#small papier-mache dogs

[muni0202]

犬張子　”Inu Harkiko”

[somerandomdutchfangirl]

Hetalia family week day 3: Surprise

My third entry for @hetafamilyweek

There's this Dutch tradition called ‘surpise’. Basically, during the holidays people buy small gifts for each other and put them in a ‘surprise’ based on the other person's interests. For example, someone who's really into drawing can receive a giant pencil made with a PVC tube and paper-mache, with gifts like drawing pencils and markers in it. For more examples, search for ''surprise papier mache''.

You’re not supposed to know who has picked who for the gifts (as you draw lots) and you can also make a poem to go with it. Up until this point, the siblings don't know who had picked who.

Names:

Willem = Netherlands

Femke = Belgium

Laurent = Luxembourg

Translations at the end!

Look, when Willem convinced his siblings to do this with him, he didn’t see a reason for any rules. Which was stupid, because of course his siblings managed to be nuisances even when simply exchanging gifts.

As Willem mourned his now glittery carpet (that stuff will never go away again, he'll probably have to buy a new carpet. He should send Laurent a Tikkie, since it was his gift that had caused this monstrosity in the first place), Femke was busy laughing her ass off. Typical.

''You're buying me a new carpet,'' Willem said when he finally managed to get over the shock that came with a sudden explosion of glitter. How on earth Laurent had managed to build a glitter bomb inside of a tulip made of paper, Willem would never know.

''Aww, don’t be like that, Willy!'' Femke said.

''That's easy for you to say, Fem, this isn’t your carpet.''

''Come on, it’s just glitter-''

''’Just glitter’? Fem, dat klotespul gaat nooit meer uit m'n tapijt!''

''Just open the rest of your gifts, alright? We can worry about the glitter later,'' Laurent said, effectively cutting off the argument that would have started otherwise.

''Fine, fine,'' Willem said, before digging through the quite frankly unreasonable amount of glitter, trying to find his gifts. When he finally found them, he tried to get most of the glitter off the wrapping paper, to no avail. Sighing, he gave up on trying to get the glittery mess under control.

''Come on, open them!'' Laurent said, clearly impatient. Rolling his eyes, Willem opened the nearest present. A sketchbook and some pencils fell out. Letting out an appreciating hum, he moved onto the next gift. This one had some tubes of paint and brushes. It wasn't much, but it was personal and that was what counted. Willem loved it.

''Thanks, broertje,'' he said, ruffling Laurent's hair with a glitter-covered hand. Laurent grinned.

''Alright, me next!'' Femke cheerfully said. She twisted around and got a giant paper dog from behind the couch, closely resembling Pelutze. Laurent was already looking exited as he gingerly took the dog from Femke.

When he had finally figured out where the gifts were hidden (in its belly), Laurent stuck his hand in, exited for the gifts. As soon as he did, however, his face showed nothing but disgust, as he quickly took his hand out.

''Femke, wat ass dat?!'' he screeched, as Femke started laughing. His hand was green and slimy. Willem groaned. Great, slime. Was he the only sane sibling?

The answer turned out to be yes, as Laurent scooped up more of the slime and threw it at Femke, who squealed. In return, she reached over to Willem's tulip and scooped up some glitter that was inside of it. Before he could stop her, she had already thrown the glitter at Laurent.

''Godverdomme, stop-'' was all he could say before the slime hit him in his face. Oh, it was on. Scooping up more of the glitter, trying (and failing) not to get any more of the atrocity on the carpet, he quickly made his way over to Laurent.

''No, wait! Please, have mercy!''

''Hmmm, let me think. No, sorry broetje,'' Willem said, not sounding sorry at all as he dumped the glitter on top of Laurent.

''I'll never get this out of my hair and clothes again, what the fuck Willy!''

''Serves you right, you asshole. First getting glitter on my carpet, then throwing slime at me? The disrespect.''

''Come on, Lau, get on with it! Open your gifts!'' Femke said. Huffing, but smiling, Laurent reached into the slime. A few seconds later, he pulled out a gift. He laid it on the table, which happened to be the nearest flat surface not covered in glitter. Reaching into the slime again, he pulled out several more gifts. He then looked at Femke.

''Was that everything?''

''Why, is it not enough?'' she replied with a teasing smirk. Laurent rolled his eyes.

''No, I just don’t feel like touching any more slime for the next century or so.'' Femke giggled at this.

''Don't worry, that was all!''

''Oh, Gott sei Dank,'' Laurent said as he reached over to the nearest gift, which turned out to be a music note necklace. He immediately clipped it on, before moving to his other gifts. Next up was a card deck, decorated with musicians. Next up was a CD from Laurent's favourite band.

''Femke, where did you get this? This is amazing, merci!''

''No problem, Lau! I'm glad you like the gifts!''

''Like them? I love them!''

Naturally, the two of them were now looking at Willem, impatiently waiting for him to give his surprise to Femke. So, he reached behind him and grabbed the gigantic carton waffle. Femke stared at it in awe, mouth agape.

''I thought you were super busy?! When did you make this?''

''I was. Several all-nighters and glue gun burns where faced to make this, but it was worth it.''

''Ge zijt zot, Willem.''

Willem rolled his eyes. ''Just open it. And before you ask, no, there's no slime or glitter in it.''

Femke seemed to pout at that, but quickly found out where the waffle opened so she could reach her gifts. The waffle was filled with shredded paper to make the gifts a bit harder to find, but at least it wasn't as messy as the glitter or slime.

Femke tried to get out all the gifts at once, but it proved futile when she couldn’t fit all of them through the hole in the waffle. When she did get out all the gifts, she made quick work of opening them.

First, there was a bag of cookie cutters in all shapes and sizes. Then, a Delfts blue egg tray and an apron joined the gifts. Lastly, a notebook came out of its wrapping. It was tattered and had lots of other papers sticking out of its pages, making it appear like a journal of sorts.

''Willy, is this... is this your personal cookbook?''

''One of them, yes.'' Femke stared at him, before tearing up and pulling him in for a hug.

''Thank you, I love it!''

''Uh.. Yeah, no problem, Fem,'' he said, awkwardly patting her on the back. Over her head, he shot Laurent a questioning look, to which his younger brother shrugged. Not very helpful, but whatever.

A few seconds later, Femke stepped back, rubbing at her eyes to make the tears go away. Only to pull Laurent close to her and Willem and drag them into a group hug.

Once they pulled back, Femke smiled.

''Let's get this mess cleaned up, shall we?''

-------------------------

Translations:

Fem, dat klotespul gaat nooit meer uit m'n tapijt! (Dutch) = Fem, that stupid stuff is never getting out of my carpet!

Broertje (Dutch) = little brother

Femke, wat ass dat?! (Luxembourgish) = Femke, what is that?!

Willem, ge zijt zot (Flemish) = Willem, you're crazy

If it wasn't clear, this is who had who:

Willem -> Femke

Femke -> Laurent

Laurent -> Willem

[rockandrollfool]

Manchester Cool - Uncool

One of the many things to love about Manchester is its musical heritage. Former Manchester United footballer Eric Cantona when considering his time with the club remarked that, “behind the windows of Manchester, there is an insane love of football, of celebration and of music” (2010). He also spoke of rebelliousness and the vitality and vigour of youth, which are surely a part of the heady concoction that makes the perfect rock and roll band?

If one was asked to name a band from hailing from the city or surrounding districts doubtless Oasis, The Stone Roses, Joy Division and The Smiths grab all the attention. Why wouldn’t they?  How can we begin to measure their influence on pop culture?  When considering sales alone these four titans of the Mancunian rock landscape must account for an enormous amount of cash spent on their creative output. As if further proof was needed Andrew Martin writing in one of the broadsheets argues “of course, the best music has always been created in the north. Morrissey's Manchester ("so much to answer for") is a constant production line of classic British pop” (The Guardian 2008)

There are however an undercurrent of bands that don’t quite fit the ‘Manc profile’ and if they do they are largely ignored. Given that the city has a serious pop lineage we seem to swerve and give a wide berth to Take That. Possibly one of the most successful ‘boy bands/man bands of all time. Rarely do they get mentioned in the roster of great acts and yet they surely deserve inclusion?

Equally The Freshies, who were one of  ‘the’ bands to emerge in the post punk era. Chris Sievey embraced a wholly pop ideology and philosophy and their reach and influence is rarely acknowledged. They are mentioned in a sort of ‘sideways glance’ type style. Sievey hogged the limelight a few years later in the guise of Frank Sidebottom, with his papier-mache head and big beautiful wide eyes, Sidebottom was the absolute antithesis of The Freshies. In an alternate universe The Freshies went global and…… Never mind.  

We have tendency as Mancunians to revel in the aftermath of the behemoths of rock and pop and ignore all the leading lights that led us to this point in our cultural existence. One of the emergent bands from the sixties that are always overlooked and ignored are Freddie and the Dreamers. Visually the band were style and panache personified. They wore suits and ties and looked utterly fabulous. Obviously those lads from Liverpool did as well, but Freddie and the Dreamers carried it off in a way that Lennon, McCartney, Harrison and the other one just couldn’t. The Beatles just looked sullen and sulky, whereas Fred and the chaps appeared to delight in the pop world they occupied.  

The band were initially Freddie Garrity (Lead singer)  born in Crumpsall, a largely working class area to the north east of the city centre. Roy Crewdson (Guitar) was from Chrolton Cum Hardy. Derek Quinn (Guitar/Harmonica) also from Chorlton Cum Hardy. Pete Birrel, (Bass) from Didsbury.  Bernie Dwyer (Drums) from Cheadle. I mean that is in Cheshire but essentially all born and living in and around Manchester.

There you have it then, the dream ticket, a proper Manchester band. Freddie looked like a combination of Buddy Holly and any junior cast member from Coronation Street. He was alive, effervescent energetic and the perfect fit in terms of fronting the band. He seemed to love what he did and was the very epicentre of the unit. That boundless puppy dog enthusiasm and trademark smile would draw one in and ultimately leave the listener/viewer wanting more.

Freddie and the Dreamers were able to surf a huge wave of popularity in the early to mid-sixties. They were the Manc Beatles to me only miles, miles better. They had nine hits in total that spanned eighty five weeks on the singles chart. (Beat Magazine on-line) Their debut album, I mean I get excited just thinking about that, was titled, wait for it, Freddie and the Dreamers and it spent twenty six weeks in the album charts in 1963.

The original sound of the band was based on ‘Merseybeat’ and whilst that might be a nod to the ‘Fab Four’ Fred and his dreamers were anything but Beatleqsue. They were so much more and so much better. It isn’t just that they were from Manchester. No they had it all. I love pop music and the band could write a tune. They made that appear effortless. Equally they were quirky and somewhat out of kilter with their Scouse cousins.

Two other bands of the time, Wayne Fontana and the Mindbenders and Herman Hermits, also from Manchester, launched an Anglo (Manc) invasion Stateside. In 1965 all three had number one hits on the “US Billboard Hot 100” (Mead on line) When Colin Welland accepted an Oscar for Chariots of Fire he may have been a little late in declaring “the British are coming” (Bradburn Luv 2018). I do not want to spoil the party Colin but Fred and the rest of the combo had already been, drank and eaten from the hand of “La Liberté éclairant le monde“ (nps.gov) and scarpered. They didn’t exactly conquer the States but they did make an impression.

They appeared in a small number of films Every Days a Holiday (1964) Cuckoo Patrol (1965) Just For You (1966). I mean you don’t get to appear in films if you don’t have some cultural clout. I am not saying these films acquired cult status. I am not even sure they will have been given a run out in an age. That doesn’t matter, just as Elvis and The Beatles released movies, then so did Freddie and the Dreamers.  

The songs are to be loved and adored. I implore you, if you are not familiar with their back catalogue go and find ‘I’m telling you now’ or ‘You were made for me’. I have no words that could even begin to articulate how perfect they are in terms of lyric, melody or tune. The backing vocals alone are as good as anything I have ever heard. Please though don’t limit yourself to just these. Find Freddie and the Dreamers on all the good streaming sites (and some crap ones) and listen at your leisure.

As a result of their success in America they released a track titled ‘do the Freddie’ and if you do nothing else today go and find the accompanying video on YouTube. Apparently the dance alone was a cult craze in the US and why wouldn’t it be? Fred at his sublime best

He and they are peerless and are lost in the whole Manchester discourse regarding legacy and how the city defines itself. As I have said I adore pop music. I still get quite excited at the mere mention of the band. If Manchester does have a cultural legacy then it is in pop. Leading that charge are number one contenders and Kings of this hill, Freddie and the Dreamers.

The Rock And Roll Fool (April 2021)  

[charlesxavirs]

Ohohohoh! Please, if you want to I won't make you I'm sorry- Stenbrough? That's my actual shit and I love it but if you for any reason I will be okay I'm so sorry I'm a literal mess.

okay so i’ve had this written for ages and i’ve tried to expand on it and write more but it’s just never really happened so i might as well just post it. hope you enjoy! read on ao3 )

Stanley Uris considered himself a man of many talents. He could recite well detailed spiel about any bird at the drop of a hat, he had got washing his clothes down to a precise science so none of the colours would even dare to run, and he had to admit that he was quite flexible, although he wouldn’t ever admit that on a first date. Yet, despite his vehement efforts, despite his dedication and despite his might, he cannot get fucking glitter out of his hair. He’s tried washing it, brushing it, even vacuuming it once with Eddie’s careful guidance. He dreads the days when it is inexplicably part of his routine, and he prays and prays and prays that he’ll be able to get it out of his curly locks come bedtime.

He never fucking does, though.

And so, Stan was in a foul mood as he pulled up in the parking lot this morning at precisely five minutes to seven. As usual, he was the second car in the lot and he took the time to count the binders on his passenger seat again before he gathered them in his arms, to make sure he had replied to any emails he had to and ran over his lesson plans in his head before stepping out of the car and making his way towards the staff entrance of the small elementary school.

Just as he had expected, Ben was sat behind his desk at the main office, looking bleary eyed as he sipped at his coffee and flipped through papers that Stan would ask about if it wasn’t so early in the morning and if Ben didn’t look so tired. Stan threw him a smile and waved at him the best he could with his arms full, a wave of fondness washing over him as Ben offered him a bright smile in spite of his fatigue, and he started his trek along the red bricked corridor to his classroom.

Stan had started teaching just four years ago, starting off with Kindergarten kids at Derry Elementary before moving to the fifth grade the year after, and he’s stayed there ever since. His psychology degree was supposed to lead Stan into the world of therapy, yet instead, he got pulled into early years development, which ultimately led to him training to be a teacher. His father was more than displeased at sudden change in career choice, hoping his son would be a hotshot shrink in no time, but Donald Uris had to admit that it was nice to have Stan close to home. He also had to admit that Stan was good at his job.

The kids loved him. They giggled at his sarcastic remarks, groaned at him whenever he set homework and were unafraid to come to him with their 10-year-old problems, seeking his fair judgement and level headed advice. Yes, Stan Uris loved his kids dearly, he even admitted to shedding a tear here and there when his classes finally left for middle school, and he’d be damned if they weren’t going to grow up in a safe and loving place. The thought of packing it in and walking the career path his parents had hoped he would pave after college was a tempting one when he came home with stack after stack of homework sheets and essays and school books, but the way the kids eyes would light up when they saw his neatly written praise on their last homework assignment was more than enough to quash the idea. In short, Stan loved his class, and his class loved him.

Stan pushed open his classroom door with his shoulder and blindly searched the cold wall with nimble fingers until they settle on the light switch, and he flooded the room with the white, artificial glare of the ceiling lights. He walked the well known path to his desk at the front of the room, reaching down to pick up a stray pencil by his chair after he set his folders down on the clutter free table. He took pride in his classroom, keeping it clean and tidy at all times. An untidy working space means an untidy mind, his mother had always told him, and he very much believed it to be true.

Over the summer, he had spent a full day painting new displays on the walls, changing the colour scheme of the room from light yellow to sky blue, penning sparrows onto the walls with help from Richie. All of his pencils had been sharpened, papers organised, glue sticks neatly stacked and reading books tidily arranged on shelves.

“You’re like Mary Poppins when she does all that clicky shit.” Richie had astutely commented, trying to snap his fingers for added effect, but he somehow ended up punching himself in the face.

Stan wished Richie took the same pride in his own classroom instead of giving Stan shit for doing so himself. Richie was content to replace the framed picture of Bill Nye above his desk with an updated snap and buy a new board pen every year. He loved his friend dearly, but he often wonders how he even became qualified to teach, considering he was a health hazard on legs, always tripping over chair legs or barely skimming the children’s faces when he got too animated with his hand movements. Stan had been teaching for a year longer than Richie had but he had known Richie all of his life. In fact, Stan likes to credit himself as the guiding force for getting him off his ass and into the workforce.

It had been a Sunday, when they were both Juniors at UCLA, and Stan was putting the finishing touches to his project for his Primary Education class. He was sat cross legged on the floor of his cramped apartment, blasting Abba, the ground in front of him covered in newspaper as he dabbed his project delicately with his one dollar paintbrush and paint. Everything was peaceful in the world of Stan, that was, until Richie bounded through the door in a whirlwind of neon colours and unruly hair, already speaking at one hundred miles per hour.

“Stanley the Manley, you’ll never believe what the fuck just happened. So i’m sat there, enjoying my weekly Dorito date with that weird guy down the street and- what the flippity fuck is that?”

Stan looked up at him, carefully setting his brush down on the newspaper and moving curls out of his eyes, following Richie’s gaze down to his project, standing sturdily in front of Stan.

“It’s homework.” Stan said, stretching his stiff arms above his head. “It’s a fish.”

Before he knew it, Richie was kneeling on the floor next to Stan, eye to eye with his papier-mache creation, staring it out with trepidation in his gaze.

“So I’ve gotta do a shit ton of consumer research just to have the chance to grace the airwaves, but all you’ve gotta do is make a fish?” Richie whined, sitting back on his heels and pouting at Stan. He reached out his hand to touch, but Stan quickly swatted it away before leaning back down to apply another coat of purple paint to his aquatic masterpiece.

“If you’re that bothered, why don’t you train to become a teacher, Trashmouth.” Stan chastised, ignoring the ‘humph’ that escaped Richie’s as he watched him paint. Stan never actually expected him to do it. He had turned up at Stan’s door almost a year to the day later, holding a handmade dog, wearing a bowtie and donning a kippah on over its curly ears. Stan had answered the door with a hand on his hip, eyebrow raised. Richie had only grinned, his cheeks turning red with the force of him holding back a laugh at his own joke.

“It’s a Cocker Staniel.”

Stan slammed the door in his face.

And now here they were, almost five years later, Richie running late as usual and Stan dreading the looming presence of glitter on his Thursday morning.

Parent-Teacher conferences were the bane of Stan’s existence. He held two every year, one in October while the kids were relatively new in the class and one later on in the year, normally before they left. Usually, the parents didn’t care at all or seemingly cared too much, berating Stan for things as trivial as how he worded homework sheets to the way he dressed. The sheer stress of such things meant that Stan spent the short hour between school ended and his first appointment with Eddie, the school nurse, drinking juice boxes with an ice pack held securely to his head while they chatted aimlessly and watched reruns of Judge Judy on the room’s shitty TV set. This year, though, was going to be the first time he’d handle the parents smoothly and professionally, and he certainly wasn’t going to have a breakdown in his store cupboard afterwards. No way.

He heaved in a sigh, revelling in the slight burn of his lungs as he drank in the air. It was getting closer to half past now, and Stan finally started to get into gear, setting up for the day, refusing to look at the offending vials of metallic crap until he had to. It was 8:55 when Richie finally pulled up outside, fifteen minutes later than he usually was, and he didn’t even afford himself the luxury of mithering Stan as he sprinted down the corridor, hands full of boxes and slammed his classroom door behind him. Richard Tozier was well suited to be a second grade teacher, Stan thought, considering he was a second grader himself.

He opened his door at 8:59, only just making it back to his desk before the whiny ring of the school bell flooded his ears and children started to walk through the door, unbuttoning their coats as they bid him good morning, groaning as they saw what Stan had written on the whiteboard, and Stan couldn’t help but smirk. If they were going to destroy his classroom and his life with pipe cleaners and glitter glue, he was going to make their brains explode with maths.

--

Stan was sticky by the time 4:30 rolled by. In an effort to make his class a bit more cheerful, he had allowed them to make name tags for their books and work so their parents could easily identify them that evening. He hadn’t, however, thought it was such a good idea when Timothy Jones had walked into him with a full pot of PVA glue, subsequently spilling it down his neatly pressed chinos, covering them in a shiny, brown stain that was going to be a bitch to get out. He couldn’t possibly greet parents looking like there had been an oil spill on his trousers, so in a last resort to gain some semblance of put togetherness, he went knocking on Richie’s door.

“Woah there Stanley,” he grinned as he cut what looked like a melted dinosaur out of a piece of blue card, adding it to a pile of similarly drawn jurassic creatures. “Looks like someone didn’t make it to the can in time. Say, I didn’t know you were into watersports.”

Stan didn’t dignify him with a response, instead sighing and muttering a halfhearted ‘Beep Beep’. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any pants, have you?”

Stan should have known to fear the worse as Richie’s face lighted up with mirth and he spoke to Stan with his Southern Belle drawl.

“Well, Sir, I surely surely do.”

And that’s how Stan ended up sat behind his desk, listening to parents talk about their kids as if they were the only ones on the planet, wearing a pair of hot pink yoga pants that barely fitted him, never mind Richie.

(“Where the fuck did you get these?” “They’re Eddie Spaghetti’s. I-” “Never mind, I’d rather not know.”)

He nodded empathetically as they talked about their children, resisted the urge to roll his eyes as they told him how to do his job, but under no circumstances did he stand up from the table. Propriety be damned, he didn’t want to be fired for public indecency.  He was almost done at five minutes to six, his schedule closely adhered to, and if all went well, he’d be in bed by seven. He only had one appointment left, and he let himself relax in his chair, straightening his papers and ticking off names as he waited.

Five minutes passed. And then ten. And then fifteen. It was quarter past six, and he was still waiting for his last appointment to turn up. A pang of annoyance gnawed at Stan. He had been preparing for this for over a month and the parents didn’t even have the decency to listen to him talk about their own kids, for God’s sake. Huffing, he started to pack away, stuffing sheets back into their binders when a ball of emerald and auburn and brown came charging through the door with a small boy in tow.

“I’m so s-sorry, I thought Noah’s mother was coming instead.” the man groaned, panting as he ran a hand through his son’s hair.

He quickly caught his breath and made his way in front of Stan, offering him his hand to shake. If Stan wasn’t so annoyed, he would have noticed the way his blue eyes sparkled or the warmth of his touch or the way his mouth quirked as he spoke. But Stan was irritated, so instead he shook the man’s hand and refused to look at him as he pulled his sheets back out. Stan quickly realised, though, that Noah was stood next to his father, grinning up at Stan.

He quickly softened, smiling back at the boy. Noah was a boisterous member of his class, yes, but he was polite and was quiet when Stan needed him to be and often had an amusing anecdote about his Aunt Bev and Uncle Georgie. Noah Phillips-Denbrough was a good kid, and Stan liked him very much.

“Hey buddy.” he greeted as Noah waved back, his grin widening as he shot back an exuberant ‘hi!’, almost shaking as he gripped to his father’s arm.

Looking at the pair now, Stan could obviously see the family ties. He had had a few dealings with Audra Phillips, and from what Stan could gather, she was a reserved woman who only seemed to speak when she was spoken to, quite unlike her son, who was rowdy to say the least. While Noah had inherited his mother’s swarthy skin and tightly coiled locks, it was easy to see his father in him. Their eyes both lit up in the same carefree way when Stan looked at them and the smile on their faces seemed to be permanent. That, and the blue hue of their eyes were almost identical. While Stan knew divorce often made kids shrink into themselves, Noah had done anything but, and he thinks Mr. Denbrough had been part of the reason why.

“Sorry we’re so late, Mr Uris.” Noah beamed, no evidence of regret traceable on his face, and Stan’s grin involuntarily widened.

“Don’t worry about it Noah.” he said, throwing him a wink that made the young boy dissolve into giggles. “Hey, why don’t you go and finish your drawing from today while I chat to your dad?” he suggested, and Noah didn’t have to be asked twice before he was sitting at one of the rickety desks and scribbling away.

Stan turned his attention back to the man in front of him, cutting him off with a wave of his hand as he tried to speak again, probably to apologise again. “Why don’t we get started, Mr Denbrough.”

“Bill, please.” he insisted, and the smile on his face had Stan repressing a blush.

“Okay then, Bill,” Stan didn’t miss the man’s chuckle, “Let’s talk about Noah’s progress so far.”

In all fairness to Stan, he was completely professional from there on in, only making eye contact when appropriate, never letting himself stray from the topic of Bill’s son, and he certainly didn’t let himself get excited when Bill pushed the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbows. Stanley Uris was a paragon of a teacher, answering questions thoughtfully and easily. So what if Bill’s appointment lasted twenty minutes longer than it should have, it’s not like Stan was counting.

It went so well, however, that Stan had ignored one huge, almighty, dirty big fat flaw. He had completely forgotten that nothing good ever happens to him, and sooner or later, it was all going to go tits up. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait long for it to happen.

“Thanks a lot for seeing us, Mr Uris.” Bill had a smile on his face and his voice was dripping with an appreciation that had Stan blushing.

Stan waved his hand in front of him, turning to smile at Noah, who was once again glued to Bill’s side. “Thank you guys for coming.” He shot him a small wink, making the boy beam up at him.

When he turned back to Bill, there was a look clouding his piercing eyes that Stan couldn’t quite decipher, yet it made the warmth on his cheeks deepen further, and before he knew it, Bill was standing out of his chair, arm out in front of him to shake, and Stan was following suit.

He only realised what a huge fuck up it was when Noah burst into fits of giggles.

“Mr. Uris why are your pants pink?” he squeaked out in between laughs, clutching onto Bill’s arm to hold himself up.

Stan’s cheeks burned now, and he was pretty sure you could see him in the dark with the intensity of his blush. He glanced at Bill out of the corner of his eye, surprised to find that his cheeks were the colour of his pants, and he didn’t miss the way his eyes ran over Stan’s somewhat scantily clad legs.

He cleared his throat, the deep bass of his chuckle reverberating in Stan’s chest as he pushed a stray strand of auburn hair from his eyes. “The pink suits you.”

All Stan could do was limply shake the man’s hand, squeak out a pathetic goodbye and usher the pair hastily from the room.

He let his head fall with a thunk against the pink painted door as he shut it closed behind them. Stan had prided himself on keeping himself composed for the past five years, no matter how hard it was. He had people complain about him when his shirt sleeves were too short or when the amount of time designated to reading was deemed ‘questionable’. The way Stan was feeling now had to stop. Yes, he’d had crushes before, but never on a parent. It was hard enough for him being gay in Derry, it was even harder to try to be so and teach at the same time. The last thing he needed was a silly schoolboy crush to come along and wreck the order he’d created.

So, Stan did what he usually did when he’s had, what he’d consider, a stressful day: go home, eat a shit ton of ice cream and watch Say Yes To The Dress until his eyes melt.

Thank God it’s Friday.

[hollyoaksloversx]

If I Could Turn Back Time...

Rounding up a week in Hollyoaks (2nd-6th July 2018)

The year is 2002 and in Hollyoaks village Ellie Hunter shocks her family by waltzing back in after a two year radio silence, Mandy Richardson and Adam Morgan are involved in a horrific car crash and Mr C is making a tit of himself at the Jubilee celebrations. Meanwhile, in another part of the country, it’s James Nightingale’s 16th birthday and his Father, Mac, gifts him a night with a prostitute, hoping that the experience will ‘turn him straight’. The fling results in a pregnancy and Marnie pays the prostitute, Donna-Marie, to have an abortion. Or so she thinks...

This week, Hollyoaks rewound the clock and gave viewers a glimpse into the past life of popular character, James. The first flashback took us to 2002 and James’ 16th birthday. After finding out that his son was gay, Mac organised for James to sleep with a prostitute, hoping that the experience would make him realise he was actually straight.  A pregnancy resulted, and Marnie soon ‘sorted’ the problem by paying for a termination. Which brings us nicely to the next flashback and with ‘Call Me Maybe’ playing on the radio and the London Olympics being on newspaper covers, it could only be 2012. Here, we met a now grown-up James preparing to start work at a law firm. However, the occasion wasn’t all happy as Mac soon demanded that James help him get £100,000, supposedly to save his company from going under. Desperate for his Father’s approval, James made the decision to embezzle money from his new work place and he soon met the perfect person to frame for the crime when he met kindly accountant, Kashif Maalik. However, unbeknownst to James, his Father’s business wasn’t in trouble and they actually needed the money to pay Donna-Marie, who hadn’t had a termination after all...

Back in the present day, James’ son, Romeo, approached his house, but couldn’t bring himself to knock on the door and walked away. Inside, James was desperately trying to work out who was framing him for Kyle’s murder. Suddenly, James had a realisation, and after all this time, remembered the surname of the man he’d framed; Maalik. Putting two and two together, James came up with four, and realised that Sami was Kashif’s son, and must surely be behind his recent troubles. The following day, James headed to Sami’s office and after finding the evidence he needed, confronted his rival. Turning the tables on Sami, James ordered him to get the murder charge dropped, or he’d tell the police that the whole thing was a set-up. Later on that day, Marnie invited the family round for a meal but Sami’s goading of James soon got too much for him to bear, and he beat him up, accidentally knocking Ellie over in the process...

It appeared that neither Sami or Ellie had been seriously hurt, but the following day, Ellie collapsed at The Dog after feeling lightheaded and was rushed to hospital. Sami felt guilty about the situation and made the rather hasty decision to leave the village, however, he soon changed his mind when he discovered that Ellie was pregnant. James was devastated when Ellie shared her news with him and begged her not to have Sami’s baby. In that moment, Ellie saw red and got straight on the phone to Roxy, telling her to add Sami’s assault to James’ murder charge...

That wasn’t the only Nightingale trauma this week as Marnie was finally told what was wrong with Alfie; schizoaffective disorder. Realising that her son would be on medication for life, Marnie decided to seek a second opinion and called in Dr Spellman. Unfortunately for Marnie, she didn’t get the news she was hoping for when Alfie’s diagnosis was confirmed and Marnie was shocked to be told that she could actually impair his recovery by refusing to acknowledge his illness...

Meanwhile, Adam’s ashes were ready to collect and Grace and Maxine made the decision to scatter them together. However, after yet another row, Glenn ended up throwing the ashes all over Grace, leaving Maxine furious. Glenn tried to get back in Maxine’s good books by blaming Grace for the incident and offering to scatter the remainder of the ashes with her. One thing lead to another, as it so often does after scattering some ashes, and Glenn and Maxine ended up sleeping together. Unusually for Hollyoaks, Grace found out relatively quickly and finally walked out on Glenn! Great scenes, until you remember she’s walking out of her own flat. A flat that Glenn has no claim to...

Elsewhere, Farrah was delighted to be offered a new job as a forensic psychologist, surely a result of the fantastic work she did with RyRy earlier in the year. There was, however, a downside, and the new job would require Farrah to work much longer hours. Not so great when Kim was still refusing to leave the house. Not wanting to share the news with Kim, Farrah confided in Misbah that she didn’t want to jeopardise Kim’s recovery by leaving her before she was ready. Worried that her daughter was going to turn down the offer, Misbah decided to tell Kim about the job. Wanting to show Farrah how proud she was of her, Kim decided to leave the house alone to go and get Farrah a present but was left upset when Farrah snapped at her, unaware that she’d just shared a snog with Grace. The following day, Kim was still struggling but forced herself to leave the house again. This time, she headed back to the basement, to seek comfort from Rick Astley. 

In other news this week, desperate for a break from Imran, Misbah begged Buster to take him to the training camp in Barcelona, leaving Yasmine feeling like her Brother was being reward for his violent behaviour. Cleo was panicking about her upcoming wedding to Joel and Myra attempted to take some of the load off by buying her a wedding dress. Cleo was delighted by the thought, but was left devastated to discover that the dress was too small. Finally, Tegan was discharged from hospital and Diane, Leela and Ste realised they’d have to tell her about Dee Dee’s illness...

5 Things We Learnt This Week:

1. Hollyoaks village has it’s own education system, where children start school younger than in other parts of the country. Either that or Rose Lomax and the Hutchinson kids are child geniuses who have been moved up a year. 

2. Family loyalty means nothing to Ellie. James supported her when Nick raped her and helped cover up what she did to Mac and she repays him by turning her back on him when he’s in trouble. Nice sister, there. 

3. Kim’s taken up papier mache and has made a bowl, but she doesn’t know if it’s safe to eat out of. There’s Hollyoaks next big story. Several characters come down with a mystery illness after eating from Kim’s bowl. That’s got ‘Best Storyline’ at next year’s British Soap Awards written all over it. 

4. The folley found a new use this week as Glenn and Maxine scattered Adam’s ashes there. Well, I suppose it’s been used for just about everything else! 

5. Glenn is actually ill! There is a God! 

Characters Featured:

Alfie, Anthony, Buster, Cleo, Courtney, Curtis, Dee Dee, Diane, Donna-Marie, DS Roxy Cassidy, Ellie, Farrah, Glenn, Grace, Holly, Imran, James, Joel, Kim, Leela, Marnie, Maxine, Misbah, Myra, Oliver, Romeo, Rose, Sami, Ste, Tegan, Tony and Yasmine. 

Past Characters Mentioned:

Patrick Blake, Adam Donovan, Mac Nightingale, Nathan Nightingale, Darcy Wilde

[bluedraggy]

Halloween Remembrances

Another Halloween is upon us, and I thought this might be a good opportunity to reminisce about Halloween from my childhood - essentially the 1970s. Why? Because there's a lot of kids who don't really get the Trick-or-Treat experience that I did as a kid, and it seems like it would be a good idea to at least familiarize them with the holiday in a bygone era.

Don't worry, this isn't going to be one of those "Your Halloween is awful, it was great back in my day" rants. In many ways, it sucked compared to today. But we're talking about a 'holiday' wherein as a child you get free candy from neighbors. That's not ever going to suck too bad. But things were a little different back then.

Also, geography may play a role in my experiences and those of others. I'm sure the treats (and tricks) of those in the Northeast are going to vary quite a bit from mine in the Midwest. My childhood is from a smallish farmer town in Southern Illinois, so your mileage may vary.

(picture worth it just for the car. Is that a Chevy Vega? Jeeze, I think it is!)

First - The Treats

Compared to today's offerings, I seem to recall we had a lot less variety back then. But I do clearly recall that one of the very BEST treats you could get was the Caramel Popcorn Ball. If you got one of these wrapped, even better! But I'm quite sure that they were sometimes dropped 'naked' into my bag (usually a pillowcase and we didn't mind a bit).

The worst, (and this is definitely subjective but...) was the Bit O' Honey. Now maybe there's some real Bit O' Honey aficionados out there, but as subjective as this is, it at least covers all of my siblings. By the week after Halloween, this was about all that was left in any of our bags.

Well, there is one thing worse, but our neighbors knew better than to includ this monstrosity. Black licorice is the worst. The ultimate worst that can still be called candy at all. It is known.

Oddly enough, apples were NOT the worst thing ever. Caramel apples were actually pretty good, even if we just ate the caramel.  I seem to recall giving out a lot of apples (not caramel) at Halloween too as a kid. I feel kinda bad because I'm fairly sure that by the end of the night the ones with the nasty bruises and worm holes were all that were left.  I never said WE gave out the good stuff.

In the middle were the standard chocolate Hersheys, the hard-as-a-rock Sweet Tarts (Smartees were just a gleam in some candy executives eyes), and maybe Pixie Straws. If it sounds like I'm complaining about Sweet Tarts, believe me, I'm NOT. Possibly the best candy ever was those huge giant Sweet Tarts that were hard as a rock but you'd eventually suck them down to reasonable size. I think all Sweet Tarts have now been softened to the point that they don't break your teeth, but alas there's something missing when there's no dental threat in them any more. Spree was an alternative, and they were okay, but Sweet Tarts ruled the roost.  Sorry youngsters, but these are not it. I couldn’t even find an image for the Real Thing.

In between there was the Tootsie Rolls of course, or the more maddening Tootsie Pops that you'd have to work your way down to the Tootsie Roll in the center, that was the only real reason you'd put one of them in your mouth anyway. M&Ms were ubiquitous, but I don't think they made Peanut M&Ms for years yet when I was a kid.

SECOND - The Tricks

Really, unless you were a really evil child, there were only 2 tricks ever played. And even then it had absolutely nothing to do with what you got at the door. Either you threw toilet paper over trees or the really brave would soap the windows.

If you REALLY REALLY didn't like someone you would use paraffin (because its harder to get off the windows). 'Egging' someone's car really wasn't a traditional Trick or Treat thing. That was just malicious and could happen anytime. There were tales of the Dog Shit in a Bag trick, but I think that was more an urban myth than reality. It goes something like this. First, put a lot of dog poop in a brown paper bag. Next, set it on a neighbor's porch and light it on fire. Third, ring the doorbell. Fourth, run like hell.

In theory, said homeowner will come out, see the small fire, and stomp on it to put it out, getting liberally coated in dog poo in the meantime.

Again, that's a little mean for the kids in our neighborhood though. It sounds fun, but in reality I don't know that it ever happened.

THIRD - The Costumes

I would say on the order of 50% of all costumes were home-made. And usually with dad's throwaways. Being a 'bum' was very very common. The really well-to-do might have some 'vampire blood' and fangs they could put on and in their mouths. If you had an actual store-bought costume it was just a mask. A mask over your face. Fastened with an elastic band not much more than a rubberband. Hard plastic. An over-the-head mask would be the height of extravagance.  More likely if you have full over-the-head mask, you made it yourself with papier-mache, it was hot as hell and weighed a ton, not to mention losing the eyeholes all the time.  Odds were you took it off after the first two houses.

'It's the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown' is pretty accurate as to the number of kids in sheets with eye-holes cut out too. (though only 1 pair typically). Actually that show is pretty accurate in a lot of ways, though I never got a rock. I'm sure Halloween parties actually HAPPENED, but I never went to one as I recall. But that's okay - there's more free candy to be had, who wants to waste their time bobbing for apples?

TIME TO GO HOME - On Halloween?!

I don't remember how late I stayed out on Halloween. But pretty damn late. Going home before EVERY SINGLE HOUSE was tried was practically mandatory in my particular subdivision.  There were a few that didn't give out candy, but very very few. I don't recall having any animosity towards them though. There were so many more houses to go to, I think we appreciated that they left their house dark so we wouldn't waste time with them.  But I'm quite certain we often didn't get back home till after midnight - and I think I was no more than 11 or 12 even then. Parent's didn't mind - since everyone else was out too, it wasn't that big of a deal. (But we DID have to go back to school the next day.)

Even then though, there were the rumors of Razors in the Apples. Never saw or heard credible evidence of any tampering with any candy, but then we weren't Internet Connected so it was all just rumor. Didn't matter to me - I just peeled the caramel off the apples and threw the rest away anyway. :)

That’s it. Happy Halloween! Have a fun time. And good luck if you get some...