#stay off the towpath

[oeuvrinarydurian]

It’s Fidget Friday!

Please enjoy a Finger Fidget a la Raga.

[druidx]

Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 40

CW: None AO3 ; Chapters: 01. 10. 20. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39 Tag list (ask for +/-): @aquadestinyswriting, @hannah-heartstrings, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary, @babyblueetbaemonster @mr-orion

When she finishes filling in the blanks, Farren sits back, leaning against the mortuary table leg, looking like he's aged 10 years. "I won't lie," he says eventually. "This will complicate things." Elo shifts, her butt having gone numb from the cold tile floor. "You're taking this better than I expected." Farren scoffs. "What'm I s'posed to do, huh? Send you off to the nut house?" Elo pulls her knees under her chin. "Anyone else would have." "Yeah, well, I ain't anyone else, am I?" The clock ticks. "No. Thank you." Farren waves it away. "You'd do the same for me," he says, and Elo knows he's right. "I don't know what to do next," she says instead. "You leave your summaries as they are. No one else needs to know about… the other side of this. I'll catch the boys up with the sanitised version tomorrow and keep them on-task, digging up what we can to help support this theory." At Elo's raised eyebrows, he holds up a placating hand. "I'll tell them we've got reasonable cause to believe Brauma ran you off the road and about his ridiculous stunt at City Hall – it's not gonna paint him in an innocent light." "Yates has contacts with the Art and Antiques Unit. Take a copy of… of the vic's exposé and see if he can get them to share any intel they might have about the smuggling ring." "That's a good shout. In the meantime, I don't want you anywhere near City Hall for the next few days." Elo huffs. "You'll get no argument here. I think my secondment is probably over anyway." "And I think you should get a uniform to drive you home." The clock above Snips' desk says it's nearly 19:00. "I thought we were going to get dinner?" "You need sleep." "I'm fine. And I still gotta eat."

Farren grumbles but in the end, they clock off and go around the corner to the Scholar for their usual. It's not until they're exiting, that Elo notices the colour of the sky. "Shit! Oh shit, piss and blood!" Farren looks back with a raised eyebrow. "I was supposed to meet the two factions tonight at dusk and get some answers." Farren picks up his pace towards his car. "Where're we going?" "My tenement. Someone put Shortcut Bridge back together – I said I'd meet them there." As the engine roars to life, he looks over. "Where someone tried to drown you? Bug." "I thought it would be more convenient." Farren huffs and rolls his eyes as he pulls away from the curb.

Farren pulls up alongside the brownstone row which holds Elo's tenement building. "You should wait in the car," Elo says, even as they're out and walking towards the alley which leads through the brownstones to the towpath and canal at their back. "And let you engage with potential hostiles alone?" "I don't want to spook them." "I'll hang back. But I'm not letting you do this alone – they already tried to kill you once." "I managed before, I can manage again." "You really have been out in the wilds too long," Farren says as they near the alleyway's exit, the darkling waters of the canal just beyond. "Remember the Rule of Two? Withnail would hoist me by the hamstrings if he ever found out I knowingly broke it." "Withnail isn't a captain anymore." "You think that'd stop him?" Elo falls quiet. Along the strip comes the distant shouts of someone having a domestic. A TV blares to drown it out. There's the heavy thud of a ball against a wall; kids having a kick-about. From the canal comes no sound at all. In the dim light and lengthening shadows, it's impossible to tell if anyone's waiting down there. "Stay here, at least?" Elo says. "Right you are." Farren leans against the wall, jacket brushed back from his weapon's holster. "Holler if you need me."

Elo trots down the concrete steps and stands on the towpath. It's preternaturally still and quiet. The water is flat and glossy, like the nail paint Candy uses, and smells of weeds and cold. "Snotgrut?" she calls when no one appears at her entrance. "Aster?" Grit on the path grinds under her feet. A window opens, spilling pop music into the air. The wind is a breath on her cheek. Then the shadows ripple. "Whatcha, Boss." Elo squints. "Legnok? "'S right." He sounds pleased that she remembers. "Where are the Eshen?" "Scarpered. 'S too dark for 'em, innit?" "Oh." Elo sits down on the steps and presses a hand to her forehead. "Bugger." "They weren't too happy when they left. Were wus you, anyway?" "At work. Lost track of time." "Snotgrut's a bit pissed an' all." "Yeah. I can imagine. Gods damn…"

Elo stares down through her hand-blinkered vision at a dandelion pushing through the concrete, suddenly envious of the teens she can hear singing along to the radio, full of carefree spirit. She remembers her teen years – Aunt Alexis driving her, blindfolded, around the city, windows down and quizzing her about where they were based on smell and proprioception. A rare flare of resentment bursts in her chest. It's tamped back with a deep breath; after all, Elo asked for this life. Alexis could have said no. Instead, she'd used every resource at her disposal to ensure Elo was the most prepared for it that she could be.

Elo hauls in another breath, then stands, reaching for her wallet. "Here." She hands over some bills to Legnok. "I promised you a beer if I ever saw you again. Bark, blood, bond, et cetera. Go round to the Scholar, old Davie's not gonna ask for ID." Legnok squints down at the greenbacks in his hands, his face a mixture of awe and suspicion. "There's enough there for two," Elo continues, "because – and I'm sorry to ask this – but d'you think you can get the Eshen leaders back here, same time tomorrow night?" The bills vanish into Legnok's shirt, and he scrapes out a bow. "Blood as my bond," he says. The shadows lengthen, Elo blinks, and he's gone.

"Well, what happened then?" Farren asks when she returns to the alley. "I was too late. The Eshen had gone." "Who were you talking to? Snotgrut?" "No, another Dvasia. I guess he was hanging around to let me know that everyone'd gone. I've asked him to try and get them back tomorrow night." It's full-dark now, and Elo shivers in the cool of the Spring night. Farren grunts, and the ember of his cigarette flares. "Time we got you home, eh?" Elo wants to argue – it's still early, they could chat – but inexplicably feels a wave of weariness, as if the night is dragging on her bones. Instead, she murmurs what could be an agreement and waves him ahead.

The radio is chirping as they draw alongside Farren's car. He slides into the front seat, door open, for Elo to lean up against, peering in. "Dispatch, Alpha Charlie Five responding," Farren says into the handset. "Detective Breakwood? Do you have Detective O'Toreguarde alongside?" "Affirmative, Dispatch." There is a note of relief in Sally's voice as she says, "Roger, Alpha Charlie Five. Requesting your position for General Strucker." Elo's face contorts on its own, but Farren reads everything he needs to in her grimace. "Dispatch, we are just leaving the Skiving Scholar," he lies smoothly. "O'Toreguarde is very much off-duty at this juncture, and will be sleeping it off at my apartment." The traffic rushes past. "Roger. Have a nice night, Detectives." "Affirmative, Dispatch," Farren says with a grin.

Elo remembers to breathe, as Farren replaces the handset. "Thank you," she says, straightening. "I guess you'd better head on home." "Not without you. Come on." Elo tucks her chin down and frowns. Farren scratches an eyebrow. "Elowyn, do I really gotta remind you that someone's out there trying to kill you? Allegedly one of the most powerful people in the city. Allegedly a supernatural entity. You really think it's a good idea for you to be alone, at all?" Elo opens her mouth to protest. "You've got spare skivvies at mine. And if you say anyfin along the lines of 'it's fine, I can manage, I'm used to it', then so help me, I will handcuff you to the doorframe and we'll both sleep in the car." Elo swallows. "Scooch over then," she says and slides into the car.

[expatesque]

Saturday morning sleepover vibe! Because I was super tired last night - it’s been a very full on week with work, I met a friend after work weds so got back late and then proceeded to stay up very late finishing my book; and then Thursday I went to the royal opera house to see Don Quixote which is now my favourite ballet!

Have you got any plans coming up? Anything for Halloween? Any plans for Christmas decorating and activities? Oh and any London brunch recommendations?

Sending many hugs ♥️

Sounds like a good week! Ooh I've not seen Don Quixote, I'm going to check if there's still tickets, that sounds fabulous.

I'm dreading Halloween this year - I have a friend whose bday is right around Halloween and she always throws a party that I hate every year. But this year I have to go because it's her 30th and the boy is likely to be there, so I'm hoping to go early, leave early, and avoid him and embarrassing myself.

But then I'm off on holiday (Grand Canaria, not my usual type of place but my friend planned it and I could use 5 days on a beach) and then my birthday in early December! Not going to lie, I was dreading it this year (waking up alone) but my law girls have all taken the day off work and we're going to shop and drink and watch bad Christmas movies.

And then Christmas should be fabulous! My parents have finally bought a new place in Chicago (it's been a whole saga) and it's gorgeous, a two story flat in a building from 1924 with only 60 units. My best friend is coming out and it'll be so nice to enjoy all the festivities. My parents are also going to host their famous black tie NYE party again and I'm now good friends with a lot of their friends' kids so it'll be multigenerational and great fun.

As for brunch: if you're willing to queue, Sunday in Barnsbury is genuinely the best. Jolene is also great, as is Towpath. Honey & Co is worth getting up early for (they only do their shakshuka until 11) and of course, the breakfast naans at Dishoom are iconic for a reason.

[bikepackinguk]

Day One Hundred and Five

It's been 15 weeks on the road!

Whilst it doesn't manifest too often, I am a sufferer of hereditary Restless Leg Sybdrome, and last night it decided to be its wonderful self and do what it could to prevent much sleep from being had.

So, may as well get up and at 'em! It's an easy start today, extricating myself from a patch of trees by Hythe Bypass and rolling down around town to the pier at Hythe, where I don't have long to wait for my first ferry of the day.

The Hythe ferry is a catamaran style vessel, and it's a short cruise over the water to land at the docks by the city centre of Southampton.

Ruah Hour is in full swing right now, so it's some careful maneuvering to navigate around town and over the bridge across the River Itchen, before heading through the streets of Woolston to get back to the waterside.

There's a nice run along the water's edge here, before heading up through the grounds of Royal Victoria Country Park and into the nice little village of Hamble-le-Rice, which is still and quiet in the early morning.

Down to the docks and it's onto ferry #2 of the day, a tiny little pink boat that I share with a few ramblers to get across the River Hamble to reach Warsash.

Around the trails I go and it's up into some rough pathways along cornfields above the sea.

The paths meander around the fields before turning down to Hill Head, before a nice long run looking over the water through Lee-on-the-Solent.

As the road turns inland a little, the busy roads have a good few cycle paths along them, so I have a good charge down the main streets to speed my way through to the town of Gosport, where awaits my third and final ferry if today's river-hopping.

It's only a short journey across the harbour to land in the historic docks of Portsmouth, beside the famous HMS Warrior.

I'm on a bit of a schedule currently so I hit the road once more, rising through Old Portsmouth and missing a turn to take me through aome of the busier urban stretches of town, before zigging down to hit the edge of the Solent once more for a ride down past Eastney Beach.

I double back for a ride up through Eastney and along the easterly edge of Portsmouth and roll up to a hearty greeting with my lovely cousin Sarah!

The last time I was in Portsmouth was for her wedding to her lovely wife Charlotte and riding through has brought back many happy memories of the occasion, so it's all the more joyful to be able to interrupt her busy schedule as I'm treated to a beer and slap-up steak lunch. Thank you so much again and look forward to seeing you again soon cuz!

Farewells said and bellies full, I'm off along the road north as the cycle route hits some major road junctions around the north of Portsmouth, but the cycle paths track around alongside a good ways yet ao I'm spared the heavy traffic as I track around the A27 past Havant.

The route drops on to the A259 here, so it's time to put that hearty lunch to good use as I stretch the legs for a long run along the busy road awhile.

The cycle pathing here is spotty at best, and I end up just staying in the road to get some miles cranked out, and as the miles and small towns drop away it feels like practically no time at all before I hitnthe edges of Chichester.

With some twisting through town, I drop on to the towpath at the Chichester Canal to follow the cycle route down the water to Hunston, where I tack on to the B2166 as it curves around the expansive farmlands.

Along the road and jostling with plenty of tractors and school-run drivers, I keep in peddling away the miles and charge my way down through the growing suburbs and push on through to arrive at the beach at Pagham.

I have a brief pause to appreciate the view up the coast, but I've energy yet in the legs and light in the day, so am eager to keep at it.

Around through the roads of Pagham, it takes a good bit of routefinding to work my way around, but eventually ride around to hook up once morenwith NCN 2 as it restarts once more at the promenade of Bognor Regis.

My eagerness hasn't done me a great deal of favours here as I had been thinking of stopping a little short of Bognor, as it's a long urban stretch ahead with little opportunity for stealthy camping.

A bit of thinking and checking of the maps has me riding up and through the seaside town to head to the northern end of town where there look to be more possibilities to hole up for the night. I'll let you know how the scouting goes in the morrow!

TTFN!

[wiff-waff]

Another new follower. Y elo.

This is supposed to be a blog about boating but as we aren't doing any at this present time posts are few and far between. But Nigel the boatyard manager came a calling to inform us that hopefully they will start our repairs by the end of this very week and that is the best news we've had in donkeys years and has lifted my sombre mood immeasurably.

He reckons said repairs will take 3 long weeks and as we will have no electric or water we have to move off the boat for that time which means basically that we will be homeless.

We have a plan. For the first week we are going to David's folks to decorate the dinning room, we could stay longer but tbh that isn't an option because we'd probably die of boredom. We toyed with the idea of jumping on a plane and laying on a sun-drenched beach for the duration but we have Ben to consider so after much thought and deliberation we've decided to buy a tent and go off camping in sun-drenched north Wales for the fortnight.

Shell Island here we come. Exciting or what!!

I am now smoke-free for 29 days and am well chuffed with my endeavours even though I'm vaping like a bastard. Consequently all I do is eat and eat and then eat some more and for the first time in my life I am starting to put on weight which isn't a bad thing because there is more fat on a chip. So in a bid to become more healthy and stop this sorry body turning into a mass of lard for the last 2 weeks I've been taking myself off to the local pool in Lichfield.

He swims like a fish. Not. I know I will never be a muscle Mary but I'm making an effort, I enjoy the exercise and it's all good fun. I considered taking up running but the towpath is too muddy and I run like a girlie, it's not happening.

Also to beat the boredom whilst waiting for the repairs to commence I've painted a table and planted all my seedlings out on the roof. All we need now is some bastard sunshine and they just might grow and prosper. I wish!!

[suitcasescalling]

5 Miles, 13 Locks, 6 Hours

Have you ever heard of a “slow boat to China”? It was probably a narrowboat.

I’m not complaining, actually. I like the slower pace to just look around, observe the landscape, spot a heron or two, notice the shape of the bow waves. A narrowboat maxes out at about 4 mph. We’ve been going more like 1 or 2 mph, in part because ours is a maximum length (70’) boat and in part because we’re so brand new to this. So, lots of time to notice how the trees reflect in the still surface of the canal.

We’ve divided quite naturally into two teams. Jeff and Patricia are captain and first mate, respectively, and totally in charge of driving the boat. They’ve both got decades of sailing experience, which helps, though this behemoth handles differently than a sailboat. Ben and I are the lock jockeys, which means we’re the ones getting off the boat at every lock. Physically moving the gates and raising/lowering the panels that control the water.

The gates are heavy but well-designed. Sometimes we can move them with our arms, sometimes we have to back up to them and push with our butts/legs. The levers to raise and lower the water panels inside the gates are usually more work. Sometimes, just like the gates, they’re an easy winch (we have special winch handles for this work). Sometimes it takes a lot of back and arm power.

The massage career helps. The best force comes from your legs, not your arms. I change my stance almost instinctively now when I find myself needing more oomph from my legs to support my arms and back.

We had chilly and sunny weather yesterday, which was a gift. We all managed to even get a little sun on our faces without realizing it till we went out to dinner. Imagine, going to England in April and getting a tan!

While Ben and I work well as lock jockeys, 13 locks was way too many! One lock isn’t bad at all but the effort accumulates. I was tired and a little spacey by lock 13. We’ve only got 6 locks today and we’re already through them so I can relax a little.

I haven’t gotten to do as much walking on the towpath as I expected. Ben and I have walked the towpath when we suspected the locks weren’t very far apart but otherwise we’ve stayed on the boat.

It’s not quite the vacation I envisioned but since we’ve never actually done this before, it was unlikely to completely match my imagination.

My “single” bed is more like a bench with a mattress. I have to turn over completely in place because there is literally no room to move left or right. I’ve managed OK after the first night. The nights have been cold (30s) so that big fluffy comforter, which looked silly on such a narrow bed, has been just right.

“Narrow” is not wrong. We literally can’t pass each other in the passageways. Someone has to step into the nearest bathroom so the other can pass. It’s sort of the boat equivalent of driving those narrow country lanes.

We moored last night along a quiet stretch of the canal just past the pub where we had dinner. It was so lovely, so green, and so peaceful. That was much closer to what I imagined. It was a very peaceful night of sleep.

Today our goal is a marina in Stourbridge. It’s an “admin” afternoon. Fill up the boat water tanks. Laundry. Groceries. A bookstore if we can find one for Ben. A postbox for me for some postcards. A shower (really no point in showering every day on a boat to be honest) We have to decide where we’re going from here. The original plan was to motor into Birmingham but that requires *26* locks and … no. So we may be going back over the route we’ve already covered to try a new section of canal. That will be the conversation at dinner tonight.

I may be posting fewer pictures. After a while, one section of canal looks like another. One field of sheep / horses looks like another. But as I’m able, I’ll keep writing.

[the-c-and-o]

Arrived in DC

I got giddy at the first sight of the Jefferson Memorial and the Washington Monument as we pulled in to Washington just before 3:00. We got our bikes, set up out bags, and made our way out of Union Station.

It was pretty cool to bike through Washington by the mall with the Smithsonian on the left, the National Gallery of Art on the right, and the Washington Memorial ahead of us.

We headed on to Georgetown to find Mile 0 of the towpath.

We took the Capital Crescent Trail for the first few miles because of the number of people and how narrow the path was in town. I likened it to trying to bike on the San Antonio River Walk.

See that grin on my face? I had it the whole ride today. It felt surreal to be here. The canal varied quite a bit during the ride today. It went from a pleasant green to a “I don’t want to fall in that slime” to all vegetation. By mile 10, we learned that being a mouth breather came with a risk - there were swarms of bugs! The gravel was a little bumpy, but manageable. We are normally paved trail riders, so let’s see how I feel about it in a few days!

It started raining around Great Falls, but we did get a quick peek from the overpass off the towpath.

We rode 22 miles total today and only about 2.5 or 3 in a light rain. Given how the forecast was looking, we did good. We went to Mile 16.6 on the towpath to Lockhouse 21 - Swains Lock where we stayed for the night. There is a great website that talks about the restoration that I would share if I had an internet connection to find it. Look it up.

This is home for the night.

[brian-in-finance]

5 stories • 5 links

Charlie Gray for Focus Features

I grew up on the outskirts of Belfast and I go back all the time; one of my sisters is still there, and my late father lived there for most of his life. The city has grown so much: every time I get back, someone says, “Oh, there’s a new place doing this!” And everything is half an hour away – everything. If you want massive mountains, woodland areas, the city, the beach, it’s all so accessible. It’s why they shoot things like Game of Thrones there. If you can live with the rain, which is pretty constant, it’s a great place to be.

I’ve filmed a few things myself here: my new film Belfast, and before that The Fall. Back then, I stayed in the dockyards area where the main tourist attraction is the Titanic Belfast museum, because it’s where the liner was built. It’s a beautiful building that mirrors the bow of the boat from certain angles; inside you can do a virtual tour of the old shipyards. Just don’t mention that it sank! For some reason, we’re very proud of it nonetheless.

Dornan with his sisters Jessica (left) and Liesa in 1986

https://www.irishfilmtv.com/

Actress Caitriona Balfe may be riding high these days as she garners Oscar buzz for her performance in Kenneth Branagh‘s stunning, semi-autobiographical film Belfast—and, of course, as fans get ready to see her starring again as Claire in Season 6 of the Starz hit series Outlander (all while becoming a new mom!). But as the 42-year-old just revealed in a game of “Never Have I Ever,” she’s experienced her fair share of disastrously awkward low points in her life—like the time she embarrassed herself in front of none other than legendary icon Prince!

Playing the game alongside Belfast co-star Jamie Dornan for British Vogue, the two stars were compelled to confirm whether or not they’d ever fallen over in public. Balfe turned around her paddle to read “I Have,” then said, “One of my most embarrassing moments is I fell off a stool in front of Prince when I was inebriated.” Balfe didn’t reveal any more details about her mortifying wipeout in front of the artist formerly known as The Artist Formerly Known as Prince—but considering Prince passed away in April 2016, two years before Outlander Season 1 premiered, it could’ve happened either during Balfe’s modeling days or when she was first receiving notice as an up-and-coming actress.

(Gilbert Carrasquillo/GC Image)

Remember… The last time I came back, I actually went straight down to the beach by Holywood. I used to sail competitively there when I was younger – nowadays it’s my sister who goes swimming at Helen’s Bay. She goes in whatever the weather – it’s so cool. It’s also quite lovely walking or jogging the towpath along the River Lagan, which runs through Belfast. — Jamie Dornan

[privatepunttour]

Advantages Of Private Punt Tour

Punting has its roots in the centre ages when people needed seriously to navigate water that has been too shallow for conventional rowing crafts, including the fens, next to any places hire, which are particularly marshy. These also enabled trades such as eel fishing in addition to helping businesses to transport their cargo. This method of transportation began to die out in the 19th century, however they started to create a comeback as pleasure boats in and around the river Thames. The square shape of punts makes them extremely stable and this makes them ideal for carrying passengers.

While they gained popularity, these were introduced to any place as a delight craft and soon became the most used river vehicle. Rivers relied on less and less for trade purposes, so river traffic decreased which makes it safer and less crowded for pleasure boaters and punts quickly became the most typical river vehicle on the river in any place. There are two reasons why the punt is really popular on the river. Firstly, the gravelly bottom of the river bank means that it is easy to propel the punt utilising the stick, even for the absolute most novice punter. It has turned into a traditional must-do experience for both visitors and residents of anywhere and has surprisingly experienced a boom in the winter months in addition to the summer. Secondly, town of anyplace is steeped ever sold and saturated in beautiful buildings. The river really has the remains of the towpath that was employed for trade when punting first originated and goes past the famous university buildings. It's the best method to see the historical sights of the town.

The river punting has become somewhat of a trademark of anyplace, the punt itself has been slightly modified to have extra strong deck, and sometimes a deck both ends so the person propelling the boat can stand at the back of the boat and avoid dripping water on the passengers. Back in enough time where it originated, people didn't stand on the deck to steer the punt, but that is all the main experience. The standing tradition is thought to have already been started by women who wanted to show off their ankles. From the late century, the club became the unofficial punting society of the river. It had been composed of undergraduates who said that membership was open to any or all those individuals who have unwillingly entered fully clothed. It has been succeeded by the punting society. This quintessentially english tradition is certain to stay a great leisure activity for tourists alike for a long time to come. A good experience in a great city, everyone lets go punting for fun. Browse the below mentioned site, if you are hunting for more information about private punt tour Cambridge.

[privatepunting]

Private Punting - Things To Know

Punting has its roots at the center ages when people needed seriously to navigate water which was too shallow for conventional rowing crafts, like the fens, near to any places hire, which are particularly marshy. These also enabled trades such as eel fishing as well as helping businesses to transport their cargo. This process of transportation started to die out in the 19th century, however they started to create a comeback as pleasure boats in and round the river Thames. The square model of punts makes them extremely stable and this makes them ideal for carrying passengers. As they gained popularity, they certainly were introduced to anywhere as a joy craft and soon became the most popular river vehicle. Rivers relied on less and less for trade purposes, so river traffic decreased which makes it safer and less crowded for pleasure boaters and punts quickly became the most common river vehicle on the river in just about any place.

You can find two explanations why the punt is really popular on the river. Firstly, the gravelly bottom of the river bank means that it's easy to propel the punt utilising the stick, even for the most novice punter. It has become a traditional must-do experience for both visitors and residents of any place and has surprisingly experienced a boom in winter months months along with the summer. Secondly, town of any place is steeped ever sold and packed with beautiful buildings. The river really has the remains of the towpath which was used for trade when punting first originated and goes past the famous university buildings. It is the perfect way to start to see the historical sights of the town.

The river punting is now somewhat of a signature of anywhere, the punt itself has been slightly modified to have extra strong deck, and sometimes a deck both ends so the person propelling the boat can stand at the rear of the boat and avoid dripping water on the passengers. Back the time where it originated, people didn't stand on the deck to steer the punt, but this really is all part of the experience. The standing tradition is thought to have already been started by women who wanted to show off their ankles. From the late century, the club became the unofficial punting society of the river. It absolutely was composed of undergraduates who stated that membership was open to all those who have unwillingly entered fully clothed. It has been succeeded by the punting society. This quintessentially english tradition is certain to stay an enjoyable leisure activity for tourists alike for a long time to come. A great experience in a great city, everyone lets go punting for fun. Browse the below mentioned site, if you are hunting for more information about private punting Cambridge.

[oeuvrinarydurian]

I present to you: the moment it all goes to hell. In a tux.

Season (Series) 7: Oracle.

I’m watching an opera. I look hot.

I love this opera. I’m caught up in the —

Wait. Who’s the chick in the green?

I’ll just surreptitiously get an eyeful.

Fuck the opera.



[nomdeguerreblogs]

Thursday 27th November, 1919*

The Garrison.

It was busy, she was busy. He drank with his brothers until closing and made his way home alone past the yard to say ‘goodnight’ to Charlie and collect a box of cigarettes. He slept finally. Fitfully. Ears straining for the picks ringing on something hard; rock, bone, betraying themselves. What was that? There it was again. The muffled scrape of shovels no more than a yard off. Every muscle tensed. He pressed against the earth to hear it again, it was soft and giving and… covered in flannel. He sat up drenched in sweat and clawed at his hair, staring unseeing at the striped paper on the wall. With habit his hand reached blindly for the box and opened it - a jarringly exotic floral smell emerged. A pause, as the urgency ebbed and a rattle told the quiver in his hands. Recoiling, the lid was flipped closed on the paraphernalia and the box went back to its home. He lit a cigarette and balanced it, rubbed his eye sockets hard, splashed some water into them. He changed his undershirt, dressed in a hurry with the day’s clothes, dragged on an overcoat and left.

The St Andrews bells chimed twice as his hunched shape made its way through the dark streets. There was no plan. He’d wait in the alley opposite, lean against the cold brick until it was a reasonable hour to wake her. They could have tea. Maybe take a walk. She’d smile at him and take his arm. He could ask her to do the research for Doncaster.

To his surprise, a wan light shone from the window. The only luminescence down the whole street. He went to the landing outside her door, removed his cap, and hesitated. A faint tune reached him through the wood; she was humming. He knocked gently, “it’s me.” He coughed, awkward. Footsteps. She opened the door, a shy smile hovering at the edges of her mouth. She smelled like she always did. Roses. He didn’t know flowers, but briar roses were always blooming when, as boys, they followed the towpath out of the city to the meadows to muck about in the water. Roses, he knew those.

“Come in,” she moved out of the way and shut the door behind them. “I was just reading. Couldn’t sleep. Don’t much, if I’m honest. D’you want some tea? There’s a pot.”

“Please.”

“It’s quite late for a social call,” she sounded amused as she took a cup from the mantle.

“I couldn’t sleep either. Was taking a walk and noticed a light up ‘ere.”

“It’s a little out of the way…”

“Just trying to clear my head.”

As she poured the admittedly overbrewed tea she looked closely at him. He was pale, collarless, stubble glinted at his jaw and he held the cap in a clenched fist. His chest heaved. “Will you have sugar? Milk?”

“No. As it comes is fine. ”

“Let me take that coat. Will you sit?” She motioned to a chair and draped the coat neatly over the foot of the bed.

“Thanks.”

“Tommy, are you ok?”

“Getting there.” His eyes, clear despite the hour, said please. Help. Grace rested a hand on his shoulder, leaned in and gave him a kiss like flowers.

He took the seat offered. She sat where she had been, cursing herself a little for being unprepared. She was facing the stove so the wall was in the way of her favoured hand, he was between her and the door and even her gun was out of reach. But he was no threat. Not tonight. She eased back.

Tommy reached across and picked up her book, registering it; the title, Dubliners, the dull cloth binding, the thumbed quality. She said she had nearly finished it, only a few more pages of The Dead to go, did he want to borrow it? He raised his brows in surprise, “all right.” She smiled and nodded, noting the chill in the air that had descended after midnight, the light frost on the window pane. He said she should wait for July. Then he spoke about those swims, their escape from the furnace the city turned into; it was a pretty place they went to, a stream curved around a little beach before meeting the canal, he’d take her there when it was summer again. She said she used to swim in the stream at the bottom of the garden when she was a child. Grace loved swimming in rain, she said, which was fortunate because Ireland was so rarely sunny. Oh! And there was a kingfisher too, a beautiful bird, a friend, almost tame, that she fed sometimes with meat. When she wasn’t swimming she was riding or reading “in that order” or maybe pinning her horse brasses to a rich velvet backing. Tommy said he once collected brasses too, they’d often turn up somehow through Uncle Charlie and he liked holding them and admiring their shine. She used to order hers, she said, they’d arrive in the post, a highlight of any month. They went on in this way, this, that, smoking, drinking tea until, noticing her watching him closely again, he said, “You observe don’t you? That’s what you do.”

She sat back, “yes,” held his eyes, “it comes from growing up with no brothers or sisters, I think. But then, you watch too.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“It’s a useful skill. Observation. Learned it to pick a good horse. Needed it to stay alive.”

She understood he didn’t want to go further down that route and changed the tack a little. “What do you see now?” Moonlight dappled on her face through the net curtain. It was brighter than the lamp and half her features seemed shaded.

“I see someone who was once happy and… lonely. You’ve always been lonely. That’s how you know animals are better company than people.”

Her eyes flickered their tell. But he was talking about himself, too. “I like your company,” she said simply, artlessly. She reached for his hand.

“That’s something,” he nodded, and leaned towards her.

They moved together. She was everything as she wrapped around him; when her throat made the sweet dusky daybreak call he felt joy; as his love throbbed out deep inside her he found peace. And in the hinterland near sleep, fingers twined, her lips against his shoulder, he was safe. He slept like a child.

She knew the moment was coming when he would want to put a bullet in her. Maybe she’d be gone before it, maybe. Until then, she’d hold him and keep him with hands that had remembered gentleness. She had no choice. She waited for dawn.

*Grace hides Tommy from Campbell on Friday 21st November. Black Star Day is Wednesday 3rd December.

[sophieellisbextorarchives]

Sequins, songs, kids... dance! This is what saved SOPHIE ELLIS-BEXTOR’s sanity during lockdown

‘I think I’m doing this for me.’ But for now, we need to head back to her house, where Sonny has appeared, and Mickey is delighted to see his mum. Plates are waiting to be spun, and as I let myself out, Jesse is putting on a show in the kitchen, with Sophie as the audience, sitting under the disco ball. ....and her wonderfully joyous discos filmed in the family kitchen helped lift the nation’s spirits too. She tells Hattie Crisell why Friday nights round at hers became so precious

ORIGINAL ARTICLE: https://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/you/article-8549299/Sequins-songs-kids-dance-saved-SOPHIE-ELLIS-BEXTORs-sanity-lockdown.html

Sophie Ellis-Bextor opens the door to me with a toddler in her arms – smiley 18-month-old Mickey – and her four-year-old son Jesse behind her, his hair a deep shade of copper. ‘You have the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen,’ I tell him, genuinely quite dazzled, and he replies bashfully, ‘Well, I’ve just had it cut.’

Welcome to Sophie’s world: a large and glittering house in West London, packed to the rafters with kitsch, toys, cats and boys. I don’t know how many cats are around, but the boys number five: Mickey, Jesse, eight-year-old Ray, 11-year-old Kit and 16-year-old Sonny. Managing the lot are the singer, her husband Richard Jones (bass guitar player with The Feeling and the supergroup Loup GarouX), and a nanny, who joins them Monday to Friday during the working day. ‘I used to have a nanny who was with us all the time, and to be honest I felt like it was too much,’ says Sophie. ‘It’s fine if it’s my thing that I think about 24 hours a day, but I think it’s healthy for other people to have their own life away from it all. It’s five kids – it’s a lot.’

It certainly is, and it’s hard to imagine how demanding it must have been during lockdown, when the only one missing was the nanny. The public got a glimpse of this when Sophie performed a weekly series of ‘kitchen discos’, broadcasting them live via Instagram, her husband filming on his phone. They launched these shows during the bleakest part of the pandemic, and the good will that emanated from them was enormously cheering. She would appear in a sequined jumpsuit or rainbow-striped dress, a pair of platforms at the end of her mile-long legs, and would serenade the camera while children wandered casually in and out of view. Sometimes her teenage son would jump in to rescue the baby from a trailing wire, or one of the boys would need a cuddle, and their mother would pull them in close, keeping her other hand on the mic.

It was charming chaos. The music encompassed hits from Sophie’s back catalogue such as ‘Murder on the Dancefloor’ and ‘Take Me Home’ – or ‘Stay at Home’, as she rechristened it – but also crowd-pleasing covers and theatrical numbers from shows such as Grease. For the audience, it offered uplifting relief from the frightening reality of the time: climbing death rates and isolation. It was comfort music, I say. ‘Exactly,’ she agrees. ‘And disco’s always had that for me anyway. It’s so euphoric and joyful, and it’s complex. In disco you can have the most painful, heartbreaking scenarios, but they’re in among something that makes you want to put your hands in the air and sing along. I think music can allow you the space to feel joy and anxiety at once.’

I am delighted to find that one end of their large kitchen still looks very much as it did, with the disco ball and a half-deflated helium balloon in place over the sofa. She confirms that it’s more or less always like this, perhaps minus the tinsel curtain. Colour and fun are everywhere in the house, from the framed retro artworks filling every wall, to the pinball machine in pride of place. At the other end of the kitchen, a diner-style menu-board for the kids bears the words, ‘Be polite or no service.’

Leaving the children with the nanny, Sophie and I head out to chat on a bench in the park. She’s wearing an embroidered navy dress and a red fluffy cardigan, with red lipstick that has mostly worn off; at 41, she’s truly beautiful, with very pale green eyes. Despite what we’ve seen from her on Instagram, it hasn’t been an easy time. For one thing, there was the fall from her bike in June that left her in hospital with a gory head wound. When I mention it, though, she brushes it off with, ‘I cannot dine out on that any more.’ Then she adds, ‘I mean, I don’t recommend cycling off a towpath – it did hurt.’

‘I knew that this was something that was happening in millions of households. I do worry about all my parents – I say “all” because I’ve got step-parents as well – but I think really it was focused on John, because he’s so vulnerable. It’s such a weird, torturous thing isn’t it for human beings, if you say that hanging out with someone you love is the one thing that might actually endanger them? How can you wrap your head around that?’

She hasn’t been thrilled with the government messaging around the virus. ‘“Stay at home” is clear and concise and all ages get it. “Stay alert”? I hardly ever feel alert. I don’t feel alert now.

And we’ve all shown we’re good at following guidelines that make sense, but you can’t keep bending it for people. Look at the effect when the rules were made flexible.’ She seems to be referring obliquely to the Dominic Cummings/Barnard Castle debacle. ‘We all thought, “Oh well, if we could have been going off and having day trips all this time, why was I staying at home and not seeing my mum, who lives ten minutes away?” I found that really tough.’

The kitchen discos were as much for her and the family as they were for the audience. ‘It was Richard’s idea. One day we were making plans and doing stuff, and the next day it was like, boomph, everything shut down. Suddenly we were just home all the time, all work cancelled, all the festivals… I was supposed to be going to Australia, New Zealand, I had gigs all round Europe. And Richard was, like, “Well, why don’t we do a gig here, and it gives us something to do and a bit of fun?” I think we missed everybody.’

Performing during that time, even via Instagram, gave her a huge sense of connection, she says. ‘I honestly don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t had that, and I don’t know how it would have been for our family, because it became really precious.’ She’s now planning a Kitchen Disco Tour next May (there will also be an album, out this October), and hopes it will offer audiences a cathartic experience. ‘I want to provide a place where people can get lost in the moment. I want them to walk out of there and go, “Oh my goodness, I didn’t know how much I needed that.”’

It was no surprise to her boys to see her dressed up and performing; Mickey sleeps in the room where she keeps her fantastic stage wardrobe, and they’ve all been with her to festivals, gigs and recording studios. It was clear from their low-key presence in the kitchen discos (she left it up to them whether they wanted to be there or not) that they’re not fazed by it. ‘The older I’ve got, the more the me at home and the me on stage is the same person anyway,’ she says. Her first solo album came out almost 20 years ago; this one will be her eighth.

She’s also just celebrated her 15th wedding anniversary with Richard. Theirs was a whirlwind romance that stuck: ‘I found out I was having a baby after only about six weeks,’ she says with a smile. ‘We’d known each other for a while – he’d been in my band – but we’d literally just started dating and I hadn’t even really told anybody.’ Sonny was born two months prematurely, thus arriving only eight months after they’d got together.

And they’ve now got him almost to adulthood, I say. ‘Yeah, and he’s lovely; he’s his own person. You know, parenthood is so much more reactive than I ever thought,’ she says. ‘I thought it was all about what you put in. It’s not. I realised it the day I had him: I looked at this tiny baby and I thought, “Oh my goodness, you’re Sonny, and now I’ve got to help you show me who you are and what you need from me.”’

To raise five children while continually working is no mean feat, and she mentions that there were tense moments during lockdown. But she and Richard clearly make a good team. ‘I guess the thing that’s often not celebrated as much in long-term relationships – and I think this goes for family members, friends, all sorts of relationships where there’s love – is that we actually really like each other,’ she says. ‘I really like who Richard is, and I respect him and I like spending time with him.’

She took an extended break after Sonny came along, following a difficult birth. ‘But to be honest, the more babies I’ve had and the older I’ve got, the more confident I’ve become about what I can do around being pregnant and having kids,’ she says. ‘I’ve been better with the last couple at just keeping going with the work either side of it. I have a job where I can basically call the shots a bit. I’m very lucky with that and I totally exploit it. Also I like it if I do a big gig and I’m six months pregnant – I feel quite clever,’ she laughs.

The challenges of this complicated life have inspired Sophie’s new project – the podcast Spinning Plates, on which she chats to other working mums, including Caitlin Moran, Fearne Cotton, the mummy blogger Candice Brathwaite, and her own mother Janet. ‘I’ve got such a brilliant array of women, and honestly it feels like a privilege to sit there for an hour and ask them loads of nosy stuff,’ she says. ‘Obviously the springboard is the idea of the working mother, but actually what really unites us is we’re all women, and there are so many things about being a modern woman… It’s a rich pot of stuff to go through, really.’

She loved having the chance to interview her mum. ‘In my head she’s always been this real trailblazer and very confident. She never seemed to have any guilt with any of her work, and I’m glad, because it gave me a good role model of “It’s OK for me to be selfish enough to have my work and keep it separate if I want to, and do the things I want to do.” I don’t think I would have been confident enough if I hadn’t had a mum like that; I’ve struggled a bit to give myself permission sometimes even with that.’

Another chat, with Yvonne Telford, founder of the fashion brand Kemi Telford, made her realise that at times she’s too self-critical. ‘She said she hates it when she hears women say, “Oh, I’m such an idiot,” and I was, like, “God, I do that all the time.” Even with the podcast, when I first started writing to people I wanted as guests, I’d say, “Don’t worry, I know how it goes – you’re probably too busy to reply.” Then I was, like, what am I doing? I’m saying to them, “Ignore me!”’ She bursts out laughing. It sounds as though making the podcast might be rather empowering. ‘Yes,’ she agrees.

[wiff-waff]

The deed is done. Yesterday David handed in his notice, he finishes on the last day of April and then we go, far far away.

We had a small soiree south to LB but only stayed 1 night because the weather was dull and the towpath like Piccadilly freaking Circus.

Not pleasing.

I got a text from a boater friend who used to reside on jetty 2 then decamped to a permanent mooring canal-side with electric hook up, water and small patch of land on the Aylesbury arm saying a mooring had become available and were we interested? We phoned the number she gave us and the guy said once they'd moved the boats around he'd get back to us and we had first refusal.

We've been looking for a permanent mooring for ages, this ticks all my boxes and sounds perfect but for some reason David isn't keen. It's on a farm and looks abit overgrown on Google Earth and he's not feeling the love but he can fuck off, if I like it we're taking it, end of.

And I always get my way.

Ben and I went guerrilla gardening. Such fun.

First we hit the barren bank by bridge 90 and then the mile post where we sit and come summer that dreary bank will be festooned with glorious gladioli that will gladden the eyes of weary boaters and walkers alike and my job in MK shall be done.

Happy Easter x

[interminal]

[ It takes a long time for Jean to feel safe enough to stop, and it’s only because Victoria looks too exhausted to continue. But they’re so far up the towpath that the city is a vague memory, and there’s nowhere nearby to stay. They huddle under a bridge. Jean pulls a blanket from his backpack and throws it over their shoulders. ]

[ The weight of it on him feels like chains. But this is nothing like Turkey. ]

[ They talk for a while - distraction, unrelated topics - and eventually Jean’s watching Victoria as she somehow manages to doze off. It’s too cold to sleep. And in the far distance, every voice, every car, every other unexplained noise makes him fear for the worst. ]

[ He needs to tell her everything. One day, he will, if they survive this. ]

[chrysaliseuro2019]

Crowds,Canals & a Musical

Chris headed off to Kent for the family and friends catch up while I stayed in London. Walked into West End and walked out as fast as I could. The sheer volume of people led me to wonder if aimlesstours.com had a worldwide special to London for Saturday 22nd June. The purpose of my visit was to buy a ticket to a play. Had a shortlist of four but all appeared sold out online so Half Price Tix - a total misnomer that should be reported to consumer affairs - was the last option. Unfortunately the first three choices not available so had to settle for number 4.

Scoped out the location of the theatre as suspected I’d be against the clock at showtime 7.30. Skedaddled out of the West End as fast as I could heading towards Angel to catch up with Georgie’s old mate Alex. A few hours to kill allowed for some exploring around the shops but even better a lengthy walk along Regents Canal which stretches for 13+ kilometres but I can’t claim to have walked that. With the sun out it was a walk of joy to watch the Poms and others celebrating the arrival of summer. The path a mere 2 metres at its widest snakes alongside the canal which is flanked by endless barges most looking to be occupied as houses. Did notice you could buy one for £100,000 seemed a little steep for a near derelict floating narrow home with no land included. Still, with London real estate prices, maybe it was a bargain.

There was plenty to see while enjoying my walk - many cyclists some wobbling nervously keeping a wary eye on the canal while others earnestly weaving their entitled way through the walkers consisting of families pushing prams, cuddling lovers, friends with or without dogs , strange odd-bods and every other person drawn to stroll the towpath (wondered if I fitted into the odd-bods category). Then of course there were the runners (all to be admired in my book), some plodding possibly under the strain of extra winter kilos while others fleet of foot bounced along barely raising a sweat.

Finally were the hardier folk, those taking to the canal on blow-up dinghies or in spa party boats happily yahooing along decked out in costumes, beers in hand seemingly oblivious to the colour of the canal, whatever effluent it might be carrying and the patches of green scum floating along with them.

Met Alex for a drink at a pub along the canal The Narrowboat and very much enjoyed our catchup. Apart from her Aussie accent Alex is very much a London girl these days thriving on the variety a big city offers.

As expected had to bolt to get to the theatre in time but while expensive £7+ for a day pass (compared to Melbourne $8+) it is frequent meaning if you miss one tube then another one will follow shortly after. Got to Phoenix Theatre in Charing Cross Road with a few minutes to spare to see Come From Away, the story about small town Gander in Newfoundland Canada where 7000 stranded passengers were housed for 5 days during airspace lockdowns after 9/11. I’d seen a documentary on it before leaving home and thought the premise interesting as a humanitarian story. So how did the play shape up? Firstly it was a musical but I can’t remember any of the songs. Secondly (and I could be wrong here) I’d be surprised if Newfoundlanders speak with an Irish accent but that’s how the British actors portrayed a Canadian accent. On the plus side the production was tight, actors enthusiastic and it was often amusing and occasionally poignant. However I seemed totally out of sync with the audience with my lack of enthusiasm as they were hollerin’ and whoopin’ throughout and at the end cheered loudly and shot up as one in a standing ovation leaving me feeling conspicuous as I sat, so I too joined the ovation. There’s a lot of North American accents in town so maybe they were making up the majority of the audience. Meanwhile I left wishing I could’ve got into any of choices 1-3 (Hamilton, Present Laughter, Black is the Colour of My Voice).

Sunday was catch up with friend Abigail from London days of ‘79-81. Met in Sloane Square (can’t ever think of Sloane Square without Princess Di coming to mind) for lunch with one year’s news condensed into 3 hours. As always it was wonderful to see her. While in the ‘hood it would be negligent not to peruse the shops in Kings Road which probably like most of us have lost their edginess of yesteryear. Gone are the avant-guard designers of the 60’s replaced largely by smaller chains like Reiss, Anthropologie etc. Nonetheless it was no hardship wandering along checking out what’s hot in London.

Bus back to Pimlico where Chris arrived home from his big weekend. Quiet night in catching up with news from home, blog etc.

Post Script - saw first hand how reactive London Police are to something out of the ordinary in 2019. A young heavily accented man with a freshly bandaged arm in Islington was running up to people yelling ‘Please help me’ ‘You’ve got to help me’ in desperate pleas. I saw him hassling an elderly lady with her backing off quite alarmed. He then approached another person doing the same. I slipped into a bookshop for a brief mosey and by the time I emerged, only a few minutes later, 2 police cars had arrived and the police had him on the ground handcuffed. Last I saw he was still beseeching for help and being loaded into the police van. Sadly London has more than its fair share of homeless, down-and-outs and trouble souls in 2019. :(