#sadly no captions for these as there’s no found context or date

[death-by-mercury]

[fayriequeene]

I don’t mean to be intrusive, but I’m so sorry you’re feeling lost at the moment. The fact is you’re already fantastically talented at many things: baking, creating, your ability to write (I don’t know if you write creatively but your captions are a delight to read); your blog is a work of art. All of these are very sought after and transferable skills in my experience, and they’re just the things you choose to share online. When I was feeling similarly isolated due to being in a similar situation, I got a part time job at a small local business. I came to the conclusion that homemaking was unsustainable for me at that point in my life due to the isolation and loneliness I felt facing another day alone whilst my husband worked, and living in area away from my friends meant I couldn’t socialise easily without facing the pressure of making new ones. The fact this wasn’t “The Job” I wanted to commit myself to helped, as there was less pressure surrounding the whole endeavour (if it didn’t work out, I could just quit) and it being part time meant I still had enough time to pursue my own interests and ambitions, which I had lost interest in doing before I got the job. The routine of having a job and the built in socialisation with coworkers and customers helped lift my mood immeasurably. I also think you have many skills which would enable you to start your own creative business if that was something you desired; if you wanted to continue working in dance then perhaps you could become an instructor. I also found that learning difficult skills (like a language or instrument) can serve as a good distraction when you can’t commit to other more physical things. I don’t know how helpful this was, and I don’t know if this sort of thing is incompatible with your current responsibilities as I obviously don’t know the specifics of your circumstances but I wanted to try and help even slightly if I could. I just wanted to let you know that you are not alone in your experiences, that others have gone through similar things even if not exactly alike and that there are people who are rooting for you even if you feel alone right now. And that your blog is awesome! ❤️ 🌸

Thank you 💕💕

I do write creatively but I unfortunately got very put off sharing my writing/poetry when I was constantly told my writing was rather “dated” and I sounded like a “stuffy victorian” these things stick with me 😭

I have lots of ideas for going back into dancing/arts, possibly studying again, possibly opening my own business but then I have a such a large amount of self doubt I can not bring myself to even try one 😔 For context I was a very ambitious person, very dedicated to achieving my goal of becoming a dancer so after my failure (injury? Extremely early retirement?) I’ve sadly become a very negative and pessimistic person 😔

But thank you for your kind message, it does help to feel less alone (being a housewife with no duties, no tasks can be surprisingly very difficult. Who would think free days for whatever you liked could be so hard) 💜🌿

[just-some-random-blogger]

White Bread

Chris Evans x Actress!Reader Summary: Literally all the evidence suggests you and Chris are together, just give up. "No (:" -you Word Count: 2k+ Warnings: Fluff, i still used Y/N grrrrrrrrr, actress au, crack fic lol, etc.

A/N: So this is kind of like a part 2 to 'Dude She's Just Not Into You' but not really cos you dont need the context of the first one for this ALSO this is not a series, I just felt there was still inspiration from the last fic so like I'm making another one!!! Here's a p3 i guess lol

I raise a hand and shake my head, "okay, let's get one thing straight. I do not call Chris white bread because of what you may think."

Chris bursts into laughter. The interviewer in front of us chuckles and motions that I continue. I shift in my seat, "one day-"

"Oh my gosh," Chris sighs, knowing where it was going.

"I was eating a sandwich with chocolate spread--"

"It was one time!" he says, pitch rising.

I snap at him, "one time is all it takes, white bread."

"Dear goodness, I regret it everyday."

"You better," I raise my brows, "anyway, he took the sandwich from my hand and ate it in front of me."

"I gave it back! It was a joke."

I scoff and cross my arms, "oh, okay, so I'm just a joke to you?"

Chris sighs and shakes his head, "mom, I wanna go home."

"Well too darn bad!"

TWITTER-VERSE

@cornspice: okay hear me out. if water is a liquid but can turn into solid and gas, chris evans and y/f/n HAVE to be dating @chrisevansdailykrr: Chris and Y/N where spotted walking holding hands. [image attatched] @y/f/nsource: [replying to @chrisevansdailykrr] yes but y/n be doing that to everyone rip @y/ny/nily: [replying to @y/f/nsource] sadly yes, bruv aint special 💔 @marrymeplzy/n: IM GOING FERAL @ChrisEvans JUST WENT ON A DATE WITH Y/N IN A PARK HOLDING HANDS N SAME COLORED TOPS F- @marvelsloot: Okay. So. Chris. And. Y/N. Are. Just. Randomly. Saying. They. Are. Dating. ?. What. About. My. Mental. Health. ? @muricasass: [replying to @marvelsloot] LITERALLY THEY JUST SAY FINE WERE DATING UH WHAT MAAM @buckysthiqthighs: [replying to @marvelsloot] IT HURTS CAUSE I CANT TELL IF THEYRE SARCASTIC OR NOT @wankanda4evah: [replying to @buckysthiqthighs] This is what we get for stanning sarcastic actors 😭

5 minute TMZ video of paparazzi following Chris and Y/N captioned: "We're just friends," yeah right.

One of the guys in the TMZ office explains to their boss, "we found Chris Evans and Y/F/N walking around," the room gets excited, the dude does jazz hands and makes a face, "holding hands, eating ice cream, y'know things friends would do."

One of the girls sat down looks to that man who was speaking, "that's a lot of bullshit."

"Right?" one chimes in.

Another points out, "they even confirmed they were dating in one interview--"

Cut to the narrator explaining that "they're so darn sarcastic, it's hard to say if they were serious or not."

Back to one of the girls, "I think they're actually dating and sarcastically confirmed it to throw people off."

There is a unison of agreement.

Then flashes the actual clip of Chris and Y/N walking around and the TMZ paps meeting them halfway.

The scene is set in a park. I was wearing a cute little baby blue sundress and Chris was looking like a trust fund college frat dude in his khakis. There's an ice cream stand nearby.

"How you guys doing?" one of the paps ask, meriting no response.

The grip I had on Chris' hand tightens as I tug on him. He turns to me and I give him a soft smile, which is honestly more like showing him my teeth, "I wan' ice cream."

"Ice cream?" he repeats then say, "okay."

I break into a smile and do a small hop because of this.

Cut back to the guy in the office, explaining, "when I tell you Y/N is so darn adorable--"

"Yeah, she is."

"--how could he not date her?"

"For real, mans was whipped for her."

Back to the ice cream truck.

I turn to Chris, "I want vanilla."

He does not reply and only pulls out his wallet. He then turns to me and gruffs, "tell that to the guy sellin' the ice cream, doll."

I turn to the said man and raise a finger, "one vanilla, and..." I turn to Chris and ask, "strawberry for you?"

He nods.

The paparazzi asks, "do you two do this often?"

We ignore it but I decide to answer when he clarifies with, "buy ice cream and hold hands?"

I turn to the guy, "if we were friends, I'd do it with you to."

Chris chuckles.

The one holding the camera then asks, "aye, I'm free on Friday, I'm down to chill."

No one gets to answer him because the ice cream man asks for a picture.

20+ mins of Y/F/N talking about her domestic life with Chris Evans

There's an intro of the video:

Hello. I have compiled some of the moments where y/n and chris just weren't slick and basically exposed themselves to the world. Is it far fetched, maybe, but look at this photo [image of Chris looking at each other in the middle of a press photo op] and look me dead in the eye and tell me im wrong oh wait you cant bitch

Chris and I are sitting next to each other. The interviewer asks, "when you're not working, how do you two unwind."

I think for a moment, "I loosen the screws in his head, then I probably make pancakes."

Chris suddenly comes to life, "oh, she makes good pancakes."

---CUT TO---

A clip of one of my solo interviews.

I am read one of the questions, "what is your happy place?"

My eyes widen and I sigh, "dang, that's like a really deep question." I cross my arms and shake my head, "y'know, I'm not going to waste everyone's time trying to answer this properly, so I'm just going to answer the first thing that popped in my head, which is defeating America's favorite white bread in Uno, multiple times."

*A harsh zoom onto y/n's face*

---CUT TO---

It was a long interview and basically it lead to Chris and I talking about ideal types.

"I dunno, I don't really have a type," I say shrugging, then crossing my arms.

Chris purses his lips and nods, "no, I think you have a type."

I turn to him, mildly shocked, "I have a type?"

Chris begins to laugh.

"No, for real, I'm asking. I have no idea if I have a type," I say, which makes him roll his eyes and shake his head. I begin to think, "I- gosh- you know, I watched this thing where they said humans are naturally narcissistic and will go for someone that looks like them, then there was another thing that said, like, if you're attracted to guys, you usually base your standards of your dad and vice versa. I mean, I'm sure this doesn't apply to everyone, but I will say I think guys that are, like, good with kids, patient, and reliable are definitely guys I could categorize as my type. Plus, I am kind of like the mom friend, so..."

Chris turns to me then mutters, "just say you're into dads."

I turn to him, shocked, then burst out, "I COULD SAY THE SAME THING ABOUT YOU!"

"I'M NOT INTO DADS!"

"Oh, but you're a big mama's boy."

He nods and whispers softly, "I am a big mama's boy."

I make a face, "too bad your mom likes me better than you now."

Chris raises a finger, "JUST BECAUSE SHE SAID SHE LIKED YOUR LASAGNA ONCE DOES NOT MEAN ANYTHING."

"She would leave you in the desert for me."

"Noooooo she would nooooooottttt."

---CUT TO---

A puppy interview.

I turn to the crew on set and coo at the puppies running up to me and being all adorable. "You if Chris were here, he'd cry, spontaneously combust then just cease."

I make kissy faces to the dogs, "he might also try to steal all of them and I would help."

TWITTER-VERSE

@mackiesbootie: THIS IS NOT A DRILL. SCOTT JUST POSTED A VIDEO OF CHRIS AND Y/N DANCING WITH THE EVANS NIECES AND NEPHEWS-- @mackiesbootie: YALL SERIOUSLY CANT MAKE ME BELIEVE THEYRE NOT MARRIED AT THIS POINT WTF @chrisevansdailykrr: BITCH [image attatched] @hailhydrax: [replying to @chrisevansdailykrr] @ChrisEvans and Y/N you broke @chrisevansdailykrr, are you satisfied? @Wandas2020vision: [replying to @chrisevansdailykrr] issa mood im dying 👨‍🚀💀 @teaspillzislyf: Chris Evans & Y/F/N are full of shit: a thread @y/ncutebooty: What she says: I'm okay What she means: Chris and Y/N are clearly dating and the only reason why they haven't officially confirmed it is because-- @steverogerswife: yall keep talking sh but just remember y/n has a private account somewhere on twt @poeticb00bs: the fact that y/n knows hers and chris's niche memes is actually kinda scary @steverogerswife: [replying to @poeticb00bs] Evans-Y/L/N is real. Y/N has a private twt. Next question

The said post by scott evans on instagram that made the internet have a meltdown

The caption:

Dont let their size fool you. @ChrisEvans and y/n are about the same age of my nieces and nephews 😂😂

The video is about only 1 minute long. Chris and I were sitting on the carpet in the middle of the Evan's living room. The TV was playing a Barney song but when a kid-favorite started playing, the young ones stood up and starting belting out. This clearly called for a dance break as well.

I picked up Chris' niece and spun her around while we danced. She began to giggle. It was everything

Chris and the other kids began to rip up the dance floor.

And for a moment, Chris and I turn to each other, sharing a laugh. There was nothing said, nothing to say, but still we had a warm, knowing look between us.

Scott, who was filming the whole thing made a, 'oop', sound then ended the video.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Runaway Ride

Fandom: Never Have I Ever Pairing: Devi/Paxton Rating: T Word Count: 4889

Summary: Kamala gets herself into a pickle, Devi needs to go to her, and Paxton has a car. Problem-solving has never been so simple, but that's how it is when your new boyfriend is Paxton Hall-Yoshida. Throw in a little hand-holding on the highway and this family crisis might just be the best date Devi will ever have.

When they finally took a break from dancing—disconnecting hands from hips and shoulders, lips from lips—Devi stepped away in a dreamy headspace. She almost collided with Jonah, but he didn’t tell her to look where she was going, only offered a shrewd, indulgent smile.

Actually, everybody was treating her like that; every eye that caught hers on her way to the table where she’d left her stuff was unjudgmental, admiring, straight up fairy-godmotherly. Devi hadn’t received this much notice since her dad’s death and her subsequent paralysis. And those looks had been pitying, freaked out. Positive attention was new and cool and she wondered, as she grabbed her phone out of her turquoise clutch, whether her socials would show more of the same when she opened them. Would people have snapped stealthy pics of her and Paxton dancing now that she’d been vaulted into the pseudo-celebrity strata of the high school hierarchy? Would the Insta posts be captioned with hashtags of their ship name? Paxi? Daxton? Vishwall-Yoshumar?

Devi never got to check.

Unlocking her phone, she found two missed calls from her mother. Maybe two wouldn’t have seemed like a whole lot to someone else, but Devi knew that, in order for her mom to risk rudeness by stepping away from the company she was hosting at home not once but twice, she’d need to be pretty frantic. Two missed calls from Nalini Vishwakumar were the equivalent of six or seven from any other mother.

Skirting the edges of the gym as she headed away from DJ Humanoid—that nit-witted saboteur of slow dances—Devi was about to call her mom back when her screen changed to an incoming call from Kamala. She pressed her other hand to her ear and answered it.

“Hey. Do you know what’s going on with my mom? She called me twice and, honestly, she knows I’m at the d—”

“Devi, shut up. Sorry,” Kamala sighed. “But I may have kidnapped your history teacher and now I’m panicking a little.”

Devi stopped in her tracks.

“You did what? Why is the sound weird?”

As she was trying to identify the background noise coming from Kamala’s end, her eyes swept over the crowd of her classmates and landed on Fabiola’s. Her friend had been smiling, mid-sway as she held Eve from behind and chatted with Sasha, but it fell off her face like Devi off Dr. Jackson’s roof. Fab disentangled herself from her girlfriend and crossed the room to stand with Devi. She was frowning, silently asking for an explanation for Devi’s distress, but Devi didn’t really have one yet.

“We’re in his car on the highway,” her cousin was saying. “He was a little drunk, so I’m driving.”

Devi had imagined that Kamala was exaggerating, but no, this was really starting to sound like a kidnapping.

“You better be on hands-free right now,” she lectured. Then, because she wasn’t exactly a paragon of road safety herself—barely an hour ago, she’d walked right out in front of Paxton’s jeep—didn’t wait for confirmation. “What the hell happened? Context, Kamala!”

“Well, as soon as I snuck out of the house—”

“But why did you sneak out?!”

“Devi, I can’t talk about that right now!” Devi’s eyebrows shot up at the clear and abnormal hysteria in her cousin’s voice. “I ran out of the house,” Kamala continued, “totally directionless, and the first thing that popped into my head was Manish’s invitation for me to come to karaoke…”

“Ew, what the fuck, don’t call Mr. K that.”

What? Fab mouthed at her, but Devi shook her head.

“That is his name and what he asked me to call him. Anyway,” Kamala said, sounding strained, “I went to your school and met up with him and now I’m driving his car and I think I might have shut my sari in the car door, but I’m scared to pull over and check because if I stop the car, I’m going to have to confront things and I think I’d rather not do that yet.”

“Kamala,” Devi said in a heavy, careful voice. “You have to pull over. I totally get what you’re saying because it sounds like something I might do—minus the part where you kidnapped Mr. K—” Fabiola’s eyes went dramatically wide as she was adjusting her tiara. “—but this isn’t you. You don’t run away from your obligations and elope with my teachers!”

“Manish and I didn’t elope. It isn’t in any way romantic.”

“For sure though? It’s not?” Devi heard another voice in the car ask.

“Mr. K, back off! Kamala’s in the middle of a crisis!” she shouted. “And please be drunk enough to forget that I yelled at you.”

“Devi, what should I do?” Kamala asked, sounding desperate in a sad way now.

“Where are you?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Ok, well, which direction are you heading in?”

“Um, either north or south.”

“You’re a disaster,” Devi muttered.

“What was that?”

“Uh… I said, don’t drive any faster. Try to read the next sign you pass so you can tell me where you are.”

“Alright,” Kamala said.

Devi tilted her phone away from her mouth so her cousin wouldn’t hear her frustrated sigh. She locked eyes with Fabiola.

“Kamala panicked at her engagement dinner and ran off with Mr. K. They’re either headed for Mexico or Canada, but I’ll know more in a minute.”

Fab blinked.

“Wow.”

“I know. It’s a lot. And this is me talking,” Devi emphasized.

“I don’t know if you would do anything this big. Mainly because you don’t have a driver’s license.”

“True.”

“Santa Barbara in twenty-six miles,” Kamala said in her ear.

“Damn, you made good time.”

“The traffic was quite manageable.”

“Try to calm down a little and get off the highway when you can. Don’t go past Santa Barbara. I’m coming to talk you down in person,” Devi said. “Oh, and don’t answer any of my mom’s calls; she’ll just stress you out.”

“That doesn’t seem very responsible. How about I send her a text when I stop to let her know I’m ok?”

Devi rolled her eyes.

“Suit yourself.”

“Thank you, Devi. But how will you get here?”

“Let me worry about that. Text me when you stop so I know exactly where I’m going.”

“I will.”

“’K. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Devi hung up and sighed massively, slumping into the wall and feeling a streamer crumple against her back. She and Fabiola stared at each other.

“What are you gonna do?” Fab asked.

“Be the hero my family needs, but not the one they deserve.”

“Are you misquoting Batman to justify doing something reckless?”

“First of all, rescuing Kamala isn’t reckless, and second of all, the movie isn’t called Batman, it’s The Dark Knight. Young-ish Christian Bale, hello.”

Fabiola pointed a finger at her own face.

“Young-ish out-of-touch lesbian, hello. At least I was close.”

Devi sighed again while Fab smiled sadly at her in obvious sympathy.

“It’s after ten at night. How am I gonna get to Santa Barbara?”

“Assuming you’re not going to ask your mom—”

“No.”

“Then you need a ride.”

“You need a ride? I’ll drive you.”

It was Paxton, walking up and tentatively taking Devi’s hand while darting uncertain glances at Fabiola. Devi felt her entire face light up.

“You don’t want to know where or why?” she teased.

His expression said those were insignificant details. Wow. Devi’d never had a fantasy where Paxton joined forces with her, bounty hunter-style, to track down a flighty Kamala, but this felt oddly romantic. Passionate even? They’d see where the night took them.

“You wouldn’t wanna leave the dance unless it was serious,” Paxton reasoned. “So, I’ll drive you. You wanna go now?”

“I guess we better. Lemme just grab my…”

“I’ll get it,” Fab said, raising a hand like the nerd she was as she volunteered.

She darted back through the dancers to grab Devi’s things and Devi watched their classmates part for their Cricket Queen. She was so proud of Fab. Also, she felt kinda bad for ditching such a momentous occasion. But Kamala needed her, and would totally do the same for her if she ever went off the deep end and kidnapped a dude while fleeing a proposal. Not that Devi could see herself fleeing a proposal (she glanced at Paxton as she thought this, then quickly away, thinking, Way too soon!). Carrying out a kidnapping? With a sufficiently convincing pro-and-con list, anything was possible.

“Basically, Kamala freaked and drove to Santa Barbara with a drunken Mr. K,” Devi said, because Paxton might not have asked to be informed, but she wanted him to know what he was getting himself into. Beyond that, she wanted to give him the chance to say, No way, Devi. I came here to look hot and dance up on you, nothing more.

“Oh shit,” was what he said.

“Damn right, oh shit. You still want to drive? This is going to take a while.”

She should probably have felt guilty about trying to subtly persuade him with her eyes, but not only was Paxton the least complicated option, he was also her first choice. If she maintained eye contact long enough, Devi figured it might trigger some kind of boyfriend override that made going for a long drive at night just as appealing as staying here and dancing with her butt pressed thrillingly to his groin when the teacher-chaperones weren’t looking.

“As long as we can hit up the bathrooms first. I was going to, but then I got talking to Trent, and then Marcus was doing a handstand…”

“Definitely,” Devi assured him. “Good call. Empty the tank. Oh, actually, that reminds me… how much gas do you have in your jeep? If we need to stop at a gas station, I’ll have to factor that in to the ETA I give Kamala.”

Paxton shook his head at her, smiling in what she liked to think was affectionate amusement.

“I filled it up on the way here. I needed a minute to, uh…” To her epic astonishment, he ducked his head self-consciously, cheeks pinking. “You know. Get my shit together. Up here.” He tapped his temple with his index finger. “I wanted to show up for you, like, completely. You know?”

Right as Devi was at dangerously high risk of sagging to the floor in blissful bonelessness, Fabiola sprang to her side, shoving the rest of her possessions at her.

“Ok, ok!” Devi said, harried.

She had to dump it all on the bathroom counter a minute later anyway, but after she’d done her pre-road trip pee, she came out and gave Fab a better thank-you.

“Your Highness,” Paxton told Fabiola with a nod.

Fab nodded back, smiling wryly.

“Prosecutor.”

“I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship,” Devi assessed, “but we gotta go! Say congrats to Eve for me again!”

“Sure. Drive safe!”

Devi and Paxton pushed through the doors together, striding quickly with his hand wrapped around hers. In the parking lot, she glanced sideways to see him digging his keychain out of his front pocket.

“Oh,” she said, “so I wasn’t just feeling that you were very happy to dance with me.”

Until they got into the jeep, it was too dark to see whether she’d gotten him to blush again, but she liked to think that she had. He was definitely smiling.

They got in and Devi carefully tucked her skirt around her legs, mind on Kamala’s cautionary tale. At least it was until Paxton leaned forward to shrug out of his jacket and she saw his shoulder muscles jump beneath his fitted button-down, his narrow black tie swinging forward. Dang. Fifty shades of Hall-Yoshida.

“Santa Barbara?” Paxton double-checked once he was settled behind the wheel, steering out of the student lot.

“Santa Barbara.”

Until they were on the highway and heading out of Los Angeles, Devi did her best to keep her worry about Kamala’s situation contained to the way she flapped her phone against her thigh. Usually, she was stressing about the problems right in front of her (when she wasn’t blatantly ignoring them, only to have that approach bite her in the ass later), but with whatever was going on with Kamala, she kinda had to look ahead.

Had she wanted Kamala to get engaged to Prashant that badly? Well, the best thing about Prashant was that you never knew when having additional hot relatives would be to your benefit. (Devi was already hoping that Mr. K would get over the more nerve-wracking elements of this night and just remember having fun with her stunning cousin… and that this could possibly translate into at least a month of generous grades, if she could somehow spin these shenanigans as an intentional blind date arranged by herself.) However, an engaged Kamala was wholly different from a married Kamala. She wouldn’t be around to watch nonsensical episodes of Riverdale, or be duped into hijinks, or listen to Devi when her mom was too tired, or bitch about her shitty lab-mates in exchange for sitting through Devi bitching about her complicated feelings on the subject of Aneesa dating her ex. She wouldn’t live with them anymore, and the family that had begun to miraculously fill out after her dad had died would be back down to three. And the other two members of it would be old (Sorry, Mom, she thought) and not at all prepared to champion her dating life or the cleavage-accentuating formal dress currently buoying it.

So, yeah, Devi was looking ahead—eyes glazed over as the yellow lights of cars slipped around them to prevent her vision from fully adjusting to the blue-black sky—and feeling more than a little nervous and scared of the Kamala-shaped hole she’d have in her life if her dazzling, dorky cousin left her house for one she might eventually fill with the most beautiful children the world had ever seen.

Thankfully, Paxton was there. It startled her when he took one hand off the wheel and felt across her lap to grab hers, loosely interlacing their fingers. Devi quit hitting her phone against her leg. She sent off their updated location to Kamala and then let her phone fall flat.

“Did she say where she was?” Her boyfriend’s voice was quiet in the car and she realized for the first time that her head had been too crammed with thoughts to put on any music.

“Carpinteria State Beach. Do you know the exit?”

“We’ll find it.”

“And if you want me to drive while you rest on the way back…”

Paxton laughed.

“No way. Safety first.”

“Says the guy driving one-handed,” Devi countered, not that she was eager to surrender the hand warming hers.

He turned his head just long enough to shoot her a look.

“Whoa, pal, eyes on the road!” she said. (She had a half-baked plan to call her boyfriend ‘pal’ a few times and thereby de-weaponize the word in a memory that still felt like a fading bruise, an almost-gone sore spot in who she and Paxton were before they were openly a them.)

“Sorry,” he said, staring out the windshield again. He grinned. “You look gorgeous.”

“Really?”

“So gorgeous.” Paxton’s voice was softer this time, the underlying laugh it had carried since she’d offered to drive his jeep drained out of it. It was nearly a sigh.

“Thanks. So do you.”

“You know, I feel fucking awful for hitting you with my car, but I still think I mighta felt worse if I’d walked in and seen you dancing with somebody else.”

Devi twisted their hands, touching the back of his to her thigh so she was sandwiching it between leg and palm for a moment, aiming for reassuring.

“I wanna say I would never be that flaky, but my previous offenses speak for themselves.”

“So does doing this with me.”

“Uh,” she droned, “to recap, you left a fun thing to do a huge favour for me. You’re talking about it like this is my act of redemption. I feel like if you examine it for a sec, you’ll see how I’m actually kind of a dick for accepting your help.”

“I want us to be together,” he said bluntly. “Here we are. Together.”

“It’s that simple?”

“I don’t see why it can’t be.”

“Huh. I think you’re really gonna be good for my tendency to overcomplicate a situation.”

Paxton laughed and unthreaded his fingers from Devi’s. But it wasn’t to release her for pointing out that this date was, in actual fact, the coordinated response to a family crisis; his fingertips moved lightly over her palm, momentarily trapped when her fingers flinched inward in reaction to how it tickled, then traced along the thin skin of her inner wrist. He wasn’t trying to pull away. He was lingering. Though his touch when he sunk his hand into her hair or drew her closer by her waist had always been fairly gentle, it had often had the faint aggression of hastiness to it, clutching her as they made out in her room, always listening for footsteps in the hallway. How Paxton touched her now was pure, exploratory tenderness. It made the hairs on the back of Devi’s neck stand up as a wave of shivers rushed up her spine and crested somewhere around the nape of her neck.

He must’ve felt that wave break, the foamy aftereffects in some tic of her arm or quickening of her pulse while his fingers skimmed gradually up the inside of her arm towards her elbow, because he chanced another quick glance at her.

“That feels good,” she explained.

Paxton looked forward, nodding slowly, and shifted in the driver’s seat.

“Good.”

She thought it must have felt good for him too, knowing he’d made her shiver.

—

The miles were flicking past for Paxton—another, another, another, as fast and steady as the dashed lines painted between the lanes, his arms cutting the water on the front crawl. He wanted Devi, beside him, to believe that he was paying attention to his driving, but he was honestly kinda zoned out. Like that time he’d swum to San Diego, he let his body go through the motions (in this case, twitching the wheel, putting on cruise control when traffic thinned so he didn’t have to focus on the pedals) while his mind floated freely.

Where it floated was to his girlfriend.

At ten years old, he’d been the last kid in his swim class to jump off the 10m board. It was optional—a treat after getting water up their noses turning somersaults below the surface and doing egg-beater legs in between—but all the other boys in the group had done it eagerly, shrieking on their way down to sloppy pencil dives. Paxton had climbed the stairs all the way to the top easily enough, even stepped onto the wide platform, bordered by metal railings and rough under his bare feet. He’d walked out to the end and frozen to find himself so high above the pool.

He hadn’t feared the water, he’d feared the air. Being so exposed on his own at the end of the diving board. Eventually, he’d retreated, then surprised the coach waiting down at the poolside by turning around and taking the jump at a run. Few memories felt as good as the sensation of giving himself back to gravity and letting it reunite him with the water. He’d just had to get past the exposure.

Same thing tonight, going to find Devi at the dance. Holding her hand in his had been him reaching the platform, but when they stood together, just inside the school’s doors, Paxton hadn’t known for sure whether he would take the leap or retreat. And not just for a running start this time, but in a way that turned his sixteen-year-old present self back into one of those nervous ten-year-olds who wimped out and had to take the coward’s way down—descending each step they’d climbed. He might not have run, and yet he hadn’t needed to back up and race into their relationship either. Momentum hadn’t carried them inside for everyone they knew to see them. It had been a calm approach, even if he’d been shaking on the inside when he saw Trent staring at them.

So maybe Paxton had learned something in the last six years, or maybe it was harder to feel exposed with somebody right next to you.

She really did look gorgeous, like he’d said, and because he didn’t want her to worry about his focus if she spotted him gazing at the side of her face while she texted her cousin, the glances he stole were of the knee region. Her dress’s overlay sparkled when the high lights of eighteen-wheelers passed them and the specific teal of the dress itself reminded him of a river he’d swum in once during an out-of-state family vacation. Natural and deep and fresh, and exasperating for his parents because he’d accidentally doggy-paddled himself all the way to a small waterfall and hadn’t heard them calling him back for dinner around the campfire. He felt all that about Devi, except for hoping for a different reaction from his parents when they met her.

Holy shit. He was going to have to introduce his girlfriend to his embarrassing hippy parents. But then, she’d already met Rebecca, so maybe they were set? A sister’s approval should count for a ton.

No, no, no, Devi would have to meet his parents. He was doing this. The two of them were doing this. Paxton exhaled determinedly through his nose and made himself concentrate on the remaining miles he needed to cover. His mind, anyway. His hand continued to stroke and search, covering his girlfriend’s hand with his until he had her fingers tucked away protectively under his own, and then caressing all the way up to the crook of her elbow so suddenly that she made a noise between a laugh and a yelp because he’d unintentionally tickled her. Man, she was cute.

The very end of their journey required the most concentration from Paxton; he finally took back his hand to have both on the wheel as he steered them off the highway and Devi’s got lonely or something, because it chased across to where he was sitting and landed on his thigh. His jaw clenched. He could feel the heat of her palm through his pantleg and congratulated himself on being a driving legend for driving smoothly to where they needed to park for beach access.

Devi had a pink sweater that she put on, but Paxton grabbed his jacket out of the back as well in case she needed it. It was almost midnight and a breeze rolled up off the water, rippling his tie and swishing Devi’s dress. He didn’t have to ask what they should do next—there was just one other car parked nearby and Devi’s cousin was already standing outside of it, raising a hand to wave sheepishly as they got out of his jeep.

“Here,” he said, holding out his jacket for his girlfriend to put her arms through the sleeves. “You guys talk. I’ll be down at the beach.”

Devi turned her back to him as she accepted the jacket, but she glanced over her shoulder with a look of concern.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. You’ll want privacy. I need to stretch my legs anyway.”

“Just don’t swim away, ok?” she requested. “I don’t think I can handle more than one rescue mission per night.”

Paxton could tell by her expression that it wasn’t entirely a joke. He grinned and gripped his lapels, now on Devi, reeling her in.

“I promise. You’d probably take the opportunity to try to drive the jeep home, and I don’t want to risk that.”

“Me committing grand theft auto or me getting hurt?”

“I bet they tested you for smartness,” he said, “but you think they have a test for being a smartass? You’d score high, Vishwakumar.”

“I know, I know, you don’t want me to get hurt.”

She was so infuriatingly flippant, rolling her big brown eyes at him.

“That’s right,” Paxton said plainly. There he was, up on the platform again.

Devi straightened his tie and let her hand rest flat on his chest. He remembered how overwhelmed she’d looked the first time he’d placed her palm there, right on his skin. Even now, it almost made him laugh.

“Ok,” she said, and he was surrendering himself to the sweet strength of gravity, propelled down to the beach while Devi stayed to talk to Kamala.

—

Devi had heard that there were tidepools here, and she was nervous about stepping into one and spearing some aquatic animal on her high heel. Well, she couldn’t magically improve her night vision, but she could take her shoes off and remove the possibility of impalement. They dangled from her fingers as she picked her way down to the beach.

Her boyfriend was sitting in the sand, staring out at the ocean. It just looked so romantic—with the stars the sky was too bright to see at home, and the waves, and the back of Paxton’s white shirt in the moonlight—that Devi decided to slip into the scene without saying anything at all.

A mistake. Paxton gasped and jumped. Apparently, he hadn’t heard her over the noise of the water.

“Sorry, sorry!” she said.

He sighed and smiled, getting to his feet.

“How’d it go?”

“I think it went well. She was feeling calm enough to drive, so she’s on her way home now. She’s gonna cover for me until we get back.”

“That’s good… but what about Mr. Kulkarni?”

“He was passed out in the passenger’s seat,” Devi stated. “I guess he’s kind of a lightweight? Kamala said she’s going to drive back to our school and leave him and his car in the parking lot. She’s planning to call my mom for a ride home. If it were me, I think I’d take the bus and try to sneak back into the house as quietly as possible, but Kamala still has a lot to learn about how to thoroughly dodge your problems.”

“And maybe about how to climb to the second floor of your house from the outside?” Paxton suggested with a meaningful smirk.

She did her best to return it, but the odds were that it didn’t look nearly as sexy on her. Then again, she had moonlight and midnight and well-displayed cleavage on her side.

“How’d you learn to do that so quietly anyway?” Devi asked, tossing her shoes to the sand and stepping forward to boldly wrap her arms around Paxton’s waist.

He’d had his hands in his pockets, but as soon as she’d begun to move towards him, he’d pulled them out. His arms encircled her, his hands on the back of his own black jacket. Although Devi wanted to offer him the jacket back—he felt slightly chilly through his shirt—she didn’t want the two of them to separate. Besides, body heat was a thing. This was practically what it was for. So Devi just pressed herself closer, breathing the scent of the ocean and Paxton’s fading cologne.

“Trent,” he said.

“Yeah, actually, that checks out.”

Were there boundaries between warming someone up while having a conversation and just hugging them? It wasn’t clear to Devi, but it felt good when they both went quiet for a while. She stood unevenly on the cold sand and listened to the thud of Paxton’s heart.

“You never said yes,” he said eventually, quietly.

“Yes to what?”

“I told you I came to the dance as your boyfriend and you never actually agreed to be my girlfriend. We kinda just started making out.”

Devi lifted her cheek from his chest so she could look at him. He didn’t appear disappointed, more like he was making an observation. Maybe he’d been reflecting, out here in the dark, while she and Kamala had talked.

“In my books, that’s an obvious yes,” she said, grinning. “What more do you need?”

She could see him trying not to smile.

“A little atmosphere would be nice,” Paxton said. “Maybe a long drive, or the beach. A full moon. Romance me, Vishwakumar.”

Devi vibrated with silent laughter. Or her heart was just beating really, really freaking hard.

“Sounds like you’ve got some pretty big expectations there.”

“And stars,” he added. “There should be a shitload of stars.”

With that, he took one hand off her back to point far above them. Devi tipped her head back, the light of the stars a friendly blur as she tried to pick one to settle on, just one. Paxton’s face coming forward to hover over hers blotted them out. Her boyfriend kissed her, light and ghosting and then firm and slow.

“On the other hand,” he said, pulling back a little, “I think we were onto something with the making out.”

Devi smiled and dug her toes into the sand to make herself taller, lips at the ready and realigned with his.

“We did set a precedent.”

[cosmic-capri]

"I 🤡 can’t 🤡 fucking 🤡 stand🤡 Instagram🤡 accounts🤡 that 🤡 invade 🤡 Tom’s🤡 life 🤡 and 🤡 make 🤡 gossips🤡out 🤡of 🤡 context " on this what is being said? I don't really follow tom accounts on ig. If you want to tell me if not it's fine.

Hey, I don’t follow them either but sadly insta makes thus thing Of showing you posts they think you would like (one time, ONE I saw one Tiktok and now the show up nonstop) and so they appear on my search. Whatever haha.

So basically they are full of posts bombarded with comments or captions that are very intrusive to his privacy, like super zoomed images of things he has in his house, pictures of his childhood (that neither of his parents posted so it’s like where tf you get this) mmm sort of like “imagine this and that”, “look how Tom is flirting with Z”, and they tag him and all his family’s accounts... I’ll spend hours trying to explain all the things I have founded there. Very awkward and intrusive.

But today I came across one that was a hate fan page, and that said things like “Tom Holland hates his fans” and many other posts (creepy ones) about wether or not he is dating an actress called Nadia. Also a ton of them are about said actress and you know... what is privacy to this people. ?

So yeah, I really don’t like them and no wonder why Tom obviously need a break from it, and god, I can’t imagine how awful it must be to come across this things.

[imnothinginparticular]

#finishedbooks Visions from the Forests by various. This is an exhibition catalogue I picked up in Minneapolis where they had back catalogues on sale for 5 dollars (originally 40 dollars). If you go back far enough in my stream I used to review a lot of museum catalogues partly in my work for TokyoArtBeat reviewing exhibitions but also there was a used art book shop near my ikebana studio in Mitaka that was one of the few kinds of books you could get that were bilingual. They had a lot more esoteric art movements that you can't find a lot of books in the west notably on Mono-ha, Gutai, and Dansaekhwa movements (the latter is a favorite, if you Google it with my name I have an extensive review of it). So really they offer great opportunities to get books on less mainstream art and movements as with the book here focusing on the art of Liberia and Sierra Leone. It was waiting initially for my visa in DC at my dad's where I would catch the metro to the Smithsonian every other day with my camera, pop-tarts, and flask and out of all of them the African art one slowly became my favorite. It was always quiet and empty, but became a catalyst for a lot as it specifically got me into Nigerian literature (that has become a favorite contemporary national literature) but overall I liked how demanding it was, you have to go to it as I found it all quite nuisanced a lot like Japanese art or more specifically Japanese folk art (or folk art in general) where the deeper you get into actual curation these sorts of unknown artists that created functional objects of unconscious beauty become the most fascinating...part of it in the lack of pretension. So I would spend a lot of time in the African art museum finding something that peaked my curiosity go home study it by catching documentaries about general national history, literature, cinema, etc...then with the context be rewarded in seeing a sort of synthesis manifest through these objects. With that this book is divided into 3 sections; the first remembrance of the head curator, followed by 7 essays, and an actual catalogue of the objects. The second essay, "Photography and Sande Initiates" was quite interesting. It goes into photography theory regarding a photographer's intent separated from meaning in how a photo's caption can change an image's meaning entirely. Nothing new, but it really hits in regards to Africa and the first white photographers who shot photographed there and how the main selling point, outside of the immediate fetish, was mostly for postcards and the random manipulation that went on in them. This is relevant because in this field so much of the research to date and track the rituals and masks depend upon photographs that leaves them backwards sifting through the manipulation to find the truth. There was another essay on the process of trying to find which artists sculpted certain Sande masks where the majority of them came from a lineage that ceased to exist after the civil war of the 90s but could readily be traced. In some tribes however the anymnontiy of the artist has to be maintained at all costs for the sancity of the cermoney, so unlike the unknown Japanese artists who created what came to be art but was never appreciated for it, often among the Sande artists they consciously avoided it all together. The final essay was my favorite in discussing the curation of African art in western culture...which sadly is the only way the majority of us experience it. The idea is simple, begin and end with the object instead of making distinctions between art, artifact, scientific specimen, and contextual material that dominates Western practice.

[sciencespies]

How the Smithsonian and Other Museums Are Responding to the U.S. Capitol Riot

https://sciencespies.com/history/how-the-smithsonian-and-other-museums-are-responding-to-the-u-s-capitol-riot/

How the Smithsonian and Other Museums Are Responding to the U.S. Capitol Riot

Last Wednesday, a mob of far-right insurrectionists stormed the United States Capitol, forcing lawmakers to flee for safety and temporarily delaying Congress’ certification of November’s election, which will put Vice President Joe Biden and Senator Kamala Harris in the White House.

Over six hours of chaos, the insurrectionists assaulted law enforcement officers, ransacked offices, stole objects, smashed windows and smeared what appeared to be blood across a bust of President Zachary Taylor. Rioters also erected a wooden gallows near the Capitol Reflecting Pool; footage captured at the scene showed some members of the crowd chanting, “Hang Mike Pence!” In total, the attack claimed the lives of five people, including a police officer reportedly struck with a fire extinguisher.

In the wake of the January 6 riot, museums and cultural institutions across the country have responded by condemning the violence, collecting artifacts linked to the attack and beginning to place the events in a historical context.

As Anthea M. Hartig, director of the Smithsonian’s National Museum of American History (NMAH), said in a Friday statement, “This election season has offered remarkable instances of the pain and possibility involved in [the] process of reckoning with the past and shaping the future. As curators … continue to document the election of 2020, in the midst of a deadly pandemic, they will include objects and stories that help future generations remember and contextualize Jan. 6 and its aftermath.”

Smithsonian curators have already collected dozens of artifacts linked to the attack, reports Zachary Small for the New York Times. These objects include a sign that reads “Off with their heads—stop the steal” and a small handwritten poster that includes the phrase “Trump won, swamp stole.”

Per the Washington Post’s Maura Judkis and Ellen McCarthy, government officials plan on preserving items found inside the Capitol—including stickers, flags and House Speaker Nancy Pelosi’s damaged name plate—and sharing them with museums, including the Smithsonian.

Members of the public are encouraged to send photos and descriptions of any materials that should be considered for future acquisition to 2020electioncollections@si.edu.

This linen banner celebrated Thomas Jefferson’s victory over John Adams in the election of 1800—and the peaceful transition of power that followed. “Two hundred and twenty years after Jefferson was sworn in as president, the vulnerability of this legal and historic handover was revealed,” said Hartig.

(National Museum of American History)

According to Hartig, NMAH is committed to documenting “all aspects of the American political experiment: a government by the people.”

The director added, “A key tenet of this constitutional democracy is the peaceful transfer of power following U.S. presidential elections, dating back to the republic’s first presidential election. This week, that core belief was shaken.”

Referencing one of the museum’s treasured political history items—a banner celebrating the outcome of the election of 1800—Hartig noted that John Adams, who lost the presidency to Thomas Jefferson, peacefully conceded despite the “bitterly contested” nature of the race.

“At the time and since, the rhythmic certainty of this proud tradition has sparked amazement that any leader would willingly yield their office,” Hartig said. “Two hundred and twenty years after Jefferson was sworn in as president, the vulnerability of this legal and historic handover was revealed.”

In a separate statement, Smithsonian Secretary Lonnie G. Bunch III noted that he was “appalled by the violence incited by those unwilling to accept the results of a now congressionally certified presidential election and outraged by the diminution of the rule of law and the dishonoring of a symbol of American democracy.”

Wednesday’s deadly attack has shaken our country. Dedicated to sharing knowledge for the benefit of humanity, we at the Smithsonian are more determined than ever to provide educational resources to bring our nation together. https://t.co/ctdSANgt40

— Lonnie G. Bunch III (@SmithsonianSec) January 11, 2021

Bunch added, “As members of an unruly mob brandished the Confederate flag in the halls of Congress, it was a reminder that this was not simply an attack on our democratic institutions, but a repudiation of our shared values. … This moment is a clarion call. We must commit to working across the lines that divide us to make real the nation so many have long dreamed for, a truly beloved community.”

The National Civil Rights Museum in Memphis, Tennessee; the Museum of Jewish Heritage in New York City; and the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C. made similar statements condemning the attack, reports Hakim Bishara for Hyperallergic. The Brooklyn Museum, meanwhile, posted an image of Ed Ruscha’s Our Flag on Instagram alongside a caption stating that “the feelings of fragility and uncertainty evoked in Ruscha’s work were sadly reinforced by yesterday’s [events].” The National Trust for Historic Preservation, the American Alliance of Museums and a number of national museum associations also released statements regarding the riot.

At the Capitol, curators assessed the damage to their historic workplace, which functions both as the seat of federal government and a museum. Though benches, murals, shutters and other items sustained damage at the hands of rioters or through the accretion of tear gas and pepper spray, Capitol officials tell the New York Times’ Sarah Bahr that the destruction could have been worse: A number of large-scale John Trumbull paintings in the Capitol Rotunda, for instance, escaped relatively unscathed. None of the artifacts on loan from the Smithsonian to the Capitol were damaged in the attack.

Jane Campbell, president of the U.S. Capitol Historical Society, tells the Post that Wednesday’s events left her angry and heartbroken. But, she adds, “as a historian I want everything preserved,” including items broken or damaged by the mob.

“I think the people who did the attack on the Capitol are insurrectionist, immoral and bad news all the way around,” Campbell continues, “… but if they left stuff behind, it should be preserved and studied later. We have to look at, ‘What did we learn?’”

Prior to last week, curators and educators across the country had already been working to ensure that key artifacts from 2020—including objects associated with an unprecedented global pandemic, a worldwide push for racial justice and a divisive presidential election—would be preserved for generations to come.

Last summer, the Smithsonian’s National Museum of African American History and Culture (NMAAHC), NMAH and the Anacostia Community Museum began collecting artwork, signs and other memorabilia from Black Lives Matter protests that swept the nation following police officers’ killing of George Floyd. As Elliot C. Williams reported for DCist in June 2020, curators collected a number of protest signs that had been posted on a fence around Lafayette Square.

Aaron Bryant, a curator at NMAAHC, said in a statement at the time that he had interviewed and listened to the stories of Black Lives Matter protesters.

“Objects are just metaphors for individual humanities,” he noted. “And behind each humanity is a story and a voice we want to preserve and share.”

#History

[endersshadowsnr]

Girona again

I was required to leave the comfortable hotel in Prieda because it was the holiday season for Halloween / All Saints. The hotel played up to the idea of Halloween, but the tradition is stronger for All Saints, which is a holiday in Spain and France. So I caught the direct train from Prieda to Girona - one goes straight through every two hours - most terminate along the way, and transferred. I'd invested in a bag for my stuff, so that I didn't end up wearing my clothes as I do on a flight. The advantage is I don't look ridiculous; the disadvantage is that I have a bag to carry as well as my backpack.

After a stretch along the coast the line goes in land to Girona. I'd booked a room in very posh hotel in the wrong direction from the station for the old city; I'd actually booked somewhere else but then found I'd booked the wrong date. In a panic I grabbed the nearest hotel. Which proved to be very nice in a more traditional way - imitation old style furniture rather than the Sumus' unrelentingly modern style.

The relatively cheap deal didn't include food, so I took the opportunity to start to eat a lot less; See Food diets are not good for the waistline.

I ummed and erred about a taxi TO the hotel; eventually I asked the next taxi on the stand for a ride, and he turned me down on the grounds that it was such a short ride - about 3/4 mile. There were a lot of taxis on the rank; I guess you want to get a good ride if you've had to wait for a customer like that. Makes the issue of Uber ever more blatant in countries without the UK's 'private hire' alternative. I did however indulge in one from the taxi to the old city.

When I got to the cathedral I was pleasantly surprised to discover that it, and the other two buildings that are part of the same establishment (the basilica and the museum of art, the former bishop's palace), were free that day. I therefore went into the Cathedral and took the photos of the extraordinary silver(?) 'dome' over the high altar,

and generally spent a bit longer in that amazing building, including the cathedral treasury. It's interesting to note passing references to the artwork that was destroyed in the Civil War; the Republicans had no time for the church and aggressively persecuted the clergy and destroyed a fair amount of Christian art. As a result the choir of Girona Cathedral lacks the traditional wooden stalls one expects in medieval churches, making the ancient dome actually appear modern until you look at the images it contains, which have St Peter controlling the gates of heaven.

Behind the altar is the 'throne of Charlemagne', who in legend is credited with the defeat of the Muslim armies here, although the process was rather more drawn out. This sort of stone seat behind the altar is also found in Canterbury cathedral, where it is named after Augustine (of Canterbury), the man who headed the Roman mission to the Germanic invaders who had conquered 'England' and largely destroyed the church.

A particular surprise was a rock crystal cross from the 13th century

Another feature was the altar commemorating the 4 martyrs of the city, including figurative heads

Moving on from the Cathedral, the next site was the Basilica down the hill. This is a surprising mixture. One large side chapel has been reworked in a modernist style,

another is an amazing piece of 18th century decoration,

notable for a petrified boy choirister employed to ask for donations.

whilst the main altar is far older, with the sides of sarcophaguses in the walls around it. These are a strange mixture of a pagan story, several Christian ones and a very simple design.

The Basilica is named after St Felix, the deacon closely associated with St Narcissus who is the main local saint who as bishop was martyred under the Romans. It's interesting to note the visibility given to Felix in the circumstances.

The church was also notable for the coloured roof bosses. These were traditional; research is making it clear that our perception of Roman and Medieval statues as white is wholly unjustified, though sadly it would be a brave cleric who allowed the full restoration of the ancient colours in their church.

This summary of the doctrinal significance of the Baroque in painting is an interesting point

The Basilica is perhaps half way up the hill; the Cathedral is higher.

The third building that is normally on a single ticket and was free that day is the city museum - which is actually mostly church art as well. Sadly the audioguide wasn't available, and some of the captions lacked English (it's amazing how many do have the language of the Empire though), so at times I was struggling to work out what was what, though admittedly most Christian art is obvious.

This painting raises some interesting issues; note the way that the Christian era is presented as being taught by a woman: to some extent this reflects the personification of the church.

A temporary exhibition shows an artist doing what photoshop will now do for you almost automatically:

The survey form at the end of the tour showed a certain prejudice; it appears that classical music is not ‘actual’ music!

However at the bottom of the steps up to the Cathedral there is a former church building that now houses a range of military memorabilia. I assume that it is a FORMER church - in the sense that the building was obvious built as a church, and it is now cluttered with display cases, but the presence of this banner complicates the issue.

In the context of the history of Spain under Franco, this may be an official church confraternity; certainly the Roman soldier uniforms stored in profusion in the display cases may point to this. The emphasis on the church as the soldiers of Christ is, of course, wildly unfashionable today, but that is no excuse for us to reject the call to 'fight valiantly', with the experience of shared combat offering a parallel to our own experience of being tempted.

The collection seems to be an equal opportunities offender; having items from Fascist Italy,

Nazi Germany

and the Soviet Union.

My evening meal emerged from an automat, taking the concept of the fast food joint to its logical conclusion. The most that could be said for it is that it was cheap, quick and harmless.

The food came inside a plastic package in which it had obviously been microwaved.

I walked back down the route of the overhead railway line past the station and back to my hotel. At least I'm taking some exercise!