#uk women lawn ideas
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
A sporting account… on Tumblr?
Bit of an experiment, this. Hopefully not a mistake.
Hello. I’m Rafael. I play boccia, which is a Paralympic sport (e.g., a sport which is in the Paralympics, like goalball, wheelchair rugby, etc). It’s a cousin of pétanque, lawn bowls, curling, and all those other sports whose ancient ancestor is someone going “I bet I can get my rock closer to that pebble over there than you can get yours”. Boccia is played indoors, in a space almost exactly the same size as a badminton court, as individuals, in pairs, or teams of 3. In the UK the overwhelming emphasis is on individual play, although pairs and teams competition is growing in global significance.
I’m a member of the newly reformed England squad, run by our governing body Boccia England, and I’m classified as a BC3 athlete - that means that instead of throwing or kicking the balls, we roll them down a ramp instead. The ramp is positioned, and balls set up on it for us, by a Ramp Operator - for me, that’s either one of my personal assistants, or increasingly, my partner. The RO isn’t allowed to see what’s going on on the court, they have to keep their back to it at all times during matchplay - they’re only allowed to physically help, not tactically help.
Playing boccia changed my life - I’ve always been a competitive person but until I discovered the sport in 2012, aged 27, had not only no access to participate in sports but no idea that a sport I could meaningfully play even existed. My sporting career is a direct legacy of the 2012 London Paralympics; it was the presentation of the Boccia UK Squad at the opening ceremony which resulted in the penny dropping. I was at my first club session within a few weeks, and attended my first competition a few weeks after that - I won a bronze medal, and was hooked.
My breakout year was the 2018-2019 season; our last complete season before the pandemic brought everything to a screeching halt. That year I zoomed my way through the Heathcoat Cup national finals - our ‘second division’ competition, a precious space for beginner and improving players to learn their trade without getting steamrollered by the pros - which qualified me directly into the BE Cup Finals, which is the de facto England national championship. I won my pool, unbeaten, and ultimately came 4th, which saw me begin the 2019-2020 season ranked 5th in England, behind two international athletes and two England players.
After that came a funny couple of years; half a season and two bronze medals in BE Cup Qualifiers before the pandemic stopped everything, and then a heavily modified “Back to Boccia” season for 2021-2022, at which I won the gold medal at two of the three Back To Boccia Cup events, went and won the qualifying tournament for the German National Boccia Championships in Düsseldorf - broadening my horizons as a dual national - before being selected for my very first Boccia UK Challenger. The Challengers are events run by BUK to provide the UK national squad, and selected others from the home countries, with additional formal competition experience. At the Gloucester Challenger there were 4 Boccia UK-supported athletes; two men from the World Class Programme and two women being supported in their development with coaching and world-class equipment, including Paralympian Scott McCowan, who had come 4th in Tokyo just nine months earlier. I beat all four UK athletes, and ultimately came second to my England colleague Matt Berry. That silver medal is my greatest achievement, to date. Matt and I followed that up with another one-two finish at the special, pandemic-edition competition run within the talent pathway as a substitute for the England national championships, which resulted in my being selected for my very first UK National Championships, where I lost only to the two McCowan brothers, Paralympians both, and ultimately came 6th. Just a fortnight later I was in Berlin, where I won the silver medal in the German National Championships.
I’ve just kicked off the 2022-2023 season with a very solid 5th place at the first BE Cup qualifier competition, and I’m off up to the SMILE Boccia Open tomorrow, to train up a shiny new personal assistant as a ramp operator. Wish us luck!
http://www.rafaelyoung.co.uk
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
Your Permission to Belong: a Deep Yes and a New Verb: To Matronise.
It turns out we are all imposters, or at least most of us feel we are. Although I knew this - it’s why I wrote a blog about it last month - I am still amazed and troubled that it is true. That so many of us feel like we don’t cut it, even in the context of a group like Mothers Who Make (MWM) that aims to be welcoming, inclusive, accessible. It has left me pondering on the opposite of Imposter Syndrome, on what it is that makes you, me, any of us, feel that we belong, that we have a right to be here. Who says? What or who gives us a sense of permission?
Permission -it’s a difficult word, not the obvious go-to one when on a quest for a sense of belonging. I associate it most immediately with stern, finger-wagging teachers, or ‘keep off the grass’ notices- with authority figures and forces that have the power to deny access. In its origins (Latin, permitere) it means to allow through, to let pass, which is why I think it is the key to our sense of belonging. Before we can belong, there is always a threshold moment, a point at which we are allowed to pass. Imposter Syndrome comes about when you feel you sneaked across the border - you are wandering about without a permit and it is only a matter of time before someone finds you out. No one gave you permission.
This is a top down model. The supplicant asks, waits anxiously to see if permission will be granted or denied by the authorities. It is a hugely powerful model. I still remember the first time I managed to get funding, the money was a minimal sum but far more significant was the feeling that someone had chosen me, had granted me permission to make a piece of work. Given how small the grant was, why couldn’t I have made it anyway?! Because I wanted an external authority to tell me I could. I wanted to be patron-ised.
Whilst, in theory, being a feminist and all, I didn’t agree with the patriarchal structure of this system, I was hopelessly hooked into it. I was a good girl, or desperate to be so, to acquire paternal approval to affirm my right to be or do anything. It has taken me becoming a mother to feel, viscerally, how problematic this top-down model of permission-giving can be.
As someone who had long identified as the supplicant, it was rather a shock, when I became a parent, to find myself in the position of authority- the one to dish out or withhold the permissions, in a hundred small ways, many times a day and I have found it exhausting. Perhaps because of this, I fear I am a permissive parent- I often allow my children to do what they want. Irrespective of what parenting methods you believe in, I think it is significant that being ‘permissive' has negative connotations. To say yes too often is a no-no. When I do say no, I have been struck, as my children grow, by the force of their reactions. They rage at first – which is hard - but then they walk away, which is harder. My daughter goes into a corner. My son has been known to make it out the door and down the lane. Both have told me I am the worst mother in the world and that they are in the wrong family - they don’t belong (their shared sense of melodrama is evidence to the contrary, but I refrain from putting this to them in the moment). My daughter is particularly sensitive to any of her wishes, ideas, words not being given full approval. Her back rounds, her head bows, the tears start. Sometimes this happens, not when I have frowned at her, but when I have condoned her brother. She is convinced that it is impossible for me to love her if I also love him. In other words, if she is to belong, she feels someone else must be left out- her inclusion only counts if he has been excluded. Needless to say, I find this very distressing. This is not what I want for her or her brother. And this is not what I want for MWM. I do not want to lead a movement that makes people feel left out, or as if they are imposters, one that furthers the dominant narrative around belonging- that some are allowed in, while others aren’t. What to do?
I remember back to a project I ran before Mothers Who Make called Permission Improbable, a play on the macho action spy movies, Mission: Impossible. The project, which I lead through Improbable, had the modest ambition of changing the world by supporting more women and non-binary people to improvise. Improvising, at its heart, is a game of permission-giving. In the absence of a writer or director - the usual authority figures - you have to practice giving your permission, saying yes, to the other players, the audience, to yourself- your impulses, feelings, thoughts. You never say no. It is not that every patch of grass in an impro scene can be trampled on, but rather that if someone puts up a ‘Do Not Walk Here’ sign everyone on stage says ‘yes’ to it, to the idea of it being part of the story. How ever many lawns are out of bounds, there is a deeper yes always at work- a common ground beneath the turf.
This presents a different model of permission-giving, not top-down, but reciprocal, and unconditional. We say yes to each other, and we say it together, without deliberation. Saying this deep yes to our ideas and impulses is not easy. We have been schooled to look outside ourselves, and upwards, for permission, and we have been trained to say ‘no’- sometimes with good reason. Sometimes ‘no’ keeps us alive. However too many ‘no’s may keep us less alive than we might be. It takes practice to say ‘yes’ but it is worth practicing. Arguably it is THE practice - the only thing you ever really have to practice, as a maker, as a mother- saying a deep “Yes.”
Image by Zoe Gardner @limberdoodle
I remember there was a time as a teenager when I ruthlessly dismissed my mother’s opinion of anything I did. She was my mum, massively biased - she’d always think what I had made was good so her positive feedback didn’t count. Retrospectively I disagree with my teenage self - I believe my mother’s validation of me counted hugely. I think it always counts. There is a place for discernment, but not at the expense of the first, fundamental practice, the ‘yes’ that gets us over the threshold.
When framed in this way, I actually think I need to be more permissive with my children. I need to practice, every day, saying a deep ‘yes’ to them, even or especially in the moments I am not allowing them to do something. As their mother I am their initial threshold, my body was the border they crossed into life. It is my task to say ‘yes’ to them. Yes, you are allowed to be here. Yes, you belong. I realise the children, in their own way, always say this kind of deep ‘Yes’ back to me, even when they are telling me I am the worst mother in the world. I believe that if I can engage in this reciprocal, unconditional model of permission-giving, it can result in a form of belonging that is not ‘in’ or ‘out’, inclusion/ exclusion - not another binary, but an ongoing dynamic process called community. And that is how I want to run Mothers Who Make, and in particular how I want to run our ‘Matronage’ membership scheme.
Let me do a brief re-cap on the Matronage story for anyone who doesn’t know it. In 2019, after a year of writing funding applications for MWM to councils, trusts (the UK patrons of the arts) and receiving no money - money being the major way in which permission is granted or denied in our culture - I was tired. I wanted to find a way to sustain the movement that was in line with the movement, that supported women/ non-binary carers to support themselves and one another, so I launched the Matronage scheme - if we could reach 300 Matron Saints, paying £1 to 10 per month, we could just about keep going. So far, a year on, we have 150.
My vision for Matronage is to see if it is possible to run a membership scheme powered entirely by the impulse to include, not by patronising ‘exclusive, members-only offers.’ I want to build a scheme that is accessible to anyone, no matter their financial status. There are benefits for signing up as a MWM Matron, but the primary, underlying one is that in doing so you are performing a radical act of permission-giving. It is a way to say a deep, resounding YES, to yourself and to others who care about creating and create whilst caring. Yes, you have a right to be here, Yes, your caring matters, Yes, your making matters too. And, yes, if you are reading this, you belong, no matter what your gender identity is, what your making practice is or isn’t, no matter whether you have children or not. Because, whilst it is important to practice saying ‘yes’ to yourself and your ideas, I do not think it is possible to do it all alone. We do need permission from outside ourselves, but we can give it to each other. Even if, like me, you do not identify as being someone important enough to hand out a permit, actually you are- I see it every time I run a MWM meeting or Mother Den. We can allow each other to pass through to a place of belonging, and it is a practice - we must do it over and over again. Let’s call this process ‘being matronised.’
To become a Matron Saint, you can pay anything from £1 per month to £10 per month - you choose. Most people pay £3, but if you can afford it £5 or £10 is brilliant. If you can’t £1 is fine. And if you cannot afford any monetary contribution then you can get in touch and we can playfully, joyfully, shamelessly, work out another kind of offering that you can make. Money is the fastest, and ironically often the cheapest way of saying ‘yes!’ but there are many others.
For now, when you become a Matron Saint you can:
-Attend as many International MWM peer support meetings as you like.*
-Attend as many Mother Dens as you like.*
-Attend any of the MWM Specials.*
-Write a Matron Saint interview, published online, celebrating you and your caring and creating.
-Apply to our Mother Pot commissioning fund once we reach 300 Matron Saints (when this happens a month of our Matronage will go back out to the matrons).
-Take part in our peer-mentoring scheme when I manage to launch it (watch this space!)
-Last but not least, you will give yourself and others permission. Permission to step over whichever thresholds you are teetering on. Permission to belong. And here is a new idea to make this tangible: when you become a Matron I would like to post you a ‘book of permissions,’ a living document to which you can add and which you will pass on to the next Matron, and so and so forth - a way to matronise one another. Such a list reminds me of what is apparently the nation’s favourite poem - Warning- the one in which the poet (Jenny Joseph) lists the outrageous things she will permit herself to do when she grows old - wear purple, pick flowers in other peoples’ gardens, learn to spit. I want to read your equivalent lists for now - let’s not wait till we grow any older.
Here, then, are your questions for the month, and I hope you will feel able to sign up as a Matron, invite others to do so (all genders welcome, non-mothers too), and write your answers in the new MWM book:
What do you need in order to feel you belong? What permission are you waiting for? Can you give it to yourself? Can you give it to others? Can you say a resounding ‘Yes’ to whatever it is you want to create in this world?
To become a matron go here:
https://www.nowdonate.com/checkout/td65v9xn404udt23p91c
To sign up as a matron and offer something other than money email me: [email protected]
*These particular matronly offers are, unless otherwise stated, open to women and non-binary folk only.
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Being locked up in a house...will not be the same
I am writing to you from Italy, which means I am writing from your future. We are now where you will be in a few days. The epidemic’s charts show us all entwined in a parallel dance.
We are but a few steps ahead of you in the path of time, just like Wuhan was a few weeks ahead of us. We watch you as you behave just as we did. You hold the same arguments we did until a short time ago, between those who still say “it’s only a flu, why all the fuss?” and those who have already understood.
As we watch you from here, from your future, we know that many of you, as you were told to lock yourselves up into your homes, quoted Orwell, some even Hobbes. But soon you’ll be too busy for that.
First of all, you’ll eat. Not just because it will be one of the few last things that you can still do.
You’ll find dozens of social networking groups with tutorials on how to spend your free time in fruitful ways. You will join them all, then ignore them completely after a few days.
You’ll pull apocalyptic literature out of your bookshelves, but will soon find you don’t really feel like reading any of it.
You’ll eat again. You will not sleep well. You will ask yourselves what is happening to democracy.
You’ll have an unstoppable online social life – on Messenger, WhatsApp, Skype, Zoom…
You will miss your adult children like you never have before; the realisation that you have no idea when you will ever see them again will hit you like a punch in the chest.
Old resentments and falling-outs will seem irrelevant. You will call people you had sworn never to talk to ever again, so as to ask them: “How are you doing?” Many women will be beaten in their homes.
You will wonder what is happening to all those who can’t stay home because they don’t have one. You will feel vulnerable when going out shopping in the deserted streets, especially if you are a woman. You will ask yourselves if this is how societies collapse. Does it really happen so fast? You’ll block out these thoughts and when you get back home you’ll eat again.
You will put on weight. You’ll look for online fitness training.
You’ll laugh. You’ll laugh a lot. You’ll flaunt a gallows humour you never had before. Even people who’ve always taken everything dead seriously will contemplate the absurdity of life, of the universe and of it all.
You will make appointments in the supermarket queues with your friends and lovers, so as to briefly see them in person, all the while abiding by the social distancing rules.
You will count all the things you do not need.
The true nature of the people around you will be revealed with total clarity. You will have confirmations and surprises.
Literati who had been omnipresent in the news will disappear, their opinions suddenly irrelevant; some will take refuge in rationalisations which will be so totally lacking in empathy that people will stop listening to them. People whom you had overlooked, instead, will turn out to be reassuring, generous, reliable, pragmatic and clairvoyant.
Those who invite you to see all this mess as an opportunity for planetary renewal will help you to put things in a larger perspective. You will also find them terribly annoying: nice, the planet is breathing better because of the halved CO2 emissions, but how will you pay your bills next month?
You will not understand if witnessing the birth of a new world is more a grandiose or a miserable affair.
You will play music from your windows and lawns. When you saw us singing opera from our balconies, you thought “ah, those Italians”. But we know you will sing uplifting songs to each other too. And when you blast I Will Survive from your windows, we’ll watch you and nod just like the people of Wuhan, who sung from their windows in February, nodded while watching us.
Many of you will fall asleep vowing that the very first thing you’ll do as soon as lockdown is over is file for divorce.
Many children will be conceived.
Your children will be schooled online. They’ll be horrible nuisances; they’ll give you joy.
Elderly people will disobey you like rowdy teenagers: you’ll have to fight with them in order to forbid them from going out, to get infected and die.
You will try not to think about the lonely deaths inside the ICU.
You’ll want to cover with rose petals all medical workers’ steps.
You will be told that society is united in a communal effort, that you are all in the same boat. It will be true. This experience will change for good how you perceive yourself as an individual part of a larger whole.
Class, however, will make all the difference. Being locked up in a house with a pretty garden or in an overcrowded housing project will not be the same. Nor is being able to keep on working from home or seeing your job disappear. That boat in which you’ll be sailing in order to defeat the epidemic will not look the same to everyone nor is it actually the same for everyone: it never was.
At some point, you will realise it’s tough. You will be afraid. You will share your fear with your dear ones, or you will keep it to yourselves so as not to burden them with it too.
You will eat again.
We’re in Italy, and this is what we know about your future. But it’s just small-scale fortune-telling. We are very low-key seers.
If we turn our gaze to the more distant future, the future which is unknown both to you and to us too, we can only tell you this: when all of this is over, the world won’t be the same.
~ Francesca Melandri, A letter to the UK from Italy: this is what we know about your future (The Guardian, March 27, 2020)
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
Damn Him
Inspired by the pictures and gifs of Wimbledon 2019
You can hardly stay focused on anything with an excited Tom dressed in a new suit for a day at the All England Lawn Tennis & Croquet Club. All you want to do is peel that expensive suit off of that body.
Pairing: Tom Hiddleston/Reader || Word Count: 1.6k || Rated: T || Warnings: Tom Hiddleston being a full course meal. I mean seriously, how does it get any yummier than him?
Steps were heard in the hallway coming toward your bedroom. Perfect timing, you had just slipped into your floral dress and you needed to be zipped up.
“Will you zip me up?” You called out and not but a few seconds later, you felt his fingers on your back. Tom pulled on the zipper for what seemed like a century, his movements were slow as if he were savoring the task. His breath hit the back of your neck and was soon replaced with his lips as he pressed a couple of kisses to the nape.
“Is this new?”
You bit your lip, “Yeah…” Your reply was breathless and you mentally cursed him for doing this to you before the two of you went out for the afternoon.
“I like it. Fits you perfectly.” His lips touched your cheek in a quick peck as he moved around you to the closet.
So do your clothes. You thought with a grin.
With your bottom lip between your teeth, your eyes were glued to his deliciously curved backside as you watched him go, his navy blue pants hugged him generously, giving you a very pleasing view. His light blue dress shirt was tight around his upper back and shoulders, showing off his lean but muscular build. The view was brief as he disappeared into the closet, but returned a few moments later with his new racket patterned tie that you had gotten him for this birthday a few months back. It warmed your heart to see his eyes light up when he'd opened it that day, a long lasting smile graced his lips and you knew he loved it.
“Return the favor?” He asked but you were already holding out your hand for him to pass you the tie. You ran your fingers along it, feeling its tiny ridges as you held it in your grip before looping it around his neck so that you could fasten it. You noticed the childlike grin on his face, the one he typically got when he was about to go somewhere that he thoroughly enjoyed.
“Are you excited?”
His grin never faltered as he shook his head stiffly, trying not to move too much as you fixed his tie. “No… Maybe."
“Don’t lie to me. You’re ecstatic. You can barely keep still.” You giggled, thinking about how adorable it was that this kind of stuff made him this happy. It was the little things.
Tom chuckled sheepishly, “It’s supposed to be an interesting tournament this year. A lot of promising players.”
You finished up with his tie and couldn’t help but stand up on the tip of your toes with your arms draped around his neck to give him a kiss. He placed his hands to your back and brought you a little closer, bringing your lips more firmly against his. You groaned into the kiss as he ran his warm, slick tongue across your bottom lip. Pulling back, you gave him a playful glare, "Now that's not fair. We don't have time for this."
"You started it." He gave your lips a short, chaste kiss and removed himself from you.
"Wh- How do you figure that?!" You called after him as he walked away. Tom left you to go finished getting ready, leaving you standing there with your heart beating fast and wondering how in the hell you started it. If he was talking about your quickly intended kiss, then he was wrong! It wasn't your fault he responded so well to it.
You shook your head as you slipped on a pair of heels and went to fetch your jewelry, your mind completely stuck on that kiss. Damn him.
As you were putting your earrings in, you saw him step into view by the reflection of the mirror on your vanity.
Oh fuck me.
Now with his completed look in your view, you felt all of your breath leave your lungs. He looked like a damn treat. No, scratch that. He looked like an entire fucking meal. A majestic lion is what really came to mind when you first laid eyes on him, his mane and beard was groomed to your liking. His naturally waved hair slicked back and his beard neatly trimmed. Your eyes wandered downward to the rest of his body. The darkness of his suit made him look taller than he already was, the jacket fit him to a T. Now that you had distance between you, it gave you a better view of his whole situation... and more importantly, his package situation.
You swallowed, returning your attention to the earring you had tried to stick into your earlobe at least five times, but failed. Your distracted movements had seemingly gone unnoticed by Tom, who had come up behind you to place his hands onto your waist.
"Are you ready to go? Our car will be here in ten minutes."
"Yeah, almost." Finally, you focused and got the earring to cooperate and thread into your ear.
Tom's hands slid his hands to your stomach, pulling you against his chest in a warm embrace. You rested your arms on top of his and squeezed them in return. You turned your head and he kissed you a couple of times before pulling back to look at you. "You look absolutely beautiful, my darling. You make me a proud husband."
You giggled, gazing into his pretty blue eyes that were staring back into yours. "I'm just as proud to be your wife. Look how handsome you are in your new Ralph Lauren suit. Such a stud."
Tom glanced down at himself and you felt the tips of his curls brush against the side of your neck with the tilt of his head. "Is that what this is?" He mumbled and a chuckle escaped his lips as he looked back up at you with a playful grin, "A stud, huh?"
"Yes," You sighed dramatically, "I'm going to have to bat all the old ladies off of you today."
"Nevermind that you imply that only someone old would be attracted to me or that Tennis is only spectated by older individuals…" You couldn't help but giggle at his hilarious assumption. He raised his eyebrows in a playfully shocked look, "You would harm all of those elderly women?"
You let a wicked grin form on your lips, "You make me do crazy things, Mr. Hiddleston."
Tom laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Crazy things, hm? Why don't you show me what-" His suggestion was cut short by his cell phone ringing in his pocket. He pressed a kiss to your cheek and answered the call, walking off to talk to the person on the other end of the line.
You assumed that it was your driver, reaching over to take your small handbag from the vanity and following him out. Sure enough, Tom was ushering you out of the house and into the car.
The whole way over, you glanced over at Tom as he chatted with your longtime, trusted driver about today's plans, all the while unknowingly holding your undivided attention as his hand held yours between you, his thumb brushing your knuckles constantly, almost like he was reminding you that his sexy self was sitting there so close. They discussed what they thought the outcome would be and other Tennis related politics, which kept him too busy to catch you eyefucking him in his suit.
You wanted nothing more than to thread your fingers into that golden brown hair and tug him to you. Fantasies about fucking him in the backseat right then and there ran wild in your mind.
Damn him.
As much as you loved to see his suit on, you couldn't wait to take it off of him later. No really, you couldn't wait. You couldn't focus on the match, you didn't have a clue most of the time. You tried not to keep looking at him during the entirety of the event, but you couldn't help it. He just looked so good. Thank goodness for that unfaltering focus of his, you were free to oogle him as much as you had liked without him scolding your lack of attention toward the game.
The day dragged on, seeming like it lasted for weeks before you were finally on your way home. Tom was in a good mood, chatting happily with driver about the outcome while your hand rested on his thigh, mostly going unnoticed. He draped his arm around you when you'd done it, but that's about it. Gosh, he was so oblivious sometimes. Sometimes he had no idea the affect he had on you.
The moment the driver stopped outside of your house, you were ready to go inside. Obviously, Tom was not. He kept his conversation going, his enthusiasm would have been cute if arousal wasn't swirling around in your belly with anticipation.
Finally, after you couldn't take it anymore, you laid your hand gently on his arm, "Tom…"
He looked at you with the realization that you were waiting on him and flashed you an apologetic look. "Sorry love. We'll go inside now." He turned back to the driver and said his goodbyes before the two of you exited the car.
You thought you were home free when Tom stepped out of the car, until the driver said something and Tom turned back to answer him.
"Ohhhh no you don't." You tugged Tom's arm and he gasped, quickly saying goodbye to him.
"What's this about?"
"I've been mentally undressing you all day, I'm not waiting a second longer." You grabbed his tie and pulled him toward the house as he grinned at you.
"So about these crazy things I make you do, Mrs. Hiddleston. Care to show me now?"
"Oh trust me, Mr. Hiddleston, I plan to."
@fandom-and-feminism @fadingcoast @igotloki @mrshiddleston-uk @nikkalia @manager-of-mischief @spidey-bites @kcd15 @dangertoozmanykids101 @xxloki81xx @devilbat @furstinnajoelle @exbandragirl @sabine-leo @screw-real-life-i-pick-fandoms @officiallyunofficialperson @joyofbebbanburg @littlefrogstuff @wolfsmom1 @wrappedinlokisarms @scorpionchild81 @theoneanna @drakesfiance @awkwardfangirl2014 @archy3001
335 notes
·
View notes
Text
Shaista Plushy Lawn Embroidered Collection 2017-18 Vol 1 is available in stores. First of all winter season is almost end and spring summer season is coming .Therefore Shaista Plushy Lawn is launched for spring summer season. This embroidered lawn collection is fully color full and stylish.
Shaista Plushy Lawn Collection 2017 Vol 1
Furthermore, IN spring summer season many collections are in the market. Such Shaista Plushy Lawn embroidered collection is one of the best collection. Designer used too many colors in this collection to make it remarkable. All type of girls and women wear these dresses at different occasions and functions. Yellow color dress is one of the best dress in this collection. Yellow color with too many colors are mixed and make this dress adorable. Flowers petals are drawn on it. Such flowers make this collection remarkable. Fabric quality of this Shaista Plushy Lawn is also very classic. Price of this collection is 1990 PKR only. So, due to this price range girls are very excited to get this collection for spring summer season. In conclusion, this is the best collection for whole spring summer season. Girls can use it on all festivals and functions. Finally I hope girls can like it .
#gallery-0-4 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-4 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 33%; } #gallery-0-4 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-4 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */
Shaista Plushy Lawn Embroidered Collection 2017-18 Vol 1 Shaista Plushy Lawn Embroidered Collection 2017-18 Vol 1 is available in stores. First of all winter season is almost end and spring summer season is coming .Therefore Shaista Plushy Lawn is launched for spring summer season.
#latest lawn collection for girls#lawn collection 2017#Shaista Plushy Lawn#spring summer lawn ideas#streat girls lawn collection#uk women lawn ideas#usa girls lawn dresses
0 notes
Photo
Starlight Express 6.0 - Mama the Steamer
Photos 1-3 - Reva Rice as Mama, dress rehearsal Photo 4 - Andrew Lloyd Webber and Reva Rice, opening night June 2018 Photo 5 - Regi Jennings and Reva Rice, closing night May 2018
OK. so. why.
WHY did they change Poppa’s gender, not Electra? Why do we not have a female Electra? Who asked for Mama? Who thought this a good idea? Where did this even come from? How does this fit the story?
Apparently, they had international auditions, and there were 10. TEN applicants to play this role. I mean, I know they’ve struggled to find performers for Poppa - how many mature black guys want to learn to skate and move to Germany for a role? Do they somehow thing there’ll be more mature WOMEN in musical theatre, prepared to learn to skate and move to Germany? let alone try to maintain the racial diversity.... If they’d spent the last 20 years actively seeking to keep the cast diverse, maybe there’d be enough women who’s previously performed in the show who’s want to come back when they’re in the 30-60 age bracket (and haven’t settled down, had a family, moved career to something where there’s actual opportunities for mature women unlike the vast majority of musical theatre...)
They’ve pulled off an amazing coup in getting Reva Rice to join the cast. But unless she decides to permanently move to Bochum, who’s next? Who is going to replace her? And in this rumoured new UK/English language production, who’ll be Momma there? Who else has the skill set to perform this role? Maybe... 3, 4 other ex-Starlighters that I know of are still actively performing, have the soul voice, and aren’t white. Maybe 3.
Then there’s the role. Poppa’s big numbers - Poppa’s Blues, the Starlight Sequence, and Light at the End of the Tunnel - all fall comfortably in a tenor range. (I’m a trained singer with a fairly good alto range, I can hit Poppa’s notes for the big songs). But there’s also a lot of recit - the story telling conversations, and those are all baritone. The vocal range goes way down there. You can style it out, sprechgesang it, fake it.... But it’s not ideal and not kind to the other characters.
Not Kind? HAVE YOU HEARD THE STARLIGHT SEQUENCE NOW??? Mama is simply in a different key to Rusty. It just cuts back and forth in the most jarring manner. (then poor Rusty’s vocal range is so abused in “I Do” as well....) Reva apparently can’t get those bottom alto notes? Or they decided to mess about with it because of reasons?
Is Mama special for being a female champion steam engine, or is her gender unremarkable? Why does she introduce herself with the “I Got Me” melody, as if she were one of the coaches? (Since both Mama and Coco are Engines, the coaches clearly have a problem with Engines shoving them around, not Men... not all engines are men, so it’s an Engines vs Coaches issue, not Male vs Female. and if Mama uses “I Got Me” because she’s a girl, why doesn’t Coco use it too?)
ANYWAY. COSTUME.
Now bear in mind the first three photos are from a dress rehearsal, and the final image with Andrew Lloyd Webber is from opening night. The difference that is immediately apparent is her wig - in the intervening week she gained a headscarf, and the wig is re-styled to look a lot better. It looks atrocious in the first images, but credit where it’s due, by opening night the wig looks fine.
So Mama’s basic costume, as seen in the race picture, is exactly what I hoped to see. She’s wearing the exact same design as Poppa, bit scaled and tailored to a female cut. The only discrepancies are her under-shirt is painted into more, less the white/grey base but painted an “old gold”, and the neckerchief she wears is more subdued than Poppa’s bright orange. These tweaks are an improvement in my mind, as the costume is more cohesive, less high contrast between the overalls/shirt which isn’t an important detail.
We see Mama’s Blues - she has new set details surrounding her, a dilapidated water tower and bridge behind her (are they to scale? or is the buffer seat to scale? because those elements are NOT to scale with each other....) She’s wearing a grubby old apron - suggestive of Grandma in the kitchen or in the garden at home, this works. We’re seeing her in her own space, in private, hanging out with her friends / adopted kids. You can bet she’s already offered them all some iced water. She takes off the apron as a symbol of getting up, going out there to RACE - which is perfect story telling.
And then it all falls apart. Mama gets a skirt. Because she’s GIRL and GIRLS WEAR SKIRTS. How else would we know she’s a GIRL if she’s not in a SKIRT?!
WHY???
Especially after we’ve already seen her throughout the show (the skirt only appears for Light at the End of the Tunnel) - we know the character, we’re comfortable with her already, but she has to be swathed in a massive amount of fabric to close out the show?
Allow me a brief ramble about skirts in European Fashion History. Skirts have always existed to slow women down. Our ancestors could do so much DESPITE their skirts, not because of them. Little girls have to be careful of their pretty dresses while their brothers climb trees. Girls have to be careful not to have a Marilyn Monroe incident and let their skirts blow up. Skirts are a hindrance to physical activity - even the shortest skater dress skirts, purely decorative, are symbolic of this feminine archetype that women are to be slow, careful, cautious, take care of their appearance, to be decorative, not physically active. (I’m sitting here wearing a dress right now, but if I wanted to mow the lawn, I’d have to change first) Skirts represent the feminine home-maker, the wife, mother, source of comfort and refinement. This is not a negative association necessarily, it’s simply the connection that’s made. Look at our four classic coaches - Pearl the First Class carriage, ultimate in luxury. Dinah the Dining Car - table-service, stylish restaurant. Ashley the Smoking Car - a comfortable lounge car where you can relax and smoke. All three, appropriately, wearing skirts. Then there’s Buffy the Buffet Car - serving quick snacks and drinks, not somewhere to linger, no-frills supplying your needs. For speed and efficiency? No skirt.
So, why does Mama (and Coco, I’ve got a big problem with her design too) wear a skirt? With this symbolism behind the garment, how on earth is is appropriate for an Engine to represent comfort and domesticity? Why does Mama gain this at the end of the show, when her part in the narrative is complete? What further development of her story does this costume change represent?
Why bother?
So in conclusion, I have a big problem with the concept of Mama (as opposed to a female Electra which would have made a much stronger story). I almost love her costume design. And then they ruin it at the end. I’m very sceptical about Mama’s longevity - I think casting will be nigh-on impossible while maintaining any integrity to the character, and I’d much rather have Poppa back than scraping the barrel to find someone approximately appropriate to play Mama in years to come. and sort out those keys.
15 notes
·
View notes
Link
In the highly controversial area of human intelligence, the ‘Greater Male Variability Hypothesis’ (GMVH) asserts that there are more idiots and more geniuses among men than among women. Darwin’s research on evolution in the nineteenth century found that, although there are many exceptions for specific traits and species, there is generally more variability in males than in females of the same species throughout the animal kingdom.
Evidence for this hypothesis is fairly robust and has been reported in species ranging from adders and sockeye salmon to wasps and orangutans, as well as humans. Multiple studies have found that boys and men are over-represented at both the high and low ends of the distributions in categories ranging from birth weight and brain structures and 60-meter dash times to reading and mathematics test scores. There are significantly more men than women, for example, among Nobel laureates, music composers, and chess champions—and also among homeless people, suicide victims, and federal prison inmates.
Darwin had also raised the question of why males in many species might have evolved to be more variable than females, and when I learned that the answer to his question remained elusive, I set out to look for a scientific explanation. My aim was not to prove or disprove that the hypothesis applies to human intelligence or to any other specific traits or species, but simply to discover a logical reason that could help explain how gender differences in variability might naturally arise in the same species.
I came up with a simple intuitive mathematical argument based on biological and evolutionary principles and enlisted Sergei Tabachnikov, a Professor of Mathematics at Pennsylvania State University, to help me flesh out the model. When I posted a preprint on the open-access mathematics archives in May of last year, a variability researcher at Durham University in the UK got in touch by email. He described our joint paper as “an excellent summary of the research to date in this field,” adding that “it certainly underpins my earlier work on impulsivity, aggression and general evolutionary theory and it is nice to see an actual theoretical model that can be drawn upon in discussion (which I think the literature, particularly in education, has lacked to date). I think this is a welcome addition to the field.”
So far, so good.
Once we had written up our findings, Sergei and I decided to try for publication in the Mathematical Intelligencer, the ‘Viewpoint’ section of which specifically welcomes articles on contentious topics. The Intelligencer’s editor-in-chief is Marjorie Wikler Senechal, Professor Emerita of Mathematics and the History of Science at Smith College. She liked our draft, and declared herself to be untroubled by the prospect of controversy. “In principle,” she told Sergei in an email, “I am happy to stir up controversy and few topics generate more than this one. After the Middlebury fracas, in which none of the protestors had read the book they were protesting, we could make a real contribution here by insisting that all views be heard, and providing links to them.”
Professor Senechal suggested that we might enliven our paper by mentioning Harvard President Larry Summers, who was swiftly defenestrated in 2005 for saying that the GMVH might be a contributing factor to the dearth of women in physics and mathematics departments at top universities. With her editorial guidance, our paper underwent several further revisions until, on April 3, 2017, our manuscript was officially accepted for publication. The paper was typeset in India, and proofread by an assistant editor who is also a mathematics professor in Kansas. It was scheduled to appear in the international journal’s first issue of 2018, with an acknowledgement of funding support to my co-author from the National Science Foundation. All normal academic procedure.
Coincidentally, at about the same time, anxiety about gender-parity erupted in Silicon Valley. The same anti-variability argument used to justify the sacking of President Summers resurfaced when Google engineer James Damore suggested that several innate biological factors, including gender differences in variability, might help explain gender disparities in Silicon Valley hi-tech jobs. For sending out an internal memo to that effect, he too was summarily fired.
No sooner had Sergei posted a preprint of our accepted article on his website than we began to encounter problems. On August 16, a representative of the Women In Mathematics (WIM) chapter in his department at Penn State contacted him to warn that the paper might be damaging to the aspirations of impressionable young women. “As a matter of principle,” she wrote, “I support people discussing controversial matters openly … At the same time, I think it’s good to be aware of the effects.” While she was obviously able to debate the merits of our paper, she worried that other, presumably less sophisticated, readers “will just see someone wielding the authority of mathematics to support a very controversial, and potentially sexist, set of ideas…”
A few days later, she again contacted Sergei on behalf of WIM and invited him to attend a lunch that had been organized for a “frank and open discussion” about our paper. He would be allowed 15 minutes to describe and explain our results, and this short presentation would be followed by readings of prepared statements by WIM members and then an open discussion. “We promise to be friendly,” she announced, “but you should know in advance that many (most?) of us have strong disagreements with what you did.”
On September 4, Sergei sent me a weary email. “The scandal at our department,” he wrote, “shows no signs of receding.” At a faculty meeting the week before, the Department Head had explained that sometimes values such as academic freedom and free speech come into conflict with other values to which Penn State was committed. A female colleague had then instructed Sergei that he needed to admit and fight bias, adding that the belief that “women have a lesser chance to succeed in mathematics at the very top end is bias.” Sergei said he had spent “endless hours” talking to people who explained that the paper was “bad and harmful” and tried to convince him to “withdraw my name to restore peace at the department and to avoid losing whatever political capital I may still have.” Ominously, “analogies with scientific racism were made by some; I am afraid, we are likely to hear more of it in the future.”
The following day, I wrote to the three organisers of the WIM lunch and offered to address any concrete concerns they might have with our logic or conclusions or any other content. I explained that, since I was the paper’s lead author, it was not fair that my colleague should be expected to take all the heat for our findings. I added that it would still be possible to revise our article before publication. I never received a response.
Instead, on September 8, Sergei and I were ambushed by two unexpected developments.
First, the National Science Foundation wrote to Sergei requesting that acknowledgment of NSF funding be removed from our paper with immediate effect. I was astonished. I had never before heard of the NSF requesting removal of acknowledgement of funding for any reason. On the contrary, they are usually delighted to have public recognition of their support for science.
The ostensible reason for this request was that our paper was unrelated to Sergei’s funded proposal. However, a Freedom of Information request subsequently revealed that Penn State WIM administrator Diane Henderson (“Professor and Chair of the Climate and Diversity Committee”) and Nate Brown (“Professor and Associate Head for Diversity and Equity”) had secretly co-signed a letter to the NSF that same morning. “Our concern,” they explained, “is that [this] paper appears to promote pseudoscientific ideas that are detrimental to the advancement of women in science, and at odds with the values of the NSF.” Unaware of this at the time, and eager to err on the side of compromise, Sergei and I agreed to remove the acknowledgement as requested. At least, we thought, the paper was still on track to be published.
But, that same day, the Mathematical Intelligencer’s editor-in-chief Marjorie Senechal notified us that, with “deep regret,” she was rescinding her previous acceptance of our paper. “Several colleagues,” she wrote, had warned her that publication would provoke “extremely strong reactions” and there existed a “very real possibility that the right-wing media may pick this up and hype it internationally.” For the second time in a single day I was left flabbergasted. Working mathematicians are usually thrilled if even five people in the world read our latest article. Now some progressive faction was worried that a fairly straightforward logical argument about male variability might encourage the conservative press to actually read and cite a science paper?
In my 40 years of publishing research papers I had never heard of the rejection of an already-accepted paper. And so I emailed Professor Senechal. She replied that she had received no criticisms on scientific grounds and that her decision to rescind was entirely about the reaction she feared our paper would elicit. By way of further explanation, Senechal even compared our paper to the Confederate statues that had recently been removed from the courthouse lawn in Lexington, Kentucky. In the interests of setting our arguments in a more responsible context, she proposed instead that Sergei and I participate in a ‘Round Table’ discussion of our hypothesis argument, the proceedings of which the Intelligencer would publish in lieu of our paper. Her decision, we learned, enjoyed the approval of Springer, one of the world’s leading publishers of scientific books and journals. An editorial director of Springer Mathematics later apologized to me twice, in person, but did nothing to reverse the decision or to support us at the time.
So what in the world had happened at the Intelligencer? Unbeknownst to us, Amie Wilkinson, a senior professor of mathematics at the University of Chicago, had become aware of our paper and written to the journal to complain. A back-and-forth had ensued. Wilkinson then enlisted the support of her father—a psychometrician and statistician—who wrote to the Intelligencer at his daughter’s request to express his own misgivings, including his belief that “[t]his article oversimplifies the issues to the point of embarrassment.” Invited by Professor Senechal to participate in the proposed Round Table discussion, he declined, admitting to Senechal that “others are more expert on this than he is.” We discovered all this after he gave Senechal permission to forward his letter, inadvertently revealing Wilkinson’s involvement in the process (an indiscretion his daughter would later—incorrectly—blame on the Intelligencer).
I wrote polite emails directly to both Wilkinson and her father, explaining that I planned to revise the paper for resubmission elsewhere and asking for their criticisms or suggestions. (I also sent a more strongly worded, point-by-point rebuttal to her father.) Neither replied. Instead, even long after the Intelligencer rescinded acceptance of the paper, Wilkinson continued to trash both the journal and its editor-in-chief on social media, inciting her Facebook friends with the erroneous allegation that an entirely different (and more contentious) article had been accepted.
At this point, faced with career-threatening reprisals from their own departmental colleagues and the diversity committee at Penn State, as well as displeasure from the NSF, Sergei and his colleague who had done computer simulations for us withdrew their names from the research. Fortunately for me, I am now retired and rather less easily intimidated—one of the benefits of being a Vietnam combat veteran and former U.S. Army Ranger, I guess. So, I continued to revise the paper, and finally posted it on the online mathematics archives.
On October 13, a lifeline appeared. Igor Rivin, an editor at the widely respected online research journal, the New York Journal of Mathematics, got in touch with me. He had learned about the article from my erstwhile co-author, read the archived version, and asked me if I’d like to submit a newly revised draft for publication. Rivin said that Mark Steinberger, the NYJM’s editor-in-chief, was also very positive and that they were confident the paper could be refereed fairly quickly. I duly submitted a new draft (this time as the sole author) and, after a very positive referee’s report and a handful of supervised revisions, Steinberger wrote to confirm publication on November 6, 2017. Relieved that the ordeal was finally over, I forwarded the link to interested colleagues.
Three days later, however, the paper had vanished. And a few days after that, a completely different paper by different authors appeared at exactly the same page of the same volume (NYJM Volume 23, p 1641+) where mine had once been. As it turned out, Amie Wilkinson is married to Benson Farb, a member of the NYJM editorial board. Upon discovering that the journal had published my paper, Professor Farb had written a furious email to Steinberger demanding that it be deleted at once. “Rivin,” he complained, “is well-known as a person with extremist views who likes to pick fights with people via inflammatory statements.” Farb’s “father-in law…a famous statistician,” he went on, had “already poked many holes in the ridiculous paper.” My paper was “politically charged” and “pseudoscience” and “a piece of crap” and, by encouraging the NYJM to accept it, Rivin had “violat[ed] a scientific duty for purely political ends.”
Unaware of any of this, I wrote to Steinberger on November 14, to find out what had happened. I pointed out that if the deletion were permanent, it would leave me in an impossible position. I would not be able to republish anywhere else because I would be unable to sign a copyright form declaring that it had not already been published elsewhere. Steinberger replied later that day. Half his board, he explained unhappily, had told him that unless he pulled the article, they would all resign and “harass the journal” he had founded 25 years earlier “until it died.” Faced with the loss of his own scientific legacy, he had capitulated. “A publication in a dead journal,” he offered, “wouldn’t help you.”
Colleagues I spoke to were appalled. None of them had ever heard of a paper in any field being disappeared after formal publication. Rejected prior to publication? Of course. Retracted? Yes, but only after an investigation, the results of which would then be made public by way of explanation. But simply disappeared? Never. If a formally refereed and published paper can later be erased from the scientific record and replaced by a completely different article, without any discussion with the author or any announcement in the journal, what will this mean for the future of electronic journals?
Meanwhile, Professor Wilkinson had now widened her existing social media campaign against the Intelligencer to include attacks on the NYJM and its editorial staff. As recently as April of this year, she was threatening Facebook friends with ‘unfriending’ unless they severed social media ties with Rivin.
In early February, a friend and colleague suggested that I write directly to University of Chicago President Robert Zimmer to complain about the conduct of Farb and Wilkinson, both of whom are University of Chicago professors. The previous October, the conservative New York Times columnist Bret Stephens had called Zimmer “America’s Best University President.” The week after I wrote to Zimmer, the Wall Street Journal would describe Chicago as “The Free-Speech University” based upon its president’s professed commitment to the principles of free inquiry and expression. Furthermore, Professor Zimmer is a mathematician from the same department and even the same subfield as Farb and Wilkinson, the husband-wife team who had successfully suppressed my variability hypothesis research and trampled on the principles of academic liberty. Surely I would receive a sympathetic hearing there?
And so I wrote directly to Professor Zimmer, mathematician to mathematician, detailing five concrete allegations against his two colleagues. When I eventually received a formal response in late April, it was a somewhat terse official letter from the vice-provost informing me that an inquiry had found no evidence of “academic fraud” and that, consequently, “the charges have been dismissed.” But I had made no allegation of academic fraud. I had alleged “unprofessional, uncollegial, and unethical conduct damaging to my professional reputation and to the reputation of the University of Chicago.”
When I appealed the decision to the president, I received a second official letter from the vice-provost, in which he argued that Farb and Wilkinson had “exercised their academic freedom in advocating against the publication of the papers” and that their behavior had not been either “unethical or unprofessional.” A reasonable inference is that I was the one interfering in their academic freedom and not vice versa. My quarrel, the vice-provost concluded, was with the editors-in-chief who had spiked my papers, decisions for which the University of Chicago bore no responsibility. At the Free Speech University, it turns out, talk is cheap.
Over the years there has undoubtedly been significant bias and discrimination against women in mathematics and technical fields. Unfortunately, some of that still persists, even though many of us have tried hard to help turn the tide. My own efforts have included tutoring and mentoring female undergraduates, graduating female PhD students, and supporting hiring directives from deans and departmental chairs to seek out and give special consideration to female candidates. I have been invited to serve on two National Science Foundation gender and race diversity panels in Washington.
Which is to say that I understand the importance of the causes that equal opportunity activists and progressive academics are ostensibly championing. But pursuit of greater fairness and equality cannot be allowed to interfere with dispassionate academic study. No matter how unwelcome the implications of a logical argument may be, it must be allowed to stand or fall on its merits not its desirability or political utility. First Harvard, then Google, and now the editors-in-chief of two esteemed scientific journals, the National Science Foundation, and the international publisher Springer have all surrendered to demands from the radical academic Left to suppress a controversial idea. Who will be the next, and for what perceived transgression? If bullying and censorship are now to be re-described as ‘advocacy’ and ‘academic freedom,’ as the Chicago administrators would have it, they will simply replace empiricism and rational discourse as the academic instruments of choice.
Educators must practice what we preach and lead by example. In this way, we can help to foster intellectual curiosity and the discovery of fresh reasoning so compelling that it causes even the most sceptical to change their minds. But this necessarily requires us to reject censorship and open ourselves to the civil discussion of sensitive topics such as gender differences, and the variability hypothesis in particular. In 2015, the University of Chicago’s Committee on Freedom of Expression summarized the importance of this principle beautifully in a report commissioned by none other than Professor Robert Zimmer:
In a word, the University’s fundamental commitment is to the principle that debate or deliberation may not be suppressed because the ideas put forth are thought by some or even by most members of the University community to be offensive, unwise, immoral, or wrong-headed.
1 note
·
View note
Text
I'm A Welder I Can't Fix Stupid But I Can Fix What Stupid Does Tee Shirts
And I can be evicted then to be affected and those letters have already been sent out so make sure that I’m providing a I'm A Welder I Can't Fix Stupid But I Can Fix What Stupid Does Tee Shirts payroll tax holiday to all Americans earning less than 100 000 per year meaning bigger paychecks for working families through the end of 2022 tremendous amount of money that is being supplied and given to families tremendous the Democrats didn’t want to do a payroll tax they thought it was too much money I guess would make businesses to successful that I want to see success basically don’t want to see before the election basically don’t want to see the kind of graphs and charts that you saw that at all because they say they can’t with that kind of success they can win that to get used to remember we’ve already gotten 3 trillion in stimulus so they should probably negotiate a little bit differently maybe they should’ve asked for this before got most of the money we gave it at lot of it to the people when we win the election when I win the election I’m going to completely and totally forgive. Earned them during weekend off Sunday now didn’t see anything on Richard Hunter you are there you all the time you I only about dating from the college and I would be me I am trying to get on your site might stop at my on my special someone this site which many of you have gone is called socialcom without the socialcom they are supporting me for reading at the data doing a great okay down to the people coming and need to meeting June know is that mission she drop JD main nation next year anything by commercials on the right and on the bottom of the five I needed it great when I was growing up on this page you can call on right socialwhich will be here also but you social but in socialcom 80 or so this is what should go all the way on that problem wore now displayed on the bottom of a guy like like me I write screen anything below which is why is this person posting a video that is you should I can help me just to wish down okay so there so that he me you guys to come over is going down Lee acquired I hope. Then Now Just As Cavanaugh She Was Nasty to a Level That Was Just a Horrible Thing the Way She Was the Way She Treated Now Just As Cavanaugh and I Won’t Forget That Soon so She Did Very Poorly in the Primaries and Now She’s Chosen so Let’s See How That All He Said He Was Nasty and She Continued Aiming at My I Also His Mother His Opinion about These Two Odyssey See Doesn’t Want to Sacrifice Some of Their Their Shooting Stars I’ll Call Him in the Democratic Party I Was Probably in Our You Retire and a Woman Whose Career Wasn’t Really Destined for Anything by Is like This Kinda like Throw Away Relief Pitcher to Come in and Give up a Home Run to Be Done Because Is Going to Shopper Smarter the Only Chink in His Armor Is the Coronavirus Which Is like Okay to Chop It All up to Jump in Your and Try to Make This One Is Trying to Rebuild the Economy and in the Places Where the Jobs Are Coming Back to Sleep They Are Going to and I Predict This to Try to Pressure Him to Lie down in October and November There
Source: I'm A Welder I Can't Fix Stupid But I Can Fix What Stupid Does Tee Shirts
I'm A Welder I Can't Fix Stupid But I Can Fix What Stupid Does Tee Shirts, Hoodie, Sweater, Longsleeve T-Shirt For Men and Women
I'm A Welder I Can't Fix Stupid But I Can Fix What Stupid Does Tee Shirts
See more: Today I Will Not Stress Over Things I Can't Control T-Shirt
Premium Trending This Summer Season will Presents Who Love:
They can escalated to a I'm A Welder I Can't Fix Stupid But I Can Fix What Stupid Does Tee Shirts vaccine invention so is very important that we resist this mashup not only is truth on our side the Constitution and the law on our side but logic and common sense is on our side and a lot more people out there that are frustrated with this mask shipping you think they just don’t know the lawn he don’t have the intimate knowledge about what’s really being done to us like we do there pushing the coalition shut the schools down and the church is why because schools and churches aware boating happens if they can shut down a bolt of the polling places guess what happens mail in voting Horowitz study of our thousand hundred UK schools show very little evidence that the virus is transmitted in school you know why because everybody has tested positive is asymptomatic the CDC and the World Health Organization already said asymptomatic people do not get the do not. REALLY REPORT ON THIS THE NEXT LARGE VIDEO WE HAVE IS A FEATURED VIDEO AS THE PENTAGON RELEASES HAD THREE LEAKED VIDEOS AND THIS IS THE MAKING IT ALMOST BASICALLY THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE NOW UFOS ARE REAL THEN THE OUT OF IDENTIFIED WHICH IS INSIDE AMERICA’S UFO INVESTIGATION FULL EPISODES SO IT’S REALLY LEAKING OUT FROM THE GOVERNMENT IS OUT OF THERE TO START THE BLUEBOOK PROGRAM AGAIN AND AGAIN TO REACTIVATE ALL THE STUFF AGAIN IS IT’S OLD NEWS IT’S LIKE FINE EVERYBODY KNOWS WHERE YOU ACTIVATE THIS PROGRAM IS IF YOU’RE JUST STARTING NOW TO DISCOVER THAT UFOS ARE REAL SO THIS IS THIS INFORMATION ON NEXT AS WE HAVE A LONG INTERSTELLAR SPACECRAFT SPOTTED FLYING BEHIND THE SUN AND THIS IS MORE TYPICAL OF WHAT I WOULD CONSIDER YOUR OFF WORLD UFOS DEFTLY WHEN YOU’RE FLYING IN AND OUT AROUND THE SUN SO THAT’S A WHOLE ANOTHER UNDERSTANDING AND DISCUSSION OF EVEN WHAT THE SUN REALLY IS THEN WE HAVE BRAD MELTZER’S DECODED AS PROOF UFOS ARE REAL THIS IS A FULL EPISODE AND HE GOES THROUGH EXPLAINING WHAT THAT’S ALL ABOUT. Can get them directly if they need them and I give them authorization to order directly one of the big weaknesses in our healthcare system is search capacity for a medical facilities and asked what precautions what my plane is being done to get China’s was able to build hospitals a matter of days are you prepared to use the core engineers were FEMA to start building our search see that we may need physical we hope we don’t get there and that’s what we’re doing and that’s why were taking a very look at this but we also are looking at areas and not only looking where expanding certain areas were taking over buildings and ideas redoing a lot in that regard we hope we don’t have to get there but we are doing a lot in that regard I that we may be expanding that we are looking at that affairs for everybody no were looking at that through the Senate do you know the Senate is now digesting the bill so we may very well be evacuated that number we ordered a lot we have quite a few but it may not be enough and if it’s See Other related products: I Guana 8645 1 T-Shirt
0 notes
Text
‘Arrogant and dismissive’: Tories failed to consult police on new plan for tackling crime #ٹاپسٹوریز
New Post has been published on https://mediabox.pk/arrogant-and-dismissive-tories-failed-to-consult-police-on-new-plan-for-tackling-crime/
‘Arrogant and dismissive’: Tories failed to consult police on new plan for tackling crime
Britain’s most senior police officers were not consulted about Boris Johnson’s new plan to “beat crime” – or even aware it was being drawn up, The Independent can reveal.
The measures, which the prime minister unveiled on Tuesday, include electronic tags on burglars, longer sentences for some crimes, and an extension of controversial blanket stop-and-search powers.
But police bodies and victims’ advocates say they were not involved in the formulation of the “beating crime plan”, and were only sent the full details on Tuesday – a day after it had been distributed to members of the media.
The 50-page document is believed to have been written by central government in a matter of days, and contains some measures that had not been requested by criminal justice agencies or experts.
Anger is also growing among rank-and-file police officers, who lashed out at government “gimmicks” days after a vote of no confidence in the home secretary, Priti Patel, over a pay freeze.
Martin Hewitt, chair of the National Police Chiefs’ Council (NPCC), which represents the country’s most senior officers, said on Tuesday: “We received the plan today and will now be reviewing it carefully to understand how we deliver it operationally.”
He said it appeared to contain a mix of issues where police had previously engaged with the government and “some new ideas”.
Neither the NPCC, the Police Federation, the Police Superintendents’ Association nor the Association of Police and Crime Commissioners were formally consulted on the plan.
Police chiefs were first informed of its existence, but not its full contents, in a briefing with the policing minister Kit Malthouse on Monday evening.
The shadow home secretary, Nick Thomas-Symonds, told The Independent: “This just goes to show how out of touch, arrogant and dismissive of policing this Conservative government are. Little wonder that the plan itself is paper-thin and contains nothing new.
“To not even consult officers on a plan for policing is ridiculous – perhaps they were worried about picking up the phone after the insulting zero per cent pay award offered this week.”
Boris Johnson says stop and search policy is ‘kind and loving’
In a letter delivered by hand to Downing Street on Tuesday afternoon, the Police Federation said its 130,000 members were “sick of gimmicks and government contempt for police”.
“Just this weekend, we found out through a Sunday newspaper column about a new so-called beating crime plan,” said the letter to the prime minister.
“We don’t need old ideas presented as new. We need genuine investment for the whole of the criminal justice system and genuine consultation over new ideas. Without that, this is just another ill-thought-out initiative.”
Senior officers said many measures in the plan, including making the contact details of neighbourhood police officers available, were already in place, and money pledged for violence reduction units had already been spent.
The £31m expansion of a project to reduce offending driven by drug addiction had been requested by senior police officers, but a controversial expansion of stop-and-search powers was not. When asked why a consultation had not taken place, the Home Office claimed it had been “talking to” the NPCC, senior officers and the National Crime Agency about the plan since late May.
The government’s plan will relax the conditions needed for police to stop people without suspicion – a practice that critics say is ineffective and racially disproportionate – although the results of a 2019 pilot of the changes have never been published.
Senior police officers, including the Metropolitan Police commissioner, Dame Cressida Dick, have been vocal in their support of “intelligence-led” stop and search, but the section 60 powers being expanded allow anyone in a designated area to be searched if there are fears of violence.
UK news in pictures
Show all 50
1/50UK news in pictures
UK news in pictures
27 July 2021
A view of one of two areas now being used at a warehouse facility in Dover, Kent, for boats used by people thought to be migrants.
PA
UK news in pictures
26 July 2021
A woman is helped by Border Force officers as a group of people thought to be migrants are brought in to Dover, Kent, onboard a Border Force vessel, following a small boat incident in the Channel
PA
UK news in pictures
25 July 2021
Vehicles drive through deep water on a flooded road in Nine Elms, London
AFP/Getty
UK news in pictures
24 July 2021
Utilities workers inspect a 15x20ft sinkhole on Green Lane, Liverpool, which is suspected to have been caused by ruptured water main
PA
UK news in pictures
23 July 2021
Children interact with Mega Please Draw Freely by artist Ei Arakawa inside the Turbine Hall at the Tate Modern in London, part of UNIQLO Tate Play the gallery’s new free programme of art-inspired activities for families
PA
UK news in pictures
22 July 2021
Festivalgoers in the campsite at the Latitude festival in Henham Park, Southwold, Suffolk
PA
UK news in pictures
21 July 2021
A man walks past an artwork by Will Blood on the end of a property in Bedminster, Bristol, as the 75 murals project reaches the halfway point and various graffiti pieces are sprayed onto walls and buildings across the city over the Summer
PA
UK news in pictures
20 July 2021
People during morning prayer during Eid ul-Adha, or Festival of Sacrifice, in Southall Park, Uxbridge, London
PA
UK news in pictures
19 July 2021
Commuters, some not wearing facemasks, at Westminster Underground station, at 08:38 in London after the final legal Coronavirus restrictions were lifted in England
PA
UK news in pictures
18 July 2021
A view of spectators by the 2nd green during day four of The Open at The Royal St George’s Golf Club in Sandwich, Kent
PA
UK news in pictures
17 July 2021
Cyclists ride over the Hammersmith Bridge in London. The bridge was closed last year after cracks in it worsened during a heatwave
Getty
UK news in pictures
16 July 2021
The sun rises behind the Sefton Park Palm House, in Sefton Park, Liverpool
PA
UK news in pictures
15 July 2021
Sir Nicholas Serota watches a short film about sea monsters as he opens a £7.6 million, 360 immersive dome at Devonport’s Market Hall in Plymouth, which is the first of its type to be built in Europe
PA
UK news in pictures
14 July 2021
Heidi Street, playing a gothic character, looks at a brain suspended in glass at the world’s first attraction dedicated to the author of Frankenstein inside the ‘Mary Shelley’s House of Frankenstein’ experience, located in a Georgian terraced house in Bath, as it prepares to open to the public on 19 July
PA
UK news in pictures
13 July 2021
Rehearsals are held in a car park in Glasgow for a parade scene ahead of filming for what is thought to be the new Indiana Jones 5 movie starring Harrison Ford
PA
UK news in pictures
12 July 2021
A local resident puts love hearts and slogans on the plastic that covers offensive graffiti on the vandalised mural of Manchester United striker and England player Marcus Rashford on the wall of a cafe on Copson Street, Withington in Manchester
Getty Images
UK news in pictures
11 July 2021
England’s Bukayo Saka with manager Gareth Southgate after the match
Pool via Reuters
UK news in pictures
10 July 2021
Australia’s Ashleigh Barty holds the trophy after winning her final Wimbledon match against Czech Republic’s Karolina Pliskova
Reuters
UK news in pictures
9 July 2021
England 1966 World Cup winner Sir Geoff Hurst stands on top of a pod on the lastminute.com London Eye wearing a replica 1966 World Cup final kit and looking out towards Wembley Stadium in the north of the capital, where the England football team will play Italy in the Euro 2020 final on Sunday
PA
UK news in pictures
8 July 2021
Karolina Pliskova celebrates after defeating Aryna Sabalenka during the women’s singles semifinals match on day ten of the Wimbledon Tennis Championships in London
AP
UK news in pictures
7 July 2021
The residents of Towfield Court in Feltham have transformed their estate with England flags for the Euro 2020 tournament
PA
UK news in pictures
6 July 2021
A couple are hit by a wave as they walk along the promenade in Dover, Kent, during strong winds
PA
UK news in pictures
5 July 2021
Alexander Zverev playing against Felix Auger-Aliassime in the fourth round of the Gentlemen’s Singles on Court 1 on day seven of Wimbledon at The All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club
PA
UK news in pictures
4 July 2021
Aaron Carty and the Beyoncé Experience perform on stage during UK Black Pride at The Roundhouse in London
Getty for UK Black Pride
UK news in pictures
3 July 2021
England’s Jordan Henderson celebrates after scoring his first international goal, his side’s fourth against Ukraine during the Euro 2020 quarter final match at the Olympic stadium in Rome
AP
UK news in pictures
2 July 2021
Dan Evans serves against Sebastian Korda during their men’s singles third round match at Wimbledon
Getty
UK news in pictures
1 July 2021
Prince William, left and Prince Harry unveil a statue they commissioned of their mother Princess Diana, on what would have been her 60th birthday, in the Sunken Garden at Kensington Palace, London
AP
UK news in pictures
30 June 2021
Dancers from the Billingham Festival and Balbir Singh Dance Company, during a preview for the The Two Fridas, UK Summer tour, presented by Billingham International Folklore Festival of World Dance in collaboration with Balbir Singh Dance Company, inspired by the life and times of female artists Frida Kahlo and Amrita Sher-Gil , which opens on July 10 at Ushaw Historic House, Chapel and Gardens in Durham
PA
UK news in pictures
29 June 2021
A boy kicks a soccer ball in front of the balconies and landings adorned with predominantly England flags at the Kirby housing estate in London
AP
UK news in pictures
28 June 2021
Emergency services attend a fire nearby the Elephant & Castle Rail Station in London
Getty
UK news in pictures
27 June 2021
People walk along Regent Street in central London during a #FreedomToDance march organised by Save Our Scene, in protest against the government’s perceived disregard for the live music industry throughout the coronavirus pandemic
PA
UK news in pictures
26 June 2021
A pair of marchers in a Trans Pride rally share a smile in Soho
Angela Christofilou/The Independent
UK news in pictures
25 June 2021
Tim Duckworth during the Long Jump in the decathlon during day one of the Muller British Athletics Championships at Manchester Regional Arena
PA
UK news in pictures
24 June 2021
A member of staff poses with the work ‘The Death of Cash’ by XCopy at the ‘CryptOGs: The Pioneers of NFT Art’ auction at Bonhams auction house in London
EPA
UK news in pictures
23 June 2021
Bank of England Chief Cashier Sarah John displays the new 50-pound banknote at Daunt Books in London
Bank of England via Reuters
UK news in pictures
22 June 2021
Actor Isaac Hampstead Wright sits on the newly unveiled Game of Throne’s “Iron Throne” statue, in Leicester Square, in London, Tuesday, June 22, 2021. The statue is the tenth to join the trail and commemorates 10 years since the TV show first aired, as well as in anticipation for HBO’s release of House of the Dragon set to be released in 2022
AP
UK news in pictures
21 June 2021
Scotland’s First Minister Nicola Sturgeon receives her second dose of the Oxford/AstraZeneca Covid-19 vaccine
AFP/Getty
UK news in pictures
20 June 2021
Joyce Paton, from Peterhead, on one of the remaining snow patches on Meall a’Bhuiridh in Glencoe during the Midsummer Ski. The event, organised by the Glencoe Mountain Resort, is held every year on the weekend closest to the Summer Solstice
PA
UK news in pictures
19 June 2021
England appeal LBW during day four of their Women’s International Test match against India at the Bristol County Ground
PA
UK news in pictures
18 June 2021
Scotland fans let off flares in Leicester Square after Scotland’s Euro 2020 match against England ended in a 0-0 draw
Getty
UK news in pictures
17 June 2021
Members of the Tootsie Rollers jazz band pose on the third day of the Royal Ascot horse racing meet
AFP/Getty
UK news in pictures
16 June 2021
A woman and child examine life-size sculptures of a herd of Asian elephants set up by the Elephant Family and The Real Elephant Collective to help educate the public on the elephants and the ways in which humans can better protect the planets biodiversity, in Green Park, central London
AFP/Getty
UK news in pictures
15 June 2021
Hydrotherapists with Dixie, a seven-year-old Dachshund who is being treated for back problems common with the breed, in the hydrotherapy pool during a facility at Battersea Dogs and Cats Home’s in Battersea, London, to view their new hydrotherapy centre
PA
UK news in pictures
14 June 2021
Scotland’s David Marshall in the net after Czech Republic’s Patrik Schick scored their second goal at Hampden Park
Reuters
UK news in pictures
13 June 2021
Raheem Sterling celebrates with Harry Kane after scoring England’s first goal of the Euro 2021 tournament in a match against Croatia at Wembley
Reuters
UK news in pictures
12 June 2021
Oxfam campaigners wearing costumes depicting G7 leaders pose for photographers on Swanpool Beach near Falmouth, Cornwall
EPA
UK news in pictures
11 June 2021
Members of the Vaxinol team, who are commercial, industrial and residential cleaners specialising in disinfection and decontamination, use electrostatic spray systems to deep clean the Only Fools Bar in Liverpool
PA
UK news in pictures
10 June 2021
A woman walks her dogs as the incoming tide begins to wash away the heads of G7 leaders drawn in the sand by activists on the beach at Newquay, Cornwall
AP
UK news in pictures
9 June 2021
Adam Chamberlain, 45, general manager of Big Tree pub in Sheffield, has put up over 500 flags, taking 36 hours, in preparation for Euro 2020, which kicks off this weekend
Tom Maddick / SWNS
UK news in pictures
8 June 2021
REUTERS
The plan also promises “league tables” for the time that local forces take to answer 101 and 999 calls, but critics have questioned how useful the measure would be in judging the quality of police responses.
In a foreword to the plan, Ms Patel and the justice secretary, Robert Buckland, hailed it as the government’s “blueprint for cutting crime, increasing confidence in the criminal justice system as a whole and putting victims first”.
However, victims’ advocates said they had not been consulted ahead of the document’s publication.
Claire Waxman, the victims’ commissioner for London, said the proposals showed a “disappointing lack of commitment to victims” and would not ensure they receive justice.
“Despite referencing victims over 100 times throughout this plan, there is very little of substance that will actually lead to an improved journey through the justice system,” she said.
“How can we plan to send a higher volume of people through the system when the length of time for investigations, charging decisions and court dates are at an all-time high?”
Downing Street did not answer The Independent’s questions on allegations that the plan was drawn up in a matter of days without consultation with police, but insisted it contained new measures and a “fresh commitment to the country, as we build back from the pandemic, to have less crime, fewer victims and a safer society”.
The Home Office said: “Working hand in hand with the police has been a cornerstone of this government’s plans to deliver less crime, fewer victims and a safer society. Over the past two years, we have been working with the police to tackle homicide, serious violence, and neighbourhood crime.”
Source link
0 notes
Text
There are two near-perfect options for e-readers. And then there are the rest.
Trust us—if you were reading “War and Peace,” that hammock wouldn’t be half as comfortable. (Perfecto Capucine / Unsplash/)
E-book readers are one of the clearest signs the future is now—having an entire library in your pocket powered by a battery that almost never runs out is exactly what my seven-year-old self was dreaming of (sorry, iPhone).
If you love reading but are still new to e-readers, you’re in for a serious treat. It’s never been easier to carry around what would be a large hardcover to read on your commute or your vacation. And if you’re stuck with an old e-book reader and want to upgrade, now is a good time to do it. Unlike smartphones, the e-book landscape shifts glacially, but there are a few great options that weren’t available a few years ago.
The library conundrum
E-book readers aren’t really standalone devices—they’re the hardware expression of a whole software ecosystem. This means that depending on where you buy your e-books (Amazon, Google Play, Barnes & Noble, the Kobo store, etc), you will only be able to read your book on devices with a specific operating system.
Buy Little Women on iTunes and you’ll only be able to open it on the iBooks app on your Apple devices. Porting the same file to your Kindle (Amazon), or even reading it on the Kindle app for iPadOS or iOS, isn’t a simple process and requires breaking the digital rights management (DRM) seal that protects the file.
If you’ve already amassed a sizable e-book library and want to update your e-reader, the most important feature to look for is compatibility. If you have a Kindle, stick with Kindles, and if you have a Kobo, stick with Kobos. Switching operating systems involves changing your entire ecosystem; if you do so, be prepared to buy your entire library all over again.
If you’re buying an e-reader for the first time, you’ll definitely have more freedom. But still, choosing which store you want to go with is a major decision because you’ll have to stick with it at least for the foreseeable future.
Since the word “Kindle” is now synonymous with “e-reader,” it might seem Amazon has already won the e-book war, but the online retailer is not the only option. There are two other major choices with dedicated hardware available: the Kobo Store, and Barnes & Noble’s Nook Store.
There’s not a lot of difference between these alternatives. If there’s an independent author you love and they only publish on one store, that might be a reason to choose one over the other, but beyond that, all stores largely stock the same array of titles and let indie authors self-publish.
Barnes & Noble’s Nook Store raises a few red flags, though. After pulling out of the UK in 2016 (and leaving existing customers in a bit of a bind), they’re now only available in the US. Plus, their update their hardware less frequently and users have flagged their plastic build as inferior to that of Kindles and Kobos.
If you’ve already invested in Nook and have no problems accessing their store, sticking with it is not a bad idea, but given these circumstances, it’s definitely hard to recommend buying one as your first e-reader.
The Kindle is by far the most popular line of e-readers. If you’re getting an e-reader for the first time, going for a Kindle is a safe bet. Amazon is clearly committed to its roots as a bookseller and is highly likely to stick around and keep providing support for your device.
If you dislike Amazon’s business model, question their ethics, or simply don’t want to give even more money to a billionaire like Jeff Bezos, then a Kobo is an easy choice. Their hardware is every bit as good as Amazon’s, and their wide range of available titles will definitely satisfy all your reading needs.
The easy choice: Kindle Paperwhite
Is the lawn wet? Worry about your pants. The Kindle Paperwhite is waterproof. (Jingda Chen / Unsplash/)
For most people, the Kindle Paperwhite is the e-reader to buy. Sure, there are cheaper devices out there, but this one hits the middle ground between price and performance perfectly. And with Amazon’s huge e-book store, you’ll never be short of something to read.
It’s hard not to love it. It features a flush 6-inch, 300ppi E Ink touchscreen display that looks great, and at 6.4 ounces—about the weight of three Snickers bars—it’s easy to carry around. The device is IPX8 waterproof rated, so a few splashes by the pool, or even a quick dunk, won’t harm it. The LED front light makes it easy to read anywhere, whether in direct sunlight or curled up next to a flickering fire, and, if you have an Audible account, you can connect a pair of Bluetooth headphones and listen to audiobooks.
An 8GB Kindle Paperwhite with Special Offers (Amazon’s euphemism for those personalized ads that appear on the block screen) is $130, although it’s regularly on sale for as little as $85. The 32GB model with worldwide cellular service and no ads goes for $180.
The contender: Kobo Clara HD
The screen on the Kobo Clara HD resembles natural light depending on the time of day. (Perfecto Capucine / Unsplash/)
If you’re already tied into Kobo’s ecosystem, the Clara HD is a great upgrade to older models like the Glo or Touch 2.0, and if you’re looking for a new e-reader, it’s definitely the best non-Amazon option—though it’s hard to recommend it over the Paperwhite for any other reason.
It’s got a similar 6-inch, 300ppi front-lit E Ink touchscreen display, which is super easy to read on. What sets the Clara HD apart (other than the fact that it’s not tied to Amazon) is that it’s slightly smaller and lighter, but these differences are minimal and don’t have a huge effect on user experience. One nice touch is that the screen tints more toward yellow as the day goes on, but unlike its Kindle counterpart, it’s not waterproof and doesn’t have Bluetooth capabilities.
The 8GB Clara HD is $120, although it’s sometimes on sale for $100, and doesn’t come with any euphemistically titled ads.
What else is out there?
The Paperwhite and Clara HD are the best products in their respective lineups, but they aren’t the only ones. If neither of our suggestions work for you, you’re not out of luck.
More Kindle options
Amazon also sells the Kindle—an entry-level model—and the Kindle Oasis, but both miss the mark for totally different reasons.
At $90, the Kindle is too close in price to the Paperwhite to be worth the tradeoffs. It’s not waterproof and only has a 167ppi screen, so text will look noticeably fuzzier. The screen feels less premium, as it’s noticeably recessed—the bezel casts a slight shadow and it feels like one of those old-school ATM touch screens you had to thump to get it to simply register a touch. If you’re not sure whether you’ll use a Kindle or not, it can be a good taster, but it’s an inferior device.
The Kindle Oasis, on the other hand, starts at $250 and features a cool asymmetric design, aluminum body, an automatically adjusting 7-inch screen, and physical page buttons. It’s an absolute delight to use, but it’s hard to justify the $120 price increase over the Paperwhite, especially since I’ve found its battery life to be significantly worse.
Keep in mind that Amazon also carries a line of devices called Kindle Fire, and even though they can be used to read books, they’re strictly tablets, not e-readers. You can always try for one of these, but they’re an entirely different product.
More Kobo options
The Kobo Libra H2O, at $170, is worth a look. Like the Kindle Oasis, it has a 7-inch screen and an asymmetric design with physical buttons to turn your pages. It’s also IPX8 waterproof and, at only $40 more than the Clara HD, the premium features don’t come with the Oasis’ ludicrous price tag.
With 7.8-inch and 8-inch screens, respectively, the Kobo Aura One ($280) and Kobo Forma ($250) just won’t slip into a jacket pocket or small bag, so they’re almost too big to carry easily. Other than the bigger screen (which ends up being more of a fuss than a plus) there’s no way to justify their prices over the Libra H2O.
Nook options
The problem with Barnes & Noble’s Nooks isn’t the devices, it’s the ecosystem itself. Considering its fluctuation in size, if one of the three big e-book reader makers fall, odds are it’ll be Barnes & Noble. With that said, if you’re looking for a Nook, you have two options.
The Nook GlowLight 3 is big, plasticky and, despite having a similar screen and the added page-turn buttons, feels like a cheaper knock-off of the Paperwhite. It’s a decent e-reader, but at $120, the GlowLight3 is the same price as the Clara HD and impossible to recommend over it.
The GlowLight Plus has a 7.8-inch screen and IPX7 waterproofing, but is otherwise largely the same as the GlowLight 3. At $200, it’s a bit pricey and, just like it’s older brother, simply hard to recommend over anything else.
New post published on: https://livescience.tech/2020/04/25/there-are-two-near-perfect-options-for-e-readers-and-then-there-are-the-rest/
0 notes
Text
A letter to the UK from Italy: this is what we know about your future
The acclaimed Italian novelist Francesca Melandri, who has been under lockdown in Rome for almost three weeks due to the Covid-19 outbreak, has written a letter to fellow Europeans “from your future”, laying out the range of emotions people are likely to go through over the coming weeks.
I am writing to you from Italy, which means I am writing from your future. We are now where you will be in a few days. The epidemic’s charts show us all entwined in a parallel dance.
We are but a few steps ahead of you in the path of time, just like Wuhan was a few weeks ahead of us. We watch you as you behave just as we did. You hold the same arguments we did until a short time ago, between those who still say “it’s only a flu, why all the fuss?” and those who have already understood.
As we watch you from here, from your future, we know that many of you, as you were told to lock yourselves up into your homes, quoted Orwell, some even Hobbes. But soon you’ll be too busy for that.
First of all, you’ll eat. Not just because it will be one of the few last things that you can still do.
You’ll find dozens of social networking groups with tutorials on how to spend your free time in fruitful ways. You will join them all, then ignore them completely after a few days.
You’ll pull apocalyptic literature out of your bookshelves, but will soon find you don’t really feel like reading any of it.
You’ll eat again. You will not sleep well. You will ask yourselves what is happening to democracy.
You’ll have an unstoppable online social life – on Messenger, WhatsApp, Skype, Zoom…
You will miss your adult children like you never have before; the realisation that you have no idea when you will ever see them again will hit you like a punch in the chest.
Old resentments and falling-outs will seem irrelevant. You will call people you had sworn never to talk to ever again, so as to ask them: “How are you doing?” Many women will be beaten in their homes.
You will wonder what is happening to all those who can’t stay home because they don’t have one. You will feel vulnerable when going out shopping in the deserted streets, especially if you are a woman. You will ask yourselves if this is how societies collapse. Does it really happen so fast? You’ll block out these thoughts and when you get back home you’ll eat again.
You will put on weight. You’ll look for online fitness training.
You’ll laugh. You’ll laugh a lot. You’ll flaunt a gallows humour you never had before. Even people who’ve always taken everything dead seriously will contemplate the absurdity of life, of the universe and of it all.
You will make appointments in the supermarket queues with your friends and lovers, so as to briefly see them in person, all the while abiding by the social distancing rules.
You will count all the things you do not need.
The true nature of the people around you will be revealed with total clarity. You will have confirmations and surprises.
Literati who had been omnipresent in the news will disappear, their opinions suddenly irrelevant; some will take refuge in rationalisations which will be so totally lacking in empathy that people will stop listening to them. People whom you had overlooked, instead, will turn out to be reassuring, generous, reliable, pragmatic and clairvoyant.
Those who invite you to see all this mess as an opportunity for planetary renewal will help you to put things in a larger perspective. You will also find them terribly annoying: nice, the planet is breathing better because of the halved CO2 emissions, but how will you pay your bills next month?
You will not understand if witnessing the birth of a new world is more a grandiose or a miserable affair.
You will play music from your windows and lawns. When you saw us singing opera from our balconies, you thought “ah, those Italians”. But we know you will sing uplifting songs to each other too. And when you blast I Will Survive from your windows, we’ll watch you and nod just like the people of Wuhan, who sung from their windows in February, nodded while watching us.
Many of you will fall asleep vowing that the very first thing you’ll do as soon as lockdown is over is file for divorce.
Many children will be conceived.
Your children will be schooled online. They’ll be horrible nuisances; they’ll give you joy.
Elderly people will disobey you like rowdy teenagers: you’ll have to fight with them in order to forbid them from going out, to get infected and die.
You will try not to think about the lonely deaths inside the ICU.
You’ll want to cover with rose petals all medical workers’ steps.
You will be told that society is united in a communal effort, that you are all in the same boat. It will be true. This experience will change for good how you perceive yourself as an individual part of a larger whole.
Class, however, will make all the difference. Being locked up in a house with a pretty garden or in an overcrowded housing project will not be the same. Nor is being able to keep on working from home or seeing your job disappear. That boat in which you’ll be sailing in order to defeat the epidemic will not look the same to everyone nor is it actually the same for everyone: it never was.
At some point, you will realise it’s tough. You will be afraid. You will share your fear with your dear ones, or you will keep it to yourselves so as not to burden them with it too.
You will eat again.
We’re in Italy, and this is what we know about your future. But it’s just small-scale fortune-telling. We are very low-key seers.
If we turn our gaze to the more distant future, the future which is unknown both to you and to us too, we can only tell you this: when all of this is over, the world won’t be the same.
© Francesca Melandri 2020
0 notes
Text
Image not mine, copied from https://blackadderquotes.com/blackadder-quotes-best-queenie-quotes-from-blackadder Found it whilst searching for a suitable picture, seemed perfect to me!
Author’s Note:
I wrote this as a submission to a collection of stories. It was not successful, but no matter, I very much enjoyed writing it. The idea was to write about a well-known character, but set many years ahead. They had to have somehow become twisted or evil over time, at least that is what I remember of the criteria.
I suspect that this story was not brutal enough for that particular collection, but as I say, no matter. My husband suggested Queenie when I was wracking my brains for a character to expend upon and I jumped upon the idea.
For those of you who may not be familiar with Queenie aka Queen Elizabeth I as portrayed in Series 2 of the excellent UK comedy-drama series Blackadder for my piece. Blackadder aired in Britain in the 1980’s and remains firmly popular to this day. If you haven’t seen it, I can’t recommend it enough. Quality writing and acting, with bleak and often quite dark humour, it just gets better as you go along.
Queenie (as opposed to the actual Queen Elizabeth I, that is) can be considered borderline insane, I think. Perhaps that is not surprising, given the power that lay literally at her fingertips; the societal demands that meant she was never to be found wrong, never to be argued with, never to be found wanting in any sense. Admirers from far and wide were expected to tremble at her beauty. Even as a grown woman, sat upon the throne, she had her ever faithful Nursie at her side, to humour and flatter her at every turn. Add to that the fact that she was British royalty, the daughter of Henry VIII and of executed Anne Boleyn, and you’ve got a nutter in the making if ever there was one.
I suppose essentially this could be described as fan-fiction. Please take it as it is intended; a bit of fun. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
S P Oldham
Corpse and Corruptibility
“I must say, these heads look jolly super on their spikes don’t they Nursie? Nursie?
Queenie looked about her, tentatively turning her aching neck. She rubbed at it arthritically, reminded at once of the many heads she had ordered removed from their necks in the earlier years of her reign.
The chamber was devoid of life, other than the two empty-headed maids-in-waiting who sat before the fire, sewing quietly in the slowly fading light. Queenie felt they didn’t count. They looked up as she spoke, exchanging a glance before one of them found voice enough to say, “Nursie, ma’am?”
“Yes, Nursie! Where is she?” Queenie hissed, her previous good mood rapidly dissipating, “Never mind, you will have to do. I was saying, don’t these heads look jolly super on their spikes?”
The women shared another look. With an air of having done this a thousand times before, they set down their sewing, crossing obediently to where Queenie sat.
There had been some argument over the placement of her chair when she had first been moved into these rooms. She had found it quite unbelievable that she had to argue with anyone to have her will fulfilled. It was something she was having to do more and more, these, days.
She had won out eventually though, drawing on her aging reserves of spite, threat, malice and just enough of a retaining link to royal power that the household had backed down, submitting to her demands.
The chair, heavily and expensively embroidered, was at first appearances a lavish thing. Closer inspection revealed that it was becoming worn in patches, the metallic golden threads losing their shine, the cushions beginning to sag and to lose their stuffing. Queenie never seemed to notice its state of gradual decay; perhaps it was too close a mirror to her own self. She had it placed just inside the arched doorway, enabling her to see the entirety of her chamber, but more importantly, to see all the way down the shadowed corridor beyond the door.
The corridor was lit with slow-burning torches. Running parallel to them was a row of withered heads set upon iron spikes. Once familiar members of her court, Blackadder, Baldrick, Melchett and Nursie remained in her presence still.
The heads faced away from Queenie, towards a row of darkening windows, as if peering out onto the sweeping lawns below.
The ladies-in-waiting, standing either side of the chair, made a show of looking attentively upon the grisly spectacle.
“They do indeed look super, ma’am,” one of them ventured. Queenie thought she detected a trace of sarcasm in her voice.
“Very super indeed,” the other agreed. Queenie swore she heard a suppressed giggle. Outraged, she narrowed her eyes, making the figure of the woman bare feet away from her blur and distort. She reached out to slap her with her fan.
She had gone, the ladies returning to their sewing without Queenie’s consent.
“I don’t believe I gave you leave to sit,” Queenie said, effecting her most child-like, and therefore most dangerous, tone of voice, “I think you should come back here at once, otherwise I might find another use for those sharp little needles!” The last words came out a rasp, making her throat dry. She began to cough, her eyes tearing up.
“Fetch me a drink!” she snapped, gratified to see one of the women jump up to pour her a cup of wine.
“What’s that?” she snapped, snatching the cup and pushing the woman away irritably, “What did you say, Blackadder?”
At once, the women were lost to her; as inconsequential as their conversation and their sewing. The cup of wine arrested in its journey to her lips, Queenie’s attention was fixed firmly on the head nearest the door.
“I said, there was a time when you would not have tolerated such impertinence, my lady. Heaven knows, I never got away with it.”
Queenie laughed; a high-pitched, unexpected cackle, assaulting the frigid air of the chamber. One of the ladies-in-waiting jumped, dropping her needle.
“Very true Blackadder, but come on! You always knew I had a soft spot for you, surely?”
“Really?” Blackadder said sardonically, “Well, I’ve certainly got a soft spot now, that’s for sure. You had to put us on spikes, did you? It was too much to hope that your majesty might have had a nice, smooth wooden shelf to rest us upon?”
“Don’t be cheeky Blackie! I could have had you displayed on London Bridge along with all the other rotters, you know!”
“The other rotters, ma’am? I am hurt that you seem to think I could ever do anything to offend your royal self.”
Queenie pouted, a gesture once haughtily seductive. Now, it served only to compress her thin lips still further, giving her cheeks an appearance of near-skeletal gauntness, “Now, now Blackadder, don’t be naughty. You know very well what you did. I had to teach you a little lesson, that’s all.”
“A very just and deserved lesson, if one might interject, your majesty,” Melchett oozed his way into the conversation.
“You may not say, Melchett!” Queenie snapped, “I’m still very cross with you, you know! You were a very naughty Lord Chamberlain and well you know it!”
“Quite so, ma’am. Forgive me,” Melchett receded.
“In fact, now that I think about it I might just have to punish you again Melchy! I really am very cross you know,” This last spoken in softer tones, Queenie’s anger dissolving as at last she raised the wine to her lips.
The ladies-in-waiting were watching her very closely. Queenie smiled back. Once a pretty, even disarming smile, now it was missing several teeth and set in a plump and spoiled visage. There was a hard glint in her eyes where the smile did not quite reach. Time was, that would have been warning enough to anyone in her presence to choose their next words very carefully.
“Who are you talking to?” One of them asked, adding off-handedly, “Ma’am?”
Queenie paused, considering. She was sure she had been speaking to someone else just a moment ago. Someone she knew well, over whom she had influence. She took another sip of the wine.
“Isn’t it obvious, or are you trying to be clever?” Queenie replied to the puzzled lady, “Because we all know what happens to people who try to be clever, don’t we?”
“We do indeed my little angel,” the head of Nursie gushed, “They go join the church and become something to do with praying and singing and all those nice things. Unless, they are girls of course; in which case, they find a nice, rich man…”
“Od do shut up Nursie! I wasn’t asking you! I was asking these people here! Who are you, anyway?” Queenie looked each of the women up and down the length of their bodies, “What are you doing here?”
The women sighed in unison, their exasperation plain. The one Queenie had tried to hit with her fan spoke first.
“I am Ann Pastwick, Countess of…”
“Boring!” Queenie announced in a shrill voice, relishing the flush of anger on the woman’s face, “You’re boring, this place is boring and I am very, very bored! Do something funny at once!”
The lady-in-waiting who had not yet spoken stood, going to Queenie with her hand outstretched, “Another cup of wine, first?” She spoke as if to a child, persuading her have her drink before going out to play.
“Good idea,” Queenie said, relinquishing the cup, “Just be a bit quicker about it this time!”
The lady smiled, baring teeth. She went to the table to pour the wine. From her seated position, Lady Ann watched her counterpart fiddle with a vial dangling from the beads around her waist, out of sight of Queenie. She gave a small, imperceptible nod, signifying her agreement.
The lady inclined her head. She shook a few grains of powder into the wine, stirring it with a long, slender finger, allowing it to dissolve before returning it to Queenie in her chair, wiping her finger surreptitiously on her dress.
“Go on then, do something!” Queenie said ungratefully, snatching back the wine, spilling a few drops down the front of her gown.
“I shouldn’t drink that if I were you,” Blackadder warned from out in the corridor. He sounded as if he didn’t expect to be listened to.
“Oh? Why not?”
“Ah, I think I might be in accordance with Lord Blackadder on this matter, Ma’am. It is perhaps wise not to take a drink from that glass,” Melchett added, keen not to miss out on anything.
“But why not?” Queenie repeated her question, growing impatient.
“If I may, I think Blackadder might suspect, as do I, that your wine has been adulterated,” Melchett supplied.
“Adulterated. Whatever do you mean?”
“I think I know your royal majesteriness,” Baldrick’s flat, vacant tones rang out. On the spike next to him, Blackadder groaned, “Oh God, here we go. If I still had eyes, I would be rolling them like crazy right now.”
“Well? Tell me then!”
“Well, it’s like your old dad and that woman. What’s ‘er name? Kathleen something or other. Anyway, rumour had it that she did a little bit of adulterating, here and there like. That’s what’s happened to your wine I reckon; it’s been messed about with.” Baldrick finished his explanation with an air of triumph, “Hey, Mr Blackadder sir; if I had eyes, I’d been flicking them back and forth now, just to see how proud you and Mr Melchett are of me!”
“Yes,” Blackadder drawled, “And if I could bend my neck a bit more on this spike, I’d try knocking some sense into you with my own head.”
“I must say, the strange little man has done rather a good job of explaining matters, in his roundabout and somewhat stupid way,” Melchett said, “After all, when all’s said and done, it does appear that her majesty’s wine has been, well, messed about with,”
“Ooh! Don’t drink it buttercup! Tip it away at once, or you’ll have a runny tummy again, like that time you insisted on tasting the tanner’s wine and it turned out to be wee-wee,” Nursie cautioned.
“Shut up Nursie!” Queenie snapped, her colour rising, “Messed about with, you say? Who would dare do such a thing?”
Blackadder sighed, “Well, taking a wild stab in the dark your highness, I think it might be one, or both, of your ladies-in-waiting.”
“Ah, but how do you know, Mr Blackadder sir? For all her queeniness knows, it could be one of us!” Baldrick remained pleased with himself.
The silence that followed was filled with disbelief. Lord Blackadder broke it, saying in his most nasal, snake-like tones, “Your majesty, I think it might be safe to dismiss Baldrick’s suggestion that it might be one of us who is responsible.”
“Oh you do, do you? Well that’s one of the first signs of guilt, I happen to know! Protesting your innocence! Why should I believe any of you?”
“That’s right my little owlet, you show them how clever you are!”
“Shut up Nursie! Well, Blackadder?”
Despite the fact that he was missing his eyes, lips and facial hair, in spite of the fact that his remaining skin was drawn back tight across his skull, Blackadder managed to look astounded.
“Because, your majesty, we none of us have arms. Or legs, Or hands. Or even brains, for that matter, not that it’s made much difference to Baldrick.”
“Hey!”
“Oh yes! Oh yes, of course! Oh, well done Blackie! Silly me, I should have noticed that, being queen and all.”
“But you’re not queen!” The unnamed lady-in-waiting blurted out, bewildered at the apparent conversation the erstwhile queen was holding with the mouldering heads in the corridor.
“I beg your pardon!” Queenie snapped her neck round to face the woman, regretting it instantly as a sharp pang of pain shot upwards and into her jaw. She rubbed at it furiously, eyes glaring, “You didn’t tell me what your name was!”
“You didn’t give her the chance,” Lady Ann interrupted brazenly, “Her name is Lady Helena, as she has told you a thousand times before. As we both have told you more times than we can either of us remember. We cannot be held responsible for your lack of memory in your dotage.”
“Or your encroaching insanity,” Lady Helena added, spitefully.
It had been a long time since Queenie had felt such a surge of rage. It was true that she lived with a permanent undercurrent of anger, always simmering just under the surface. She also carried with her a deep, unfathomable well of bitter resentment at old-age and ignominy. The anger she now felt was something different; old and familiar, like the row of heads so dear to her. As comfortable and known to her as her favourite bedroom slippers. It was a welcome visitor to her gloomy chamber.
“How dare you!” She roared, setting loose a strand of greying hair to frame her face on one side, “How dare you speak to me like that! I can have your head chopped off, you know! With just a click of these fingers. Look!”
Queenie raised her empty hand, resting the tip of her thumb on her middle finger; or trying to. A warm swelling coupled with a deep, ever-present ache, had made its presence felt there for some time now. It was all she could do to reach that finger with her thumb. She could add no force to it once it was there. The motion alone caused her pain. Her thumb slid uselessly away, sliding over her papery skin, producing no sound at all, simply contorting her digits into near unnatural shapes with the effort.
“Bugger!” she swore aloud, “Here!” She thrust out the goblet of wine, spilling yet more of it down her front. Alarmed that the poison might be spilled and wasted, Lady Ann rushed forward to rescue it.
“Now you’ve had it!” Queenie sneered, attempting to click her fingers on her good hand instead. It worked, though the sound it made was feeble at best. She beamed at the ladies, eyes shining with excited malice, “Guards!” She shouted, prompting another coughing fit.
Seeing her chance, Lady Ann nudged the wine back into Queenie’s hand. She took it without even noticing, resting the goblet on the stained arm of the chair.
“Guards?” She called again, a trace of confusion entering her features.
“Madam, there are no guards,” Lady Ann said placatingly, “They were removed some time ago now, remember? It was decreed that they were wasted here, in the highest, dustiest, loneliest part of the palace. Even if anyone knew you were here or how to reach you, why on earth would they want to? Who would care enough to fight their way in here to you?”
“Now that’s just unkind,” Nursie chided from the corridor, “Very unkind indeed. That’s what comes of girls being left to play together for too long, if you ask me. Mind you, it makes a change you being on the receiving end, my little stinging nettle. I remember you playing with young Lady Alison in the nursery one day, when she held your dolly for only a tiny moment, and you made her cry, you were so nasty to her. Why, you…”
“Yes, thank you Nursie!” Queenie cut her off hurriedly, “I have just been mortally offended if you don’t mind, thank you! I don’t want to know about some silly tiff when I was little, which I don’t believe you about, by the way. I’m quite sure Lady Alison was mean to me first. But I do want to know what’s going to be done about this. Well, what are you going to do about it, Blackadder?”
“Me, my lady?”
“Yes, you Blackadder. Why must I always repeat myself?”
“If I may be frank my lady, I fail to see what on earth you imagine I can do about it.”
“You’re a Lord in my court, aren’t you?”
“Well, I was once, yes. But that was before you cut off my head,”
“Oh yes. Gosh, why do I keep forgetting about that?” Queenie giggled absently, “It’s no excuse for slackness though! I still expect you to do something about it!”
“Yes, I thought you might. You really are a mad old cow, aren’t you Queenie? I mean, you really are completely barking. As barking as a rabid dog from Barking whose seen the postman coming and has got free access to the letterbox. aren’t you?”
“I see,” Queenie snipped, “So you’re choosing to side with these two harpies, are you?” She ignored the sharp intake of breath her insult drew from her ladies, “You might want to be a bit more careful about your behaviour round here,” she went on, “I can still have you punished. Don’t forget that.”
“Yes, about that. Let’s examine that for a moment, shall we? As it stands, or as you stand, since I am only upright if I am held up by a spike but no matter; as it stands, I am reduced to nothing more than a head. Not even a complete head, at that. I am missing my eyes; my lips have rotted away. My eyebrows, moustache and beard appear to have crawled off to die elsewhere. My ears have shrunk against my bones like barnacles against the hull of a ship and my skin is so stretched and thin it could be the plot for Shakespeare’s next play, yet you think you can punish me further? Very well then, my lady; do your worst.”
“I shall you know. Don’t push me Blackadder, you should know me better than that by now,”
“I can think of an additional punishment or two, if it please you, your majesty,” Melchett said ingratiatingly.
“Certainly Melchy! I’m always interested to hear what you have to say, as you know. What do you have in mind?”
“Nothing but fresh air, just as when he was alive,” Blackadder jibed.
“Pay him no attention Melchy, he’s just put out because he’s about to be told off! Come on then, what do you suggest?”
“Only this, madam. Blackadder was quick to point out that his eyes are missing. That means the sockets are empty. Perhaps you could fill them with something? Fresh manure from the palace stables, maybe? A handful of the scraps from table in the Great Hall, after the dogs have finished bringing it back up, for instance?”
“Ooh Melchy, there’s a thought!” Queenie’s eyes flicked upward as she sought to contribute, “I know!” She clapped her hands together in gleeful delight, pleased with herself at having thought of something, “I could pour molten gold into them!”
“Gold? Majesty, no! Surely gold is too rich a commodity…”
“No, no. Gold’s fine with me,” Blackadder assured her hastily. Queenie ignored him.
“Melchett, did you just tell me ‘no?’” Her voice had become hard and dangerous, her mood changing as quick as a wink.
“Forgive me, your majesty, I quite forgot myself. I trust that in your wisdom, you understand that I spoke with your best interests at heart.” His voice rose an octave, hopeful he had done enough to allay his queen’s wrath.
*
The ladies-in-waiting were growing impatient. They looked down at the babbling old queen in dismay. Of late, her behaviour had become ever more erratic, her lapses back into times past more frequent and more bizarrely detailed than ever. Resentful at having been designated her ladies-in-waiting, they had talked often of a way out of their dire situation. They each felt like prisoners themselves; as shut out of the way and forgotten as Queenie herself.
The poison had been an obvious choice. Yet it still carried with it a risk. No one would really care if the old queen dropped dead tomorrow. She couldn’t last very much longer anyway. But she couldn’t blatantly be killed. Old or not, mad as the erstwhile Lord Percy’s underpants or not, she was still royalty. If they were too obvious in their endeavours, they could well swing, or worse, for her murder.
Hence their nervousness. They had discussed dropping the powders into her wine just the night before. The plan had been to get her into bed, then slip them into her customary warm drink which she took to help her drift off. That way they could say she had simply died in her sleep, warm and comfortable in her bed.
They had brought the plan forward when Queenie had offered the insult as to their names.
“Enough is enough, after all,” Lady Ann said quite openly to Lady Helena, aware that Queenie was too engrossed in some strange conversation with the voices in her head – or in the corridor - to take any notice of the real people around her.
“Quite so,” Lady Helena agreed, “But now what? The way she is going, there will be no wine left in that goblet! She will tip out all of the poison. Do you have any more of the powder?”
“A little, yes,”
“Enough to do the job, should we need it?”
“I think so, yes,” Lady Ann said again, “It would at the very least make her exceedingly ill. She is old and frail, it might be enough.”
“We will just have to get her to drink it then,” Lady Helena said, determined.
*
“I think you can be quite rude to dear old Blackie sometimes, Melchett. I really do,” Queenie seemed to have forgotten Melchett’s utterance of the word no, “But you have raised an interesting question. If Blackie has no eyes anymore, as in fact none of you do, then how does he know my wine’s been messed about with?” She finished with an air of finality, as if she had asked a question no one could possibly hope to answer.
“Quite simple, my lady; I heard it.” Blackadder supplied smoothly.
“Heard it? Heard what?”
“The powders, my lady. I heard the tiniest splash as they spilled from their vial into your wine, followed by a light fizzing as they began to dissolve.”
“Oh gosh Blackadder, how clever!” Queenie was impressed, blushing coyly like a maiden enamoured with a gentleman at court.
“Oh please,” Melchett huffed, “My lady, how is that possible? Just as he no longer has eyes with which to see, Blackadder no longer has ears with which to hear, either.”
“Good point Melchy! Blackadder?”
“With respect my lady, that is not true. I do have ears. They just happened to be shrunk and stuck to my head, that’s all.”
“There you go Melchett, there’s your answer. Silly!” She added, as an afterthought. She chewed her lip, all at once sullen.
“What am I supposed to do, I wonder? If I let on I know about the wine, they might get angry with me and kill me some other way. Hit me with the poker on the hearth or something. I can’t very well call out for help, there are no guards to hear me. What should I do, Blackadder?”
“Hmm, a tricky situation ma’am. I beg grace to think it over for a moment or two.”
“Of course, Blackie. You too, Melchett! Get thinking!”
“And me, my little sugar plum?”
“Oh lord Nursie, no! You’re no good at thinking. Just hum a rhyme or something. Quietly, mind you!”
Silence fell, underlined only by the gentle, tuneless humming of Nursie trying to recall a nursery rhyme, failing miserably. Queenie raised the goblet to her mouth, also raising the hopes of her ladies-in-waiting. They held their breath as the rim of the cup touched to her lower lip.
“Excuse me your royal haughtiness, but I have a cunning plan.” Baldrick announced. The goblet halted. The ladies held their breath.
“Yes?” Queenie raised a brow, “Is it a very clever plan?”
“Oh god,” Blackadder intoned a second time.
“It is my lady. It’s as clever as my cousin Frederick when he entered the local three-letter word spelling competition in my village.”
“So, not very clever at all then,” Blackadder sneered, “If I recall correctly Baldrick, your cousin Frederick lost that competition to the village cat. When asked, in fact, to spell the word ‘cat.’ My lady, If I may be so bold, I believe that I may have a cunning plan.”
“Is it actually a real cunning plan Blackadder? Not a stupid one like your grubby friend here just had?”
“My lady, I can assure you that my plan is far brighter, more feasible and a damn sight cleaner than anything my grubby friend could ever hope to think of.” Blackadder assured her, “However, I will have to ask you to rise from your chair a moment…”
*
Lady Ann and Lady Helena’s nerves were frayed. It was all Lady Ann could do to stop herself physically forcing the wine down Queenie’s throat and having done with it, when the woman shoved the goblet out to be taken from her once more. Her hand was shaking as she accepted it, putting it carefully down on the solid oak table in case she spilled any more of its contents.
“Help me!” Queenie demanded, struggling to rise from the chair. Lady Helena took her outstretched arm, helping her to her feet.
“Do you retire to your bed, my lady?” Lady Helena asked hopefully, “Should I turn down your covers? Perhaps Lady Ann should make your posset?”
“Bed? Pah!” Queenie spat, “I am stretching my legs. Get back to your wretched sewing before the light fails altogether,” she instructed. She hoped the ladies had not heard the tremble in her voice, giving her fear away.
It seemed they had not. The air heavy with nameless anticipation, they sat heavily, picking up their work begrudgingly, bending to their task.
Queenie cast a last, searching glance at them before stepping out into the corridor. It was a lot colder out here, the glass of the leaded windows letting in the night air. She shivered, forcing herself to stroll at a queenly pace down the corridor until she was amongst the one-time members of her court once more.
“Well, Blackadder?” she whispered as soon as she had drawn level with his decapitated head, “what’s the big idea?”
“Simply this my lady. You must somehow get your ladies-in-waiting to drink the wine instead of you.”
“Genius Blackie!”
“I had the same idea you know,”
“No you didn’t Melchy! Now then Blackadder, how do I get them to drink it?”
“Well, therein lies the problem, ma’am. I admit I hadn’t got that far. How indeed? You could simply insist upon it. They are your ladies-in-waiting after all. It’s their job to keep you safe, as far as they can.”
“But that would give me away, wouldn’t it? They would know I am on to them,”
“Yes,” Blackadder sounded deflated, “It would. I admit it’s a puzzle, your majesty.”
“Well come on you lot!” Queenie hissed, “Think of something. Put your heads together!”
“Oh! Put your heads together! How clever my little love! How funny!” Nursie roared with laughter.
“I don’t get it,” Baldrick said plaintively.
“Shut up Nursie, do! You’re making enough noise to wake the dead!”
“Oh! There she goes again! Wake the dead indeed!”
“It is mildly amusing, I suppose,” Melchett conceded, uttering a few deep, harsh gulps that Queenie could only assume was laughter.
“Is this what we are come to?” Blackadder was peeved, “Are we really reduced to staring endlessly out of a smeared and greasy window, expected to laugh at what seems to be passing for humour these days, from Nursie, of all people?”
“Oh come on Blackie, you must admit it is a bit funny,” Queenie cajoled him, “Don’t be an old grump!”
“Don’t lose your head!” Nursie guffawed.
“Ha, ha, ha!” Baldrick joined in, suddenly getting it. His laughter sounded as if he was speaking each word individually, “Ha, ha, ha!” he added for good measure.
Blackadder couldn’t help himself. Perhaps all the cold, empty years impaled on a spike had finally got to him. He would have thrown back his head, but he couldn’t do it without toppling off the spike. Instead, he settled for roaring with laughter along with the others.
*
“Just listen to her, cackling like an old witch!” Lady Ann’s eyes were wide, “Lady Helena, she is getting worse. Truth be told, I am growing a little afraid of being closeted in here with her.”
Lady Helena nodded, “As am I. I wish we could persuade someone at court to believe us about her! They cannot know how much worse she is these days! Perhaps we should fetch someone?”
They stopped, shocked into silence at the increasingly loud, bellowing laughter emitting from the frail form of Queenie, out of sight in the corridor but not beyond hearing.
“What on earth can she find so funny?” Lady Helena leaned forward, whispering.
“Who can know?” Lady Ann shrugged, “She is quite mad.”
“Perhaps one of her heads has told her a joke!” Lady Helena persisted, a wicked gleam in her eye. The ladies giggled together, then Ann shuddered.
“It is morbid though, is it not? They say those heads belonged to some of the most trusted and beloved of her court. That love and trust did nothing to save them.”
“She must have had her reasons,” Lady Helena mused, “Though I was surprised she was given leave to keep them in here, with her. Remember in the early days, when the heads were fresh? When we would walk into a cloud of humming black flies? Remember the stench of rotting flesh whenever we had to travel that corridor?”
“Hush, Lady Helena, I cannot bear to think of it!”
“No. I suppose at least now the heads are dry and flaking. They cannot cause offence anymore, though I confess to putting my own head down and averting my eyes whenever I have to pass them by.”
“Me too,” Lady Ann admitted, “Yet that insane old queen talks to them as if they were still alive and vital! As if the people they belonged to really were in the room with her!”
“I can barely understand a word when she converses with them,” Lady Helena said, “The odd scrap here and there, perhaps. If what I have managed to make sense of is true, then it would appear those old heads out there were at least as mad as she was.”
“As long as we don’t start hearing them talk, we will be fine.” Lady Ann placed an encouraging hand on Lady Helena’s knee, though the look in her eye was uncertain.
Lady Helena rested her hand on top of Lady Ann’s, returning the reassurance, “I should faint clean away, should that happen!” She tried to laugh, but it didn’t come out right, somehow.
“Ladies! I require your assistance!” Queenie called to them.
“At least she has stopped that awful laughing!” Lady Helena said.
Lady Ann’s brow furrowed, “Am I imagining things, Lady Helena? I could swear I can still hear muffled laughter? Giggling perhaps?”
Lady Helena paused, listening. There was something disturbing the air; some low noise she could not identify. She stood abruptly, dismissing it as her imagination.
“This place will do things to your mind,” she said, reaching out a hand to help Lady Ann to her feet, “Come, let’s see what the wild bird wants. And fetch the wine.”
*
“Are you ready?” Queenie asked the members of her court. As one, each of them replied with a ‘yes.’
“And you’re sure this will work, Blackadder?”
“As sure as I can be, my lady. No one in their right mind would be able to shrug off what we have planned. That’s why you are all right with it, after all.”
“Oh, dear Blackie. You are a one!” Queenie stroked his cheek, sending a sliver of loose skin to waft to the floor like a pallid, grey feather.
“Anything for you, your majesty,” Blackadder reciprocated.
“Right then, get ready everyone; here they come.”
*
The ladies approached the doorway together, arm in arm. Lady Ann held the poisoned wine in her free hand, though it shook violently, unsure of what she would find out there in the cold, grisly corridor.
The lights flickered in the draught from the window, giving the effect of movement to the faces staring out of them. Outside, darkness had finally begun to lower its cloak, pressing against the window as if it might come in and defeat the candles.
Apart from the high colour in her face coupled with a slight breathlessness, Queenie did not appear any more deranged than usual.
“My lady?” Lady Helena enquired.
“There you are! You took your time.”
“Begging your pardon my lady, we came the moment you called,” Lady Ann argued, “Perhaps you would like your wine now?”
“Ah! The wine,” Queenie said cryptically, “the wine,” she repeated, once more chewing her lip thoughtfully, “Tell you what Lady Ann, why don’t you take a sip yourself?”
“Me? Take a sip? But why?”
Alongside her, Lady Helena sighed, uncoupling her arm, “Isn’t it obvious, Lady Ann? She knows,”
“What do you mean, she knows? How can she?”
“Well, I certainly know now, anyway!” Queenie spat, “I know you were going to poison me! I know that’s why you won’t drink the wine! And I know you want me dead!”
The lights flickered violently, guttering so low that for a moment the ladies feared they might go out altogether. In the strange glow it looked like the heads were moving again.
“But how can you know?” Lady Ann repeated softly, “I gave you no clue, you saw nothing!”
“No!” said Blackadder, turning to face her on his spike, his bone rubbing against the metal to make a weird scraping noise, “but I heard you, you little murderess!” The remaining heads turned on their spikes behind him, offering their support, each of them muttering quietly.
The ladies screamed in unison. Lady Ann dropped the wine, sending the goblet clattering across the stone floor, the red liquid spattering harmlessly. That it looked like blood dripped from the severed head did not escape her attention.
They backed out of the corridor, eager for the safety of the chamber, never taking their eyes off the cursed, haunted heads. Lady Helena fell, tripping on her long skirts, nearly taking Lady Ann with her. They screamed again, Lady Ann abandoning Lady Helena and running for the bedroom. Lady Helena scrabbled to her feet, running after her.
Behind them, Queenie was laughing again, a sparkle in her eye that hadn’t been there for the longest time.
She went to Blackadder, heaving the spike that bore his head out of the floor and holding it high. She went to Melchett and did the same, until she was brandishing them both like lances.
“Okay boys, you’re coming with me! Be sure to speak up now!” Queenie ordered, marching through the doorway into the chamber, turning towards the bedroom after her ladies-in-waiting.
“Have fun!” Nursie called after them as they went, “Remember to play nicely, my little cactus.”
“Shut up, Nursie!”
The corridor fell silent, aside from the horrified screams and pleas for mercy that reached there from the bedroom.
“You know, I never did understand why Queenie had us all executed,” Baldrick said conversationally.
“No? Well I shouldn’t worry dear, she always was a fickle child,” Nursie offered.
“Even so, it was a bit rude of her wasn’t it? I mean, I had a turnip in my larder, all fresh and untouched. I would have got another three or four meals out of that!” Baldrick was indignant now, “Why did she do it?” he said again, plaintively.
“Well you can never know for sure with these royal ones, you see,” Nursie sighed, “Do you remember me saying just now, about the dolly little Lady Alison was playing with?”
“Yes,”
“Queenie loves that dolly. Kept it all her life you know, always has it with her somewhere. She used to say that dolly could speak to her. She tried telling me that dolly told her to hit little Alison. That was why I was so very cross with her. I mean, really! Whoever heard of a dolly talking, much less telling a little girl to do unkind things!” Nursie shook her head, her expression cross. Or it would have been.
“Crazy!” Baldrick murmured softly.
S P Oldham.
0 notes
Text
ZS Textiles Floral Vintage Luxury Embroidery Swiss Voile Collection 2018-19 is coming soon in stores. There will be an important factor in the selection of comfort clothing. First of all We meet different needs and preferences to use a range of clothing. Each dress is worth making the features and properties.
ZS Textiles Floral Vintage Luxury Embroidery Swiss Voile Collection 2018-19
In addition to the specific ultimate goal is important to consider a reliable Japanese major Japanese inspired green. Furthermore, ZS Textiles Floral Vintage Luxury Embroidery Swiss Voile Collection 2018-19 is also the top class collection for this current summer season. So Blue form with high flower the center of the tree and kameez design characteristic White and red. Another Mustard and model and contrasts wider range of wool must be ruby.
Another quality of this ZS Textiles Floral Vintage Luxury Embroidery Swiss Voile Collection 2018-19 is very lightening colors and contrast. Ruby red poppies combined with a predominantly pink and white cream Pant material First pr-booking is available. ZS Textiles Floral Vintage Luxury Embroidery Swiss Voile Collection is very stylish and up to the mark. So Put a lot of work into this ZS design clothing collection.
Therefore lawn is a network dupatta and complementary one color panties material. Striking Chevron and separated sequins paired with a hard blue grid code with floral motifs range growth offset by the design of green organza see kameez. Therefore the designer also has a special embroidered work.
In conclusion this ZS Textiles Floral Vintage Luxury Embroidery Swiss Voile Collection is most awaited collection of zs textiles. So Every type of women and girls get this collection at first click. Due to Its characterizes their dress and lifestyle for the material definition ZS ideal.More beautiful collection contributes a little more difficult. Finally You will not be bored to hope that through your dark purple color and depressed by the nature of your use to spray yourself free.
ZS Textiles Floral Vintage Luxury Embroidery Swiss Voile Collection 2018-19 ZS Textiles Floral Vintage Luxury Embroidery Swiss Voile Collection 2018-19 is coming soon in stores. There will be an important factor in the selection of comfort clothing.
#2018#casual women ideas#eid#eid ul azha#formal eid dresses#latest lawn collection#new dresses#new eid collection#printed lawn dresses#stitched lawn dresses#stylish dreeses#swiss voilcollection#uk#uk fashion#uk girls#usa#usa fashion#usa girls#zs textiles#zs textiles eid collection#ZS Textiles Floral Vintage Luxury Embroidery Swiss Voile Collection 2018#zs textiles vintage luxury cllection
0 notes