exclusive range of customization alternatives.

Whether you provide us with an image or a sketch, or let us create a design for you, we will present a complete photographic preview of how it will appear on your selected memorial bench design for your consent.