#simone fondant

[bughead-in-the-comics]

From You're Baking Me Crazy, Betty and Veronica Double Digest #289 (2020).

[rimeswithpurple]

I realized I hadn't posted pictures of the cakes I made for the Slow Dance book signing. I had also made extra dragon wing cakes to share with the lovely fandom friends I got to meet!

I actually remembered to take process photos this time. So I put them below along with pics of me giving the cakes to @rainbowrowell

[ravenmichaelisstuff]

Thinking about retired SoapGhost opening a bakery. Ghost always liked to bake even though he always had his father's voice commenting on it whenever he would help his mom bake as a kid. Telling him that it's not manly, useless skill, just as useless as his mother the bastard would say. But Simon loved baking with his mom so even when on base he would bake at night in the small communal kitchen they had, when no one would catch him.

Enter John Soap MacTavish walking in on him late at night after a nightmare. Ghost was embarrassed at first but it's safe to say that from that point onward he never baked alone again. With time Johnny started helping him but fuck is he shit at it. So Simon made him stick to decorating and that was an excellent decision. Soap absolutely slayed at decorating the various cakes and cookies Ghost would make. Icing, fondant, chocolate - Johnny makes amazing little peaces of art on the pastries.

Eventually they would share their creations with Price and Gaz and that was a mistake. After that everyone on base wanted a taste.

So when they retired it was natural to open a small bakery where they could spend whole days with each other covered in flour and sugar. Their first big order was from Alejandro himself.

"Nothing big hermano, Rudy will kill me otherwise" he said after ordering a four tier wedding cake with Camellias sculpted in fondant.

Little did they know that they would be making another one only a few months after. Well- little did Simon knew. Soap had that in plans for a little while, fidgeting with the ring in his pocket every time Simon would flash him a smile with his crooked nose covered in flour ever since they baked together for the first time.

A small fluff treat for you guys

[gedjub]

080324 Que je vous de belles choses dans les rêves la nuit! À l'instant je partageais avec une femme cette fébrilité des premiers voyages, court, peu lointain, premiers déplacements en fait, on s'apprêtait, on tremblait, j'étais roux, elle avait mis un tailleur gris... Puis, mélangé à ça, un séjour tardif chez Ruben qui était Simon avant, avec sa famille, d'autres jeunes gens d'aujourd'hui et leurs jeux vidéos d'enfance, Ruben et moi vieillis qui plaisantons sur le temps jadis, son autre correspondant qui avait laissé tous ces mots et ces photos amusantes aux murs de sa maison, cette sensation de voyage tout le temps, d'être ailleurs, bien reçu, invité, et cette dernière image d'une femme aux trois fleurs rouges posées en couronne au dessus de son pubis, son bras droit et sa main les souligne élégamment.

J'étais à deux doigts de ne rien en garder, j'oublierai sûrement la vérité du rêve car les mots se réfèrent à des réalités passés, tout à l'heure c'était autrement, c'était mélangé, c'était nouveau et entremêlé, délicieux, la neige dans les longs cheveux blonds et dégarnis de Ruben que j'ai secouée...

Quelles merveilles, dans mes rêves! Dis-toi bien que je me dis ça tous les matins!

+ Je sais la nuit quoi faire je jour. Autour d'un rêve qui parle d'amour, je fais bilan de toute la veille, et puis une idée me réveille qui donne un sens à la journée.

090324 musique : vent dans les oreilles, pas dans la nuit, train de fond

140324 La compréhension du fait qu'on ne puisse développer la recherche musicale que petit à petit, d'individu en individu et en s'appuyant forcément sur les résultats existants devrait m'encourager à croire en une percée lente mais sûre de mes idées préférées dans la lutte politique.

+ Lentement devenu blafard et gris, fatigué d'attendre que tu le rejoignes enfin, le ciel, décidé à venir te chercher sur Terre, a tout englouti.

+ Mes yeux en amour, fondant à la beauté et jouissant du temps laissé à la compréhension devant les time lapses, mes oreilles de même aux sons ralentis.

+ As long as you're using in a non-abusive way. A non-abusive user.

+ Prendre le contrôle de mon corps, quelque part entre je suis et j'ai. Ça, c'est pour la jolie formule. Mais en fait, ce serait plutôt: qu'est-ce qui est possible?

+ Comme je fais chanter mon ventre, je le fais maintenant nager. Ça n'est pas seulement ma tête qui flotte avec du lest derrière. Comment utiliser mes pieds pour avancer mieux dans l'eau?

+ Attacher puis pousser, ça ne marche pas et ça n'est pas bon. Mes lunettes me tenaient la nuque et j'ai toussé et j'ai senti que c'était dangereux, comme quand j'ai voulu faire des tractions avec les bretelles de mon sac à dos sur les épaules et que j'ai perdu connaissance.

+ Marcher sur l'H2O.

+ C'est chez elle que j'ai découvert le jazz et pourtant, en entendant ce musicien en jouer dans la rue, elle a dit "Ouh, que c'est faux!"

Un artiste a peint leur faire-part à l'aquarelle et en voyant le résultat, ils ont dit "Ça dépasse de partout, il aurait pu s'appliquer!"

C'est deux cas m'ont surpris et me font mal comme des insultes personnelles.

+ Je passe des heures à fabriquer des cadeaux et je me demande comment je pourrais m'occuper et de mes travaux, et de ces cadeaux. Je ne le pourrais pas, et je ne ferais plus de cadeaux qui me prennent des heures. Étape crucial vers le "vivre pour moi".

160324 À ne faire que chercher le passé dans le présent pour alimenter ma soif insatiable de cette sensation fuyante d'extase, j'en gâchais toute possibilité de créer de nouveaux souvenirs sensoriels à partir de moments, de visions, d'odeurs toutes nouvelles.

[lamilanomagazine]

Torino, inaugurata la nuova “Piazza della Costituzione”

Torino, inaugurata la nuova “Piazza della Costituzione”. Nel 75° anniversario dell’entrata in vigore della Carta Costituzionale, Torino le ha dedicato una nuova piazza nel cuore di Borgo San Paolo. Un ampio spazio pedonale, con alberate e fontanelle ornamentali tra le vie Monginevro, Issiglio e Lancia, proprio dove sorgeva lo storico stabilimento automobilistico fondato da Vincenzo Lancia nei primi anni del XX secolo. Un nuovo nome La cerimonia di intitolazione, che fa seguito a una decisione unanime della commissione toponomastica della Città di Torino, ha avuto luogo questa mattina, alla presenza di autorità e di abitanti del quartiere, compresi numerosi anziani residenti nella RSA che si affaccia sulla piazza. A tenere i brevi discorsi che hanno preceduto lo scoprimento, scandito dall’Inno di Mameli, della targa che indica la nuova denominazione della piazza, sono state la presidente del Consiglio comunale Maria Grazia Grippo (che è anche a capo della la commissione Toponomastica) e la presidente della Circoscrizione 3, Francesca Troise. Ha preso la parola anche il giovanissimo Simone Scanavino, in rappresentanza del Consiglio dei Ragazzi della stessa Circoscrizione. Onore alla Costituzione La presidente Troise ha rievocato le radici industriali del quartiere e il ruolo svolto da tanti suoi abitanti, uomini e donne, sia nelle vicende del movimento operaio sia nella Resistenza, anticamera di quella Costituzione alla quale la piazza, proprio su proposta della Circoscrizione, è stata dedicata. Una Costituzione che reca valori e principi attuali ancora oggi, che ci indica un percorso, ha sottolineato Troise, ricordando come Piero Calamandrei ritenesse che il più importante articolo del documento fondante della nostra repubblica fosse il numero 3, quello che sancisce l’uguaglianza fra tutti i cittadini e cittadine (senza distinzioni di genere, etnia, convinzioni politiche o religiose, condizioni sociali) e impegna la Repubblica a rimuovere le cause delle diseguaglianze. “La democrazia e la libertà - ha concluso Troise - non sono mai scontate, d’ora in poi anche la piazza lo ricorderà a tutti e tutte.” I valori della Repubblica La presidente del Consiglio comunale, da parte sua, ha sottolineato come “l’intitolazione della piazza alla Costituzione manifesti la volontà di riconoscerci tutti e tutte insieme nei valori e nella Storia che hanno portato l’Italia a diventare compiutamente una Repubblica”. Il fatto che il sedime scelto per celebrare la Carta Costituzionale sia una piazza, ha aggiunto la presidente, è significativo perché ben rappresenta la genesi del documento che ha scritto le regole fondanti del nostro Stato. Il ruolo della Costituzione La piazza è per sua natura un punto d’incontro, di confronto continuo: ed è “esattamente quello che fu il lavoro svolto dai nostri padri e madri Costituenti”, i quali, “diversi tra loro per colore politico ed estrazione sociale, seppero costruire insieme le solide fondamenta della nostra democrazia”. Nonostante i suoi princìpi non abbiano ancora trovato completa attuazione, ha proseguito Grippo, “in 75 anni la Costituzione non ha mai smesso di essere guida e monito per il nostro Paese, per la nostra comunità”. Una consapevolezza, quella dell’attualit�� della Costituzione, da tramandare: “anche l’intitolazione di due vie, nei giorni scorsi alle staffette partigiane Lidia Menapace e Teresa Mattei, quest’ultima anche eletta all’Assemblea Costituente che scrisse la Carta Costituzionale: i loro nomi appartengono alla stessa storia che celebriamo oggi” ha affermato Grippo. Presente e futuro Rivolgendosi ai numerosi bambini presenti, la presidente ha concluso esortandoli a un gioco: “leggere un qualsiasi articolo della Costituzione e provare a pensare come si vivrebbe se a qualcuno non avesse lottato, anche a costo della vita, perché quell’articolo diventasse legge sopra ogni legge”. Il giovanissimo Simone Scanavino, a nome del Consiglio dei Ragazzi della Circoscrizione 3, ha fatto un brillante paragone, pensando allo stabilimento industriale che esisteva ove oggi sorge la nuova piazza: “Qui gli operai costruivano le automobili con il loro impegno, assemblandone i pezzi, anche la nostra Costituzione è nata così. I politici di allora l’hanno composta mettendo insieme i pezzi migliori del nostro Paese. Questa piazza rappresenta il nostro presente e il nostro futuro. Oggi siamo qui, con le nostre paure e anche con i nostri sogni”. Read the full article

[christophe76460]

Comme Jésus était à Béthanie, dans la maison de Simon le lépreux, une femme entra, pendant qu’il se trouvait à table. Elle tenait un vase d’albâtre, qui renfermait un parfum de nard pur de grand prix ; et, ayant rompu le vase, elle répandit le parfum sur la tête de Jésus. (Marc 14:3)

Peut-être êtes-vous dans un endroit isolé parce que le Seigneur désire vous utiliser pour établir une place pour Lui dans le désert. Si le Seigneur a imprimé dans votre cœur Son besoin d'un tel endroit, alors déclarez que votre cœur est une « Béthanie » et prenez ceci entre vous et le Seigneur. Donnez au Seigneur un terrain pour construire dessus. Donnez-Lui Sa place. Ne recherchez pas les multitudes de personnes. Il vaut mieux avoir un, deux ou trois qui se recueillent ensemble en tant que la Béthanie du Seigneur que d'avoir des centaines ou des milliers de personnes rassemblées ensemble en tant qu'autre chose que Béthanie.

Y a-t-il des personnes dans le monde entier qui puissent se réunir vraiment dans le but de servir le Seigneur et de se « gaspiller » elles-mêmes dans l'adoration, ne prenant aucunement en considération leurs propres besoins, mais fondant leurs vies entièrement sur la satisfaction du Seigneur?

Chip Brogden

[cassiaclove]

This Sunday is the second fireworks show to take place this year, and you’re all invited to spend it on my island, Clover Bay!

Now, this is one of a couple of fireworks parties that are being held by this group chat and discord server community, and it will primarily cater to those of us in the UK, Europe, and surrounding areas, but people from all over are more than welcome to join in and celebrate with us if they’d like to. 

I can think of no better way for us all to have a fun time than to lay out a set of harsh, demanding, and gruelling rules for everybody to follow, so I hope everyone reads them and agrees to flawlessly obey in fear of great and terrible retribution.

Just kidding, but please do heed these guidelines:

This is a pyjama party, so please come wearing something you’d sleep in! (obviously I’m not evil, so we can wear our boppers from Isabelle if we want to)

Please bring something for the gift exchange! Whether you crafted or bought it, no matter if it’s really cheap or really expensive, I’d appreciate it if everyone could bring a gift-wrapped item to include on the table of party bags for people to choose from to take home as they decide to leave the party. I will be providing a lot of these gifts myself, but I don’t know how many people will come and I only have so much room in my house to store backup presents.

When the Dodo code goes live, it will be revealed to members of the Group Chat and Discord server only! Please only share this code with people you trust will behave decently; I recently had an incident in which some very valuable items were stolen from my island and I do not want a repeat of that.

-

Guidelines over with, I’m just going to go over a few features the event will have, and lay out a brief overview of what you can expect from the visit!

The gates will open at 18:30 (for early-birds, those who might not be able to make it otherwise, and those who want to catalogue and collect DIY recipes before the fireworks start) and stay open until midnight (at which point, if anyone is still here, you’re getting booted from the island because I’ll need to sleep). I may not be around for the entirety of this time, but I will be sure to let you know when I’m afk. 

There will be several attractions around the island and games for you to enjoy! So far, we have the, Spinning Wheel Raffle (otherwise known as the ‘Dig-a-Gift 5000′), Picture Perfect Prizefest, and the Scavenger Hunt. Details on all of these features will be coming very soon. 

I have, as we all do, 8 slots for custom fireworks. If anyone interested in coming has a specific design they want me to feature in this lineup, please relay to me the custom design code and I will be sure to include it in the lineup on a first come, first served basis.

There is no itinerary for the event, other than the opening and close times. People, obviously, can stay for as long or as little as they’d like and participate in whatever games and competitions they want to (I trust y’all to be honest and honour the rules for the individual games). The only game that needs my specific input is the Scavenger Hunt, so please seek me out if you want to play that particular game because I’ll need to hide the items on a case by case basis (there are big prizes involved with this, hence the need for such pretentiousness and mystique).

-

That’s about it, friends! I will be making posts for each of the attractions and games, and linking them to this post over the course of this evening and tomorrow, so please keep a look out and be sure to read them before popping over to Clover Bay for the Fireworks Party. I really think this can be a fantastic time for us all, and I hope to see you there!

[lepetitlugourmand]

Troisième dîner du Festival des Étoilés @montecarlosbm Les Chefs @yannickalleno et @bruno_verjus ont orchestré une symphonie gastronomique hors norme en grande convivialité et belle amitié, tels des aubergistes du Bonheur et des poètes Gourmands. C'est au sein du très chic et discret, @hotelhermitagemc (intimement appelé l'hôtel des connaisseurs), que s'est déroulé le tout premier quatre mains du @pavyllon_montecarlo du chef multi-étoilé Yannick Alléno. Le chef recevait son ami doublement étoilé Bruno Verjus, grande figure de la scène gastronomique parisienne et française. Bruno Verjus est un Chef atypique et unique au franc parler et à la sincérité absolue. Ce Poète des assiettes, ce Michel Simon des cuisines, manie aussi bien le verbe que la cuillère avec précision et justesse, tel un Cyrano des fourneaux, qui à la fin de l'envoie touche les âmes de sa profonde volonté de nourrir l'esprit par le corps. Tous deux, épaulés de leurs belles équipes de cuisine - Guillaume Bellayer, Maxime Vaslin pour Yannick Alléno et Jules Letteron, Giuseppe Mariani pour Bruno Verjus - ont proposés un menu placé sous le signe de la splendeur des produits et de la Nature dans une « simplicité » époustouflante de vérité et de puissance, comme l’incroyable Oeuf Badaboum au coeur coulant de caviar, la Noix de Saint-Jacques cuit dans un beurre de moelle et truffe blanche, le Jardin éphémère en monochrome d’une betterave en force de ses racines, le Homard est dans toute sa véracité en cuit-cru parfait, de son identité, le Bar en texture est maturé et se repulpe de l’acide verjus en vertu, le gourmand chou farci au foie gras s’étoffe des petits côtelettes d’un agneau fondant d’ici. Les douceurs vibrent de vie d’un galet en croustille de poire et d’une tartelette chocolat infusée de la salinité du câpres et adoucis de l’iode noisette du caviar. Ce brillant et prodigieux troisième dîner du Festival était non sans rappeler ces moments de gastronomie d’autrefois, de ces aubergistes et chefs à l’épatante gouaille, qui vous recevaient chez eux comme des amis : un moment suspendu! #gastronomie #yannickalleno #brunoverjus #monaco #montecarlo #cotedazurfrance #visitmonaco (à Pavyllon Monte-Carlo, un restaurant de Yannick Alléno) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cj3AmsRDYa5/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[lesgenouxdanslegif]

QUELQUES CHIFFRES POUR TE FAIRE TOURNER LA TETE.

Et te dégoûter de la vie. Contexte : Western States Endurance Run 100, Californie, course en place depuis 1974. Mythique. 160 bornes et un profil plutôt descendant mais tout de même 5 000 mètres de dénivelé positif. C’est parti :

• En 2012, Timothy Olson place un surréaliste 14h46’44’’. 10,8 km/h, une vitesse qui semblait alors imbattable car réalisée dans des conditions étonnamment fraîches. Un peu comme quand tu réserves une semaine dans le Sud et qu’il fait 15 degrés pendant quatre jours. C’est sympa, ça change, mais t’es pas venu pour ça.

• En 2018, Jim Walmsley remporte (enfin) sa première Western en 14h30’04’’ (11,1 km/h de moyenne) après deux échecs (et geysers) en 2016 et 2017. Il gifle le précédent chrono de 17 minutes, soit le temps de cuisson du fondant au chocolat de Mamie Simone.

• En 2019, il n’attaque pas le chantier comme un cinglé et ne prend la tête qu’après 15 miles (24 bornes). Entre les miles 70 et 94 il est déchaîné, exactement comme toi quand t’avais 18 ans et que tu faisais des mélanges alcool de mauvaise qualité / boissons énergétique de mauvaise qualité (pléonasme).

• Jim n’est pas le seul cinglé à dynamiter la course. Sa version miniature Jared Hazen a lui aussi bouffé du lion. Il terminera deuxième en battant le record de Jim en 2018 de 3 minutes. Mais tout le monde s’en cognait car Jim a fait encore plus fort.

• À l’arrivée, Jim s’est satellisé en 14 heures, 09 minutes et 28 secondes. 11,4 km/h de moyenne, 5’17’’ du kilo.

• Il a donc collé 20 minutes à son propre record. L’ancien record a noyé sa détresse en mangeant de la glace au chocolat qu’il a trempé dans du beurre de cacahuètes. C’était pas beau à voir.

• Quelques kilomètres amusants : le 38ème en 3’46, le 52ème en 3’35, le 61ème en 3’38, le 98ème en 3’53, le 127ème en 3’57. Au total, il a couru 33 minutes entre 3’24 et 3’57.En vous souhaitant une bonne journée.

Photo Bryson Malone

[super-unpredictable98]

Wishing and Hoping

Fandom: Misfits Pairing: Nathan x Lydia (OC - Hard Candy’ verse) Word Count: a little under 2,1k Warning: Strong language, very mild sexual content a/n: Here goes some wedding planning for you guys lol the one shots are probably gonna be all over the place, so I’ll try to always include a disclaimer explaining when the story is happening. 

(Masterlist)

"So where are we gettin' married? New York? Greece?"

"I was thinking... The spot where we first kissed," I shrugged.

"The Community Centre?" Nathan grimaced.

"Yeah, we have so many great memories there."

"D'you want us to wear orange jumpsuits too?" he mocked.

"No you twat! I thought it would be romantic..."

I turned around facing the other way, folding my arms and huffing at how insensitive Nathan was being right now.

"No, c'mon, Lollipop... I'm sorry," Nathan wrapped his arms around me, kissing my shoulder softly. "If it means so much t'you, we can get married in the Community Centre. I'll go there tomorrow and get us the rooftop, for..."

"December 1st."

"December 1st? That's so far away!"

"I know, Natty, but I'll go on tour next week and we won't have time until then. Unless you wanna marry this week."

"I mean..."

"Nathan!"

"I'm just sayin', if y'wanted to, I'd marry you right now."

"I don't even have a dress, you don't have a tux, we didn't send any invitations,  we don't have food, we don't have an officiant, a first dance, a honeymoon  plan..."

"Y'know most things are easily solved with a little warpin', right?"

"How about we compromise? That's what marriage is all about, after all."

"Alright, what's your proposition?"

"So, I have London, Spain, France, and Italy. Then I have US and Canada. We'll have about a week before Ireland, Germany, and Portugal. How about we get married that week?"

"That would be... October. Yeah, I can live with that. Deal."

"October 4th it is."

"Why the 4th?"

"It's my grandpa's birthday, he's one of my favorite people in the world, this way for the rest of our lives we'll celebrate his birthday and our anniversary at the same time."

"That's so sweet," Nathan squeezed me. "Who d'you wanna invite?"

"Well, the gang and your family," I frowned slightly. "I can't invite mine."

"I'm so sorry, Lollipop... Don't you think Barry could at least get your dad?"

"I don't think so, Simon will be walking me down the aisle and giving me away,  the officiant is gonna say Lydia Bellamy, he would find out."

"Yeah... I wish there was a way, but I'll do all I can t'make the day special for ya," he kissed the top of my head. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," I turned around and hid my face in the crook of his neck. "Never thought I'd see Nathan Young so excited to get married."

"And if you tell anyone I'll deny it, I have a reputation to keep."

We started to plan right away, the very next day I scheduled a cake tasting. I  thought of just getting Simon to come with me, but Nathan insisted on being there.

"It's cute that you wanna be involved in the process," I locked arms with my fiancé, as we arrived at the bakery.

"I do, and it does help that we're eatin' a shit load of cake."

"I knew there was a reason behind you being here today..."

"I'm starvin', let's go!"

I don't think a groom has ever enjoyed a cake tasting that much. Simon and I were taking small bites, analyzing which flavours the guests would like more, but Nathan was just inhaling slice after slice.

"So, which one do you like best, Natty?" I looked over at him and wiped the whipped cream from his face.

"All of them," he leaned back with a content sigh.

"You need to choose one..." Simon laughed.

"Maybe I should try them again t'make sure."

"You are no help at all," I shook my head. "I think chocolate cake with vanilla custard is a pretty safe choice, right? Everyone likes that..."

"I agree," Simon nodded. "But no fondant, I hate fondant."

"I know, I want a naked cake."

"Oh, kinky..." Nathan waggled his thick brows. "Does it mean we eat it naked?"

"No, you wanker," I was pretty sure he was joking, but with Nathan you can  never be sure. "Means the cake is showing, no fondant or frosting."

"Maybe some flowers to decorate it," Simon suggested.

"Yeah, sounds good to me."

"So when do we start the dinner tastin'?" Nate rubbed his palms together.

——————————————————

I really didn't wanna buy my wedding dress alone, I needed my bridesmaids there with me, so I took the opportunity of us being all together in Las Vegas to buy all of our dresses. Alisha quickly found the most luxurious store in town and we all went down there for a consultation (that was not at all scheduled by the way).

"Oy, mate," Kelly caught the attention of a saleswoman. "My friend here is gettin' married, we're lookin' for a dress."

"And what is your budget?" the saleswoman looked me up and down.

"I don't know... How about five thousand dollars?" I shrugged.

"Yeah," she widened her eyes. "That works, follow me please. Do you have any designers in mind?"

The first dress I tried on was one Alisha suggested, it was a mermaid silhouette, strapless, and it went down to the floor. When I saw myself in the mirror I wanted to cry. I never imagined it would feel so amazing and magical, it was just a dress, but I felt like a princess.

"I LOVE IT!" I twirled around.

"You look perfect!" Alisha held my hands.

"Well classy!" Kelly clapped excitedly.

"Is this the one?" I turned back to the mirror. "Is it too quick to choose?"

"You look amazing, Lyds, you gotta go with your gut. If you feel this is the one..." Nikkie shrugged.

"This is the one," Nathan's voice came from behind me and I screamed, covering myself as if I were naked.

"Nathan! What the fuck are you doing here?" I shouted. "Did you follow us?"

"I couldn't resist... I just had to see my Lollipop in a wedding dress."

"Well, now I can't wear this dress anymore!"

"Oh, bollocks you can't, y'look gorgeous! I don't think I've ever seen a bride as beautiful as you."

"The groom can't see the bride in the dress before the wedding, I told you!"

"But y'look so hot, I just wanted to see your face when y'found the right one," he protested.

"Now I'm gonna have to choose another one! Get the fuck out, go pick your tux or something," I put my hands on his shoulders, lightly pushing him to the exit. "If you glamour yourself I'm gonna know."

"Right, I can see exactly what you see," Alisha threatened.

"But Lollipop..."

"No Lollipop, or candy cane, or salt water taffy! You can't see my wedding dress before the day of the bloody wedding!"

It was really hard to choose a new one, but we eventually did. In my opinion, it ended up being prettier than the first, so I guess I'm thankful for that, and for Nathan being such a nosey prick.

"This is the one," Kelly smiled, I could swear there were tears in her eyes.

"You look perfect, Lyddie!" Alisha squeaked.

"Nathan does not deserve how beautiful you are right now," Nikki agreed.

For the girl's dresses, we decided to pick a color and each one of them would choose their own style. Just for the fun of it, I chose orange, it did come to be one of my favorite colors after all... 

Nikki picked a simple short one with spaghetti straps, Alisha picked a strapless one with some rhinestones on the corset, and Kelly picked a more classic A-line with princess sleeves.

The real struggle began when I brought the dress back to the hotel, I had to keep my eyes on Nathan 24/7. I asked Curtis (the last person Nathan would think I asked) to keep it for me and only give it back the night before the wedding.

Of course, Nathan being the childish golden retriever of a person he is, went for retaliation. How dare I not show him my wedding dress when he's just so curious to see it?

"Hey, Natty," I joined him at the pool district (our hotel had a fucking pool district, I can't make that shit up). "What do you think we go back to our room, have a little snack, a little drink, a little shag..."

"Not hungry or thirsty, but sure, I'll shag ya."

"W-what do you mean? I thought we could get a little tipsy and..."

"And then I somethin' special for you, right? Yeah, that won't happen."

"Is this about the dress?"

"Yes, Lydia Bellamy soon to be Young, this is about the dress," he pouted. "I just wanted t'see it..."

"We're going to Canada tomorrow, then we're going home next week, and our wedding is right after that. You won't have to wait for long! Why do you even care?"

"I don't know! I just do!"

"So you're not gonna do it? At all?"

"Oh, I will, just not for you... Now let's get goin' with the shag, the guys and I are goin' to the Hard Rock Cafe and the Coca-Cola Store."

"Thought you weren't hungry or thirsty."

"I will be after I'm done with you, Lollipop," he smirked. "Don't worry, love, I'll bring you a shirt. Now chop-chop, back to the room."

——————————————————

"So, ready for your bachelor party?" I looked at Nathan through the mirror as I put my lipstick on.

"Yeah, we're goin' to a strip club, a nice one too in West London..."

"Um... I didn't know that's what you were doing," I tried not to express how much I disliked the idea. I knew it was stupid to be jealous of strippers, they were just working, but I didn't wanna think about a woman rubbing herself on my soon-to-be husband.

"Barry told me he'd get me a lap dance and everythin'."

"Simon told you what?"

"I'm just jokin', babe," Nathan draped his arms around my neck from behind and kissed my cheek. "We're goin' to Barry's place, play some poker, order some pizza, and have a few drinks. What are you up to with the girls?"

"We're going to the pub, then doing a movie night."

"Sounds like fun... I've been meanin' to tell ya," Nate uncomfortably wet his lips, like he does when he's about to admit he's wrong. "I'm sorry about the whole dress thing. I know I've been a pain in the arse, I was just curious."

"It's alright, I know how you are. I wouldn't be marrying you if I didn't," I shook my head with a chuckle.

"Well, sorry I've been so petty about it, I'll give ya a little treat as soon as we arrive for our honeymoon."

"Apology accepted," I placed a spiked bow on my hair.

"Y'know, it will be weird sleepin' there."

"Why?"

"For one, Barry freaks me out a bit..."

"Nathan!" I scolded.

"What? He's a little freak!" he laughed.

"A little freak you tried to kiss not so long ago..."

"I was under a spell! That doesn't count!"

"He's my brother!"

"Well, you're a little freak too, but in your case... I like it."

"You bloody wanker," I huffed a laugh.

"Truth is we have been livin' together for a while now, I guess I forgot how t'sleep on my own," that was one of those rare moments when Nate's voice didn't carry any mockery, any joking tone, he was actually being vulnerable. "When I was livin' at the Centre I remember thinkin' about how it would be like to finally live with you. If I knew it would be like this, I would've moved in when you first invited me."

"That would've saved us some time, huh?" I ran my fingers through his unruly curls.

"And the embarrassment of me havin' sex with an 82-year-old woman," he grimaced.

I laughed and grabbed my purse to leave. Looking in the mirror one last time. That was the image I used to dream of back in the original timeline: Nathan holding me, loving me as much as I love him, happy to be mine.

"I'll miss you too," I caressed the back of his hand. "I got used to your snoring."

"I don't snore! How dare you?" he gasped, clutching his chest, overly offended.

"Can't wait to marry you," I blurted out the thought that was going through my mind. "My prick."

"Am I or am I not the prince charmin' y'always wanted?" he smiled smugly. "I'm excited too. I love you, Lollipop."

"I love you more, you cocky bastard."

Tag List: @nightingale-rose @elliethesuperfruitlover @firstpersonnarrator @misskittysmagicportal (let me know if you’d like to be tagged)

[ukdamo]

Remembrance of Things Present

One of mine...

The gloryhole in 89 Napier Street was the repository for practical things not necessarily needed immediately to hand: the scorched and rickety ironing board (the iron standing on its heel on the shelf above); left-over rolls of wallpaper; a canopy of coats cascading untidily from too few hooks; the two books (Universal Home Doctor and Family Bible); a bashed brown tea caddy, minus its label, that held buttons, wooden cotton reels, a selection of sewing needles, hair grips, press-studs on their cards, folorn biros with bitten ends; the Ewbank (at an earlier date), the reconditioned Hoover now in its stead. And mum's handbags. Old ones bulged with insurance policies, family snaps, the one £5 Premium Bond and the the three £1 ones, grave papers, mass cards, cast-off compacts with cracked mirrors or broken clasps, and almost-but-not-quite empty jars of Pond's cold cream. And the little cylinders of fake gold that held the stumps of greasy, muted-pinky-maroon lip sticks. It was all illuminated by a bare low-wattage bulb.

The gloryhole was, basically, under-stair storage. It was accessed from a door in the corner of the living room. Once the door was opened, you faced a narrow underdrawn space that sloped upward from left to right, following the contours of the stairs. In front, where the height permitted it, a shelf ran around the space. Under it were the old, two-pronged coat hooks. Mum's discarded handbags dangled by their frayed straps from those Victorian coat hooks, smothered by coats. They made occasional forays out into the light, when documents needed consulting or prayer cards needed re-homing. To the left of the door, down one-step, the space retreated into an increasingly confined wedge, so that the smaller objects had to be shoved into the deepest part of the recess and the taller ones stood immediately adjacent. The gloryhole was seldom decorated: it always lagged behind the rest of the house by at least two or three colour-schemes. Occasionally, when its yellowing paint became too depressing, it was freshened up by left over emulsion. The gloryhole housed the left-over wallpaper from various rooms - but never enjoyed a Polycell make-over of its own.

From the vantage point of 2017, Napier Street as our family home is long-gone. So are my parents; dad in 1995, mum a decade later. Equally long-gone are those old handbags with their stash of yesteryear's oddments. But, as I beetle along towards old age, the inherent power of those distant objects to seems to grow exponentially. The handbags and their associated evocations perhaps most of all.

Pond's cold cream. I don't know if it still exists. When I was a boy, it lived in small, glass, oval jars with bakelite screw lids. It was not gloopy or waxy. It was a reassuringly viscose white fondant, and had always the imprint of mum's last finger-scoop. The texture was cool, smooth and soothing. Its fragrance was of mum. Or maybe it was the other way round. A discreet scent of jasmine with distant lilies. It was soft on the palms and immediately made skin more malleable, less friable, less care-worn, more translucent. I can sympathise with her fondness for it: less a cotton winders' hands, more of a princess's. I used to have occasional dabs of my own: less a scrawly schoolboy's hands, more of an aesthete's?

In one or other of the bags there was a ladies Ronson lighter – it still had a working flint but its petrol-infused lint had long since dried out. I used to enjoy the dry, rasping spark with electric flare. Not so much a burning smell as a mechanical one. And then there were the compacts. They were usually smudged by the old lipsticks, their hinges encrusted with their own pink-blush powder. Indeed, the insurance policies, prayer cards and the faux-satin linings of the handbags were similarly smudged. The dull gold-coloured compact, the one with the cracked mirror, had a thin flat disc in it – satin one side and mildly padded on the other. Practically all the powder was gone from the insert. Little bevels of it remained where the side and bottom of the pan met. But the pad was still redolent of dustings and pattings. The powder was an anhydrous mist, different from the silky puff of Johnson's baby powder. Matt rather than shiny, the pad gave a satisfyingly muted pat when applied to the back of your hand. It had a fragrance, too, different from the cold cream, but complementary. The aroma was a pink carnation.

Mum was a delicate creature in some respects – allergic to anything other than gold jewellery. In this, I am not her son: I can wear any base metal, though my fondness and preference is for silver. Anything other than butter on her bread made her nauseous. Wartime had been a torture for her (the chemical coarseness of margarine, you understand). She had to trade all manner of coupons to secure enough butter. I sympathise with that. Her choice of butter was always Lurpak but she'd tolerate Kerrygold or Anchor if it was demanded of her. Stork – which the adverts claimed was indistinguishable from butter – was relegated to cake-making. Rightly so. Vile. Only desperation would make a person use it on bread.

Mum's repertoire of soaps was as limited as her butter.

Pears (those amber ovals) she liked – but it was too pricey. Imperial Leather (“Simon, Bermuda”) was also valued but equally pricey. I don't recall it featuring anything other than rarely – probably when it was on offer. We were a family of six, with four blokes, you see: that's a lot of soap. So, the mundane soap was a Lever Brothers stand by: Sunlight. With lanolin, even. I had no idea what lanolin was – but mum could use it on that delicate skin. This was in the days before hypoallergenic was a even a word, still less a range of products. Sunlight soap came in fat, cumbersome, rectangular, pale magnolia cakes. Really, it was very unfeminine: great half-charlies that were too big for the hand, unless you were a navvy or a coal miner. They had a wide groove on their upper surface, with a cursive 'Sunlight' stamped in it. I don't know if Sunlight is still going: it had a retro makeover many years ago but I can't recall seeing it in decades. The gradual demise of the C2 working class probably doomed it to extinction. And as for lanolin, people finding out that it was the oil from sheep's fleeces no doubt undermined its appeal, somewhat. Sometimes it's best not to know: when I hear what goes into mum's old Oil of Ulay (now sans oil, and simply Olay for copyright reasons, I think), it is cringeworthy.

But lanolin. I recall coming face to face with it a few years ago on a walk to the Water Meetings and Quaker Bridge in Barrowford. Summer time. No azure flash of kingfishers racing along Pendle Water that trip, but as I forked right and headed up the road into Blacko to follow it homewards, there was the buzz of clippers in a field. A Landrover was pulled up, with trailer uncoupled. The trailer sported on- /off- ramps, a generator, and a tall pole, attached to the top of which was a flexible bendy cord. At the end of the cord was the source of the insistent buzzing – sheep shears. The trailer was adjacent to a sheep pen, in which dozens of ewes jostled half-heartedly for position, and peered blankly out. I stopped to watch proceedings and, after a minute or two, the farmer came over, opened the gate, and invited me in.

And so we stood, the three of us. Me, the farmer, and the sheep shearer. And I learned about shearing, fleeces, and sheep. The shearer travelled from farm to farm (hence the Landrover with its bespoke trailer) making his way through Wales, Lancashire, Yorkshire on a pre-arranged timetable and route. He was netting £2 a fleece – and he had each of those pliable ladies, and some cantankerous ones – nabbed, shaved, and released at no more than 90 second intervals. The farmer penned the sheep ready, so there was no delay, and they contracted for a minimum number, so farmers with smaller holdings rendezvoused at the farm where the shearer was to set up. Prices for fleeces rose and fell – they weren't bad that year, as I recall, but sheep need shearing whatever the price.

The bewildered ladies were unceremoniously up-ended and plonked on their ample bottoms, whilst the young fella planted his muscular legs and gripped them, and set to work with the clippers. Mostly, they were subdued once he had them: perhaps reassured by his evident skill and no-nonsense approach. That always worked with me when I was a boy: the sound of the airplane clippers, the smell of 3-in-1 oil, and the firm purpose of the barber. Short back and sides and sparse conversation. Mind you, I don't think the barber netted £2 a scalp back in the day.

The sun shone, the sheep skittered off once fleeced, and we three chatted. Soon my eye was drawn to the large grease spot on the wooden trailer. Lanolin, live and in-person. Handy for soap making, handier still for shedding the filthiest Lancashire weather: these sheep were well set up for inclemencies. I noted, too, that the shearer was wearing moccasins. As the farmer explained, the best shearers wore moccasins. Their suede nap gave some purchase on the slippery grease and their firm pressure was kinder to sheep. Lots of younger men were sporting trainers now, he said, but he didn't rate them. They were not good. The risk of injury to sheep, and man, was increased. I found myself glad that the shearer stood fully congruent with his occupation – no flirting with any Nike or Adidas innovations. Real sheep shearers do it in moccasins.

After the family home was sold and mum and dad went to live in Lomeshaye Village, in one of the old-folks' flats, mum's predilection for Imperial Leather resurfaced. There was always a bar in the bathroom. With just the two of them (kids all gone) the economies necessary for a family of six, on a wagon driver's income, were less stringent. Imperial Leather as pensioner indulgence! One of the things that most endeared me to those lozenge-shaped bars of buttermilk hue was the little foil label that conjured up the decadence of the Romanovs. It was my understanding that the label was there to prevent the soap leaving a mess on the sink ceramics or soap dish: you stood the bar on its label. As the soap wore down, the label stood proud and the soap was no longer in contact with the sink – hence, no mess. Perhaps because we were very plebeian, the soap was never label down. You announced the fact that you were using it by having the label showing.

For me, nowadays, picking the soap up, lathering it under the tap, releases not so much a fragrance as a wave of nostalgia. Imperial Leather's fragrance has elements of sandalwood and the richness of plant oils – it's mildly exotic and suggestive of luxury. Which is, no doubt, what Cussons were aiming at. But for me, it mostly carries aromas of mum. It's powerfully evocative. Aromas are.

I recall a visit – with mum – to Gawthorpe Hall. It's one of the places we'd scoot off to for an afternoon of cultural noseyness, and cake. The cafe was lodged in the stable block and featured home-baking and pots of tea. Ideal for us. After a leisurely brew and news-swop, we were about to go and explore the lovely Elizabethan pile: I decided to make a visit to the lavatory first. The tea room was above, the toilets below, so I skittered down the stairs and found the Gents. The soap was in an old-school wall dispenser: fingers under, palm operates a rectangular squirter. One squidge was enough: the years receded and I was age six, it was dinner time, I was standing at a child-height sink in St George's RC Primary School, Vaughan Street, Nelson, washing my hands so that Mrs. Ingham (a diminutive tyrant) would not throw me out of the dinner queue. The soap dispensed in the Gawthorpe toilet was the same amber-coloured, antiseptic liquid that Lancashire County Council used in its school thirty years before. The power of scent created a wormhole in space-time and drew me through it, irresistibly. That power can be used to advantage, though. You can elect to make the journey. Fragrance can open the portal, on demand. If liquid coal-tar soap can take me to primary school, other fragrances can take me elsewhere.

4711, for instance. That eau-de-cologne can transport me to Köln, and the year 1976. It's a school exchange trip and I'm in Germany, staying with a family from Mayen: we're on a trip to Cologne. I've been up the cathedral tower and seen the Rhine bridges and I'm looking for a present for mum. On Glockenstrasse, at number 4711, stands an impressive perfume factory and shop – home to 4711. The original eau-de-cologne. Echt Kölnisch Wasser. It's still there – flagship shop of the perfume house, and it still glitters with possibility. I bought mum a bottle of the eponymous 18th CE perfume and she wore it ever after. Generally, she kept it in her current handbag (before they were, successively, relegated to the gloryhole). She'd dab it on her hanky and freshen up with it on car trips. As a perfume, 4711 has had an odd evolution over the 200 plus years of its existence; it was, originally, a men's fragrance for the prestige Houses of Europe. More latterly, it has been a women's fragrance – but 4711 indicate it as unisex. I agree. The scent is of citrus and wood that carries a fresh, sharp finish and has enduring undernotes. For me it's an everyday scent: it lives in my sports bag, for application after swims. It's also my travel fragrance and comes with me on every trip, near or far.

As I age (just clocked 56, Not Out), I seem to be developing a deepening appreciation for my past and how it has shaped who I have become. I heard once that making sense of your life is only possible when you look back over it – I recall an analogy that compared it to running your fingers over a fish's scales: they lie smoothly when stroked in one direction but are likely to tear your flesh if stroked in the wrong one. I can see connections, recognise how events and people shaped my experiences. I know I hold threads together, personally. I weave my own cloth - but on a loom I inherited. More tellingly still, some elements of the pattern, some of the aesthetics that inform the weave, some of the yarns, were given to me. I'm the child of weavers in more ways than one.

I can find, too, there's comfort in the sureties of the past. Like the familiarity of an old pair of slippers (not that I wear slippers), the quiet resonances of childhood are reassuring. I think we like continuity, as a species. We tell stories. We create in our own likeness. We look to where we came from to make sense of where we are and to decide where we want to go.

I'm conscious of my heritage. Not (I think) conditioned or stultified by it, or forever harking back to a mystical Golden Age that exists only in the warm fuzziness of a smug and delusional imagination. But I know I make choices which ensure there are tokens of continuity that I can carry with me into my everyday life. Mostly, they are mundane. And I like that, too. It's too easy to confuse what's important with what's valuable, unless you guard against that possibility. The richer you are, the more imperilled that discernment is: I've safeguarded myself against that risk very well!

My tokens are trivial. It's good that they are.

I think of the tea caddy spoon – it's in my kitchen, as it was in mum's kitchen, and as it was in her mum's kitchen before her (c/o a pre-WW II holiday to the Isle of Man): or there's my 'ice-cream' spoon – courtesy of Margaret Pepper and the Raj (well, the North Western Railway Volunteer Rifles, circa 1920). These tokens are a continuing connection with people now gone. They are stirred (if you'll forgive the pun) by everyday use.

I note, increasingly, that I am becoming my parents. I look like dad. Really: peas in a pod, chip off the old block, and so on. I look in the mirror and he smiles back at me. I look at my physignomy – and his fingerprints are all over it. My driving style evokes his. In some situations, I can sense him near. Curiously, he underpins my confidence in situations from which his natural diffidence would have disbarred him. If I stand tall, it's because he raised me. As for mum, she's around most days. Wimbledon Fortnight, she practically moves in. It was ever ‘our time’ - I’d rock up with whimberry charlottes, or strawberries, and we’d sit on the edges of chairs for hours and hours as Nastase, Connors, Becker, McEnroe, Ivanisovic, Sampras, Federer and Billie Jean King, Martina, Steffi and the Williams sisters thwacked balls back and forth. I miss her acutely then. And we both missed Dan Maskell, together. She’s at my elbow at breakfast when I make a pot of Yorkshire Tea (there's another evocation!); when the Imperial Leather is handled at shower time; twice weekly, in the men's locker room at Crow Wood, after a swim. Perhaps it's fortunate that the evocation is a personal, rather than an universal, one? (Otherwise, explanations might prove difficult).

I don't know if the trivial and potent associations that so flavour my life – 4711, Imperial Leather, and two old spoons – will evoke the same responses among my nephews and nieces and their respective kids once I'm dead. It’s open to doubt. They don't live cheek-by-jowl with them, as I do. It matters not. They will make their own. As things stand, I'm the orphan in the world, now mum and dad are long dead: the comfort blanket offered by fragrances and spoons is mine, and very probably mine alone.

There's quiet comfort in that, too.

© Damian, April 2017

[rimeswithpurple]

Thank you @roomwithanopenfire, @talentpiper11 & @blackberrysummerblog for the tags! Everyone had a bit of a lie in this morning, the Little Purples and I went to see a Shakespeare on the Bluff performance of Much Ado About Nothing last night. I'm honestly surprised they made it through the whole thing since they didn't follow any of the plot, but they were very excited that the audience was encouraged to cheer, boo or shout out. Littlest Purple had the best time booing at the villain and even yelled "no" when Benedict proposed to Beatrice and that earned her a laugh from everyone around us.

I got quite a bit of drawing done! The line work on my COAR artwork is done and I'm so thrilled with it. I'm a sucker for detail and I had a lot of fun getting the Oxford shoes just right. I'm finishing up art for chapter 2 of my COBB. I have to stop myself from illustrating every scene, my partner has written so many scenes that beg to be illustrated! I've also been playing around with a fandom tattoo idea. The bun Baz looks so lonely and I really should get him shaded in too!

Side note, I've found myself listening to @youarenevertooold's podfic for Bazlow's Hierarchy of Needs every night when I sit down to draw. It's so funny and a chaotic Dev really is the best kind of Dev! If you haven't checked it out, you definitely should!

Simon's birthday is such a fun time of year and I loved seeing everyone's posts! I thought I might include some fun facts about my birthday spread below the cut, in addition to the tags

-I keep a journal of my baking and I had jotted down my pie in the sky idea for this year's birthday bake just hours after posting the butter cake last year. I never expected to be able to hit every item, but I surprised even myself and the only thing I didn't do was add flecks of edible gold paint to the petit fours

-I already have next year's bake plotted out and I think it's even bigger

-I had asked for a Fortnum & Mason hamper for my birthday after having read Snow for Christmas. I've given them as very special gifts in the past, but Daphne's love of it reminded me that I love it too!

-The pouring fondant for the petit fours can sense your fear and it's unforgiving. You have to commit to pouring it evenly and quickly because you only get one shot. My family was delighted to eat the rejects

-My hands were red for two days because I foolishly didn't wear gloves when I was making the wings and tails

-I mixed in little chunks of almond paste with the sour cherry scones and it was the best thing ever

-The checkerboard cookies were a reference to the battenburg cake I made last year

I have so much fun doing these birthday bakes! I love that it brings other people joy and the lovely comments I get mean the world to me! Although, I think from now on I may only do birthday bakes for Simon and Baz

Now, on to the tags!

@messofthejess @valeffelees @artsyunderstudy @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @youarenevertooold @bookish-bogwitch @facewithoutheart @thewholelemon @larkral @run-for-chamo-miles @fiend-for-culture @cosmicalart @mooncello @that-disabled-princess @cutestkilla @noblecorgi @iamamythologicalcreature @best--dress @emeryhall @ileadacharmedlife @drowninginships @supercutedinosaurs @whatevertheweather @rbkzz @ebbpettier @theimpossibledemon @katatsumuli @thehoneyedhufflepuff @theearlgreymage @theotherhufflepuff @onepintobean @orange-peony @hushed-chorus @fatalfangirl @ic3-que3n @bazzybelle @nightimedreamersworld @martsonmars @aristocratic-otter @shrekgogurt @monbons @alexalexinii @prettygoododds @ivelovedhimthroughworse @raenestee @skeedelvee

[residancexl]

Terminerà domani la residenza creativa di Jari Boldrini e Giulio Petrucci iniziata il 17 maggio al Teatro Comunale di Teramo, a cura di ACS Abruzzo Circuito Spettacolo,

Pas de deux di e con: Giulio Petrucci, Jari Boldrini musica: Simone Grande luci: Mattia Bagnoli produzione: Anghiari Dance Hub, Nexus Factory con il contributo di: ResiDance XL - luoghi e progetti di residenza per creazioni coreografiche azione della Rete Anticorpi XL - Network Giovane Danza D'autore coordinata da L'arboreto - Teatro Dimora di Mondaino

Il “Pas de deux” è la fase spesso più attesa all’interno di un balletto classico. É il momento in cui gli interpreti consumano una partitura danzante contenente i virtuosismi più complessi dello spettacolo. Denominato anche “Grand pas de deux” è una prova del fuoco per i primi ballerini che, oltre a dimostrare eccelse capacità nell’esecuzione tecnica, devono attingere al proprio bagaglio interpretativo per rendere l’esibizione un’autentica esperienza agli occhi dello spettatore. In passato alcune coppie si sono distinte per l’intensità, la precisione, il pathos e la ricchezza della loro intesa e il grado di complicità con cui accompagnavano la loro esecuzione. Un altissimo livello di performatività che, attraverso lo spettacolo, svelava lo spessore umano e i lati più intimi del loro rapporto. Celato fra la trama ed i personaggi, questo sentimento sosteneva la veridicità dell’intero balletto irrorandolo, al contempo, di atmosfere magiche e realistiche. Nel “Pas de deux” l’emersione di questo climax si compie ancora più densa, divenendo un luogo intimo di totale astrazione, dove la trama scompare lasciando spazio a questa tensione emotiva velata da una virtuosa composizione coreografica.

Il desiderio di approfondire, attraverso il “pas de deux”, un nuovo percorso di creazione ci pare un’occasione privilegiata e inedita, per accrescere non solo la nostra prospettiva autoriale e la pratica danzata, ma anche la nostra dimensione di esseri umani. Di questo immaginario ci ha da subito attratto la possibilità di esplorare la potenza di un congegno scenico che, nella storia della danza, ha messo in luce il profondo valore del legame e della “relazione imprescindibile”. Proprio su questo punto vorremmo orientare la nostra ricerca, focalizzando sul livello di concentrazione quale principio originario del meccanismo di una danza e facendo emergere una riflessione più approfondita sul concetto di unisono tra due individui. Un altro elemento fondante della traccia progettuale coincide con la centralità del virtuosismo all’interno del “passo a due”, questione che, a nostro avviso, produce una serie di quesiti la cui portata arricchirebbe in maniera sostanziale la ricerca. Che cos’è il virtuosismo al giorno d’oggi? Da quali azioni o immagini può scaturire? Partendo da questi punti, vorremmo strutturare il percorso di creazione e le tappe di lavoro delle singole residenze per originare un primo studio coreografico connesso con il “passo a due” e il suo profondo significato.

[panelshowsource]

Hi Sarah, I love your blog and am hoping if you can give me some random things to watch this week-end? I'm a bit sad and in need of cheering up. Thank you ♡

hello sweet anon, of course i can! why don’t you try some of these?

there was a televised special of the game of thrones podcast thronecast with sue perkins, rob beckett, jonathan ross, joel dommett and more. if you watch got then you should watch it it was fun!!

series 21 of 8 out of 10 cats just started!!

and series 21 of celebrity juice just started!! (big nsfw warnings with this one though lmaooo)

the unbelievable truth is back with s22!! here’s the first ep (all previous series are on the masterpost)

the first ep of s57 of hignfy just aired, can you watch it for me so i don’t have to this time? *is generally tired*

aaaand there’s new breaking the news, which is the tv version of the scottish radio show, much like hignfy if it was, like, funnier 0:-)

in and out of the kitchen (written and directed by miles jupp) the acclaimed radio version and the short-lived tv version are both there. it stars miles as a gay food writer with a partner and all kinds of fussy posh problems, it’s so cute!!

tv heaven, telly hell with sean lock was a really underrated show imo. i love the david mitchell episode!

if you didn’t watch joe wilkinson sculpt his own ass out of fondant in s^2c bake off you are not living

if you want to ride the wave of mildly-out-of-character joe wilkinson, comedians watching football with friends is surprisingly decent (i recommend ep5 with joe and tom davis as well as ep4 with sean lock and lee mack)

if you want to ride the wave of the wave of mildly-out-of-character joe wilkinson, his new podcast gossipmongers is fucking hilarious…they just read out submissions of local gossip and laugh about people’s insane lives and joe giggling for a solid 28 minutes is all you need to feel better

a bit of fry and laurie is always a good time :)

oh and drunk history!

charlie brooker’s video game playlist — charlie discusses his passion for video games, selecting some of his favourite game music!!

if you miss charlie as much as me then it’s never a bad idea to revisit you have been watching. s01e07 is a classic…

“stop saying ‘fuck’!!!”

this is the best episode of cats does countdown ever change my mind

and this was a really good recent episode

do you feel like watching some standup? sean lock, james acaster, joe lycett, jon richardson, sarah millican, lee mack, dara, greg davies, simon amstell, frankie? i’ve got a bunch here and there’s also this collection!

there’s new your face or mine which is uhh not for everyone, but if you need a jimmy + katherine fix and enjoy a bit of roasting then go for it!

if you’re into frankie boyle and politics, new world order is back! all women panel hell yes avoid the comments section

alex horne’s doc the games that time forgot about horseless jousting is something else

also alex horne related are new episodes of bad golf!!

have an oldie but goodie wilty for good measure :)

[sivertsenrask77-blog]

best british pubs in dubai

Marina Mall offers an array of dining options, whether it’s a lunch meeting, friends gathering or maybe a leisurely coffee break, you will always find your ideal venue in Dubai Marina restaurants using a view. For a true taste of home, the scene by simon rimmer is the ultimate gastro pub experience with dubai marina. Using a give attention to proper british pub food that is authentic, seasonal and nostalgic as well as daily specials and top deals on drinks and food, there’s something for everybody at Dubai’s favourite british pub. From proper breakfasts, takeaway treats and all sorts of weekend roasts to ladies nights, bevvy offers inside the bar and a cheese and wine night having a twist, the scene is Dubai’s top choice dubai marina restaurants morning, noon and night. Encompassing an inside restaurant, open plan bar area hosting our resident dj and large terrace overlooking dubai’s iconic marina, the scene can be a kitsch and vibrant british gastro pub producing top rated drink and food from 8am till late every single day. The scene may be the best british pubs in Dubai this is the top option for hearty pub grub and retro twists on british classics. Headed up by uk chef and television personality simon rimmer, the menu is surely an eclectic and thoughtful selection of foodie favourites, top British nosh and proper pub dishes. The seasonally changing british pub menu includes highlights such as the chicken kiev oozing with garlic and tarragon butter, and warm chocolate and peanut butter fondant with lashings of salted caramel sauce. Our ever-growing team of handpicked personalities are keen about their work and also opting to help make your visit extra special. The expertly poured cocktails, grapes, and large list of hops are served up alongside unparalleled views of dubai marina from your scene’s enviable location on the 4th floor of pier 7. We like our liquor and that’s why you’ll find an extensive set of proper craft beers along with a detailed gin bible in the middle in our bar. the product on this top rated combination is a british pub in Dubai marina that produces good quality comfort food served straight with a no-fuss attitude. Browse our great british restaurant dubai menu and many delicious menus. You can order food in a few taps from your comfort of your house or office. Our search feature makes it easy to locate your favourites or discover brand new ones. Allow us to recommend something, our handpicked collections are fantastic for when you really need some hunger-busting inspiration.

[christophe76460]

Comme Jésus était à Béthanie, dans la maison de Simon le lépreux, une femme entra, pendant qu’il se trouvait à table. Elle tenait un vase d’albâtre, qui renfermait un parfum de nard pur de grand prix ; et, ayant rompu le vase, elle répandit le parfum sur la tête de Jésus. (Marc 14:3)

Peut-être êtes-vous dans un endroit isolé parce que le Seigneur désire vous utiliser pour établir une place pour Lui dans le désert. Si le Seigneur a imprimé dans votre coeur Son besoin d'un tel endroit, alors déclarez que votre coeur est une « Béthanie » et prenez ceci entre vous et le Seigneur. Donnez au Seigneur un terrain pour construire dessus. Donnez-Lui Sa place. Ne recherchez pas les multitudes de personnes. Il vaut mieux avoir un, deux ou trois qui se recueillent ensemble en tant que la Béthanie du Seigneur que d'avoir des centaines ou des milliers de personnes rassemblées ensemble en tant qu'autre chose que Béthanie.

Y a-t-il des personnes dans le monde entier qui puissent se réunir vraiment dans le but de servir le Seigneur et de se « gaspiller » elles-mêmes dans l'adoration, ne prenant aucunement en considération leurs propres besoins, mais fondant leurs vies entièrement sur la satisfaction du Seigneur?

Chip Brogden