For several years, a pair of Brown-headed Nuthatches has nested in the same dead pine in a pond and we've become old friends as I delight in watching their activities each Spring! Yesterday, a hapless spider joined our reunion as it received an unhealthy dose of the Ides of March well before the 15th!

The hapless Crane Fly that wound up being lunch learned that lesson the hard way...the Robber Fly's bumblebee-like appearance put him at ease...permanently! A case of mistaken identity on the Blakeley trails yesterday...

 

As it turned out, I can thank social distancing for finding this Robber Fly...I'm keeping far more than six feet away from people, and when two other hikers approached, I stepped off the trail for more distance...and found this scene unfolding!

Three Bald Eagles, two mature and one immature, decided to try to have a Canada Goose for lunch. It would seem the goose was over-matched, right? The Eagles took turns hovering and diving at the hapless goose but never seemed to have any luck. While the temperature seemed warm at 42 degrees, the wind was gusting over the lake at 25 mph. This made the flying a bit dicey for the raptors. One or two of the Eagles would attack for a few minutes and then rest on the ice for a few as well. The goose was holding its own with timely maneuvering and a decent defense when required. I had to leave the battle after a half hour with the three Eagles sitting on the ice and the Goose no worse for wear. I'm sorry about the image quality but this was about as close as I could get and heavy clouds really ate up the details. It was an amazing scene to watch unfold!

 

Thank you for taking the time to view my images. Any faves and comments are deeply appreciated!

y Twmpath (welsh)

The Mound in modern English,

 

Friday, October 24, 1931

2:00pm

Office of the local newspaper

 

A reporter, Michael, has been summoned to the office of his Editor

 

Micheal, a cocky gangly youth of 25 standing around 5’3, is feeling apprehensive as enters the office. He has been begging recently to be allowed to go out and report on a really “juicy” story.

 

His editor, a bulldog of a man who stands 6’3 who is not afraid to through his rather massive weight around, is talking on the phone as he looks up at the reporter.

 

He nods Michael to sit in a chair as he finishes up with. “Good, we’re all set then. He is here now. See you Saturday.”

 

He hangs up. Taking a lit cigar, the editor gives it several billowy puffs as he looks Michael over with a nasty grin before speaking.

 

“ Michael I’ve decided to give you that story you’ve been whining over.”

 

Michaels editor pulls the cigar from his mouth and points it at The reporter’s chest.

 

“Halloween is next weekend and the paper needs a solid, gripping story to lead into it. Something our competitors would not have. A first-person experience is what the story needs. And your just the man to do it.”

 

Michael cringes, not liking where this is going judging by the snide look on his editor's unshaven mug. He sighs and asks the question, already dreading the answer.

 

“Where will I find this story at?”

 

His editor grins wickedly with his answer

 

“The old Macmillan place On y Twmpath.”

 

Replacing his cigar the editor leans back and lets the words set in. Pleased with himself at the shock and horror that his reporter now has plastered on his face.

 

Michael is dumbfounded over the idea, and he attempts to come up with an alternative.

 

“What if I stayed overnight in a graveyard, or at the old insane asylum. Wouldn’t those make a better story?”

 

Michael watches as his editor slouches forward in his chair, the end of his smelly cigar just under the hapless reporter’s nose.

 

“Look lad, with this depression going on, jobless people need a really strong story to take their minds away from worries.”

 

The editor pulls out his cigar and looks it over as he continues…

 

“And there are plenty of others out there looking for work. So you want a job and I want a story, this story! So now, will you (jabbing the cigar at Michael) be the one to get it for me, or will you be the one reading someone else version on the unemployment line?”

 

Michael, feeling like a mouse cornered by a tomcat, nods his head reluctantly.

  

“Good then. It’s all set. The caretaker and his child stay days on the grounds. He will meet you there tomorrow at 5:00…”

 

So at dusk on that Saturday our newspaper reporter, Michael, finds himself at the large, high wrought iron gates that lead onto the property.

 

A little solemn-faced girl is standing at the open gate, staring at him. Pale-faced, wearing a faded white frock, she does not answer when he questions where her dad would be!

 

Just turns her head to look back at a truck parked in front of the stone cottage built from bricks scavenged from the old church.

 

Then he turns his attention back to the strange young girl. With a jump, he realized she was no longer there, or anywhere as far as he could see.

 

Shaking his head, the reporter passed the gates and drove up to park alongside the truck.

 

With a heavy sigh, Michael gathers his things and makes his way to the cottage.

 

The Caretaker waiting at the door for him, speaks it with an impatient voice.

 

“Cutting it a bit close ain’t ya laddie?

Couldn’t pay me to stay here past dusk. Was getting ready to leave now, wasn’t I!”

 

Michael apologize, then asked if the electricity had been put on for him?

 

“No electricity son. Need to use candles Dontcha? Now, My son and I usually don’t stay this late so I’ll collect him and be leaving. The house door is unlocked. You can have the run of the place. Just try snd not break anything.”

 

With that, the old caretaker turns snd goes back inside. Shutting the door in Michael’s face.

 

Michael took the hint and went to the wooded pathway that led from the stone cottage up to the Macmillan mansion.

 

Suddenly it occurs to him, as he made his way up to the looming old mansion, that the old caretaker said his son.

 

Could have sworn a girl definitely had been at the gate waiting? Waiting for … him?”

 

He reached the mansion, eerily outlined in the fast-approaching nightfall.

 

A storm was beginning to form, dark ominous clouds gathered quickly overhead.

 

He had brought a torch and now turned it on, locating the front door.

 

He walked up the rickety stairs to the porch and made his way inside.

 

Closing the door behind him he stood in the large foyer A pair of stairs sweeping upstairs along either side. There was an uncanny quiet about the place. A dead silence that made him feel, with prickly goosebumps, that the house was holding its breath, waiting to see what this intruder wanted here.

 

Like one sees in ghostly movies, all the furniture was covered in old white sheets. Resembling spooks sitting or standing in place.

 

A wind, the foretelling of the approaching rainstorm, began whistling around the mansion. Through unseen cracks a breeze came in, making the sheets slightly move.

 

Michel shook his head clear of thought, no one here but himself. He must keep that in his head.

 

He walked through the foyer and turned into the first room on his right.

 

It was an old study. Ceiling high shelves were still loaded with mouldy old tomes.

 

Long windows were covered by heavy red velvet drapes, making the room totally black except where the narrow beam of his torch lay. There was a pair of sheet-covered high-backed padded chairs placed in front of a fireplace. A lamp in between, looking like a person standing under the sheet. Michael thought it resembled an old butler waiting to serve whoever was sitting there.

 

Michael saw that there was wood in the fireplace, paper, and matches laying out on the stone hearth.

 

He went over and was able to start a small flickering fire.

 

He went to the chairs and pulled off the sheet from one. It was red plush velvet, matching the curtains. He sat down. Then got quickly back up. He had looked over at the other chair had envisioned in his head a person was sitting there under the sheet.

 

He pulled off the sheet from that chair, and then the lamp.

 

Satisfied he sat back down and pulled out the journal he had brought to write notes for his story.

 

Michael had decided that there was no need to be wandering alone in the old mansion. Who knows what floorboards were rotten where a foot, or body, could fall through?

 

Besides, the house was sleeping, and he didn’t want to wake it.

 

He froze the hair prickling up along his spine. What in God’s name had put that haunting thought in his head?

 

Whatever could be woken up here? The original inhabitants were long gone. Weren’t they?

 

Michael admonished himself…

 

“That will be enough of that rot. “

 

The rains started then, with rumblings of thunder off in the distance.

 

“To work now lad.”

 

So, with the fire crackling, Michael place the torch between his neck and shoulder to illuminate the journal and began to write.

 

Taking a writer’s liberties and embellishing on what he had so far seen and encountered….

 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

 

There were feet making noise upon the floor overhead. Voices could be heard murmuring from the top of the stairs above the foyer. Micheal tried to rise from the chair to investigate but found he could not move.

 

But he saw them.

 

Two malnourished young girls in wrinkled servants' uniforms. Girls whose skeletons could be clearly discerned protruding from dry stretched skin. Their eyes were sunken in like from lack of sleep. Their hair is a very premature shade of grey. They were looking down over the banister, speaking in hushed scared tones that he could somehow overhear.

 

“That was her I tell you, coming inside.”

 

“Where do you think she went, the master's study?”

 

“Someone is in there, sure enough, but not the master, he disappeared outside

And never came back, after looking for our mistress.”

 

“It was she that did it, or that thing possessing her. She was never right after becoming lost in the woods. Mistress found her, curled up in the middle of the circle on top of the mountain. Wasn’t in her mind when they woke her, talking with that hoarse voice, sounding like that of a man.”

 

“That was no man's voice. It was a demons I tells ya. Because then the bad things began happening. It wasn’t her, but what poss….”

 

CRASH!

 

Michael jumped as the sound of lightning ripped through the house.

 

2:30 am He must have fallen asleep and had had nightmares.

 

The thunder must have been the parting shot of the storm. It had stopped raining.

 

The house had again grown silent.

 

But not totally. For from somewhere in the house. Coming up echoed through the floor register, he heard the unmistakable humming of a child.

 

Michael reached to the floor for his fallen torch.

 

“Bloody Damn” he swore as he clicked the switch. The batteries had died. And he had left the spares in the auto.

 

But the sound was real and not showing signs of stopping.

 

Michael rose and went to the foyer. A full moon had come out, giving just enough light to see his way.

 

There was another floor registry just at his feet. And up through it still came that hauntingly eerie child’s humming.

 

He looked up half expecting to see the figures of those two gaunt servant girls looking down.

 

But nothing was there. It had been a dream. Michael said that to himself but had trouble convincing himself that it had been just that.

 

But from where was that blasted humming coming from.

 

Curiosity overtook common sense.

 

Instead of turning around and leaving right then and there, Michael approached the stairs and slowly began walking up.

 

As he reached the top snd peered down the long darkened corridors, he realized the humming coming out of the registers was now louder.

 

He moved on into the depths of the house stopping at each door for a listen. But not opening any.

 

The doors were all closed, save one that he could make out at the end of the corridor.

 

When he reached the end, in the murky light, he could see that stairs led up to the attic floor above.

 

At the top was where the humming could be headed quite clearly.

 

Now throwing caution to the wind, the reporter walked up the stairs.

 

At the top of the stairs were four doors.

 

Three were closed. One was opened and it was from here the humming appeared to be coming from. Strands of moonlit came out into the Corritore.

 

He could see a shadow outlined on the floor, moving the rhythm with the humming

 

He was not alone here.

 

Michael walked up to the room and peered around the corner to look inside.

 

The room is a child's Nursury with old rickety toys, freaky-looking dolls, and other bits and bobs that a child would collect.

 

I’m the centre is a child’s drawing desk. And seated hunched over, her back to him, is the creepy girl that had met him at the gate.

 

She is busy drawing something on the board, humming that weird little tune he had been following to its source.

 

He walks up and sees a quite good picture of the front of the old mansion that had been drawn. Dark clouds are above it, yellow streaks coming out, a childish attempt at drawing lightening

 

She is currently drawing the backside of a rather bent figure in a long brown coat looking in at one of the mansions' third-floor windows. Hovering in the air.

 

He asks the girl without thinking,

“whose that”

 

The humming abruptly stops as The girl looks up past him then slowly lifts a hand and points

 

He follows her finger to an outside window.

 

Michael feels his blood draining, turning as white as a ghost.

 

For, looking back in at them from that window is.

 

Something not quite human, and quite terrifying.

 

It possessed a white face, with large round black eyes with no pupils, no hair, or nose. A gaping mouth full of crooked, jagged teeth. And a red substance was dripping from its lips.

 

Michael stands there horror-struck as he looks at the terror on the outside of the window.

 

The girl rises and walks to that window…

 

And to the reporter's horror, begins to open it.

 

Long green bloated fingers with scraping claws grip the window seal from the outside.

 

Michael turns and flees the room, running down the stairs.

 

Reaching the corridor he looks back up over his shoulder. Nothing is there. But he knows it is coming after him.

 

For he had been seen!

 

That thought entered Michaels's head for no reason, nor did he understand why. But he believed it.

 

Flying along the corridor he reaches the stairs leading to the foyer, out of the corner of his eye there appear to be two shapes huddled in a dark bedroom doorway.

 

He did not stop to look, instead ran full tilt onto the upper landing.

 

Not able to catch jus breath, heart pounding like it had never had before Michael takes the stairs three at a time. The at the bottom vaults to the door.

 

Sure that something quite evil is in hot pursuit

 

Michael hurls open the door and runs out into the cold darkness of the night.

 

>>>>>>>>>>>!

 

The next morning the caretaker sees they Michaels auto is still there.

 

Having his son(a strapping lad of 16) wait guard by the reporter’s auto, he slowly walks up to the house.

 

>>>>>>>>>>

 

On the following Friday, the late addition of the newspaper carried the story written above.

 

Michael’s bloodstained notebook had been found several kilometers up the hill.

 

The scribbled words within used to write the story.

 

According to the last pages Michael had made it back to the auto and locked himself inside.

 

There, feeling somewhat safe, wrote his story down while it was still fresh.

 

It ended with a final unfinished scribble

 

“Damn, she is …..”

 

No sign of the reporter Michael’s body was ever found

 

The story appeared under the title

 

A nightmarish night on y Twmpath

 

It ended with the final line

 

Happy Halloween

1931

 

And cheers to yours.

 

Parked in a big compound which I believe is paid storage, as a fair few vehicles (including this hapless Fiat) looked like they hadn't moved for a while. Someone's been renewing the tax on this one though, so it's not forgotten just yet.

There was loads of old camper vans parked in here too, waiting for their next summer excursion perhaps. Or just being lived in....

. . . Crusing at the beach used to mean going round and round in circles at the beach hoping to attract some attention from the opposite sex! To these Pelicans (my version of Snowy Owls while on vacation) it means using the warm ocean breezes to look for a hapless fish or a free handout from the tourists!

 

Have a great weekend Facebook, Flickr, and 500px friends!

 

Facebook

Male sparrowhawk on a neighbour's fence, enjoying his meal. The hapless prey was a goldfinch.

 

(See other shots below)

 

Thanks for all comments and fave adds.

A wonderful sunset at Zabriskie point from a quick visit to DVNP last year. I already posted one image from this evening last year, but I found the incredible folded landscape at Zabriskie so mesmerizing I felt like processing another shot from there.

One of my favorite book/radio series is the "Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy" and in one of the later chapters our hapless heroes (and heroine) meet Slartybartfast (Adams had a great knack for names) who was a "planet designer" specializing in designing fjords, and was especially proud of having won an award for Earth's Norwegian fjords, and described them as having "Lovely crinkly edges". I may have misremembered it as "crinkly bits" or maybe there's some difference between the radio show and books. Regardless, that phrase stuck in my head as I worked on the photo because these are also truly lovely crinkly bits, just at a different scale than the fjords.

 

For anyone who has not had the pleasure, I refer you to the original BBC radio series as the best way to appreciate it. The books are also good. Various TV and movie renditions much less so. Douglas' Adams writing is a uniquely delightful blend of funny, silly, quirky, deeply insightful and (it turns out) in some odd ways profoundly prescient (the "infinite improbability drive" seems like a fantastically funny take on the strangeness of quantum theory).

Carrie Fisher had been scheduled to appear at Emerald City Comic Con this year, so I decided to make a Leia tribute for our Brick Nation display. See it there!

 

We've already seen LEGO tributes showing a demure Princess Leia shoving a floppy disk into some poor hapless droid, but I wanted to reimagine a moment from the original trilogy that really captured Fisher's feisty character!

 

Character design inspired by Vitreolum.

Overall concept inspired by Sideshow Collectibles.

 

Sending all my Flickr friends warmest wishes and kindest regards for this season of lights.

 

It's time for me to study the light at my feet,

... absorb the whimsy of hapless shadows,

.... be awed by the artistry of happenstance,

..... and romance the charm of it all before it fades away.

 

Blessings,

~~Sheree~~

  

EPISODE at ABBOTS CHASE Parte 2

  

A fallen sapling blocks the path to the bridge, causing the equines to rear,

Devon smartly cracks his whip to quell the blindered horses’ instinctive fears.

From the bridges’ shadows a masked figure emerges, his senses deliciously a shiver,

A villain known as Smiling George, quite viciously commands out “Stand and deliver”.

  

The owl’s head turns, as George’s crisp words catch its sharp ear crystal clear,

While the rest of the forest quickly hushes, silently waiting for the destinies to appear.

Unscrupulous George moves swiftly in, waving a glinting sword in wickedly showy display,

Roguishly approaching the fancy carriage in his most menacingly cocky way.

  

Startled, Vain Devon Costner, coldly oblivious of his beautiful charges lustful crush,

Jumps hurriedly down from his coach seat, scurrying away in a rapidly cowardice rush.

Leaving his fair, wealthy passenger behind, woefully vulnerable and unprotected,

And to add, a snickering highwayman approaching, enthusiastic and undistracted.

  

Reaching the carriage door, George throws it open exposing the moons light to inside,

Hearing the welcome sounds of luxurious silk rustling, in the shadows someone tries to hide.

Noticing pinpricks of expensive moonlit radiance from jewels now lit in the darkness within,

Mockingly invites the passenger to please step out, drooling as he can hardly wait to begin.

   

Her shadow moved hesitantly, framing the doorway before Georges icy cruel black shape,

A plump purse hung, fat and ripe for the picking, as its owner haplessly sought escape.

Momentarily washed over with extreme excitement, George shakes his head to clear,

Then posture regained, eagerly snatches away the purse, intending to create great fear.

  

George then steps back, stuffing her velvety purse inside his cloak, invites out, grinning wide,

As our lady steps out, letting her pretty gown slither down, her Tiera’d head raised in pride.

Reaching the ground, she stares at the highwayman standing before her, his awe unabashed,

Innocently unaware of how her plethora of diamonds shimmer out to him, tried in the twilights bath.

  

A gentle swishing is heard, as the pretty lady, hiding her nerves, straightens her party frock,

Shivering under his wolfishly hungry gaze, eyeing her curves like a lamb strayed away from her flock.

George felt a spike of greedy delight, observing the slick sheen of her richly tailored lengthy gown,

Trimmed with frills of white, its midnight silks easily, provocatively, from her figure cascading down.

  

As she inwardly admonished how folly it had been to wish upon the mourning star, eyes winced,

With the nasty Highwayman looming before her , of his ultimate attentions she was all too convinced.

To ply his trade upon her, was the resolve the of this cruel blade wielding stranger, she sadly sensed,

Seeing his black gloved fingers reaching, with the danger of losing her baubles, she immediately tensed.

  

Great wish she thought in self pity, a man was now finally looking upon her with intense desires,

But her flesh prickled, knowing it was only her pretty jewels this particular highwayman requires.

Meanwhile Smiling George eagerly approached, sword straight out , mind reeling,

Holding up a satin gloved hand, "Do not touch me sir“, she said firmly, with no feeling.

  

Smiling wickedly, George had held a hand touching her scintillating black gown,

Fingering the rich, luxurious silk, he only smiled in answer to his victim’s frown.

But as for her diamond necklace, it gleamed to him with an inviting display of light,

Smiling George thought to himself, “ This alluring lady shall be a little less richer tonight."

  

The highway man reached out, this Damsels trinkets, her figure to relieve

"Stand and Deliver" she parried shrinking, her ill luck not to be believed.

"Sir, certainly you have a better line", she taunted hopelessly in desperation,

George only grinned wider, her words failing to break into his concentration.

  

"The pretty lady has some wit," George aloud said, as her words struck a chord,

"But if you do not cooperate me lassie, the next touch may be a prick of my sword!"

"I’ll have your necklace first, my fine pretty one!" he snarled, forcing her to step back,

To the miserable lady’s dismay, the coach blocked her way, giving George opportunity to attack.

  

Lifting her necklace, he fingered its diamonds, his eyes evilly tainted with greed,

"Sir, they are not mine, but a friends," she tried bargaining with a desperate plead.

The damsel in distress twisted and turned, trying to break it free of his firm grasp.

But it was in vain, as he held her waist, and pried open the necklaces diamonded clasp,

  

Its mine, she admitted, please do not take it , it was me late Great- Grandmothers pride,

But upon deaf ears her appeals were landing, as the highwayman took what he had eyed.

As the lady felt her diamond necklace tug, then come pulling away from around her throat,

Her spirit weakened, as George held it free, admired its brite glitter with a self-satisfied gloat.

  

The lady bowed her head in sorrow, revealing the diamond coronet she wore with grace,

The highwayman’s fingers flew to the prize, freeing the twinkling trinket from its place.

George pocketed it, then reached again with focused intent, his sword poking her waist,

She thought, "I really don't need this." while shaking her head, unfettered hair flying in his face.

  

Her thrashing head then exposed her long dangling earrings to his searching stare,

Smiling wickedly, his slick fingers slipping in skillfully through her loose silken hair.

Unemotionally avoiding the pleading of her eyes, he pulled the thick silky strands aside,

Then skillfully relieved the lady’s ears of their dangling bangles, ignoring her sad sigh.

  

Then as the thief’s hand snaked up to strip a showy bracelet from his victim’s raised wrist,

The owl left to fly closer, its interest caught by the glittering shimmers in the evenings mist.

Attempting to wrestle free, the damsel tried again to reason, her breaths deep and duress’d,

"Sir, these baubles are worthless!", she pleaded, as he snatched the large brooch from her dress.

  

The highway man’s victim was strugglin, trying not to give in any inch of the way,

George found the damsels be gowned figure slippery, as she twisted to keep him at bay.

Pretty to watch, exciting to feel, Smiling George admired the spirit of his captured prize,

But as always when robbing a frisky lass, gloating with no look of pity crossed his devil’s eyes.

  

Grabbing her hands, he methodically stripped off all her rings, taking great care,

Then he worked off her last diamond bracelet, pulling it free with an added flair.

All the while his vile mind marveling that his little trap this evening had snared,

A totally unique beauty, quite undefended and dazzling with riches plentiful and rare.

  

Into his cloak pocket the pretty ladies glitteringly jewels soon flickered out, disappearing,

Our damsel, had valiantly resisted, but that devil smiling George was once again persevering.

Playing her like a cat would a timid mouse, that was this Highwayman’s favorite devious game,

And like most damsels who met Smiling George that louse, found the Git harbored no shame!

   

Soon George methodically had stripped away everything of hers that glittered and shined,

But his desire was not sated, so he continued to feelingly probe with a determined mind.

Our lady wondered when the creep would finish this searching and pawing of her gown,

When he asked what valuables were hidden underneath, she quickly shot him a cold frown.

  

She squirmed struggling in his grasp, as his nastily malevolent words pierced crisp air,

Knowing there was no more, of her valuables, she had been completely stripped bare.

Still, his fingers poked at her gowned figure, she taunted in his ear, attempting to strike a chord,

"Oui, Would it be easier work me cruel sir! , if you’d just sheathed your bloody sword!?"

  

Smiling George, when out on the prowl for valuables to enrich his vain standing in society,

Practiced no gentlemanly bounds, like all fellow predators, his methods had gained bit of notoriety!

So, ignoring his jewel less victims heart felt appeals to end his terribly uncomfortable advances,

The evil Highwayman just continues on with his searching, taking full advantage of the circumstances.

 

How to Tour Penkill Castle in No Easy Steps, Part 2

(See previous image for Part 1)

 

In the last exciting episode of How to Tour Penkill Castle in No Easy Steps, I had just completed what few photographic compositions from up the lane that Penkill Castle would avail. Walking back in total revery of the liquid sunshine of Ayrshire that imbued me, the first thing I noticed was that my bride was missing! See what I did there? The joy of revery receding to panic in the span of one sentence… except there was neither “revery” nor “panic” in that moment. I was drenched to my drawers and Joyce has a way of turning up missing a lot. Walking together once at a nearby Tanger Outlet Mall, deep in conversation, she did not respond to a query. I turned to her and repeated the question… but it wasn’t her. Another woman looked at me with the aforementioned panic. I apparently gave an expression of wonder about how my wife morphed suddenly into altogether different human being. Something in the window two stores back had caught her eye, and she stopped there without uttering a word. I’ve learned to keep a closer eye on her these days or hold hands. She still breaks loose occasionally like Mustang Sally, though when I do lose her now, I text her, “Where am I?” It’s our longest running joke.

 

Looking around, I wondered that very thing there at Penkill. Having no signal, texting was out of the question. Was she swallowed up by the Scottish wilderness, or – “Hey! Come in out of the rain!” – perhaps the castle? I’m going with castle. Joyce was waiting just inside the formidable wooden door with a nice fluffy towel. “Bless you!” From there, she led me to the upper room of the turret, where hot tea and biscuits (aka cookies) awaited us.

 

That was likely the best cup of tea I’ve ever had. Between that and that cozy den, my chill was knocked out in a hurry. Sitting in an overstuffed couch next to Joyce, she told me that the housekeeper insisted that she come in from the rain. That dousing, and a similar incident the next day in Northern Ireland, taught me a lesson for subsequent trips to the U.K. I got us each a phenomenal compact travel umbrella by Repel (yes, Amazon has it) that goes with us everywhere… ever the boy scout, and it paid off. Keep it in mind if you’re headed that way anytime soon and leave a little something in the tip jar.

 

I wondered a bit about our host as I finished my tea. Joyce and I both had top of the line Galaxy S5 smartphones then but getting 4G information in Scotland using American related tech at the time was frustrating at best. I have since learned that Patrick Dromgoole could best be understood somewhat as Wales’s answer to Ted Turner. He was chairman of HTV Wales, a maverick bucking the BBC hold on communications in the U.K., with much of the programming presented in Welsh (I doubt Wheel of Fortune was among the programs there… you have no idea how hilarious “Can I buy a vowel?” would be concerning the Welsh language). He was also an executive producer, producer, and director of movies and television programming. All I knew as he entered the room was that he had been involved in the entertainment industry, often behind the camera. It also occurred to me that merely the cost for keeping such a structure as Penkill as comfortable as it was required a standard of life a bit higher than I am used to. Robin Leech came to mind in that moment, hobnobbing with the rich and famous. Yet, something about his gracious hospitality to a couple of foreign strangers who just suddenly came a-knockin’ perhaps told me more about him… he’s an artist, always looking for what life has to offer his imagination. I can relate to that. I have met famous people before, but I am never starstruck, as I’ve never met stranger. I tend to go with my strengths… makes me think I should have been a salesman. “Buy this or I’ll kick your dog and pull up your shrubbery!” Well, maybe not. He took note of how wet I was as he came into the room. I told him that I fell in the moat. His laughter set the tone for our time there.

 

Introductions all around, then Joyce quickly laid out her connection to the Boyd family, and her interest in its history and ancestry. Patrick took an immediate interest, asking Joyce what she knew of the castle. Patrick had purchased Penkill Castle in 1993 for the sum of £650,000. His interest in it was not that of Boyd ancestry, but rather the Pre-Raphaelite artwork associated with it. Of course, to understand that required knowledge of the castle’s overall history. I instantly discerned that he was not simply owner/resident here; he had been a consummate student of the past. ‘If these walls could speak!’ Penkill’s did… he listened.

 

In writing this, I had to test the rationality of what Patrick stated, if only to make sense to my American mind, though rationality and the World Wide Web are often anything but synonymous… I have hens’ teeth now for show-and-tell, however! Penkill had passed from Boyd Laird to Boyd Laird, all relatives of the Earls of Kilmarnock, from Adam Boyd, the 1st Laird, to Evelyn May Courtney-Boyd, the 16th and final Laird, as she would pass it to private ownership. Some of those Lairds were builders with vision; others were anything but, handled resources poorly and some let things go to ruin. All of that is true, though gleaning much truth beyond that over the internet is seemingly little more than an exercise in futility. Regardless such futility, it does point out a couple more certainties: even (or should I say especially?) aristocrats are given to the human condition, as is the internet. I’ve read historical accounts of Penkill that are contradictory, hearsay, or just downright false. As is always the case, some well-intentioned online know-it-alls are more interested in reducing the world to a reflection of their opinions without once considering those opinions may be mistaken at best. A particular site wrongly attributes Alice Boyd as the 15th Laird of Penkill. The same site also attributes her as the 14th Laird, a glaring contradiction. Who knows what else the author got wrong? From there, it’s evident authors of other sites took liberties with the same false claim, which amounted to poor research. I would have to pour through actual documents to determine such historical aspects conclusively… but my intent here is not to unfold a grand historical account of the castle (allegedly, an unpublished history by a relative of Laird Alice Boyd depicting that period at Penkill is held by Princeton University if anyone is so inclined). It is merely my observation of things heard and seen from one who knew this place intimately, as so few are.

 

Patrick was as charming as he was gracious. He genuinely seemed to appreciate our company… we were a willing audience and Joyce had questions. At age 83 at the time, his movement was slowed, yet his mind was quick to offer a lifetime of accumulated knowledge with both wit and certainty. In mere moments from his appearance, I found his sense of humor to be quite like mine. Joyce had told him that we were on our honeymoon. He took note that we were nearer the ‘sell by’ date than a typical bride and groom. I told him about Joyce showing her ring at work where she had been a nurse for 25 plus years… the first question from coworkers was “Where are you registered?” We were still sorting that out at the time because, being older, she had stuff, I had stuff, all God’s children had stuff, and we truly didn’t need more. Somewhat flustered, Joyce recounted that at dinner that night with friends. I didn’t miss a beat: “Next time, just tell them that at our age, we’re registered with CVS Pharmacy.” Patrick roared, and we seemed to bond in that moment. At his age, he well understood the progression. In answer to your question, yes, we settled to register with both Samaritan’s Purse and Wounded Warrior Project… with CVS as an alternate. Ha!

 

Patrick regaled us with a concise understanding of the region and its people. Something in that stood out to me. A few days before, Joyce and I attended the 700th Celebration of the Battle of Bannockburn. Mind you, that’s not so much a celebration of war, but rather Scotland’s stand against England. Think about that… 700 years. Joyce had tickets to a special presentation of how the battle ensued. Walking among the displays, it occurred to me that Scots hold a grudge for a very long time. That is a funny generalization, but it’s close to the truth. The oppressed commoners of Ayrshire were no great respecters of either aristocracy, or of the imposing edifices they lived in. Patrick had to bring in skilled workers out of London for upgrades and repairs to the castle. The locals wanted no part of that, some feeling that it should be left to decay.

 

Patrick’s interest there started with Alice Boyd, the 14th Laird of Penkill. Her father and her brother, both named Spenser, died rather young. Before her brother, the 13th Laird, died, they both had formed a lasting alliance with the British Pre-Raphaelite movement while the castle was under construction. Allow a bit of supposition here on my part, as I’m unable to find exactness here apart from Patrick’s thoughts: the root of that alliance likely came as they, too, had to turn to the place of the best available craftsmen on the British Isles at the time, London. At her brother’s death, Alice assumed lairdship, as Spenser was childless. Under her direction, construction continued, yet more as a transformation influenced by the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. Penkill would become a center to the movement, with many of the brotherhood finding their way through its doors.

 

Alice would become not just a fine painter herself, but she would find herself accepted into the brotherhood. One of the finest artists of that movement, William Bell Scott, formed an enduring relationship with her and trained her in his style of painting… she began as his student and became his muse. Though she never married, her connection with Scott would become quite the soap opera tryst… he was married, though unhappily, and his muse would become a sought-after prize. I have a working title for the dramatic interpretation of that…Penkill Abbey. Has a ring to it.

 

In March of 2021, a painting, The Thames from Cheyne Walk, probably a view from Belle Vue House sold at Bonhams, unframed, for £ 237,750 (US$ 322,811). Belle Vue (meaning beautiful view) House in London was occupied by Scott at the time. Alice created that painting while wintering there. Now, art can be defined in a myriad of ways. However, art cannot be defined in every way. Truth can be found in art, ‘truth’ being defined as that which conforms to reality… in this instance, we see evidence of both the existence and depth of their relationship. There is yet another truth about that painting… there is significant worth in Pre-Raphaelite art. After Scott’s wife died, he moved into Penkill Castle. Included in Alice’s additions to the castle was an art studio, where they both set to work converting the castle into an imaginative gallery.

 

Scott adorned the castle tower staircase with murals based on The Kingis Quair (yes, that’s spelled correctly, meaning The King’s Book), a semi-autobiographical poem written by James I of Scotland, describing the King's capture by the English in 1406 while on his way to France and his subsequent imprisonment by Henry IV. Members of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood modeled as characters in that undertaking. Meanwhile, Alice concentrated on the turret room and the Laird’s bedroom. Other works were done, though we were privileged to see only the staircase, the turret room, and a grand dining hall. From descriptions of Alice’s work on the bedroom, I suspect she was the one who decorated the surround in my image A View from the Turret. Another member of the brotherhood, poet Cristina Rossetti, summed up her thoughts of Penkill in this way, ‘Even Naples in imagination cannot efface the quiet fertile comeliness of Penkill in reality.’ I will never know Naples of her day, yet there is a depth to that statement that Joyce and I could well appreciate.

 

Even such grandeur needs upkeep. 100 years later, the castle fell into disrepair yet again. Evelyn May Courtney-Boyd, the 16th and last Boyd Laird of Penkill was age 84 at the time she offered the castle for private ownership. Friends remembered her as generous to a fault, though with no head for finances… bills were going unpaid. That, and apparently, she was taken advantage of by many around her, essentially rifling through and absconding with treasured art of the castle. One of those people became quite legendary, though not in a way he would have preferred. Are there any stories about milkmen that end up as anything other than jokes about paternity issues? Patrick had one such story concerning the double portrait of the siblings Alice and Spencer Boyd, painted by William Bell Scott that hangs there in the turret room. That painting is supposedly cursed. Etched above it is a warning, “Move not this picture, let it be, for love of those in effigy.”

 

According to the tale, of which there appears to be some authenticity, Willie Hume was the milkman who delivered to Evelyn her dairy necessities. While doing so, he also took note of her loneliness. He, along with his wife, finagled their way not just into the Laird’s heart, but eventually into the castle as a resident. Soon thereafter, art from Penkill’s collections found their way to Scottish auction houses. Hmmm… seems like 5-fingered supplemental income transpired right under Evelyn’s nose to my untrained wits. Willie thought the cursed painting should be a prize for some hapless auctioneer, though many knew of its peculiar affliction and wanted nothing to do with it. Unfazed and without taking heed to the warning, Willie attempted to pry the cursed painting from its place… and immediately fell to the floor in bodily distress. Some accounts of this tale have Willie dying on the spot. Others state he died later that night of angina, though more likely of a heart attack, as angina is merely a condition causing chest pain. Of course, what matters here is not the exactness of how or when he died, but rather that the curse has teeth. The double portrait remains where it has been since the etching, and I have a picture to prove it. I’m not one for curses, but I made no effort to touch it or any of the pieces that Patrick allowed me to photograph… no sense tempting fate.

 

The key word there is “allowed.” Patrick asked that I limit my photography only to the pieces he would point out to me as safe to post. It became clear that his interest was not merely the art of the Pre-Raphaelite movement… I sensed his vision in our conversation to resurrect the castle much to the condition that Alice Boyd and William Bell Scott had left it. Take from that what you will, but he had both means and resources to secure that. Understand that “safe” items were a known quantity that even the auctioneers were aware of… and that assumes acquisitions that he would rather keep close to the vest to protect his assets. I think that’s marvelous. Let me explain why.

 

Several Scottish historical societies clamored for a shot at Penkill as soon as Laird Evelyn May Courtney-Boyd indicated she was letting it go. Their offerings, however, were a mere pittance of Penkill’s value, even considering its poor condition. Much to their horror (gasp!), she sold it to an American interloper, a lawyer, of all things! Most all that I could find out about him was lawyer, lawyer, lawyer. And he was… but there was something about him that stood out to me. As Paul Harvey was prone to say, there’s more to story. Elton ‘Al’ Eckstrand was indeed a lawyer for the Chrysler Corporation, which fed his habit as a National Hot Rod Association (NHRA) super stock drag racer known as ‘The Lawman’… and he truly was a legend, inducted into the Drag Racing Hall of Fame in 2000. That’s where he made his fortune. For those of you who believe straight-track racing is no big deal, super stock dragsters are grizzlies compared to your teddy bear everyday cars. For a super stock racer to make it to the end of that track intact requires precise timing and reflexes to make that work, and control of not just tremendous horsepower, but also the incredible torque that horsepower produces that will kill you anywhere along that track if you don’t keep it reigned in tight. Al, as he was known among pro circuits, held many records doing just that. Yeah, I knew who he was and had seen him race. I just didn’t know of his connection to Penkill until now.

 

Al died in 2008. It turns out that his obituary was a leading source to that connection: “During the 1980's, Mr. Eckstrand purchased the 15th Century Penkill Castle in Scotland, home to the Pre-Raphaelite artists and officially became the 18th Laird of Penkill. Mr. Eckstrand received numerous awards from the British Government for his efforts in the preservation of the castle and became famous as the American who saved Penkill Castle.” Yet again I’m met with truths and inconsistencies. Indeed, awards came to him from not just the NHRA. Long story short, through his efforts to restore the castle, he affected what the Scottish societies likely never could and saved the castle from ruin. There is one debatable issue here, though. He may have been made an honorary Laird for his efforts, but the 18th? The only way that happens is if the milkman was made the 17th Laird… he was no doubt a resident.

 

In 1992 Penkill was sold by Eckstrand to Scots-born Canadian businessman Don Brown. A year later, it passed into Patrick’s possession. With a year’s gap, Patrick continued along Al’s path to renovation, again much to the bewilderment of Scottish societies. Chilean-born to Irish parents, Patrick was considered an outsider as well. I took note of a spark to Patrick that I don’t believe any of the society could equal… detail. He was no stranger to a camera, though his experience was with cinematic cameras. As I set about the photography of the artwork, I used the tripod to straighten the perspective of each image. Patrick understood that, though he had no experience with a high-end digital camera. The painting of Spenser Boyd is a rather dark piece that is hung in a dark place where it has always been, the turret room. And it’s a small canvas, about 6 inches by 9 inches in my recollection. Yet, my camera was able to pull detail from the painting that Patrick was unaware of. He was fascinated. A magnifying glass would never show such detail. He got excited about the depth of complexity that he might use to further investigate his acquisitions better.

 

As an artist, I recognize the interests of the Scottish societies to preserve Penkill. I also know that they have somewhat limited resources. As a photographer, I’ve invested time, effort, money, a depth of knowledge, and passion into my craft. Yet, there have been many well-intentioned folks who hit me with, “Nice camera! I’ll bet it takes nice photos.” They don’t understand that my camera is nothing more than an expensive paperweight until I set it to do what I want it to. I’ve had societies, publications, and individuals approach me with the same expectations as the Scottish societies have to the owners of Penkill. They ‘love’ my work but would rather I give it to them than they invest in it. I’ve learned to say no. Patrick’s desire and aesthetic as a curator with a background in art to return Penkill to its rightful place as the center of the Pre-Raphael art movement should be taken by the societies as a gift. They need to see the value of it. They need to offer that value one day… I believe it will come back to them manyfold.

 

The last piece Patrick showed me was a bas relief of the Temptation, a depiction of Jesus’ encounter with Satan. It had been part of the turret room fireplace mantle that had rotted and had to be replaced. It was in such poor condition that the only way it could be saved was to have it framed as art in perpetuity… Patrick made certain that details were preserved. Concerning this piece, he told me that there was some confusion as to whether Satan was offering an apple (the round object in his hand) to Eve in this portrayal. I said, “If that’s Eve, women were a lot more rugged back in the day than we knew.” Patrick laughed. It’s Satan tempting Jesus, who created everything from nothing, to follow his command to turn a stone into bread. Artists must be content to create from what has already been created. Patrick was no painter, but with Penkill as his palette, he had created no less than a masterpiece.

 

With that, we had a plane to catch to continue our adventure in Northern Ireland and Patrick had a party to attend shortly. It was the 4th of July, and his neighbor, actor, television host Craig Ferguson, who was quite proud of his American citizenship (2008), was in high celebration spirits. He said that he would give Craig our regards. Nearly a week before, I watched brilliant light from the just risen sun move completely around the cabin of the A380 that we had just crossed the ‘pond’ in… we were moving into position for landing at Heathrow, London. I remember thinking that I was going to meet people that I had only known online. They were all folks that I had come to love and respect…yet this thought just chimed in: “What if they’re jerks?” That thought quickly evolved to “What if I’m a jerk?” My oldest Flickr friend would be picking us up at Heathrow to stay with him for a few days. A retired London surgeon, he would go on to show us his city from his perspective as a photographer. He also gave me good tips for driving in the UK… that’s how to truly immerse yourself in culture. I am so happy that the world is not quite like me… it makes life so much richer. Turns out they were all among the sweetest people I’ve met anywhere, including Patrick.

 

We lingered at the end of the driveway to sort out ‘British Chick’ (the Mercedes’ GPS) to put us back on the path to Glasgow Airport. “That word is disambiguous… just kidding! You will arrive in 118 miles.” Well, things were looking up! I would be leaving British Chick in Scotland. I wonder if she misses me.

 

 

Chronicles of lifting Light :

Tales from The Poet and the Peasant

 

There is a certain daring “edge” in acting out a role playing game on a partner(s) in public, especially if (in our case) one favors pickpocketing.

It’s a certain adrenaline thrill, both addictive and desirable, that increases up until the “mark” is relived of one or more of her dangling valuables. Whether its carried out with a simple bump, a lift conveyed while, say dancing, or a squeeze play maneuvered with a second player, it all creates and holds a level of excitement most thrilling in its nature, quite erotic within its scope.

 

This Chronicle contains short essays on pickpocketing games played solely within our group over the past few years.

 

These were games only, done with full knowledge and consent of all the players ( with a couple of exceptions where the parties involved were not informed of the actual happenings until sometime after the fact.)

Any articles of jewelry lifted were returned to their original owners, albeit sometimes those owners at first thought the jewelry being returned had just simply fallen away.

The actual facts have been stretched, padded and enhanced, due primarily to the significant detail that I rather like those in my immediate circle, and in order to keep them liking me, have agreed to “put meat on the bone” so to speak, when putting pen to paper.

This journal is far from complete, and additional stories will be added as they are played out.

  

The “Poet and the Peasant” Is a little backwater pub owned and run by Brian’s Aunt and Uncle. It’s a laid back place, music (Mostly live, some dead, as our saying goes) .Beyond its ornate doorway one finds the usual caste of regulars ,Including us, consuming a generous selection of ales and other “demon” drink.

The pub is housed in an ancient old building with all sorts of old Victorian era objects, found and given a home in the pub’s numerous nooks and crannies. Including the yellowed skull of poor Erik.

Erik was a 14th century welsh poet and balladeer who supposedly was beheaded for making several torrid lyrics about a certain Saxon king. The lyrics are long forgotten, but Erik’s remains still reign. His grinning skull sits high up in a shelf along a balustrade, usually with a cigar clamped in his jaws. Couldn’t tell how many times some bloke with more’in his fill of drink has tried to light it for the poor blighter.

The pub is a regular howl around Halloween, thanks to Erik, who has obtained quite a degree of notability, despite being dead and silent for all these long years. Costume and poetry contests abound around this time of the year.

Basically, Erik aside, the “Poet and the Peasant” is a great place to hang out and make plans with a pint in hand.

  

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Opening Act

Atonement

We were heading to a small resort that we once had stayed at for a wedding and reception. It was Just “Ginny” and I on a 4 day escape from reality. We were passing through one of the small towns on the way, when Ginny spotted a dress shoppe, with several mannequins wearing evening frocks. She had to stop, we had a function the next month and she had “nothing to wear”( Liar I thought grinning).

 

We went inside and on a “gently worn” rack she pulled out this long string sleeved satin number and tried it on. The young clerk said it was patterned after the one in the movie atonement ( which neither of us had seen) but its rich deep green( Irish green the clerk called it, which I really had no idea was a colour) really set off Ginny’s long copper hair, and I liked the way her hair laid down her bare backside.

 

We arrived at the resort in early afternoon and claimed our suite( paid for by an anniversary gift) and set out to explore the place. The resort was packed, and we found out that there were 2 evening wedding receptions taking place on Saturday. An Idea began to take seed and as we walked I found a way to bring it into conversation.

 

Ginny had brought her rhinestones ( see Album Chronicles of lifting Light, B) for a bit of date roleplay in our suite some chosen evening of our stay. I suggested that she should give her gown and the rhinestones a try in public. Where she asked? I than laid out my game plan and a smile crept across her face, lit up by the sun poking through the trees on the wooded path we had been walking. Ginny liked to dress up, and I used that trump card to my advantage.

 

At around 5pm I slipped into the larger of the two receptions (crashed if you like) and wondering over to the bar I got a drink and waited, nursing it. I was reasonably presentable in a suit jacket, slacks, silk shirt and satin tie. As I waited I found myself pretty much unnoticed, which was a far cry from what Ginny encountered when she cautiously entered about fifteen minutes later, green gown swirling, rhinestones all a glitter. It didn’t take long for the sharks to start circling. One lad started a conversation, and I watched her squirm a little, before putting my drink down and coming to my damsel’s rescue. I had to literally peel the bloke away from her. We went onto the dance floor, pretending like we had never met. As we danced through several songs I could tell by the look in Ginny’s eyes that she was feeling the same fire within that I was. Ready for part 2 ? I asked, she got a surprised look in her eyes, and began to check herself, uh uh I said, not till we leave. We went out together; I spied the bloke watching us from a table, and smirked to meself over his look of frustration.

 

Outside we started to walk along the promenade, joining along with several other ladies, charming in their in gowns and frills, with their tuxedoed escorts, escapees all of us from the receptions. Ginny felt exceptionally good as, with my arm around her, she cuddled into my side while we walked some distance. But our bliss was not long, when Ginny , looking back, said there was a hotel security cop heading our way. Damn I thought, pinched for crashing the reception.

 

The rent-a-cop came up to us, and placing a firm grip upon my shoulder(or tried, I was a good foot taller, where do they find these blokes?) talked directly to Ginny. Everything alright then Miss, he questioned Ginny, trying to sound professional, and he almost pulled it off, except he squeaked on the word Miss.

 

Why yes, officer Ginny said, pouring on the charm( which is a quite frightful weapon in her capable hands), thank you for your lovely concern, but why do you ask? I received a report that this man may have been bothering you, Ma’am he said , no squeaks this time. He looked at me, I just grinned back at him, waiting for Ginny to belt it out of the park. She smiled, her green eyes brite, and laying a hand on the “officers” chin, told him how adorable his concern was for her safety, but her husband and she made sure he saw her ring, is really not that much of a bother most of the time. Husband he started, than stopped, caught his embarrassment nicely, then tried to save it, but Miss, I heard you had lost a necklace.

Whatever reaction he had hoped by saying this, it was not the one he got. Oh that, she said, the clasp broke, so my husband took it for safe keeping, really, where would I have put it, and she stepped back and let him look her over for evidence of supporting her statement. Game, Set and Match, I smirked to myself!

With the way she looked in that satin gown, and her charm at full output, no mere mortal male would have been able to stand a chance. Well, he choked out, all’s good then isit, and releasing my shoulder; he turned heel, and walked off hurriedly, like a scolded puppy with its tail between its legs. Ginny giggled, well played I told her, well played. And, again with my arm around her and Ginny cuddling in, we continued our stroll, with Ginny letting out the occasional chortal of laughter over the whole incident.

  

We reached an overlook over the lake, where a pair of swans was meandering about. A young lady in a long white dress with a glittering bracelet around one wrist, was walking along the path that edged along the lake. The swans were near her, reminding me of a tele commercial I had seen long ago ( If anyone else remembers it please leave a comment).

 

Ginny caught me looking, wanna do the path luv, she whispered with in a most beguiling manner. We did so, and eventually found a rather isolated little nook behind a hedge grow. Here I will have to leave to the readers imagination what transpired there, for the only witnesses were the two of us, and a rather surprised chippy who crawled out of his hole for a gander…

 

On our way back we once again stopped at the overlook. Time to tally up I said. Ginny smiled and opening her purse pulled out a scrap of paper. She showed it to me, on it was written the word necklace. Lucky guess, did you feel me take it I asked. Of course she lied; I could have done it better. Wanna bet I teased. Maybe someday we’ll see she responded. Now the way the game worked was that I pretended to be a light fingered jewel thief, with my eyes on the lady in green’s jewels. It was my objective to lift a piece of Ginny’s jewellery some point in the evening..

 

Ginny agreed to it on the condition that beforehand she would write down a piece of jewellery on a piece of paper, if it matched the piece I had lifted, than I could decide what we would do the next evening, if not, she would decide. So later, as we had a few drinks in a nearby pub ( still dressed in “costume”) I (the winner) outlined the plans for the next evening.

 

So the following evening, after a rather nice feast by the fireplace in the resorts great room, we found ourselves once again in a bar ( this time the resorts lounge). I was wearing the same suit, and had Ginny’s purloined necklace in my jacket pocket. Ginny was wearing a black satin blouse, ¾ sleeved, with long white and blacked stripped skirt. She wore her gold jewellery, and her long hair was up, held by rhinestone clips. At one point she excused herself to the loo, and when she returned took the chair next to me, and started to come on to me. I played along and after a few drinks, and dances, she led me out to the lobby.

 

Making way outside to the long wooden walkaway of the promenade, we began our way along it. Finding an isolated bench, we began to make out, as if we were strangers who had just met. After a long (glorious) while, we stood( wobbly) and made our way down to the lake, and continued our light petting.

 

At one point Ginny stopped, and looking me in the eye, said, well sir, its been fun, but id better go. Immediately I patted my pocket, the necklace was gone. Naughty I said, distracting me on the bench hussy, I teased. Her eyes got a gleam, follow me she said. We retraced our steps, hand in hand, and she led me to the the bench, and then surprisingly passed it. We regained the lobby, and she stopped by a corner, where a larger fern like plant sat in a rather big ceramic pot. Reaching in, she pulled out the necklace. Very good I said, never felt you take it.

 

So, I win then, she smirked. Yes I agreed, I had guessed wrong by thinking she had picked my pocket on the bench. So let’s go an collect me winnings then, sir, she ordered me, her eyes large and hungry. As we made our way I tried to get her to tell me when she had lifted the necklace, but she just placed a secret little smile on her lips, and remained silent on the subject….

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Act 2

Squeeze Play

 

Anyone who has taken the bother to riffle through my earlier Chronicles of Lifting Light, knows I have a twin sister who at times past has been my foil to practice upon. Well, I will leave it up to you to decide who the foil was in this tale.

  

We were all hanging out at the pub (“Poet and the Peasant” of course) one evening, the four of us, being the silly selves that mid- twenties youth are prone to being, especially when alcohol is involved.

 

We were trying to drink away the memories of what our previous week of work had given us, and were well on our way to meeting that objective, when a song from the band Cold Play come on. Ginny had asked my sister who it was, and instead of answering right away, she gave something a bit of thought, then my sister started smirking. Cold Play, like squeeze Play , remember “Ginny?”

 

Both Girls just started giggling, “Brian” just got a sullen look at the memory, and I, I just reflected…..

 

In our University years, my sister worked part time for a company that raised funds for charities, like OXFAM, etc. Among the various types of events were a couple of “Black Tie” affairs that I enjoyed because it gave Brian and I the chance to escort my Sister and Ginny ( the girls ever beautiful in fancy dress) to attend them.

 

Now, my sister had this co-worker,”Shiela”, who was absolute vinegar to my sister’s honey, hell, she was vinegar to any pretty female’s honey! She was a squawker, a squealer, and a backstabbing slag, in other words, not a very nice girl atoll. She was also was twice divorced from wealthy young scions who could not spot a gold digger for the life of them until they had been broadsided along the head with her gilded shovel.

 

During one warm late Autumn we were attending one of the Charity Dances being held in the big city proper. They had a pair of bands lined up, one kind of a Disco’ish throwback, and for later, a proper one that played a more romantic beat, one that called for slow dancing. The Girls were more into the Disco then we males were( a feeling that affected most of us in attendance) and the floor was flooded with a gaggle of swishing dresses and gowns dancing and swirling around to the frantic beat of the music, all performed with swirling lights in the darkened, smog filled dance floor, while the guys just sat around enjoying the show being put on.

 

As Brian and I watched the provocative females on the floor dancing, we noticed that our girls were slowly moving out amongst the throng of pretty dancers, rather than maintaining one area. Soon they had moved next to “Shiela”, who was dancing with this cousin of hers. Now I found this surprising, because Sis and Ginny had been throwing daggers with their eyes at “Shiela” all evening. She had been sitting with her wealthy new boyfriend, who was always bending to her demands, as evidenced by the expensive new finery she was sporting, which really had gotten a certain Twins goat. So it was with some puzzlement that when her cousin took a breather, Ginny and my twin slipped in to take her place, moving in rhythm with the now quite intoxicated “Shiela”.

 

Sis was facing “Shiela” and Ginny was behind her, all three of them gyrating their arms, hands and most of their other body parts in motion, up down and all around each other , so close at times that you would have had an effort at squeezing a hand between them.

 

What’s that pair up to now? Brain questioned me, as if I had a hand in it, I just shook my head, knowing only that I wanted to be in the middle of that sandwich instead of “Shiela”, but as it turned out, good thing I wasn’t.

 

We watched as the long song went on, with its deep bass beat that almost sounded like it had been lifted from some horror flick. Ginny and Sis continued to revolve, twist and swirl around the guileless “Shiela” as their colourfully brite (slinky) dresses shimmered in a most provocative fashion, bathed as they were caught by the dimly lit, smoke filled, dance floors blue strobes. A few times “Shiela” seemed to lose her footing, and fell against my Sister, who I thought took it surprisingly well as she gently steadied her foe.

 

Then the song ended, and all three girls laughed and giggled, actually hugged one another. I heard Brian letting out an chiding snort, I , well I was still just mesmerized by the whole act. Ginny and My Sister than walked the slightly dizzy “Shiela” back to her table, even going so far as to help her set down, before turning and heading back to our table. Both of them wearing chuff grins like the kittens that had eaten the canary.

 

Wotcher?, said Brian questioning their look. Oh God I thought, knowing the answer, for I had been watching “Shiela” as the girls had left and approached. My sister, looking around, held out her hand and opened her fist. There, all balled up and glittering, was the expensive diamond pendent of the set of matching diamonds that “Shiela” had been flaunting about to everyone all evening.

 

Brian Jumped all over the two, giving them quite the bollocking, “games we played on each other was one thing, but what you pair had done was wade into some very dangerous waters indeed”! So what’s next I chimed in, and by the looks on their heavily made-up faces realized the silly twits hadn’t thought of that end. We hastily discussed the matter, knowing that time was anything but on our sides. Finally Brian took it from my admonished(seemingly) twin, and marching it up to the disc jockey, had him make an announcement describing what his “sister” had found in the loo.

 

“Shiela”, whom we all had been watching, let out a shriek as her hands flew groping to her chest in fruitless examination, jumped up and immediately claimed it, or tried to as the Jocky had a little bit of fun with it first. “Shiela” and her haplessly star struck Beau, were so hopping mad at the Jocky, they pretty much gave no thought as to how the pretty thing actually had been lost in the first place. This was a lucky break for a couple of girls, who still sat their smugly smiling, as Brian tried in vain to continue scolding them. Me, I just looked at the twittering pair, wondering, pondering thoughts of me own.

 

Now it wasn’t until a couple of years later on the night my sister made the remark about the cold play song that the girls felt comfortable talking a bit more about the incident .And before Brian could listen without tabooing the subject. And it was then that I learnt how the pair of them had managed to take the diamonds from “Shiela”

 

It turned out the two had had no real plan, just that they had been discussing “Shiela” between themselves and had been debating over how fun it would be to knock her down a peg or so. One of the scenarios presented was to have her be given the shock of losing a piece of her expensive jewelry, and they even discussed bringing me into the fold, but thought better of it.

 

Although I am not sure if I would have taken them up on it, but since then I have thought out different ways I would have approached the problem, both by myself, and with the girls help. Although I wouldn’t have tried for the necklace, I figured her ring or bracelet would not have been beyond my scope of achievement. Although, with the girls help…….

 

Anyway they finally decided to try it themselves, after all how hard could it be to take, say a cocktail ring from “Shiela’s” sweaty finger as she was dancing away on the crowded floor?

 

They decided to join in the dance and get close to “Shiela” and if an opportunity arose, my sister was to signal Ginny by rubbing a finger alongside her nose to bump against “Shiela”, pushing the hapless B… into me devious twin. It was Ginny who came up with the name “squeeze play”, because I once had grasped and squeezed her from behind, removing her ring in the process.

 

Now “Shiela” was wearing what I guess is called an A-line gown, where her front was totally covered by the gowns shiny material, no gloves, just sweat glistened skin. As they moved in on “Shiela” Ginny took position behind, while Sis took the front, and at one point laid a hand upon “Shiela’s” shoulder, “Shiela” did likewise as they swayed to the deep rhythmic beats. Sis tried to grasp “Shiela’s” free hand, the one where she was wearing a diamond cocktail ring, but she kept missing. In the process she realized that the hand she had placed on her victims shoulder was almost touching the thick gold chain of her nemesis’s necklace, which held the diamond pendent that was bouncing about.

 

Looking “Shiela” directly in the eyes she began to work the necklace along as they danced, until her fingers felt the clasp. It was lobster clasp, similar to one my sister had on the emerald necklace Brian had given her. Sis gave it an exploratory push, and it surprisingly opened under her fingers. Startled at what had happened, she forgot the signal, and nodded to Ginny, who plowed into the hapless “Shiela’s” backside, as my sister felt “Shiela” fall against her. She whisked off the necklace with one hand, while steading the giggling “Shiela” with her other. Backing away she placed both hands behind her back as “Shiela” turned to receive Ginny’s apologies. Sis balled up the chain in one hand, holding it tightly closed for the remainder of the dance. They helped “Shiela” back to her table, my Sister placing the fist holding the necklace alongside her victims back as they helped guide the still giggling “Shiela” to a seat.

 

Walking away, my Sister thought that it had been almost scary how easily it had been to open the clasp and pluck off the necklace. It shouldn’t have been, she kept telling herself, but she knew it was, for she had the evidence in her hand, and she was not even close to ever being a professional about such things. My twin has said that afterwards that it had given her a lot of perturbed thoughts when wearing any good jewelry of hers in public, (particularly her emeralds with the Lobster clasp) and finds herself on occasion still doing spot checks whenever she has been brushed by someone. But then, I think we all do on occasion, knowing the kind of games we like to play.

 

So as one can see, overall ,this is a rather touchy subject to tackle. But there was no denying that Sis (and Ginny I suspect) were proud of their accomplishment at the time. It was almost like my twin was trying to impress upon me that I was not the only one with light fingers. A subject that, trust me, has been, and will continue to be explored down a sometimes crooked “garden” path.

  

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Anyone who has read Chronicles B knows that Ginny and Brian both received the upcommence for the manner in which they had gotten my sisters jewelry at the wedding reception. But as for me, she waited a bit, biding her time, for like the proverbial elephant( which she has a bit of a collection) my twin does not forget.

Upcoming :

 

And revenge is a dish best served cold.

She had pleaded with me to lend her £80! Her beguiling eyes were opened wide as she begged; “It’s perfect” she had said, “I will pay you back, with interest” she coyly added, looking into my eyes with that certain look that has served her purposes so very well.

^^^^^^

 

A bit of background:

We had all had been invited to my sister’s boyfriend “ Brian’s” parents renewal of their wedding vows the following month and , I knew she wanted to make an impression at the fancy dress. Sis and my better half, “Ginny” had gone dress shopping, and apparently Sis had found a gown that they both liked quite a bit, but it cost a bit more than she could afford the moment and Ginny, having just bought a new dress herself that day, was temporarily out of lending cash. So Sis had had them hold it, then tracked me down to ask a favor( nothing new there), and was now begging me to lend her £80, to help pay it off.

^^^^^^

 

She knew I was a sucker for a good plead, especially when I received the puppy eye look that my sister, and Ginny , had down pat ( not to mention my golden retriever Sam).

  

As it happened, I owed her a small favor, so I gave her the needed notes without making her bargain her life away, and she skipped off happily. I figured that would be the last of it until her payday, but being a mere man in a lady’s world, I was yet once more wrong on that account.

  

Later that week sis rang me up. She had a formal reunion she just received the invitation to. It was at a large, multipurpose hall about an hour away, and was going on the weekend before Brian’s parents do. It was being put on for her old coworkers at the Barristers office she had interned at while at Oxford. Brian was busy that weekend getting ready for his parents party, and would not be able to be her escort. So she called to see if I would be his backup. As incentive, said she would wear the gown I had lent her the money for if I agreed to be her chaperone. Seeing how smashing my sister looks when she dresses up (like my Ginny also), It was impossible to say no to her pleads. Unfortunately Ginny had switched weekends with a co-worker so she could make Brian’s do the next weekend, so she was out of the picture also. Which was a shame, escorting a pair of well-dressed young ladies is always something I always looked forward to doing. But one is also quite nice.

  

I arrived at my twin’s apartment that appointed evening and waited while she put on the finishing touches. Ready? she had called out sweetly, yes I said, and out she came strolling, a wide big smile on her dolled up face. I figured my eyes did a bugger, for she started to giggle in the way she does when overly pleased with herself (which actually happens quite a bit frequently).

  

She was totally stunning, a living “Galatea”, and I told her as much. Her long silvery gown was hanging from her figure like someone had poured it over her. And that is just what it looked like someone had done! I have heard the term liquid satin, but this was just incredible the way it delightfully flowed and swished as she moved about. Brian was going to go nuts when her saw her, and she definitely would be turning some heads as she strolled in with him. She twirled around in a circle for full effect, and I just stood there mesmerized by the women before me that was my kid sister( by all of 4 minutes), the same sister that had only days before been wearing stained shirt and jean jumper, tramping through the barn in the horses stalls, while hauling shovelfuls of …… well I’m sure you get the gist of it..

  

As I said it was a long thin gown, of a colour that seemed to change between silver and cream as it moved slinking along her youthful figure, with wide straps that went over her shoulders ending in four thin spaghetti straps along her back. The bodice was all decorated with swirls of rhinestones, going down and around her gowns waistline. She was also wearing her sliver open toed heels, the ones with the rhinestone straps (with pointed toes that rightfully hurt when kicked….. another day, another story). She had also put on her rhinestone jewelry, a set consisting of earrings, necklace and wide dangling bracelet. The total package presented was quite a vision to behold, and I told her as much.

  

That, my girl, I said with enthusiasm, is one rightful picture of eye-catching loveliness you have gone and managed to make of yourself! She gushed, your sweet, and gave me an all-enveloping hug. As she broke away, sis looked up at me smiling and curtsied, why thank you kind sir, and once you have picked your jaw off the floor, can we please be going. Certainly I said, and opened the door for her. As she rustled past, sis asked if I thought Brian would like it? Lass, I said with all due modesty, He would be a daft bugger if he didn’t. I added, It was certainly money well lent, and she looked at me teasingly, okay mood breaker, for that you won’t get the first dance. Likely I will be the only one wishing to dance with you anyway I retorted, what will you be doing then? She just squished her eyes at me, turned and closed and locked her apartment door.

  

Suddenly I stopped, Oi! , wait a minute, I felt my suit coat pocket, okay luv, give it back I said as she grinned back at me, producing my thin, special occasion only, wallet. Getting better, aren’t I? She stated happily, it wasn’t a question. A bit I admitted, you’ve been practicing then? Only on you and Ginny she stated, but you two are getting too easy she smirked. I playfully tapped her on the back, what’s all this about easy I asked, producing her bracelet from me pocket, dangling it shimmering in front of her mascara lined eyes, you may want to put this back on I said.

  

Turd, she exclaimed taking it back, no more hugs for you mister, she stated, taking my arm and pulling me out to my car. All tricks out of the way now?, Good we can enjoy the evening with no more worries. I just nodded as I led her to me car, a bullet grey 1954 Circa Mercedes that Brien’s Uncle had helped me restore. As I opened the door, my sister slipped herself in, while under her breath she said playfully ( and not for the first time) “how I ever survived those first nine months I spent with you in such close proximity without going bonkers, I will never know!”

  

It took us almost 90 minutes to find the joint, arriving with the do in full swing. I was amazed at the number of vehicles in the over filled lot. When we got inside the poshly decorated “palace” We discovered that there were a total of 3 formal functions going on, ours, and a wedding reception on the second floor, and a formal dance for some private girls only academy occupying the entire first floor.

  

We went upstairs and found the chamber where the Barrister’s office reunion was being held. Now I will admit that I had harbored some thoughts that Sis may have been quite a bit overdressed for the event, but my fears were unfounded. What greeted my eyes was quite a “snob fest” of overdressed and fairly pompous looking guests. I had only ever met a couple of my sister’s former coworkers, and they had been interns her own age. But the majority here were the snooty , older husband and wives, of , of course, a group of stuck up Barristers. We were unable to spy any of Sis’s old friends, but while looking we were immediately scooped up by one of her old bosses co-workers ( whom sis had found insufferable) and led around like some prize colts, being introduced to a bunch of older coots who forgot our names as fast as they were given( we were nobodies) , although I satisfactorily noticed more than a few leering and jealous eyes looking over me sister. But, alas, nothing from the female end found me even remotely interesting (ouch in the ego department there)

  

We finally found an empty table, and I went off for drinks. As I watched over my sister while waiting for the barkeep to mix the drinks, I saw a rather posh looking tux boy zero in on our table and swoop in for the kill.

  

He was a rather tall chap with devilish good looks, thin moustache, small ponytail, monkey suit, the works! Looking like he was a model Fortunes mag rag, he loomed over me sister, and I knew what the cheeky devil was asking. Sure enough, sis cutely offered him her hand and he helped her up and led her to the dance floor. The barkeep handed me our drinks, and as I turned , Sis shot a look back at me as they were passing, a rather chiding look that I took meant “ told you, no first dance, mate” my suspicions were confirmed when added insult to injury as she stuck her tongue out at me over his shoulder.. I raised my glass in cheers, and headed back to our table.

  

I watched the two swirling around, feelin a bit jealous, but then this was me sister, not Ginny. I knew Brian would be seething, so I felt jealous for him I told meself. Then my mind went on to fantasize “what if he was after something, like say her jewels, and my mind went into a jewel thief mode, with him as the main character. ” I almost wish he had been, than he would be just no realizing that this little charmer had nothing to offer, and would soon be leaving her for greener pastures ( of which there was acres of at that place) and so dump his pretty partner after the one dance.

  

I tried to lose my envious nature, but at one point he held her close, too close I reckoned. I felt like shouting out to them “Aye mate, make room for Jesus”! This bit came from couple of elderly nuns who had been chaperoning one of my old seminarian academy dances, would walk up to couples dancing a wee bit too close in their eyes, and place their hands between them, separating them a bit, while spouting off, “make room for Jesus children”- Ginny and I had been amongst the chastised ourselves!

  

When sis got back I rose and greeted the pair, shaking his hand as sis introduced us. She did not say I was her brother, so I knew that she wasn’t eager for any repeat performances. The Git had hands that didn’t know where to stop, in my opinion anyhows. But all that didn’t change the fact that my sister was still a bit smitten with the gigoloish bloke. All in all though, he was quit the polite bugger, shooting me a self-confident look like, ‘no worries old chap’, as I shook a firm hand, I nodded, and off he went to those greener pastures.

  

I turned to my now still fawning sister, Remember Brian I said, and she just gave me a simpering smile. I held out my hand, care to, Mademoiselle? Sorry luv, She apologized, I need to freshen up a bit first and she darted off like a swallow taking wing. She started to head off to the exit stairs, whoa I called out after her, powder room is the opposite way luv! No doing, she said as she coyly looked back at me over her shoulder, whispering her words, not sharing with any of those old crows, I will be using the one downstairs in the main lobby! And she scurried away on her mission, long gown fluttering merrily about her high heels.

  

I waited, bored, not one pretty female came up to my side and asked me to have a go on the dance floor, like “fingers” romeo had done with me sister. I looked around carefully, but I just did not see any female of the same ilk sitting alone and bored as I was at her own table, waiting for someone to rescue her pretty self. So I waited, and waited as the minutes went by, 5, 10, 15, 20, 25, 26,27,28,29..I had just decided to take a meander down to make sure there was nothing serious going on the first floor that might have been keeping her, like say, a sudden breakout of kittens, when I finally saw her smirking face popping up from the stairwell.

  

As she sat down I tried to playfully admonish her behavior, failing miserably. About time I said, since when does it take 30 minutes to have a P.. she cut me off by placing a finger to my lips, Sorry luv, You wouldn’t believe the twit I just ran into she said and leaned closer to me, for my ears only it seemed.

  

She started talking in a low voice, though no one else was in ear shot. Apparently that private girls Academy dance that is going on downstairs,.. well I , I just ran into one of em, a snobbish princess, a real talker and spinner of tales her about her pretty own self, a young girl named Rose. Sounds like Micke, I said, and sis suddenly exploded into giggles. She finally controlled herself, placing her hand on my shoulder, yes, exactly like our cousin Michele, they almost even look alike, though Micke’s hair is longer, and blonder

  

Our cousin Micke was one who could never tell the truth about anything, even when she was tattling on some poor soul. Apparently born with an overactive imagination ( Kinda runs in the family I suppose) her stories were always overly embellished with tall tales, stretched out wild examples, and added characterizations, all centered around herself being the Heroine. Someone like that would have made a great children’s story book writer, or gossip columnist, but not our Micke, she turned around and became, of all things, involved in politics….God save the Queen!

  

The upshot is that we all started to treat anything coming out of Micke’s mouth ( horrid pun that, I do apologize) as mostly fabrication, which would rile her to now end, especially if she was tellin the God’s honest truth! So I knew exactly what this cheeky creature named Rose was all about, as I looked at my giggling sister.

  

One she caught her breath, Sis started in on Rose. Just as she did, a song started up from the band and rising, I took her hand, lifted her up from her seat, her gown falling swishing down to her feet. But through all that she never stopped talking about the annoyance she had encountered downstairs whom had obviously stricken a nerve! I led my twin to the dance floor, taking the talkative imp into my arms as she continued to fill me in on the quite over imaginative young lady named Rose.

  

“My Lord” sis exclaimed, as we danced, “within the first ten minutes I learned more about this girl than even her own parents probably know. Talk about stuck up on herself. And did you know there is a rose garden by the entrance, just like her name!”, My sister did an imitation of a twittering nasally voice at the end of her statement, rolling her eyes in disbelief of it all. Of course we had noticed the rose garden, bit difficult not too since it was lining both sides of the concourse into the main way into the building. It had short paths branching off along the way with benches and fountains. But This Rose apparently had acted like she was the only one who had noticed, the rest of us apparently being blind as a colony of bats, Sis spitted out the words.

  

Sis went on, building up steam, her figure becoming rigid… “She first noticed me dress and come up to compliment me on it, but before I could thank her, she went off on a tirade about her own gown.” OOH, I hate people who ask you a question only because they want to tell cut in about their lives rather than give a listen to anything you may actually have to say… “he thought I was one of the chaperones at her party, apparently because I looked too old to be one of the guests! That stuck a nerve I tell you. I wasn’t able to get word in too let the little tripe know I didn’t belong with her elitist crew atoll!”

  

She took a breath, and now it was my turn to shush her with a finger placed to her lips. She actually bit it( well more of a playful nip, actually)! Better now I asked. She sighed, and I felt her figure go from tense to a bit more lithe. She leaned against me, yes she said, than pulled away and went off again! One more thing, she asked if my jewels were real, than before I could set the girl straight, Rose cut me off and spouted off about how she had won the pearls she was wearing at the Arthurian Carnival, and had decided to wear them rather than her own better diamonds. I mean, come’on, talk about rude, her pearls weren’t any more real than this, and she flipped her necklace in my face, then sis caught the look in me eyes, and went quiet, concentrating on her dancing, with a wicked little grin creeping across her face. Finally we were able to enjoy the music as we danced to the rest of the song.

  

Now after the song ended, sis spied, and dragged me over, to introduce me to her old chief, a pretty lady called Sarah. A lady not much older than ourselves. She had her long hair down, wearing a sequined red gown with long red satin gloves. Her green emeralds were real, a dainty set that set off her figure rather nicely. She was a rather pleasant lady, with a mischievous gleam to her green eyes. It had been a pleasant conversation, which ended abruptly as her husband called her away. As Sarah moved off, Sis explained that Sarah had been the “class clown” always telling jokes and playing tricks. But being the boss, no one who fell victim to her pranks ever dared to try and repay her back in kind!

  

The rest of the evening (shortened because the band was stopped at 9:30 – Barristers are such Scrooges!) followed pretty much to same formula; light mingling with people who only seemed able to talk a few minutes before being called away, snacking on a rather fancy display of hors d'oeuvres , and drinking ( the bar was the best attraction in my humble opinion).

  

I spotted Romeo a few times, but he never did a second approach on Sis, and I couldn’t really tell if she was relived, or not. As for myself, I was starting to feel fairly pleased that I had resisted the temptation to play any of my tricks on my Twin’s jewelry, so I had been a man of my word, so far. So, it was with mixed feelings from both of us, when the last dance was announced. The whole “congregation” seemed to flock swishing out on the floor, crowding it. It was a slow dance ( Mr. Rod Stewart, as I recall) and quite a pleasant way to end the evening.

  

Well, it was after the last dance, as we had collected our things to leave, when Sarah caught sight of us and called us over to the bar ( located off the main chambre, it was a small 3 sided room open to the dance floor with no seating) , where she was now holding a lonely court, apparently all alone! Sara was by now also pretty well toshed…..

  

We ordered a round of drinks ( bar was open till eleven, but the music had ended, a total ballyhoo on someone’s part in the planning) Taking mine, I left the chatting ladies and wondered over ( not for the first time) to a rather fine set of J.M Cameron prints on display. Soon I was joined by the 2 ladies, and I started to explain to Sarah about the photographer’s history.

  

As we talked, my sister maneuvered herself around behind Sarah. By the look on my sister’s face, I knew she was up to something. She got close behind, and Sarah backed into her, Sarah turned, there you are she said, and smiled, then looked back at me. She appeared to be deeply interested I what I was telling her about the life and times of Julia Margaret, a shirttail cousin of ours! As I continued, I saw that sis had her fingers on the red silk clutch purse that Sarah was holding to her side in her left hand. Sis said, “oh Sara, show my brother your ring”! Sarah held it up and I looked at it, Sis reached put her free hand on Sarah’s left arm, jostling it a bit, as she made like she wanted to look also, ,but I could see the red clutch out of the corner of my eye, and as sis was doing her little performance, she was gently pulling the small purse form Sarah’s gloved fingers. Slippery Satin gloves holding an even slipperier silk clutch purse, made the maneuver much easier than it probably should have. I started feeling a bit uncomfortable as I watched my amused sister manage to slip away with it, and holding the purse behind her come to my side, her back to a wall. We chatted for about another couple of long minutes, before Sarah was called away, and she left us, never realizing her clutch purse was gone. We walked steadfastly away, I imitated Bogart, and how much do you think the dame has in her purse. Oh, my twin answered, a few pence, and a soiled lace handkerchief she joked, without opening the purse.

  

Fine I said, you get the handkerchief, Rather not she said, giggling, and we headed over to The now deserted table Sarah had been sitting at, and Sis unflappably placed the purse on Sarah’s’ chair, alongside her satin wrap.

So have I created a monster no? I asked her as I led her away, she looked up at me with those big eyes of hers wide open with satisfaction, no worries luv, Sarah was always playing tricks on someone another, I just never dared to pay her back when we worked together. Just how much work did you girls actually accomplish? I chided She just sqoze my arm, and hurried me our way, as we tried not to look like we were bolting for the exit stairway.

  

We gained the stairs without any further ado, and made it through the lobby, and had gained the outside concourse, when I saw something up ahead, and taking my sister’s arm , I held her up from going any further.

  

Ahead of us was a petite lady in a shimmering blue satin dress, chatting away to a bored looking young man in an ill-fitting tux. If the lass’s hair had been a bit more blonde, and longer she would have passed as Micke’s double. Is that your Rose then I asked, nodding in the couple’s direction?

  

Sis looked over, and then answered me by pulling me forcibly the rest of the way off the path and out of sight of the main concourse, into a small alcove surrounded by some hedges. What do we do she said , That is her! That’s that twit of a creature named Rose I was tellin you about! She looked back towards the building, I don’t want to go back in she said, Sara my see us. What do we do?

  

The pair were some distance off in the rose garden. But there was no way out other than walking past them. I thought about it for a minute. Looking at my sister, in her quite fetching gown, with its sparkling bodice, as well as the sparkling rhinestone she was wearing, made me recall the fantasizing I had been doing as she had danced with that posh bloke. Thinking of him being a Jewel thief, and watching the other female guests in their finery, had been putting beguiling visions in my head all the evening long. Let’s play a game I said, one that will give yonder Rose a story no one will believe ever happened.. My sister looked at me wryly,( I could see it in her eyes,’ no time for games now lad, this is serious’’ but she just stated inquisitively, what sort of game sir?

  

One where we get yonder Rose girl to believe you have met a jewel thief I said, I could feel myself warming up to the idea now that I had said it. If we pull it off, that will be a story she will try telling that everyone will believe she totally made up in her head.

  

My sister balked, no, she said, one bit of fun this evening has been enough for this girl.

  

Okay I said, but how would this girl feel about having a bit of fun if she wasn’t owing her brother £80?

  

I saw her mascaraed eye’s light up, and she again gave me that wicked grin. Let’s have it than you scoundrel, I will give into your chicanery for the debt you hold over my head sir , she said giggling, stealing a line from a play she had been involved with. Knowing I had her hooked, I could tell she was warming up to the idea rather nicely, and not just because she owed me a healthy bit of the realms’ currency.

  

First off, I said, you don’t know me from Adam.

But your name’s not Adam she said in all seriousness.

Attend pleas, I told her smiling.

You go up and fall into Roses clutches, I follow once the lad leaves after being freed from his bondage.

Hey, how did bondage get into this she said, giggling, I don’t owe you that much mister. I just looked at her, we have to do this seriously to pull it off.

Okay she said, placing a hand across her mouth, like she was zipping it shut.

I follow after the lad leaves ( and he soon will ). I come up on the two of you, and make your acquaintances. Your act will be to find me charming… that’s not going to be easy, sis said, then quickly went back to listening

Then you, I said ignoring her, and continuing on …..

  

Once Rose has me in her hooks, you Meander off, bend down to look at some flowers, remove your earrings, and place them into your purse. I will listen on for a bit, take my leave, let Rose come find you, and let her discover your earrings are gone. Then let her think they were stolen by you? She asked. Right, and she should, as bobs your uncle, fall right into your story, I said. Then added, just play along like they were real diamonds and astonished at how I had managed to get them. Send Rose off back inside to go upstairs find your mother Sarah,( sis like that bit of it), and say in the meanwhile you are going off to see if you can get me license number. I will be waitin by the car to make our getaway….

  

I finished mapping it out, and she told me she had the gist of it. I had her hand pull her sunglasses from her purse and I put them on. Then she asked before walking off, “ not bad for on the fly, or had you already been putting thought into this play earlier?” I just patted her on her derriere, get going lass, times a wastin.

  

Turning she headed out, and from a hole in the hedgerow I watched as she moved off, her gown definitely swished in a most pleasing fashion I admitted to myself again. I’ll have to have Ginny buy one like it, I thought to meself, wincing over how pretty the thing was with sis wearing it , imagining my Ginny wearing it, her long red hair flowing free. I would willing give Ginny the money also, I promised to meself, no lending, and hang the cost….

  

Sis rustled her way up to the couple, Rose spotted her immediately and pulled her over. The 3 of them started to chit chat together.

  

I now thought of myself as the smarmy bloke who had cheated me out of a dance earlier, making him a thief in my mind. And like said thief, looking over the situation before me. I remembered an old show where this bloke in a white suit was pointing out his female guests jewels to a male who fancied himself a pickpocket and had just minutes earlier relieved the white suited host of his gold watch. As the camera (representing the blokes eyes) moved around the room, focusing on various well-dressed ladies and their jewels( hanging around necks, dangling from ears, attached to well-shaped bosoms ,bracelets wrapped around gloved wrists and ,rings glittering on fingers) the viewer was led to imagine the wheels turning in his head as to how he was to acquire them, ala Arsène Lupin. I had to leave, so I never finished watching it, nor could I ever find it listed again. But it was this type of character that I now fancied meself portraying.

  

(In Character) I had ducked into the hedge, the pair near the bend had not seen me, so it gave me time to plan how best to approach them. One was wearing a pretty dress of blue, long black hair up in a bun. She was the younger, definitely not a relation, I could tell by the way her companion was listening. The girl was wearing a cheap set of pearls, paste, not worth more in a few farthings. It was her companion that had caught me eye, and not just the pretty gown she had quite nicely wrapped herself in. But it was her diamonds, a pretty glittering set, that with a minimal bit of effort, would be coming home with me. I had actually danced with her earlier, so I had been able to appraise em, and now providence had put her in me way. I remembered how that shimmery little necklace had been taunting me while we had danced, my fingers had ached for a go at them. Now, all I needed was for a brief diversion, to get both the girl’s attention focused elsewhere, by, say smelling a rose, and with a nimble flick of me fingers, the necklace would be off from around her sweet throat and in me pocket. Possibly those dangling earrings of hers instead, if it was a long time she was paying attention to her roses.

  

My brief fantasy ended abruptly, it was time. Sis said something to the lad, who had been growing more and more uncomfortable, he answered, and then, managing to interject into Roses story long enough to pay his leave, He walked off. He was now coming up the path towards me, but not seeing me as I had moved further into the hedgerow. He walked on past, staring straight ahead…

  

Mentally prepared, I waited till he was well past my hiding hole. I adjusted the sunglasses and left my shadowy corner. Between the electric lamps that run along the gardens path, and the waning moon, I was able to see quite clearly with them. I also saw happily that the sparkles from sis dress and jewelry were not at all too muted.

  

I silently approached, came up upon the two without notice. They both jumped( In a quite charming manner, actually) as I started to speak.

  

Excuse me, this is that way out I asked, sounding confused. Certainly both girls chirped, and Rose pointed to the way out. Sis asked me if I had been at the dance. What dance I answered.? Is that why the two of you are so beautifully dressed. . Rose ate it up. And showing off her gown to me( and unknowingly ,her pearls) happily took the lead, telling me of the academies dance. As Rose started to tell me about all her academy, I walked over to a bush of white roses just off one of the branching paths, at the end of this particular path was as a fountain from which merrily gurgling falling water could be faintly heard. I bent down to smell a white rose. I offered it up to my sister, who bent over to sniff, her necklace and earrings swaying to and fro in a quite nice exhibition of colorfully brite sparkles. Rose just stood behind us, kept on chatting with her story, as I winked at my sister and she winked back. We both stood back up.

  

Sis turned to Rose, and suggested she take a smell also. As Rose ( still chattering )bent down to smell, sis, who had had her hand on Rose shoulder let go and of it, and as I watched out of the corner of my eye I saw my sister move her hand to the back of her neck and subtly undo her own rhinestone necklace, slipping it off, then she moved behind me as Rose, in her tight fitting dress, managed to stand back up and faced us, still prattling on. I was half listening, wondering what my sister was up to, changing the game plan like that. From behind me I felt the subtlest touch of a hand, and realized something was being skillful placed into me pocket, a reverse pick I remembered thinking, when all of a sudden, from behind me, I heard sis exclaim, all too loudly enough , “me necklace, its gone! “

  

Rose looked and I turned, me twin was standing there, holding a hand to her bare throat, looking down at the front of her gown. It was here a minute ago she went on, and then looked me dead in the eye, absolutely in all seriousness, “You!, it was you me lad, took me necklace as I was smellin them roses didn’t he Rose!” She looked at Rose, who was now looking me over aghast, as she started to check her own jewels to see if any of em were missing, nodded in agreement.

  

I was totally taken aback by the accusation, and placing a hand in my pocket with out thinking, felt the necklace, which startled me no end, even though I knew that it was there. All the while uncomfortably wondering how this story would be ending up?

  

Rose glared at me, “not much of a jewel thief then are you?” My sister and I both just looked at the prig , our jaws dropping as Rose carried on with it. “ Anyone can plainly see me pearls are worth a lot more than her shiny baubles!” she stated quite matter of factly. Sis kicked in without missing a beat, saying to me, quite a bit too rudely I thought , “How could you make a mistake like that, especially since nicking her pearls would have been child’s play to someone of your ilk!”

  

Rose, totally missing the insult, lifted up her necklace and taunting me with it, as she asked me twin, “ what should we do with ‘em, get the police? As Rose turned her attention back to me, I saw me sisters face over the top of Rosie’s head, smiling all for the world like the cat catching the canary. My sister said to the back of Rose’s head” No, go back inside and find out how many others lost jewels, you will be a hero. Ill take care of this one! Rose’s smug face lit up at the thought, as she turned and looked back at my sister. Sis held out her arms, and Rose went and gave my twin a big hug. Then turning and giving me a glare as she passed and off she went. I didn’t think it important to tell her that her pearl necklace was now absent from around her throat.

As Rose traipsed happily back up the path, sis grabbed me arm, “come along thief, best we get going.

I watched for a second, as me sister dropped the pearl necklace on the grass, where it laid clearly visible, and with a swish of her gown scurried off. She looked back at me, get a move on then, and I broke me stance and went dutifully after her.

  

We scurried to the entrance, and crossed into the lot and made for the other side, skirting around towards my vehicle while making sure the coast was clear. We regained my Mercedes. I let my sister in, slamming the door and practically jumping over the hood to get to the drivers side. Peeling off my suit coat and tie, tossing them along with the glasses into the jump seat , I climbed in fired up the engine, and tried not to speed as I left the parking lot.

 

As I had pulled slowly away, a couple had walked out and were heading to their car, paying us no never mind other than a nosy glance by the gentleman at me car. But I figured it was time to make ourselves scarce, and put up a bit of speed.

  

So, I said, still facing forward as I turned from the lot, what was that all about?

Killin a pair of birds with me stone she replied in a quite self-satisfied tone of voice. Then she started to fill me in on what had been transpiring before I had made me entrance…

  

When that Rose creature and I were talking with that lad she had snared, She admired me diamonds, then said, not real ducky, are they. Well I thought that was pretty rude, but held me tongue, and avoiding a smart answer, I asked about her pearls. were they real? Pretty valuable she said, I only spent 6 shillings at the carnival, but he said they were worth a lot more! . Then she shad started repeating the same nonsense about how she had a real diamond necklace at home that was worth quite a bit, and she was angry her Mater had not wanted her to wear the them out this evening,

So, then when I saw you coming up to play, I thought of a new plan to humiliate Rose. Can you just imagin what is going on in the ball room now.

…. and she broke into that nasely twang she had use earlier in imitation of Rose..

 

Rose- “Everybody There’s a thief stealing everyone’s jewelry! ! Party Guest- “ I see( in a disbelieving tone) “Rose, no one is missing jewelry “ Except you, what did you do with your necklace?” Rose – He must of stole it, the thief!” Party Guest- “What thief Rose, were is he?” “Rose- “Outside with me friend, he nicked her imitation dimonds dint he!” Part Guest-“ Rose, why would a thief steal fake diamonds?, and what Friend would that be now?” Rose- “ The chaperone, you know, the one with the silvery gown and long black hair!” Party Guest –“ Ther wasn’t no chaperone wearing a silver dress , show us what you are on about!” ( On the path by the rose bush) “ there’s no one here, Rose, and there are your pearls, laying on the ground! you and your stories you balmy twi…..”

  

Sis could not finish her routine, starting to chortle so hard at the picture of it in her mind, she nearly busted a gut. But I still had questions, so after she was through patting herself on the back I said

 

I get that, and it was a brilliant piece of work, but why call me out on it, that wasn’t the plan, me dear.

I know luv, she said, again quite smugly, placing her hand on me shoulder…. Recall that time you had me jewels in your pocket after the wedding reception, I owed you one luv, and having you put on for stealing me necklace was payback.

 

Use shortcut below for the story:

flic.kr/p/xPv5iR

 

I had forgotten that you had said I would be paid back someday I admitted, and it was a really grand way of doing It I praised her, and saw her smile radiantly as I stole a look out of the corner of me eye.

  

Then she could contain herself no more, and starting to chortle so hard at the picture of all of it in her mind, she nearly busted a gut. I also was smirking, the whole affair, in my opinion, had all played out brilliantly!

  

All in all, twas a merry drive back to town for us, with me twin sister talking miles a minute over her successes that evening, including the obvious fact that she was quite pleased with herself for not only had she finally gotten her sweet revenge on the remaining member of the group who had swiped her diamonds on a dare so long ago, but her debt to me had been paid totally off in the process..

  

With interest paid darling, I thought to myself, as I stole a glance at my beautifully decked out passenger, with interest paid!

.

A bit of a side note:

Come to find out later the police were actually called to the place much later in the wee hours of the morning. Apparently some bloke in a tux waylaid two ladies he had met and been chatting with as they were all leaving an mugged them both good and proper. He was caught, but I still chuckle in wonder what Rose would have made of it all?

 

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In Appraisal

I do highly encourage anyone who has read my chronicles,( or looked at the clips below) and on the off-chance may actually have been entertained by them, and would like me to divulge more of our tomfooleries , to please leave behind a comment expressing that point.

Thank You

 

Food for thought:

Jewelry lifting Clips

www.youtube.com/watch?v=HAZdjhNVjxk&authuser=0

www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ls8rw2V1QCU&authuser=0

www.youtube.com/watch?v=4RbLiI9ZFQ8&authuser=0

www.youtube.com/watch?v=9XZ8s-R9vl4

www.youtube.com/watch?v=ofodSjKQ_-8

 

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Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives

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Art Museum, Philadelphia

 

The squirrels have the upper hand against the inquisitive but hapless fledglings - for now.

Seahorses around the world are in danger! 37 million seahorses are unintentionally displaced from their ocean home every year, and this seahorse mech is going to save them all! With its powerful jet drive engine and real fin paddling motion, this mech can make it across the oceans to save a hapless creature in the blink of an eye. Speaking of eyes, its powerful vision devices can rotate independently, just like a real seahorse! And finally, when it comes time to perform lifesaving action, the tail can transform into a buzz-saw, cutting seahorses free from the nets that entrap them. When the job is done, return to the kelp forest recharging station and plug into the generator to prepare for the next adventure!

 

This amazing, 14-inch tall, feature-filled mech could be yours right now at Creations for Charity!

 

Click here to support kids in need and get your own Lego Seahorse Mech!

 

See the other exciting members of this team contribution below:

 

Chameleons

Ducks

Wolves

A fun build, just because I haven't tried much in the way of ships before! Slightly inspired by the hapless pirates from the 'Asterix & Obelix' books....

  

The inspiration for the character Angie came from the cover art that first appeared in the magazine : Best true detective cover July 1962 flic.kr/p/bnSaXy

The story of the racket dames behind the sensational Park Avenue Jewel Robberies

*****

This is a link to a You Tube Video of a thief not unlike our Angie.

youtu.be/HAZdjhNVjxk

*********

  

Title: Now, if only she could find where that darling young miss, the one so richly clad in purple silk, had gotten her pretty little self-off too?

 

Case Study 113 : Warning, these are the raw, bare unusual facts as originally recorded. Some names, times, places and some facts have been altered.

Name: Angelica D circa 1933

Subject: an unscrupulous light-fingered body thief

Place: Resolution Ball - Baltimore (original incarnation)

Time: Evening, through early morning, of the dance

  

Story line:

 

Angie grinned, stowing away the emerald bracelet, as she smugly watched the police dragging away the struggling girl. Lit cigarette dangling from a corner of her lip; Angie smirked wickedly to herself as Ginny frantically tried to plead her innocence.

**

 

One of the coppers had her by the wrists; the other tried gripping her waist, finding it slippery by the satiny gown she was wearing. Ginny was pleading, it was not me, I don’t know how it got there, please let me go, my emeralds, my bracelet… its…its…. gone! I must find it, shrieked the struggling girl. Angie just listened to the girl, ginning; Ginny’s tearful words, spoken in her brash nasally east ender accent, wasn’t helping her cause with the pre-judgmental coppers.

  

One of them snarled loudly into her ear, ere ,you aint the kind to wear emeralds sister, we’ve got your number, it was her diamonds youse was after.

 

Actually, she had, Angie admitted to herself wickedly. Yes, dear Ginny had been wearing an emerald bracelet, the one Angie now had tucked securely away. Nevertheless, she chose not to enlighten the harness bulls on the matter, and smugly watched as the small group disappeared through the entrance, heading down to the eastside patrol car waiting at the street, as she let a wisp of cigarette smoke curl upwards from her sneering lips.

 

**

So it was now, with the emeralds safely tucked away, that Angie turned he back to the main door to watch down the long corridor as she continued puffing on her victory smoke. At the end of the hallway was the main entrance to the cavernous Ballroom where all action had all taken place leading up to poor Ginny’s arrest.

  

With a suspect now in custody, and two less security bulls, Angie was free to slip back in amongst the wealthy guests in attendance at the ball. Now, if only she could find where that darling young miss, the one so richly clad in purple silk, had gotten her pretty little self-off too! She shivered deliciously at the mere thought of it. However, she decided to take her time finishing her cigarette, give things ample time to cool down, as she marveled at the opulence that seemed to bleed from every square inch of the Baltimore Palace this evening.

  

How Angie savored attending events held here, and visited the Baltimore area Ballroom several times whenever she was in town on “business”. The lighting, modern for the day, seemed to coax any piece of jewelry to sparkle. Making it ever so easy to focus on even the smallest (and sometimes most expensive) piece a fashionably dressed female would be wearing.

 

**

For you see, Angie was a master pickpocket, who, with the discovery and subsequent aid of a pamphlet written in the early 1800’s, was able to take her game to the next, more profitable level...

  

See Album: Angie Picks Chicago for the story of how she discovered the phamplette.

flic.kr/s/aHsjZzs5Qe

  

Entitled the Cutpurse: skilles, artes and Secretes of the Dip by “Gaston Monescu, 1826”, it covered the various tactics and moves used by master pickpockets of the time, Including whole chapters on successful “Methodes” of relieving a well-dressed lady of her” jeweles”.

  

Angie had nimbly crafted a new art form of relieving wealthy women and rich girls of their valuable jewelry. She performed this feat by combining the tactics of an illusionist, with the delicate touch of “The Dip” ; Employing this method to nick the fiery sparklers while still warm from the unwary, usually sleekly be-gowned , shapely figures ostentatiously displaying them!

**

 

Angie began to reflect on how the ballroom had looked when she had first entered some three hours previously. She had been eagerly anticipating the opportunities in store for her inside, and she was not disappointed in the very least. The place was packed wall to wall with guests dressed in their dapper nines for the annual event.

  

Like a kid in a candy shop, Angie had eagerly looked over the crowd, admiring the shiny, flowing gowns the female guests were wearing. Selecting and keenly observing dresses made of the richest, most form fitting material, for by long experience, these women wearing them would bring the most profit. By employing this method to narrow the field of selections, Angie was able to quickly to pinpoint on a piece of jewelry, make her move, and be gone before giving any security patrolling the area a chance to recognize her for what she was. It sometimes was as easy as slipping candy from a baby’s grasp, or as Angie like to imagine it, relieving the satin and lace clad innocent of her “silver spoon” *** ( see addendum AA)..

  

Angie than eagerly looked over the jewels of those she had chosen, vividly glittering their colourful joy at being brought out of the vault and worn for this evening’s festivities. She had been quite hard pressed to make a selection, so for the first 30 minutes or so, Angie just mingled about, following her whimsy.

  

Then she spotted Olivia. Elegant in a long slick purple gown of luxurious silk that pleasantly flowed and swirled tightly along her shapely figure as she flitted about, presenting the very picture of a tickle thief’s dream ( see addendum BB).. Young, flighty and loaded with beckoning diamonds, Angie began to stalk her in ever decreasing circles, hunting her slowly, deliberately, much as a snake in the grass would a tiny unsuspecting mouse. However, all too soon, Angie realized that this mouse was being watched over by someone else, like a hawk.

  

The hawks name was Ginny. Lower east end, rough as her cousin Olivia was polished, awkward in one of her cousins borrowed long satin gowns, she watched protectively over her mingling cousin from the sidelines, totally out of her element, ill-fitting right down to the only jewelry she wore, a shimmering elegant emerald bracelet that was obviously borrowed( probably from Olivia) . Angie weighed the consequences of an attempt on Olivia’s diamonds, deciding that there was plenty of less guarded prey, and so Angie reluctantly decided to let go of the scent.

 

**

It was not much later that Angie, from her new perch at one of the twin bars that lined opposite sides of the room, found herself eyeing a most interesting subject. She rose and began trailing behind the swishing gown of her new prospect. The fine taffeta gown was spilling down along the still voluptuous, if not a little pudgy, figure of an older, matronly looking lady with long hair of faded gold. Her longish hair was home to a glittering Diamond Head band, from which shimmering strings of diamonds were entertained in her still silky soft hair.

  

The lady stopped to chat with two other finely decked out women, giving Angie a chance to circle and leisurely eyeball, head to foot, these unsuspecting ladies baubles. Angie felt her heart rate quicken with delight at what she saw.. Now, older women could be a little bit trickier since they were more likely to notice quicker the disappearance of often worn jewelry, as opposed to younger ladies or girls were not yet used to wearing fine jewelry adorning their squirming figures. Nevertheless, Angie spied something that should even the playing field a bit, so to speak, making this wealthy lady a fairly less risky prospect…

  

Now, Monescu‘s pamphlet had a little side Chapter on how ladies would sooner think jewels were lost as to believe they had been stolen from them (pickpockets only go after wallets and hankies, my dear, everyone knows that!) . To this end, lifting only one of a pair, like an earring, or clips, is a safe bet, especially if one desires to tempt fate and remain in the area to try for a second piece, like say the brooch that one of the ladie’s friends was obligingly displayin!

  

And the lady with the shimmering headpiece Angie was ogling, was wearing a pair of twin diamond and ruby clips, one on each side of the wide shiny sash that tightly encircled her gowns’ bulging waistline. Taking one of those expensively jeweled clips would be as easy! As easy as picking the slippery pocket of a fidgety young child clad in silk. Which in a fashion, Angie had actually done many times early on in her career. ,.. Including once long ago, coming across not one fidgety child, but a small group of em! The wedding attired young girls were playing alone at a playground, their chaperones having obligingly wandered off for a bit of naughty fun! When Angie finally left the chirpy little group to continue their game of (appropriately enough) cops n robbers, It had definitely not been just the contents of the gullible young lady’s fluttery satin gowns’ pockets that walked off along with her!

 

(See album, Angie at play, for the full story)

flic.kr/s/aHsjYB65Je

  

Angie’s full attention was now focused on the two wave shaped clips as the pair fired glittering salvos of flickering rainbow-like colures with each elegant movement their mistress made. Patiently Angie stalked from a distance, awaiting her chance. It came soon enough, when the Hors d’oeuvres were put out, and the clips, along with their mistress, headed with the other multitudes of guests to the long banquet tables. As they formed a line, Angie managed to wedge herself in between the lines, effectively cutting off her victim, who bumped against Angie.

  

Angie’s left hand slipped in and snaked along the satin sash, feeling once again the deliciously tingling ling chill she always experienced when her fingers first rubbed against the warm scintillating material of a luscious gown as she dipped in to steal the selected jewel.. This time was no different as her slender fingers located the first of the clips ; lifting it up, and nimbly flicked open the clasp( it was amazing how jewelers skimped on clasps when making upper end jewels), at the same time her right hand slithered up the slick taffeta backside of her victims gown. Reaching underneath an armpit, her fingernails dug in, distracting her victim as to the nefarious activity happening at her waist. The lady was knocked slightly off balance, and anyone else who saw the pair had their eyes focused their faces, and not on any handiwork occurring with the hands below sight.

  

Angie apologized profusely in her softest most innocent voice. Petting down the ladies backside as she did so with her right hand, while her left plucked the clip from her sash and palmed the jewel and slipped behind her back. It was over in seconds, merely someone trying to cut the line, and Angie made her escaped receiving a few clucks of the tongue from one of the ladies’ friend as the lady caught up to them. Angie just smiled at them winningly, her hand still behind her back. As she smiled, Angie slipped the diamond clip down inside her sash before turning away and heading off.

  

It had all come off quite easily, and Angie was congratulating herself, when suddenly a voice behind her pronounced, quite loud and clear, oh my gwad Ceclia, you’ve lost a brooch. Diamond clip Angie correctly the lady silently to herself. She did not turn, but kept on moving, even slowing her pace a bit. From the same area she heard Celica gasp. Me clip, I’ve lost one of me diamond clips! it was here a minute ago, remember Maud, you was admiring them, weren’t you? Angie could imagine from what actions the lady in the elegant taffeta gown was taking now that she had discovered her loss, security was probably hoofing their way over, Angie had to think quickly.

  

Not losing any of her demeanor, Angie turned causally around to watch with the rest of the nearby group as the lady was showing her sash and the remaining clip to a couple of her friends. Angie spied a brace uniformed bulls approaching. She casually turned and headed across the room, her mind whirling. she knew that the pricy clip was too hot to hold onto. She had slowly looked around as she sauntered away from the scene. Then, spotting one of the many Ladies powder rooms scattered around, she ducked into it. Angie knew from past experiences ( and a few hints from Monescu‘s phamplett) that rooms such as these had a plethora of hiding places to let “hot items” cool down..

  

She entered the room, the noise dying out as the door closed. She was alone, wait, not nearly, the room had one other occupant. Ginny was at the sink, washing her face, the bored look she had worn all evening now was replaced by deep thoughts, forlorn ones by the looks of it. On the fly Angie coolly devised a plan.

  

She walked up behind the unwary, unnoticing, fetchingly clad Ginny, and wrapped her arms round her, hugging, as she called out, Maude dear, I haven’t seen you in ages. Ginny was uncomfortably flabbergasted, and Angie felt her warm figure stiffen. She turned and Angie apologized, I am so sorry , I totally mistook you for someone else. I should have known better, Maude is not nearly as pretty .As she spoke, Angies’ fingers touched and prodded the startled girl, not allowing her to collect her wits. If Angie was hoping for a smile, she didn’t get it,. Streetwise Ginny looked at Angie hard, and scolded the thief for scaring the beezusses out of her. In a Huff Ginny left, Angie watched as Ginny’s soft gown curled around the closing door before whipping out of.

  

She was smiling to herself, for as she had hugged Ginny, she had deposited the clip in the innocent girls green velvet purse that was laying open on the vanity. She had also in the process, tit for tat, whisked off the wide gold bracelet embedded with emeralds.

  

Not wasting any time Angie headed down the hallway where she secreted the bracelet in a nearby ash can, slipping it underneath the ½ ash filled bowl. Angie than reentered the ballroom, and went up to the orchestra’s conductor and requested a couple of waltzes, ones she knew were lengthy.

  

She then look around to make sure that she had all the principle players in her plot in sight. She spied Ginny talking with her cousin Olivia, and Celia was still searching the floor by the banquet tables. Now Maude , Maude took a little doing, but Angie spotted her chatting with a security cop. Great Angie thought, all I need to do is wait for it. “It” soon became apparent , was the start of one of the slow waltzes, and sure enough, Olivia was almost immediately scooped up and led off to the dance floor, leaving poor Ginny alone, as she had been most of the evening. Her hard disposition more than enough to keep any potential suitors at bay.

 

Angie immediately sought out Maude, a short mousey woman in a faded velvet gown wearing loads of gold chains and bangles. Angie caught her ear; feeding her a story about what she saw being placed in a certain green velvet purse. Maude’s eyes darted to where Ginny stood along a wall, and Angie saw a delicious gleam flare up in mousey Maude’s semi -be speckled green eyes.

 

**

Angie than serenely slipped back, regaining her barstool perch and waited as the developments unfolded. Maude went to the copper she had been chatting up, and they both went to Celica. The copped grabbed a partner and the group surrounded poor Ginny. Angie kept one eye on the, and the other on Olivia, who was dancing on the far side of the room, blissfully unaware of the clamor on the far wall, that was surrounding her hapless cousin Ginny.

  

Angie saw that, upon discovering what she had in her purse, they were going to arrest her and escort Ginny off the premises, exactly as Angie had planned! Angie slipped from her stool, and headed out to the lobby to await the final act in Ginny’s tragedy. Angie concealed herself in the hidden alcove, behind the small ash can where she had stashed the emerald bracelet. Just in time to witness the poor girl, struggling between the two security types, and being forcibly escorting her out. When she was sure no suspicion was coming her way, Angie lit a victory smoke, and retrieved the emeralds, stowing them away as she looked back upon the protesting Ginny, struggling as she was being ushered out the door to the waiting patrol car on the street below.

 

**

Now, Angie only had to find where that darling young Olivia, so richly clad in purple silk, had gotten her pretty little self-off too! With a suspect now in custody, and two less security bulls, Angie was free to slip back in amongst the wealthy guests in attendance at the ball. Good thing old Angie girl was a tough cookie, she contemplated, congratulating herself over not losing her head and coming out in roses, as happy with herself, she watched down the hallway. She was in no hurry; haste makes waste after all, so Angie savored her thoughts as she waited patiently to continue her mischievous habits.

 

Her thoughts now were trained fully on the unsuspecting, capriciously flighty , Olivia, and her dazzling diamonds.

 

In her mind’s eye she relished over several scenarios that could develop, and how to use them to her advantage, Angie exciting herself so much that she held the cigarette for a minute to lick her lips over them…

 

She imagined Olivia darting about, as she looked for her missing cousin, imagining, a well-placed foot on the hemline of a swirling long purple silk gown, which could yield some marvelous results.

 

Or perhaps Olivia could use some help looking for her cousin. Angie would then be able to discreetly help herself to some of the enticingly slippery-gowned Olivia’s dainty, but expensively fiery, diamond jewelry.

 

Alternatively, and best of all, and it is here where the almost purring Angie licked her lips, was a most scintillating scenario…

 

Angie could explain what had happened and offer to share a cab downtown with her new friend. Angie would comfort the worrying, sobbing (brought on by how Angie would describe what had happened) girl riding alongside her in the back of the bouncing cab. Angie would comfortingly stroke the warm figure encased in the richly slick, scrumptiously smooth silky gown, as she cooed words of encouragement in Olivia’s ears, Angie’s lips touching the diamond earrings dripping down from their lobes.

 

Then she would let Olivia go inside alone, as not to cause her cousin any further embarrassment. Then Angie would watch as Olivia hurried away, admiring the flow of her shiny gown in the light from the entranceways lamps ,and while also basking in the provocative sparkle of any remaining diamonds that Angie had not managed to spirit away during the ride down to the police station.

 

Angie shivered happily, as she gave one final drag on her cigarette and bent down to place it in the ash bin.

 

Suddenly Angie’s senses perked up, and she raised her head, shooting her gaze down the long corridor..

A lady was leaving the ballroom, unescorted, heading down the long hallway to the exit. She could tell by the quality of the long slinky gown that fell in ruffles from the hem of the long black mink she wore, and by the rings glittering from the hand that held the thick mink, that this specimen was well worth some effort. Angie rose, not yet noticed by the fur encased broad. One for the road, Angie thought to herself, bemused. The lady kept looking back, like she did not really want to leave and was afraid she would miss something exciting. That fact, along with the narrowness of the passage made for an excellent opportunity… A well place foot, and expertly placed bump, a few seconds of confusion, and the lady and Angie would part company, and Angie would have parted something else from the broad, and be a richer woman for it.

 

It was a formula that Angie had perfected and executed many profitable times. As a matter of fact, it had only been a few days prior that a young daughter, quite fetchingly (and targetable) in a pretty lavender satin and lace gown, ornamented regally with pearls and a flashy blue rhinestone tiara, had quite literally, but not accidentally, come under foot. Allowing Angie the opportunity to artfully nick the girl’s fine strands of gleaming white pearls (with a sapphire gemmed drop!) that had obligingly bounced up from the girl’s heaving chest into Angie’s waiting fingers.

 

Angie now watched this rich lady headed towards her, with the very same thoughts in mind. But she needed to know what jewels the broad had hidden under that pricey mink. As the lady came close Angie tried to “will” her to open up. “C’mon honey, its warm, you must be burning up in that pelt, show mama what you got.” But the broad did not obligingly peel back the mink for Angie, and Angie would never know what riches may have been in the cupboard, or perhaps it had been bare, though Angie seriously doubted it. The lady reached her, shooting Angie a nervous smile. Angie smiled back, wondering if the lad realized how close she had come to being relieved of one of her fancy trinkets.

 

As the woman passed by, Angie watched her backside, musing to herself, Fine, I’ll just have to settle for Olivia. Angie then started down the long deserted corridor with a brisk walk, her satin dress bouncing in rhythm.

 

**

Reaching the Ballroom proper, Angie stopped and gave the room a vigilant scan for security, and as she had figured, it definitely had loosened up. She then searched in earnest for the young miss clad in her expensive purple silk “tickling gown”( see addendum rr). The naïve young thing had been ever so carelessly displaying those delectably exquisite diamonds of hers with such reckless abandon that it would be a wonder if she still possessed all of them. It will be a wonder if she still does after meeting me, Angie mused. She almost was purring in anticipation as she thought about those diamonds, especially the long necklace and the way it had flung from side to side as the girl had walked past Angie the first time that evening(and several more since). Angie envisioned the diamonded box clasp at the back of her bare neck (long hair was high in a bun) that held the necklace around her neck, for now! She secretly prayed that Olivia had not removed her shiny hairpiece to let her long hair down, it would make things so much the easier.

  

As Angie thought about this she slowly edged her way along the wall, dodging in and out amongst the happily chatting guest, constantly on the lookout for Olivia.

  

Now Angie had learned not to stay so focused on one target that she would miss another opportunity that may unexpectantly arise. This was another lesson she had learned the hard way, most notably at a fancy wedding reception that was held in a fancy venue complete with a hedged in English Garden. A perfect spot for ambushing unsuspecting, well-jeweled quarry!

 

(See album, Angie being receptive, for the full story)

flic.kr/s/aHsjZzsjGH

  

So, by being on the alert, Angie was prepared when she was suddenly, unexpectedly blindsided from behind as something incredibly soft, slickly bumped up against her back. Like a cat, she kept her feet and whirled around in time to catch a handful of pure heaven in the form of one of the be- gowned young “princesses” that seemed to be everywhere this gay evening. She found herself nose to eye with a young miss, resplendent in a long slippery gown as black as ink, and as soft as young chinchilla. The sleek gown literally poured tightly down along her perked figure to the floor, covering over her shiny black high heels. The colour of night that was her gown was broken only by the whiteness of her bare shoulders and neck, and by an exquisitely large, leaf like brooch of clear diamond banquets that covered her right side at least 8 inches above and below her slender waistline.

  

The young “princess” giggled nervously as she profusely apologized over her “silliness” at tripping over her own gown as she had stepped backwards. Angie oozed kindness as she spoke soothingly to the girl, watching her melt like putty in Angie’s light fingered hands. As Angie spoke calmingly to the girl, her eyes were indiscreetly soaking up the dazzling white diamond necklace that surrounded the nervous girl’s bare white throat that was now eye level to Angie. .Angie looked down at the girls gloved hand resting upon her full bosom , admiring the softness of the satin gloves (dyed to match her gown) that stretched up past her elbows, drooling secretly over the enormous cocktail ring that graced one of her fingers. The princess raised up her hands, giving them to Angie, who took up the satin clad hands, holding them as tightly as she was holding the girls gaze, before letting the girl slowly slip them from her firm grasp., .

  

The girls eyes finally broke away, and Angie smiled exuberantly, giving the girl an enveloping hug to show there were no hard feelings, letting her hands slip ever so gingerly down to grasp the girl by the waist, giving her a squeeze. She then let the young thing slip out, free to go on her way, as Angie turned and did likewise. As Angie sauntered off, she happily thought that it was sometimes funny how occasionally, when least expected, one gets very lucky. As she thought this, she moved her clenched fist to the top of her dress. Pulling the dress out, she dropped down her cleavage the rather large, expensively glittering , diamond brooch she had so carefully slipped from the rather ditsy young ”princess” black satin clad waist. The damsel had not so much felt a prick when Angie had lifted the jewel, snapped the clasp open, and slipped it from her figure as her hands had squeezed her scintillatingly soft waist. She now felt it wonderfully slip down, joining Ginny’s purloined bracelet already resting securely there. Angie stole a careful look back over her shoulder.

  

The clueless young” Princess” was now happily dancing away with a tuxedoed young man. Her handsome partner, with a neatly trimmed beard, had one white gloved hand holding up her hand in black satin gloved the enormous cocktail ring shining out like some richly coloured beacon ; the other white gloved hand lay upon her back, mere inches away from the simple hook in eye clasp of the necklace of white diamonds. Angie drooled, how she would have liked to have had her hands in either of the positions that the man’s were now laid. Taking the ring and necklace would have been a piece of cake. Angie did sometimes secretly envy men, who could get close to jewel-laden ladies in ways that Angie could not! Angie imagined these wicked thoughts to herself as she allowed herself to be mesmerized by the blaze of fiery diamonds that for the time being, were still wrapped around the “princess’s” slender white throat.

  

Angie was not worried about the young lady raising a squawk over a missing brooch. Clumsy Dames like her were used to having jewelry misplaced. Angie wondered if they ever realized how many times those jewels were not misplaced, but stolen by light fingered thieves who, like Angie, knew all too well how to read the signs and reap the rewards. If only she had had time to be better prepared, she sighed, turning her attention reluctantly away from the diamonds.

  

Angie moved off, filled with the confidence that the tides of her fortune had turned for the better. Rounding a corner Angie spied Celia off to one side, and toyed with the idea of slipping off her remaining diamond clip now that Maud was still chatting up one of the Guards (another one out of commission!) Then, for a split second, on the other side of the room, she saw the silky wisp of purple that singled out her prey. Now, down to business she said, licking her lips. With a cat like gleam in her eyes, she swiftly stole into the crowd of dancing couples. Soon she was lost to sight, swept up in a rainbow coloured sea of slinky swirling gowns.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

( addendum AA )..

***( Not that Angie really ever stooped that low….. The closet she ever came was finding a wealthy couples silk suited young one left alone for a few minutes in his carriage holding a fine grained wooden rattle with possibly real gold inlays. Pulling away the rattle, she had let it drop beside the carriage, walking away and watching from a distance as the baby started to fuss. Soon the child’s young sister, who had so inattentively been minding her younger brother, approached. Angie watched, mesmerized by the thick sterling silver chain and locket that was dangling merrily from the girl’s throat. Timing it perfectly, Angie moved to the carriage as the girl was bending over, cooing and shaking the rattle to quiet her baby brother down. Taking swift advantage of the young girl’s distraction, Angie’s long fingers nimbly lifted up and slipped off the glimmering chain and locket from the high frilly neckline of the sister’s shiny blouse. Then, as Angie pocketed the purloined jewel with one hand, she made use of her other to admire and compliment her unsuspecting victim of her party outfit, consisting of a cute long sleek midnight satin skirt paired quite fetchingly with the ruffled long sleeved blouse of emerald taffeta!

Angie spent a few chancy minutes talking to the sister, looking for older than her years with her long brown held up in a high bun, as her baby brother settled down. As they chatted, a thought emerged in Angie’s mind around making a try for the girls silver engraved cuffed bracelet wrapped around the charming young sister’s slender left wrist, or possibly, even better, the child’s dangling clasped silver earrings! Throwing all caution to the wind, Angie made a lighthearted attempt to suggest how much better it would feel for the young lady by letting her hair down. It must be awfully hurtful for her, to have it tied up in that high tight bun, Angie cooed. A lot more comfortable hanging down and free in a ponytail like mine, Angie suggested, offering graciously to help with the procedure. The young lady giggled, shaking her pretty head, earrings flickering, as she looked over towards a small gathering of self -absorbed, well-dressed adults standing by the tables set up at the east end of the gardens. She apologetically told Angie that Mama would certainly not approve. Score one for Mama, Angie sighed, petting the girls soft shoulder to show her no worries, and while doing so took her other hand and running it ever so lightly along the youth’s black skirt, delved into its’ pocket , but found the cupboard bare. So, then, after looking down at the sleeping baby, Angie finally took her leave. Migrating off towards a small gathering of fancy frocked, nicely jeweled debutantes giggling by an exit in a far west corner of the extensive parks gardens)

 

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

(Addendum BB)

(excerpted from :Cutpurse: skilles, artes and Secretes of the Dip by “Gaston Monescu, 1826”)

A perfect tickle thief setup, as Angie renamed it, was a ploy for use on a lady “waering a long gown or skirtes” that was easily trip able, when a foot stepped on it from behind, sometimes added with a soft nudge, sending the wearer tumbling. Ones fingers, in the process of steading or helping would glide(tickling) over the material ( the sleeker the better) to reach and pluck free the fair ladies’ targeted bauble.

 

**********************************************************************************

 

Interested in reading more about the shenanigans of Angie?

Then Check out the following albums:

Angie Picks Chicago flic.kr/s/aHsjZzs5Qe

Angie being Receptive flic.kr/s/aHsjZzsjGH

Angie being chartable flic.kr/s/aHsk5YknhV

Angie at Play flic.kr/s/aHsjYB65Je

Angie Trick Or Treat( coming soon)

 

Editor’s Note:

Our Thanks to Mr Gardner for pointing out the existence of Mr. Monescu’s 1826 guide

 

**********************************************************************************

Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives

 

Around 5:00 A.M. on Sunday, March 6, 1836, General Antonio López de Santa Anna, self-proclaimed "Napoleon of the West," hurled his army at the battered walls of the Alamo from four directions. Texan gunners stood by their artillery. As about 1,800 assault troops advanced into range, canister ripped through their ranks. Staggered by the concentrated cannon and rifle fire, the Mexican soldiers halted, reformed, and drove forward. Soon they were past the defensive perimeter. Travis, among the first to die, fell on the north bastion. Abandoning the walls, defenders withdrew to the dim rooms of the Long Barracks. There some of the bloodiest hand-to-hand fighting occurred. Bowie, too ravaged by illness to rise from his bed, found no pity. The chapel fell last. By dawn the Centralists had carried the works. The assault had lasted no more than ninety minutes. As many as seven defenders survived the battle, but Santa Anna ordered their summary execution. Many historians count Crockett as a member of that hapless contingent, an assertion that still provokes debate in some circles. By eight o'clock every Alamo fighting man lay dead. Currently, 189 defenders appear on the official list, but ongoing research may increase the final tally to as many as 257.

Sagrada Familia looms over hapless tourists in Barcelona

I was born a jackdaw, why should I try to be an owl.

~Ogden Nash

 

Created with Miss Ravenhill's Home for Hapless Children from Miles Beyond the Moon.

In the Maramady at Adoor, Kerala, India, the jockey gets to eat mud, have his ears and eyes and his body washed out in muddy water many gallons of times over.

 

This is the hapless jockey who normally holds the wooden plank which is in front of him and tries to slow the bulls down with the slide resistance. The jockey's ride and hold is now detached and is trailing behind the bulls.

 

At the finishing point is the toughest part of the race as the bulls have to be turned in a semi circle in the narrow racing track and generally the jockey uses his body to provide more surface area to the forces of resistance as he normally gets thrown off the plank in the sharp 180 degrees turnaround.

 

Thanks to Swapna Mahawadhi

for her input on a suitable frame and composition. Genius as ever !!

DSC_0080 final

Found this spider by the edge of a stream. She was waiting for the hapless victim - a struggling insect, a small fish or a tadpole.

 

There were many Water Striders( Gerridae) all around her. I was eagerly waiting for the her to catch a Water Strider which would sometimes come very close to her. But she didn't seem to be interested in them. I waited for more than 30 mins before I had to move on.

 

Maybe next time :-)

30 years of deregulation and the memories of the very first day, Sunday 26th October 1986 linger on (sad, isn't it ?) - particularly with this view of GM Buses Rochdale based Leyland Fleetline 8008 plodding its way up Lavender Hill on the Balladen Estate in Rawtenstall. The hapless driver arrived with his charge at Rawtenstall Bus Station a short time earlier reputedly having failed to put his clock back the obligatory hour, British Summer Time having ended a few hours earlier, just to add to the chaos of the day.

if you zoom in, you can see the hapless blueberry stems hanging from its mouth;)

 

(all those shrubs around are wild blueberries--the aptly named Vacinium deliciousum:)

The capitals (and the carved base with 2 dragons fighting ) on the north chancel arch flic.kr/p/2rrhwfi are much more ornate than on the south www.flickr.com/gp/52219527@N00/16x7d83uSx

The north side of the chancel arch also has the very unusual feature of a carved scene at the foot of the shaft, in this case a couple of dragons. It is very deeply carved and extremely graphic. I have seen many Norman carvings (just browse these pages) and I really think this is in the first rank yet almost unknown

The chancel arch is decidedly Norman as far up as its carved capitals which, thankfully, were retained when the arch was remodelled during the Early English period. On the north side is a very fine and very Norman carving of intertwined dragons, the tail of one of which is being bitten by a human head. Or is the dragon emanating from his mouth? Above it is the commonplace (but still attractive) floral design. This all looks quite early, maybe early rather than later twelfth century.

Here we can see dragons or serpents apparently biting the hapless man’s head. He’s having a hard time of it all round! Right: The south side capital has pretty standard Norman decoration with none of the excitements of the north side

  

Left and Right: The chancel arch is decidedly Norman as far up as its carved capitals which, thankfully, were retained when the arch was remodelled during the Early English period. On the north side is a very fine and very Norman carving of intertwined dragons, the tail of one of which is being bitten by a human head. Or is the dragon emanating from his mouth? Above it is the commonplace (but still attractive) floral design. This all looks quite early, maybe early rather than later twelfth century.

- Church of St John the Baptist, Hawkchurch Devon

Michael Garlick CCL www.geograph.org.uk/photo/5356877 www.geograph.org.uk/photo/5356871 www.geograph.org.uk/photo/5356865

www.greatenglishchurches.co.uk/html/hawkchurch.html

This is the famous bird of Europe whose voice is imitated by cuckoo clocks (and whose call, coo-coo, gave the name to the entire cuckoo family). It is well known as a brood parasite: females lay their eggs in the nests of smaller birds, and their hapless "hosts" raise only young cuckoos. A common migratory bird across most of Europe and Asia.

Cuculus canorus is approximately 33 cm in length. Adult males are generally gray above, including the throat and breast, while the underparts are white with close black bars. The tail, which is long and graduated, is black with white spots. The cuckoo has short legs and a non-hooked bill. A noticeable feature of C. canorus is that it has very pointed wings. The adult females are occasionally brown above, white below, and barred black. The juvenile cuckoos resemble the rare brown phase of the female. Juveniles are brown, barred, and have a white patch on the back of the neck. The voicing of C. canorus differs between males and females. The males have an unmistakable coocoo call, while the females have a babbling call.

Cuculus canorus is a brood parasite. The female cuckoo lays her egg in the nest of another species. The cuckoo egg closely resembles the egg of the host species' egg. The eggs of cuckoos are either spotted or solid in color, depending upon the color of the host species' egg. The egg mimicry is an adaptation to parasitism. When the host species leaves the nest unattended, the female cuckoo removes one of the host's eggs from the nest, then lays her own before the host returns. The cuckoo egg is incubated for about 12 ½ days and usually hatches before the host eggs. Once the cuckoo has hatched, it will eject the other eggs or young so that it will receive all the food brought by the "foster parents." The young cuckoo is fed and brooded by the host for 20- 23 days, and grows several times larger than the hosts.

 

Names are:

Top row left to right. White-backed, Iberian (Green), Lesser Spotted.

Middle: Black, Grey-headed, Great Spotted.

Bottom. Green, Syrian, Wryneck.

 

* MORE COLLAGES HERE !

www.flickr.com/photos/sdaly/albums/72157640912221874/

While cars make a beeline exiting Panjim city and heading for the homes of their weary owners.

 

Some Of us must wait !

 

No the head load is not a visible symbol of poverty or exploitation. It is just a convenient mode of carrying the basket home/

   

Goa has a terrible transportation system. If you do not have your own vehicle, it is a tough ask. The worst part about Goa is the taxis and their owners and drivers who tend to fleece the hapless traveller and often indulge in brow beating to get their usurous dues. No - i have not taken a taxi till date in Goa ;-)

 

Dates

Taken on April 1, 2009 at 6.15pm IST (edit)

Posted to Flickr August 30, 2010 at 8.03AM IST (edit)

Exif data

Camera Nikon D300

Exposure 0.002 sec (1/500)

Aperture f/4.0

Focal Length 16 mm

ISO Speed 200

Exposure Bias 0 EV

Flash No Flash

   

_DSC3099 from jpeg via ACR copy

One of the things I was keen to photograph on my visit to Svalbard was skuas in pursuit of their prey as it was something that had so far eluded me. Luckily my trip in summer gave me photo-opportunities of three different species of skua giving chase. This shot shows two Arctic Skuas (aka Parasitic Jaegers) working as a team to bully their hapless victim, an Arctic Tern with icebergs in the background. This was the moment that the lower bird attempted but failed to nip the wingtip of the tern. Arctic Skuas rarely catch their own food but go about their business of bullying other birds to regurgitate their last meal. This is why they were given the scientific name parasiticus and why they are known as Parasitic Jaegers in America (Jaeger is a German word for hunter). Although this type of feeding is known as kleptoparasitism (klepto comes from Ancient Greek and means to steal).

From the bullraces at Adoor in Kerala, a photo that has appeared earlier. It had a slight yellow cast to it what with the mud in the water spreading all over.

 

This time the water is all gold and the yellow cast has been removed. I hope you like it.

 

In the Maramady at Adoor, Kerala, India, the jockey gets to eat mud, have his ears and eyes and his body washed out in muddy water many gallons of times over.

 

This is the hapless jockey who normally holds the wooden plank which is in front of him and tries to slow the bulls down with the slide resistance. The jockey's ride and hold is now detached and is trailing behind the bulls.

 

At the finishing point is the toughest part of the race as the bulls have to be turned in a semi circle in the narrow racing track and generally the jockey uses his body to provide more surface area to the forces of resistance as he normally gets thrown off the plank in the sharp 180 degrees turnaround.

 

Dates

Taken on August 15, 2007 at 5.36PM IST (edit)

Posted to Flickr January 24, 2014 at 1.38PM IST (edit)

Exif data

Camera Nikon D70

Exposure 0.001 sec (1/750)

Aperture f/4.0

Focal Length 70 mm

ISO Speed 250

Exposure Bias 0 EV

Flash Off, Did not fire

DSC_0080 jpeg via ACR br-

 

with hapless photographer trying to find a way out..!

American Redstart, male

Setophaga ruticilla

 

Stumbled on this fellow with breakfast in his mouth early in the morning in a wildlife refuge in the city of Alpena. I don't know if the hapless butterfly was for him, his mate, or their kids.

 

Alpena County, MI

I came upon this Red-tailed Hawk. I noticed the Hawk was surrounded by four Magpies. As Magpies often do, they were ruining this Hawk's morning with their taunts. I took a couple of confirmation shots; back lit, the now unobscured sun would make any shot from this side pretty sketchy. I drew in a little closer and saw this expression (or what I took as an expression). It was like the Hawk was saying, "Isn't bad enough I have to put up with these noisy neighbors? Now I have one of you happy clickers closing in on me too?" Feeling that I had already been too much of a bother for this hapless Hawk, I left. I'd leave it up to Lightroom to darken the lights, lighten the darks, and crop the heck out of a so-so image.

I was watching this handsome male Red-belly as he carefully searched the trunks and crowns of the Royal palms here very early this morning. He did seem to be rather focused on finding and eating the Paper Wasps that live in these trees. I was a little surprised when the bird then began to cache a couple of them, however. This hapless wasp was placed neatly in that little hole in the trunk. He did eat more than he cached , and it was a cool thing to watch. I barely had enough light to shoot this scene, but I really wanted to catpture this rather interesting behavior. I knew they cached nuts and seeds, but insects? Who knew?

 

XLEW 3c

I've seen many, so many over such a short period of time that it can almost be considered an overkill. I've been fat, skinny, distorted, confident, heartbroken,confused, overjoyed, hopeful,hapless,arrogant, mischievous, wannabe, the adjectives go on and on and zzzz...

 

Gah, where are the "সুখের পায়রা" when you need them?

 

Oh, right there they are...over the river Turag. Well good luck with the 80 mph wind, fools!

 

Location: Sluice Gate over Mirpur-Ashulia Road.

Sky: Angry, very.

Method: Self(ie)- IR Remote fired-Tripod mounted,Slightly tilted,Center composed.

 

On Black, পিলিজ my good mates

 

Chapter 7

The Daring Kind

 

She must have been able to read the discomfort in his eyes, assuming her actions had left her lover speechless.

She appeared happy to accept that for an answer and backed away, still smiling smugly, towards the staircase.

 

The diamond dangling from the coronet was still flashing its Morse code-like flickers, tapping the message to him that signalled, come get me!

 

Happily, she tapped his cheek, then turned and disappeared back around the corner with a swish of her gown, trilled affectionately to ‘Gaston” as she did…

 

“A most welcome home darling Gaston!”

 

He then heard her say merrily from her hiding spot...

 

“You have till the count of 25 luv , so get a move on”.

 

He stood there, jaw opened wide beneath his mask, his eyes had watched as her gown had wispily whipped around the corner behind her, whilst listening as she was giggling quite excitedly to herself at her cleverness!

 

He just didn't know what to think.

 

So of course, He obediently followed her directions.

 

“Bloody “ell” he muttered, thinking, had he just had fallen into a cat thief’s wildest dream!

 

He opened the door to the green satin wrapped damsel’s bedroom, and pulling out his torch, lit its pencil-thin beam.

 

Wishing only now that only the real Gaston didn’t decide to show his mug and spoil all the fun!

 

Once Inside, the torchlight quickly found her oak jewel case on the mantel of an old stained oaken dresser.

 

The high case matched the dresser and drawers below it perfectly, and it appeared that it was all uniquely Chippendale!

 

It sat across from a matching four-poster, with a sea blue satin coverlet and matching silken sheets.

 

“Nice of her to point out where her jewels are kept!” He thanked the clueless girl!

 

He swiftly went over and began opening the many drawers of the jewellery case, or jewellery coffin as some would churlishly call it!

 

The thin light of his torch lit up a sinfully copious display of jewels, note quite as valuable as the ones discovered in the master bedroom, but it was a damn close race all the same!

 

He happily began pulling out the drawers and sliding the prettily flickering contents into an already bulging case.

 

Rudely discarding the empty drawers unceremoniously upon the floor.

 

The lady he hoped, would appreciate the dedicated “realism “that this’ Gaston’ of her’s was going to put into her play, and he was just the person to make it realistic!

He reckoned this with a rather nefarious smile spreading upon the bearded face, covered by its thin black mask.

 

At that precise moment, he heard the door creak slowly open….

 

She was coming in quietly, and soon the lady proved her mettle to be quite the actress!

 

He heard her gasp behind him as he continued on his work!

 

“ No, not my jewels, Do anything to me but don’t take my family jewels!”

 

He turned around to face the damsel, holding the pearl filled final drawer in his thin black-gloved hand.

 

She stood there with her left hand to her mouth, while her right ringed gloved fingers played with her necklace. The diamonds flickered quite as she held it up!

 

She then teased, delighted at his captured attention! …

 

“You want these, do you not Mister Burglar, I can see it in your eyes!”

 

Looking upon her, he tipped the drawer full of pearls into the black bag, then dropping it empty onto the pile strewn about at his feet.

 

Then he eagerly, purposefully, moved towards her, lustfully eyeing the pretty victim’s savoury jewels.

 

She shivered as if she read his mind, that he would take her jewels and flee into the night with them.

 

But she was not ready to have him do that, so she commanded him in a softly brisk tone…

 

“Not yet!”

 

Putting up a nicely ringed finger to indicate he should come no further!

 

Surprisingly to himself, for he had no real reason to listen, he obediently stopped in his tracks to await her next command.

 

As it turned out, he was soon very glad he had done so!

 

Then he eagerly, purposefully, moved towards her, lustfully eyeing the pretty victim’s savoury jewels.

 

She shivered as if she read his mind, that he would take her jewels and flee into the night with them.

 

But she was not ready to have him do that, so she commanded him in a softly brisk tone…

 

“Not yet!”

 

Putting up a nicely ringed finger to indicate he should come no further!

 

Surprisingly to himself, for he had no real reason to listen, he obediently stopped in his tracks to await her next command.

 

As it turned out, he was soon very glad he had done so!

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^

Chapter 8

One must be Methodical

 

Dropping her hand, she questioned him…

“What have you forgotten to do, my dear thief?”

He stood still, hoping she would just obligingly tell him what to do next.

She happily did so...

“My closet! Gaston your always forgetting any good burglar worth his salt checks a damsel’s closet for brooches and such left on by ladies far too lazy to remove them from one's party frocks. I swear Gaston You would make a horrible burglar in real life. You would positively starve if it were not for being directed by someone like me!”

She chortled at her wit.

He just smiled, thanking her inwardly for being ever so much a big help to her poor Darling ‘Gaston’!

He turned to his right and headed straight to the closet, curious as to what he was expected to find inside?

Opening the door, a long floor length mirror was revealed, allowing one to see into the interior of the bedroom behind him.

Including the reflection of his most helpful victim as she stood there in all her jewelled and tight-fitting emerald satin attired glory!

She keenly watching his progress with an eager interest, as he stole a look at her reflection, muttering happily to himself…

“Best get this over with quickly, then attend to the lady and her finery!”

He turned to look back inside, and was met with a designer like an assortment of colourful dresses, gowns, and other fancy attire!

A quite nice, if not downright beguiling, display of soft velvets, slinky silks, sleek satins, frilled lace, and shiny leather.

He quickly began his task at hand, letting his thinly gloved fingers feel through the wonderfully sleek fabrics for anything hard and metallic.

On one velvet number he felt something like a necklace around its top, he pulled it out, but disappointedly it was a rhinestone collared frock.

He tossed it onto the bed and resumed his search as she could be heard softly giggling behind him...

“Nope, nothing on that one, but don’t quit just yet!

He stole a glance at her from the mirror, then he turned back into working the closet.

The glance revealed that his ‘mentor’ was watching him eagerly, her whole being quivering in anticipation head down to spiky heeled foot!

He fingered a satiny white ruffled blouse, he decided he had better keep tabs on this one, still not sure what exactly her game was all on about?

He muttered to himself…

“They were her jewels after all, weren’t they? Indeed, rather valuable for mere playthings!”

There had to be something inside here!

He thought as he let drop the satin blouse and plunged his gloved hands inside again and felt around.

This time he was rewarded by feeling a slight prick of something solid and sharp.

He pulled out a luxuriously long black satin number and saw it had two ruby clips attached to its bodice.

He held it up to the mirror so she could see.

she clapped gleefully, watching him pull free the ruby clips from the evening gown and casually flipped them into his bag on the floor.

“Well done Gaston!”

He looked up at her, as the slinky black gown was indifferently added to the growing pile on her bed.

He could see by her reflection that she was excitedly eating it up.

Then she suddenly resumed back into her character of being the hapless victim.

And began to miserably plead…

“Please mister burglar don't take everything of mine! I am sure there is nothing more inside!”

He smiled, wondering how she would react when she eventually found out that indeed, she was a hapless victim of her game!?

Turning his attention once again to her closet he moved aside the hangers, revealing a set of shelves set in the back that contained a nice selection of sensible shoes, wedged pumps, glossy spiked heels and designer style purses.

One purse caught his ever-appraising eyes, a small gold clutch with what looked like (and probably was) a diamonded clasp!

He pulled it out and tossed the expensive bugger into the bag.

“Oui , Good eye Gaston! It's almost like you were a real thief.”

She gurgled this, shivering in delight, as her earrings and necklace flickered along with her figure, like uncontrollable wildfires.

He watched the enticing show from her reflection in the handy door length mirror.

Then he turned back to the closet.

For, as he was moving the dresses over to look into the shelves, his eye had caught sight of a black leather jacket with a belt studded by what must have been a thousand rhinestones.

He now pulled it out and searched its pockets, mainly to tease her a bit further, for he imagined that “Gaston” would do such a thing!

So, he was utterly surprised when his gloved fingertips felt something cold and a bit weighty in a side pocket!

He slipped it out and found he was holding a solid gold cigarette case, which he added to the ever-growing collection in his bag!

His “Mentor” trilled as he did so, exclaiming with happy surprise...

“I had wondered where that had gotten off to luv! The matching lighter should be there too!”

He reached back in, and there it was, as well as a small ivory and ebony gold ringed cigarette holder.

Both of which quickly joined their companion in the now bulging bag.

He then pulled off the shimmery belt.

Even with rhinestones, it was worth a pretty penny he reasoned.

As started to pitch it into the case, he heard the Lady helpfully exclaim in the background, a good idea she said excitedly.

“Save that for when you tie me up to take my jewels!”

Shaking his head, why not? he tossed the belt to the helpful lass’s feet…

Thinking he was quite finished with the closet as he held the leather jacket, he for no rhyme or reason, took the time to hang it back up rather than adding it to the pile on the bed.

But It was as he did so that something, a most decidedly not rhinestone something, flashed in the dim lights in the gap that had been made where the leather jacket had hung!

 

He eagerly reached in and pulled out a lovely long brown, silky soft, liquidly appearing gown.

Holding it up triumphantly, he looked down at the dazzling sparkles of a magnificent gem-encrusted brooch that was suspended from the gown’s wide centre waistline.

“Good show Gaston!”

She exclaimed in the background.

His eyes left the brooch and looked into the mirror at her.

She was clapping, rings and bracelets, earrings and Coronet, the whole lot, erupting into a million pinpricks of fire as she did so!

He felt his manhood rising precariously as he looked her over, feeling the effect, even from this distance, her primitively carnal arousal!

She eagerly continued, spilling her emotions into her words!

“Mon Mari, I was going to tease you later if you were to ‘ave missed that one, and I was sure you were going to!”

“Tsk!” he said to himself. wonder what the teasing part would have entailed!

At the same time his mind was picturing this, he automatically, without taking his eyes off the mirror, pulled off the brooch and nonchalantly pocketing the breathtakingly pretty jewel before throwing the scintillatingly downy soft feeling soft gown onto the shiny pile already laying strewn about the bed.

It flashed through his mind that the fancy dresses strewn about could have been the striplings from that many jewel encrusted maidens, like this one, and what a delightful haul that would have been to carry out!

Savouring those thoughts, he turned once again to focus his attention, on the rather all too helpful Miss, his eyes traveling unabashedly up and down her figure.

Time was a-wasting!

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Chapter 9

Wasting Time?

 

He eagerly started to move towards her...

“Almost!”

She said with a giggle, her flashily ringed finger raised again, stopping him as he had started to move towards her as she admonished him…

“Not quite yet! You forgot the most important part of burgling a lady’s chamber! “

Again, he stood staring, not quite knowing what the devil this peculiarly eager to be robbed damsel in distress was going on about now!?

But quite recent experience told him it should be to his thieving benefit to take more precious time and hear her out!

So, he stood questioningly waited to hear what the most important part was?

Which she then, quite helpfully, spelled it all out to him…

“You didn't check the lingerie drawer, Gaston! Any real burglar would have done so!”

He observed her winking at him …

“Come along Gaston l, get into your role my darling…!”

He looked at her, smirking to himself…

“Indeed, lady, I will!”

Curiously He turned and looked down upon the drawer in the stand next to her bed.

“No silly, still in the drawer beneath my now pilfered jewel case!”

She was looking down mischievously at the Drawers set in the ancient oak antique Chippendale dresser.

He turned, hesitating…

Should dear Gaston know which one it was?

He decided to just start at the top and began opening them one by one and pray he did not invoke her to start having any doubts as to his true nature!

He went over and started to pull open the top drawer.

She could be heard giggling in the background…

“Moved it on you didn’t I from the last time!? “

Her most welcomed words relived a bit of his anxiety, the gig was still not up, she still hadn’t guessed that he was the real thing, and not some love lost Beau sadly burdened with the moniker of Gaston, of all things!

“Ahh, there you go my darling!”

She said as he opened the next…

The drawer was found to contain, as promised, piles of wispy thin satin and silks, in all colours of a shimmering rainbow! Curious as to what further riches he was meant to find, he greedily swirled the expensive lingerie about, soon finding a pile of glistening silver all carefully laid out on one side.

A silver brush comb and matching mirror, all studded with jewelled handles, and a pair of silver handcuffs!

He lifted the jewelled vanity pieces...

He had once drooled over a similar set discovered in a museum's case!

“Oops, she giggled, forgot those were there, just leave ‘em luv!”

But he continued to place them into the case at his feet and was surprised when she did not protest.

Instead, she said reasonably…

“But of course, they are jewelled, just be careful with ‘em please my darling?”

Buy then he was already curiously looking inside, lifting the handcuffs…

He heard his victim give out a hoarse moan behind him!

The handcuffs and keys he lifted and threw on the satin comforter of the bed, wondering how many times she and her Gaston had put them to use?

He picked up the now quite hefty leather pouch and looked over at his smirking victim.

“Come mister thief!”

She instructed lustfully …

“Finally time to do your worst!”

“With pleasure” he murmured to himself, studying most hypnotic swaying of her long jewelled earrings…

“To all my just gratification, Madam!”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Chapter 10

Lusting Gratification

 

He came over from the fancy oak dresser and finally stood before her.

The lady’s head came up to his chin, her pretty face looking up with innocence, into his.

She was smiling most provocatively, one hand still holding the clasp of her cloak, the other resting upon the shimmery brooch pinned onto the cloak over her right breast.

He, for no real reason, found himself wondering if the broach’s placement meant she was left-handed.

“Okay mister burglar, take me broach, I see your eye’ in it!”

For the first time, but not the last, he almost felt sorry for the show that poor Gaston was missing out on, but glad deep down that he, on the other hand, was not!

He reached down and pried her fingers from the brooch, and as he unpinned the precious jewel, she pushed against him so his fingers brushed against a rather perked, notably heaving breast.

Obligingly he allowed his fingers free reign to fondle her tits!

With a deep sigh, she listlessly allowed both her hands to fall to her sides as she leaned into him, her eyes turned upward gazing lustfully at him with her imploring hazel green eyes.

Huskily she murmured…

“That’s it, not too quickly now…”

He unsteadily managed to unfasten the broach, his fingers a bit encumbered by the game she was playing with her body as she leaned in against him.

Pulling it off, his fingers brushing her soft figure, he let the broach plop into the pouch at his feet…

He then reached up and undid the jewelled clasp of her long green satin cape, exposing is silvery lining… and finally revealing the playful lady’s gown as it lay in full glory down along her enticingly Horney diminutive figure!

As well as revealing her remaining ornaments, in all their exquisite glimmering glory!

Tongue-tied in awe; he watched the cape slither down from her arms.

She looked up into his face, lustful eyes sparkling with delight at his unbridled rapture at seeing her...

Though not for a second realizing quite what it was about her that had captured his total drooling interest!

“Cat ‘ave your tongue there laddie?”

She purred, her hazel eyes opening doe wide, offering no quarter as to their needful meaning.

He just let his eyes travel up and down the now fully exposed figure, quickly taking it all in.

He thought with satisfaction …

“The only thing that had more shine than those doe-like eyes were the diamonds that fell ever so dripping, ever so invitingly, from alluring points along down her scintillating figure!”

Her green satin gown was fitted to show off every delightful curve of her figure.

The bodice was not decorated by rhinestones or anything else that would have taken away one’s eyes from the jewels the wearer was sporting.

Those jewels consisted of a brooch equally as magnificent as the one he had plucked from the brown satin gown found hanging in her closet.

Besides, now could be viewed her long wide necklace dripping down to just above her visibly heaving breasts. The fine piece was set with blazing diamonds, smaller round ones surrounding a steady stream of larger egg-shaped ones that matched the one that hung from her forehead.

She smiled at his amazement.

“Gaston, you almost act as you have never seen these before!”

She scolded, while playfully lifted the necklace, letting it flow charmingly through her emerald green satin gloved fingers.

“Or are you really getting into robbing me, you naughty man!”

She let her other hand playfully pat the side of his mask.

For a second, he thought she was going to pull it up to kiss him, thus spoiling the game.

So, he quickly grabbed her by the wrists under the pretense of studying her rings and bracelets, thus successfully diverting her mind away from the thought.

“Ahh mister burglar, you want my pretties, I can tell, do you desire them more them Moi? One can imagine that you do! Quickly now, put yonder chair to use and ensure sure your victim cannot slip away whilst you wrestle the jewels from her very body!”

Liking this game more and more, he quickly fetched over the chair she was indicating.

Happy to oblige, it would make things far easier at the end he thought to himself with a dash of relief!

The chair was another sturdy Chippendale, Victorian-era straight-backed. Its' position, reflection in the closet door he had left open, would allow them both to watch from all angles. Dear Romeo ‘Gaston’ could not have planned it better!

He sat it down behind her and she started to sit.

He grabbed her by the wrists, keeping her upright. He looked into her wide-open eyes, yet she was the one smirking like the cat eyeing the canary in its cage!

“Good Lord he thought wryly. What did you get yourself into mate?”

she asked him sweetly, honey dripping with each syllable.

“What do you have in mind for your victim?”

He briskly turned her around and began to unzip her gown, feeling its slick material, quite luscious even under the thin gloves he wore.

“Good show Gaston!

she chirped in approval…

“Make your victim feel vulnerable!”

She kicked off the gown and it fell in a pile on the carpet, with the brooch on top, sparkling like a lighthouse on top of an Irish island of shimmering green. She was looking up at him, clad only in a scant mint coloured silken slip that hung delightfully tight against her now quite overly perked figure.

She stooped down giving him a purposely good view of her ‘fin arrière’, tightly outlined by her silken thin slip. She reached down and retrieved her cape, covering the cold oak back of the high-backed chair with it and slipped onto it, too fast for him to react.

“Damn! He had planned to nick that pretty cape with its expensively wrought clasp as well!”

“But he reasoned, all is fair in love, games, and theft!”

He went over and undid the satin sash of her green gown, eyeing the brooch, but not taking it...

“Not yet my pretty!”

He said to himself with promise, as he slipped the sash off.

He turned back around, again she was still smirking like the cat that had now caught the canary, though this time it looked like she had bloody thing in her mouth. He looked down at her gloved hands, the bracelets were there, but judging by her now bare fingers, it was not a canary she had sucked into her mouth.

Without letting on to her mischievous game, he went behind her and she quite helpfully placed her gloved hands behind the chair, her fingers beckoning, trying to get him to notice her missing rings. But he had other ideas for that part of her game…

And it did not involve Gaston snogging ‘er to get at em!

He employed the sash by tying her waist to the chair.

He could feel her shiver deliciously from her head to toe, squirming playfully in the chair.

Then in her throes of passion, she almost slipped off the chair, made slicker by the cape upon which she perched, sitting in an equally slippery slip, and he had to catch her and pull her back, feeling her shiver pleasurably as he held her.

Her dangling earrings were flickering like mad throughout the show, beckoning quite invitingly in his face as he was kneeling, causing him to shiver in much the same manner as her.

He then rose and going to the bed picked up the set of the handcuffs. Going back, he held her eyes steady with his, as she tried to come across as if she was imploring him not to do it, the rings hidden in her mouth preventing her to speak out!

As he approached, she kicked off both of her emerald rhinestones covered spiked heels, playfully missing him.

He smiled at her mischievously, going around and handcuffing her wrists together as she squirmed!

Then he came back around, and bent down in front of her, his hand reaching back and snatching up the rhinestone belt from her leather jacket.

He reached down, and taking an ankle in turn, strapped them both securely together!

She was not going anywhere without dragging the chair with her!

He had kept the keys on the bed, she could reach there to undo herself, but he was planning to be long gone before she would manage to accomplished that feat!

She was now ready, bound up the way she was, to be mercilessly stripped of the rest of her jewels!

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Chapter 11

The Subtle Touch

 

He went down behind her and she arched back in an attempt to watch what he was up to!

He looked over at their figures image in the mirror, her coronet, necklace, and earrings vividly sparkling in the reflection, like fire on a distant mountain he thought drooling with anticipation…….

He methodically decided to start with her Bracelets….

Holding her left wrist with his left hand, he let his right-hand travel up her squirming figure till he reaches her breast. Cupping it he began to with a slipping motion, massage it through her thin satiny slip.

She curled her figure against her bindings, closed her eyes, and began to whimper and moan lustily, opening her mouth just enough to keep her rings hidden inside!

As his right hand subtly pleaded her breasts, his left hand travelled down to a cuffed diamond bracelet. He began rubbing it up and down her gloved wrist in sync with his right hand, eventually worked it open and slipped it off from around her wrist, tossing it neatly into his pouch.

He repeated the performance on her right wrist as she continued moaning in total satisfaction.

If she noticed her twin bracelets were being removed in the process of having her breasts massaged, she did not appear to care.

Then, playing along with the lady’s game, he fruitlessly felt for her rings, hearing her muffled giggles above him as she squirmed.

“Mmmm,” she said, through gritted teeth not being able to open her mouth due to her rings.

He could see that what she was unable to voice, it was readable in her expression, reflected from the handy mirror!

Then he moved his hands, grasping her by the silken sides of her slip, and began to tickle her mercilessly, she started to uncontrollably giggle, then stated to sputter, finally letting loose with a gasping laugh!

This sent the three sparkling rings she had been holding inside her mouth, spinning out and plopping onto the green silk of her lap, where they slithered down between her knees!

“Dirty Play, Gaston!”

She admonished, snapping her legs closed to hide the rings, tears in her eyes as she laughed out her words…

“That wasn’t how… !

He hushed up her words by quickly plunging his gloved fingers down inside her slip, grasping and kneading her breasts in unison

Her whole being tingling with the exquisite pleasure, made her forget entirely how she had wanted him to play the game with her rings!

But he was now entirely in control of the situation, and she felt her whole figure limply wilt under his command!

He left his right hand inserted down her slip to carry on with the task, subtly extracting his left to then run fingers through her long blonde, luxurious feeling hair, pulling it back behind her head, where it hung down in a gold coloured silken mass!

Figuring if he did, she would lean right back to look up at him!

Which is exactly what she did, playing right into his trick!

Her eyes, though, were still tightly shut, as her focus went off to some erotic location, as she was reeling in the vivid pleasures of her game.

Her green satin gloved fingers tried to adjust her bonds so she could reach back out behind her, and he knew for what and responded appropriately by rising so she could reach her objective.

Then it became his turn to be the one moaning softly through gritted teeth…

He silently thought, while groaning inwardly…

“Easy on the family jewels there, missy!”

“Oh, My Darling Gaston!”

she responded, apparently, hopefully, waiting for a response.

He gave her one, though not verbally…

He leaned against the backside of the chair, getting as close to her as he could!

She began to grope quite furiously and he thought of a monkey he had seen once in the city zoo doing one such number on a banana.

He was also finding it increasingly difficult to keep his mind on the task at hand.

So, he pulled away from her grasp a little, allowing her fingers the barest of touch!

He then gently pulled back her blonde hair, and quickly started caressing her now sweating earlobes, taking advantage of where this lady’s reeling mind was otherwise occupied!

Slowly, carefully stroking up and off, he pulled out the gold hooks attached to her sparkling earrings from each pierced ear.

Freeing both of her lovely long earrings in turn and letting them drop, glimmering into his leather pouch!

He kept on caressing, deeply thrusting his right hand in and along her breasts for several minutes taking precious time with the task as to keep her mind away from what he was accomplishing from behind her trussed up back.

Meanwhile, his left hand moved up into a new position.

Her entire being was squirming, so enraptured and enthralled, that she never even felt him picking up the ends of the thin coronet: lifting oh so carefully, each end of shiny gold braided ends that were woven into her hair, and began gently lifting out each one free!

As he pulled it delicately away, she did not even miss the egg-shaped diamond as it stopped brushing against her sweat glistened brow!

Once he had freed the shimmering piece, he eagerly lifted to admire it!

She broke his trance by purring, opening her eyes as he quickly hid the jewelled coronet!

“Well, my Gaston! I can feel you desire me again, my darling! It has been quite a long time for you also!”

But though she may have felt that something growing between her captor’s legs, she had no inkling that he had been busy lifting her pricey jewelled headpiece!

Nor did she now hear it being dropped in the pouch at her foot!

So, oblivious that her earrings and coronet were gone, the bound, satin slip clad lady, quite seductively began murmuring these words as her fingers continued their gentle free play between his legs.

“You want me don’t you luv!”

She asked this seductively, wistfully as her eyes opened wide and looking up into his, catching him hovering over her, his eyes from the slits in his hood, looking down upon her.

He had stopped fondling her breasts with his right hand and placing that hand on her shoulder was looking down upon her with lust-filled eyes!

But she was entirely misreading the object of his also lustful gaze…

She again closed her eyes with a heavy sigh!

As his eyes went to what he now really wanted from her!

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Chapter 12

The Fondling Theft

 

He smiled as he looked down upon her throat, watching the diamond and emerald necklace moving up and down in conjunction with her heavy breathing!

 

For the small fortune in diamonds, dribbling nicely down as her throat was arching back in her ecstasy, was sending a rippling cascading fire of colour from its’ gemstones!

 

This was, for the most part, the blame for a stiffly obvious condition of his John Thomas!

 

“Kiss me, Gaston!”

 

The enraptured miss cried out yearningly at that point.

 

In her bliss, his victim moved open her knees ever so slightly, uncovering several small glittering objects!

 

The rings! He had almost forgotten all about them!

 

Seizing the moment, his hand had delved down, then up in between her legs!

 

He pried open wider her legs, finding no resistance atoll.

 

He then obliged her sweet fantasy

 

As her thoughts of being kissed vanished into the aire in a fit of convulsive ecstasy.

 

She screeched, her whole figure thrashing against her bindings as the intensity of sparking feeling erupted from the sensitive area he had invaded!

 

He reached into her lap, his fingers plunging in against her silken slip, scooping the rings inside, inserting two fingers, pushing inside a portion of her slip with the bundle of 3 rings, deep up within her vagina!

 

Her whole being exploded into enveloping, exquisitely painful jolts of pleasure as her long waiting orgasm took full effect.

 

He had ardently moved against her and he felt her fingers curling around his manhood, he pulled away quickly before she could cause him some pain from a reflecting grasp!

 

“Gaston,!” she screamed her eyes closed shut tight in pulsating ecstasy!

 

He had begun groping about inside her vagina, searching inside the slip he had pushed up for the rings that were laying somewhere there, unseen!

 

He soon found and scooped out each glittery ring one by one, pushing them deeply up and into her pulsating “Labia Majora”, before pulling them from the now damp silk and tossing them each neatly into his bag.

 

As he pulled out the last ring, along with her now wet portion of slip, she said, her voice hoarse with expectations,

 

“Sure you found everything mister burglar Gaston?”

 

He reached down and randomly pulled up her hairpiece from the top of the glistening pile in his pouch and dropped it down between her legs.

She opened her eyes, looking down

 

“When did that fall off?”

 

Forgetting her hands were bound, she had tried to feel up for her hair…

 

Like she had done with her rings, she firmly clamped her legs tightly over the jewel, extinguishing its flicker as it laid there shimmering brightly!

 

“Not part of the game, luv… I borrowed that from Lilly, silly! “

 

She giggles at her rhyme, light-headed from the lingering effects of her prickling arousal and orgasm!

 

He smirked, thinking!

 

Hmmm, where is this Lilly, and is she another one wondering about, wearing the good ‘ice’ this evening? But, back to the job at hand!

 

He bent down and tried to open her knees…

 

She resisted, struggling against her bindings as she tried to work her hands-free to stop him!

 

He hoped she was still playing her game, and not having second thoughts about it.

 

It could make things rather unpleasant!

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Chapter 13

Pleasant Reflections

  

But apparently, the gig was not up yet!

For an old memory had been invoked back to her conscious mind.

With this thought, she said lustily, her dry throat cracking her words…

“Ah yes, you are right my dear Gaston! Recreating that time in the film we were watching, when a thief lifted some jewels from those ladies at a party, after promising them he was reformed!”

“Yes Gaston, you remembered that game..!”

she said with a sultry gasp, before uttering one last word.

“Except …”

He froze not sure if he should follow-through, not wishing to upset any apple carts of fantasy she was expecting.

Then she went on….

“I should have told you that the Tiara was out of bounds, of course, you wouldn’t ‘ave known it was mine, being absent for so many years…!”

He looked down at her and saw that she was again watching him with some queries.

Was she having some doubts as to what game was being played?

he was curiously wondering?

He removed his hands from her leg!

She sighed happily!

“Thank you, you are a gentleman as well as a thief! Dear sir!”

He then reached up and lifted her necklace, fingering its beckoning lure.

She said nothing...

So apparently, this beauty was still in play!

it was time for the coupe de grace!

He eagerly contemplated as he eyed the magnificent necklace, the last and best piece of his victim's worn jewels.

He again grasped her breasts, fondling them through the silken slip with his right hand.

Whilst his left travelled up her slick backside, reaching the back of her throat, and her necklaces’ jewelled clasp!

Using two gloved fingers, he neatly popped open the clasp and watched as the two ends fell open and hung down over her shoulders.

Curious as to what reaction she would give,

She did not disappoint

She quivered and moaned, then, began choking out the words in quite in a seductive, huskily hoarse-voiced manner.

“Gaston, Mon Mari!”

Her eyes were glazed over, reflected in the mirror, wide open with crazed excitement!

Suddenly an epiphany of an idea enters his head

letting one ned of the necklace noticeably drag up and over her shoulder, he released his hold, with a cascading fiery slither, it fell inside between her heaving breasts.

His right hand still fondling those breasts, he felt the necklace and worked it past so it slipped further down, landing in her lap!

Her diamonded necklace had joined its jewelled mate, the forbidden fruit, the jewelled coronet!

He then did the job properly, feeling along with the outside first, then reaching inside and giving great attention to all of her sweet spots.

Finally reaching the bottom, he again located her clit and began to manipulate it!

“Oh good, lord !”

she exclaimed, pleasurably leaning forward as much as her bindings would allow

As he fondled and groped, going all out to give her already intensely aroused figure as much over stimulation as possible!

Said figure, which had been ratcheting impulsively during the entire performance, now shot straight rigid as his fingers began once again searching the area between her legs!

She let out a piercing squeal as he hit home several times.

And as she closed her eyes tightly with each plunge of his right hands’ fingers finding their mark contorting her figure into exquisite convulsions, he took the opportunity to reach in with his free left hand and grabbed the now unprotected jewels from her lap!

As he pulled her jewels free, she slumped back into the chair, her whole being exhausted from her ecstatic struggles!

He slipped the shimmering strings of diamonds, necklace, and coronet, down on top of their pilfered, glittering mates…

Quite a haul he thought as He looked at her body, eyes clamped shut, still grasping to control her pinnacle reached desires!

She never even noticed that her borrowed headpiece had also been scooped up along with her necklace as he had quickly, unobtrusively also taken it to be deposited inside his bag

He went over to the piled green gown laying on the floor.

Lifting it he carried it over to his victim.

Holding it up he watches as the dazzling brooch was reflected in her, now open, slightly glazed over, doe wide eyes.

He slipped off the jewel, mindlessly pocketing it with the other, as he laid the gown reverently out over her lap.

Her only reaction was to close her eyes and groan happily.

“Okay Gaston you win, she murmured huskily, now untie me!”

“This Gaston did win!

He thought smirking to himself as claimed the now weighty pouch from the floor!

He began to stroll briskly towards the bedroom door exit, preparing himself for when she would realize the truth and start her desperate pleading.

It didn’t take long he heard her exclaim from behind his back before reaching the door…

“Hey, Gaston ! Where do you think you are going, lad?!”

“I said game over, no didn’t I ?!

She must have been looking down, for she began to bleat on like an annoying lost lamb…

“And you give me back that Tiara, it is not supposed to have been part of the game!”

He spoke aloud for the first time, lecturing…

“It is more of a Coronet than a Tiara my sweet!”

The burglar boldly closed the door behind him, distinguishing any further comment from the now indignantly squealing young, distressed Damsel.

He retraced his steps out to the second-floor sitting room’s balcony.

Then made his exiting the way he had come.

Climbing from the ancient wrought iron fire stairs conveniently located down off the second-floor balcony!

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

  

Carrie Fisher had been scheduled to appear at Emerald City Comic Con this year, so I decided to make a Leia tribute for our Brick Nation display. See it there!

 

We've already seen LEGO tributes showing a demure Princess Leia shoving a floppy disk into some poor hapless droid, but I wanted to reimagine a moment from the original trilogy that really captured Fisher's feisty character!

 

Character design inspired by Vitreolum.

Overall concept inspired by Sideshow Collectibles.

 

“Y a poco que a vuestro alrededor cese el ruido de los automóviles y los focos eléctricos de los lugares principales de la ciudad no ahuyenten del todo las tinieblas de la noche, aquí, como en medio del campo vecino, mientras recorréis las tranquilas y lindas calles de rojizo pavimento, os sentís transportados a pretéritos siglos, y la sugestión es tal que, sin daros cuenta, el corazón queda suspenso a ver si llegan a él de las archivoltas vecinas, en perenne penumbra, las voces que aclaman el taumaturgo Pobrecillo del buen Dios, al Santo de la humildad, al Apóstol del amor, o, si por una de las tortuosas escalinatas que suben y bajan de cada rincón, no aparece algún Hermanito andrajoso y enjuto con la llama ardiente de la caridad en sus ojos y la última estrofa del canto al Hermano Sol en los labios: «Load y bendecid a mi Señor, / y dadle gracias y servidle con gran humildad» “

___________________________________________________________________________

 

"And a little around you cease the noise of the cars and electric bulbs from the main sites of the city not scare all the darkness of the night, here, as in the middle of the field next door, while you are walking the quiet streets and beautiful reddish of pavement, you feel transported to preterit centuries, and the suggestion is such that, without giving you account, the heart is suspended to see if they arrive to the neighboring of the archivolts, perennial in twilight, the voices that hailing the miraculous healer hapless soul of the good God, the Holy One of humility, in the Apostle of love, or, if by one of the tortuous stairs that rise and fall of each corner, does not appear any Little Brother Climbable and their carriages with the burning flame of charity in its eyes and the last stanza of the hymn to Brother Sun on my lips: « Load and bless my Lord, / and praise him and serve him with great humility» "

 

Vottorio Facchinetti

 

A Prowling Affair

  

“A time for everything: A time to relax, and a time to be busy. A time to frolic and a time to labor. A time to give and a time to receive. A time to give, a time to begin and a time to finish.”

…Jonathon Lockwood Huie

 

“A time to lose and a time to gain. And for all these things, there is a first time, which is now.”

…Unknown

  

I’ve never cared for the rather unimaginatively given name of

 

“Pickpocket.”

 

Personally, I prefer the term “lifter” as a more adequately descriptive definition of what I was really into at the time.

Lifting as in from a pocket, purse, and beyond.

Beyond being lifting something specifically being worn by the person, such as a watch, bracelet, brooch, necklace, and even earring(s).

 

But then, that is just me being me.

 

So those statements being said, they are not really important to this story I am about to tell. For it was this occasion that “lifted” me into a whole different level of thievery.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

I was at one of my favorite haunts, a wedding reception. This one is very upscale and quite richly delicious.

 

Almost like I had walked into the aftermath of two rooms being completely dumped onto a third one full of people. One room was full of expensive designer attire, the other full of over-the-top expensive jewellery.

 

Hopefully, you get the picture of what I was seeing.

 

I was dressed for an evening out, wearing a sexily short-skirted black satin dress with loose ruffles down the open neckline, a gold belt, and gold dangling earrings. My long red hair was straight down with a curl at the ends. I carried my long black velvet shoulder purse.

 

The reception was supposed to be a private affair but had so many guests that it was not hard for strangers like myself to mingle in.

 

It was a late evening affair, held in the huge basement area of a five-star hotel, with an interior entrance and one large exterior front entrance. Both of which had manned security booths set up. However, in the far backside, we’re two long corridors. One had the ladies' loo and a door at the end that led to outside gardens. The other contained the gentleman’s loo with a door at the end leading to a back parking lot, not fenced in.

 

Neither outside door was watched, or locked. And people were going in and out of those doors regularly. Didn’t make much sense not to be watched, but that was how I gained a surprisingly easy entry.

 

Cautiously I entered, immediately spying a pair of sweet sixteeners coming out of the loo ahead of me. They definitely were not sisters. They were also definitely royally decked out. Both were wearing long sequined satin gowns(blue and peach)with matching gloves. The gowns were fitted, designer, made, and had obviously been bridesmaid’s dresses for a different wedding each. Both wore their long silky hair elegantly up, held by mother-of-pearl clasps. The twittering pair also were jewelled up, sporting sweet gleaming sets of real matched pearls that swayed with a mesmerizing motion to the girl’s perky gait.

 

They paid no heed to me, and I lazily followed them inside the main chambre.

 

Contemplating that if the young adults were dolled up like this, what must the legal adults be wearing?

 

I had my answer soon enough, and my first few minutes inside is what plopped the rooms being dumped together thought of mine which I wrote about at the beginning.

 

It was delicious, moving in and out as I canvassed the room,admiring the sumptuous attire of the men and ladies present, expensive jewellery beckoning, plump purses, and fat wallets invitingly everywhere. I was ever on the lookout for opportunities to use my skilled fingers over.

 

My first opportunity looked to come my way as I whimsically found myself following a short brunette wearing a simply lovely gown that I actually owned a non-designer version of in the same colour , which is what caught my eye.

 

It was a green gown with a tight velvet bodice and free-falling taffeta skirt. I wish I looked as good in my copy as she did in her fitted one.

 

She was handsomely sporting a dazzling teardrop emerald pendant surrounded by diamonds hanging from a solid gold braided chain. It was bouncing from her perky breasts as she walked, creating quite the taunting show.

 

I could well imagine myself looking into a mirror wearing my version of that gown while also wearing that emerald and diamond set pendant.

 

As a plus, her long hair was up, exposing the gold clasp of the necklace she wore. Since I was still getting my feet wet, I was content with just stalking and seeing if it led to something.

 

It did, but not for her necklace.

 

As I was following the brunette I spotted a gorilla of a man wearing a far too-tight tux. He was showing off by lifting a squealing lady over his head like one would lift a set of weights.

 

Three of the lady's girlfriends, dressed in gowns of lavender, maroon, and neon lime, formed a half circle as they all watched laughing, pushing, and pawing against one another’s well-dressed figures as they cheered the bloke on.

 

With a twinge of reluctance, I decided to pass on the brunette for this much easier opportunity.

 

So I left her to go on her hip-swaying way, then got in with the half circle of sumptuously dressed ladies and joined in with the touchy-feely fun.

 

As he was bending over to put her down, I saw his jacket was lifted exposing a thick wallet now protruding from his hip pocket.

 

The girl joined her friends and as the “gorilla” watched with a half-pleased smile, I left them and walked past him, patting him on the rear with a slight squeeze.

 

I easily helped his wallet out the rest of the way as I patted his rear while saying to the prat’s backside…

“That has to be more fun than working out in a gym, eh laddie?”

 

Ok, so that was picking a pocket. But I still prefer the phrase lifting.

 

As in the solid silver Cartier watch, and the loosely worn emerald gemstone cocktail ring I lifted off two of the three watchers as we giggled together, and I happily stroked my fingers along their too soft sleek gowned, giggly warm, unsuspecting bodies.

 

With three scores now under my belt, my fingers deliciously tingled as I continued meandering my way amongst the happily partying guests, biding my time as I enjoyed the showy glamour of the reception halls’ guests.

 

The first dance time for the Bride and her Consort came.

 

Lights dimmed.

 

I began pressing up from behind against the couples in front. Seeing a sea of arms wrapped around silken waistlines. I eased off a man’s Rolex from his wrist as he held it against his wife’s satin-gowned waist. Similarly, I then relieved a lady’s gloved wrist of a gold jewelled bracelet as I pressed the fingers of my free hand against the side of her delightfully tingling feeling taffeta gown. My apologies to her were accepted as my other hand pocketed the bracelet.

 

Then as the wedding party held the floor, another hip pocket of a male watcher was relieved of a fat billfold.

 

Two picks and a lift for you language police out there.

 

Then the dance area, with the lights still dimmed, erupted as couples swarmed onto the floor. I went with the flow. Lifting a plump wallet from a swinging purse in the process as I cut through.

 

I then stationed myself in the outskirts watching the dancers. A fast dance tune started up and many of the men retreated leaving mostly ladies in shiny flowing gowns and swinging long shimmery skirts gyrating and jostling to the fast beat.

 

I spotted a lady wearing a taffeta gown with a diamond broach holding at the side of her waist.

 

I started to swing to the beat myself, wading in.

 

I worked my way to her, passing in the process the two sweet sixteen-year-olds and their swinging ropes of pearls. Brushing alongside them I spotted my prey. I zeroed in and jostled against her sweaty figure. Managing to easily pluck off her pricey broach as I slipped past.

 

Love the feel of an expensive taffeta gown.

 

I briefly considered leaving at that point. But there was still one traditional part of the reception I was waiting for, the Bride’s Bouquet throw.

 

Think of the potential.

 

A group of jostling, well-dressed ladies all focused on one thing. With someone like myself focused on another. There is no other opportunity like this, with the possible exception of midnight on New Year’s when the lights are dimmed over a swarming sea of guests.

 

So I behaved myself, catching a smoke and a free drink as I waited with anticipation.

 

Finally, it was announced and all of us single girls went out onto the dance floor.

 

I watched and like a lioness in the bush, circled around in the back.

 

I saw a young lady of twelve coming out to take part. She was a darling, dollied and dressed up like an adult. She was wearing blue mascara, that matched the colour of the long flowing blue satin gown she adorably was wearing. A fancy Long rhinestone necklace of diamonds and sapphires, were glistening down the front of her gown as she boldly made her way in.

 

When she passed me I cut her off and bumped right into her. As she wobbled on her blue leather pumps, my right hand shot up, lifting the front of her necklace as my left unsnapped the simple clasp. I pulled her necklace off with my right hand as she went off an apologetic ”Sorry miss ” like it had been her fault.

 

I had taken her necklace because I felt peeved that anyone not of marrying age would feel she should be allowed to take part, spoiling the tradition. Like having a cap and gown graduation for preschoolers, complete with diplomas. Kinda of ruins the meaning for those of us graduating after long years of schooling.

 

Sorry, but really, was a twelve-year-old going to be the one to marry next?

 

Oh by the by, the young girl's obviously wealthy mum was not wearing jewellery, otherwise, I would have targeted her instead to make my silent point.

 

So after that random encounter, I went back on the prowl, quickly choosing a likely victim and legitimately eligible participant.

 

I happily positioned myself.

 

The girl I had chosen was a tall thin blonde tightly encased in a white silk dress. Her jewels consisted mostly of 14K gold chains. Except for a gold tennis bracelet set with diamonds and rubies which is what I had my sights on.

 

Then, who should pop up next to the blonde? Why it was the short brunette wearing that simply lovely green velvet and taffeta gown like the one I had back in my closet at the flat.

 

Also wearing that delectable dazzling pendant.

 

I had not seen her since I had first started to follow her, and truth be told, had almost forgotten all about her.

 

I immediately wedged against the girl next to me(a nice lady in a silk gown with pearls) and got behind the brunette

 

The brunette chick's hair was still up, exposing the gold clasp of the necklace she wore, with that expensively flashy jewelled pendant at its bottom. She was short, the neckline of her gown coming up to my chin. It was now all a matter of timing.

 

As the bridal bouquet of roses was thrown and everyone lunged forward my fingers snaked up the backside of her soft gown and reaching the necklace I lifted the clasp and with a perfectly executed lift, opened it, slipping off her necklace almost before her high-heeled feet were firmly back on the ground.

 

I pulled away with my prize. And she with hers, for my victim had actually been the one catching the bouquet.

 

I turned, almost bumping into the pair of sweet sixteens in the satin bridesmaids' gowns who had been standing off to one side of us trying their luck at catching the bouquet.

 

We exchanged smiles and actually started walking off in the same direction. I pulled back and discreetly followed them.

 

Watching with interest as their gowns were richly fluttering along their svelte youthfully pointed figures. They then entered the same back corridor where I had first encountered them.

 

I saw one pulling out a pack of cigarettes as they whispered between themselves.

 

Happily, I overheard that they were sneaking off for a smoke.

 

For I saw opportunity knocking.

 

Following the girls I stood at the door of the loo as they slipped out the back door.

 

I turned and followed.

 

I was anticipating a chance to use their fear of being caught by me outside smoking, to allow me to chum right in and once I told them I saw no reason why they shouldn’t be smoking, receive relieved hugs from them as I left. Relieving each of them in turn by trimming off some of their pearled baubles.

 

At least that was the scenario that played out in my head.

 

One that had worked for me before. Except for that last time, three well-dressed younger ladies had been outside sneaking drinks from a flask. A pair of diamond earrings, a gold braided necklace, and a stunning diamond pin, had been my relieving picks from them.

  

So deciding that an opportunity for a pearl lift may be at hand I circled out and just followed the giggling and smoke signals emitting from their hidden roost.

 

I maneuvered up, unseen, behind them. And once again, I was that lioness hidden in the bush, waiting for the right moment to pounce.

  

As I waited, watching their adorably gowned and pearled figures as they giggled and gabbed on freely, I easily overheard the pair of sweet ones talking about their planned sleepover at the one girl's house.

 

The pretty pair were going to be alone since both parents were staying overnight at the hotel next to the reception.

 

I thought to myself how lovely it would be to burgle that house. To acquire all of the girl's delicious pearls, and possibly more?!

 

Then an epiphany as new as it was intriguing shot into my mind.

 

Why not try it?

 

I already had a nice haul for the evening. So if I could not pull it off I stood to lose nothing.

 

It was a gamble I was willing to take.

 

I stood there and watched, listened until the pair finished and swished their way back inside, none the wiser that they(and their pricy jewellery)had been watched in close proximity by a thief.

  

In a total bit of whimsy I went back to my sports coupe parked across an empty street from the lot. Once there I lit a cigarette of my own and stood vigil over the back parking lot.

 

There I could see several fancy cars parked. Including the fire-red Porsche that I had learned the one girl would be driving herself and her friend home in for their sleepover. The sports car was a sixteenth birthday gift from her parents.

 

All I received on my sweet sixteen was a summons to the head mistress’s office.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

It was nearly two hours before I spied the fetchingly pretty pair walking out across that parking lot, smoking cigarettes like petite geysers.

 

They were vulnerably alone, their shiny long gowns flowing along svelte youthful figures with an air of elegance that called out to be noticed.

 

And with those gorgeous pearls, they were wearing, both clueless chicks presented a pair of prettily attired targets for a thief.

 

Fortunately, there were no muggers around. Only me, a thief with quite different aspirations on acquiring pearls this evening.

 

Seeing the girls leaving I got in my coupe and followed the red Porsche as it turned the corner.

 

It was easy to follow them. The driver was inexperienced enough not to have a lead foot.

  

The Porsche finally turned into the secluded driveway leading to a large two-story gothic stone structure, with small balconies outside the upper floor windows. As was a common sight with these large houses, a metal flower trellis reached up one side in between two balconies.

 

I found a place to pull over and quickly got out to sneak up and scout the grounds surrounding the house.

 

I saw a light go on upstairs, conveniently on the trellis side. Thankful my dress was tightly form-fitting, I went over and climbed up far enough to peek inside the upper-floor window

 

It was a bedroom, walls painted pink. Both girls were inside, starting to undress. Totally so into themselves that the pretty things had no idea a thief was eyeing them with sinister intent.

 

Licking my lips I watched the pair removing thier delicious pearls and piling them up on the vanity next to an open oak jewellery case, the contents shimmering in the light.

 

Then they pulled off their gloves and slipped out of their gowns, wearing only long slinking silk slips. Both girls, long hair now down, slipped into fancy satin robes and giggling, headed out the door.

 

I slipped back down the trellis and skirted the house. A light in the basement came on.

 

Crouching in the shadows I peeked in. The handsomely satin-wrapped pair were sitting on a couch in the furnished basement. Passing back and forth a clear bottle containing an amber-coloured liquor. Scotch I presumed.

 

Seeing they were becoming quickly intoxicated, I rose and with a feeling of utter confidence, went back to the trellis and climbed back up to the window.

 

It was conveniently left unlatched.

 

Piece of cake this burgling business apparently could be.

 

Turned out, It was a piece of cake.

 

Beginner’s luck, we’ll see.

 

I slipped over the sill and into the bedroom they had changed in.

 

The young lady's pearls piled on a vanity, next to the open jewellery case were my first target.

 

As the clueless young pair in the furnished basement was getting drunk, I put on a pair of satin evening gloves found on one of the gowns and lifted(or picked) the bedroom clean of valuables.

 

No persnickety housemaid could have done a more efficient job of picking clean that bedroom, or as quickly, as I did that early morning.

 

Then I left the room to hit the parent’s master bedroom.

 

It was the one on the opposite side of the hallway.

 

Inside I found a tall Jewelry Armoire. I opened it up and my eyes were dazzled by the display of pricy day jewelry it held. Or had held for another ten minutes until I emptied its contents into my already bulging purse.

 

I knew the mum would be wearing the good stuff at the wedding, the rest may be inside a safe, which was beyond my skill level in picking.

 

I briefly wondered if the owner of the red Porsche knew her parent's safe combination.

 

I thought of taking the time to find out. But shook my head no. Time to skedaddle.

 

Then I saw it. In my rush, I had almost missed a solitary piece of jewellery laying out on a nightstand.

 

It was a dazzler. An almost 7-centimeter wide bracelet, set with 7 strands of diamonds. Three strands of round stones each flanking a centre strand of pear-shaped stones. Vulgarly expensive.

 

But why was it out? A trap?

 

I edged up to the nightstand and looked around. Nothing else appeared out of place.

 

Except for that expensively flashy diamond bracelet.

 

Looking around, I carefully eased it off the nightstand. Nothing happened, not that I knew what could have happened.

 

I stuffed the bracelet inside my purse, still looking warily around.

 

I shrugged my feelings of danger off and left the room. Though perhaps a tad bit quicker than necessary.

 

I went back to the pink bedroom, then climbed back out the window and down the metal trellis

 

I stopped by the basement window for one last peek. The young shiny attired darlings were intensely hugging each other. The bottle of scotch was now almost empty.

 

Suddenly a naughty picture popped inside my head, with no proper rhyme, nor reason.

 

In that picture, I saw the pair still dressed voluptuously up in their satin gowns, tied up gagged, and sinister hands groping as the haplessly squirming sweet sixteeners were being relieved of pearls. Then long feminine fingers were tickling in the girl’s sensitive areas until a safe opening combination was coughed up.

 

It was a picture that would not go away. I shook my head to get them out and left.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

I ruined the dress I was wearing, but I realized I had gotten away with enough small pricey valuables that gave me a profit that more than doubled my pickings combined over the previous 4 months.

 

As I drove home I experienced such a rush of euphoria that I decided the experience just had to be relived.

 

When I got back to my rooms, I changed into my satin pjs and empty my purse onto the black satin sheets of my bed.

 

I lifted the pearls and couldn’t stop fingering them as my euphoria overwhelmed me with sweeping hot flashes of giddiness over my accomplishments.

 

It was a lovely feeling. Both sensuous and a bit of hard sexual desires.

 

Not really sure where the bound and gagged fantasy picture came from. Or what it was foretelling if anything.

 

But the reality of tonight’s experience lay in glittering heaps on my black satin sheets.

 

I picked up the far to valuably shimmering diamond bracelet.

 

Pondering.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

I bring that last memory up because years later I may have found out why the diamond bracelet had been left out.

 

For apparently some of the ultra-wealthy, as a ruse, will leave out several pieces of valuable jewels as a deterrent. Hoping the inexperienced thief will grab those and flee without searching further. Which is exactly what I did.

 

It also means that those two sweet sixteeners may have been the only barrier between me and a potentially small fortune in hidden jewels.

 

So maybe that fantasy vision I had about tickling to find a safe combination could have been an unrealized sixth sense moment?

 

One never knows.

 

Fini

 

A Brown Pelican starts his swift dive for a hapless fish.

Two fitters debate whether its going to be the big hammer or little hammer that persuades 31764 to start, meanwhile our resident accident prone hapless loon, Peg-leg-Pete hobbles to the offy for his two litre bottle of White Lightening, four cans of Special Brew and a copy of the Racing Post.

Temporarily stranded on Snow Hill, Wolverhampton outside of the Gaumont cinema, WCT trolleybus 444 has become de-wired, the trolley booms having lost contact with the electrified overhead lines. As the driver dismounts from the vehicle's cab to rectify the situation, traffic makes its way around the hapless bus.

 

In 1966, the remaining trolleybuses and their crews were all allocated to the 8, 58 & 61 Dudley Road services, the town's last remaining trolleybus routes. With such a concentration of trolleybuses traversing the Dudley Road thoroughfare, a frequency of a trolleybus every 2.5 minutes along this section was achieved at peak-times. Even in off-peak periods it wouldn't be long before the next service trolleybus would come up behind 444, so it needed to be re-wired and on its way as soon as possible.

 

De-wires were one of the downsides to trolleybus operations, delaying services and causing problems for other road users. It could also result in damage to the overhead, as well as street lighting and adjacent properties if the booms swung out. However, it has to be said that most de-wirements were down to poor driving standards rather than defective overhead. Drivers taking curves and overhead junctions too quickly could result in de-wiring the trolley booms. It was also a reportable matter that could lead to disciplinary action being taken against drivers who continually offended.

   

We were photographing this beautiful bush frog when i noticed a Leech trying to home in on me. It was on the same reed stalk as the frog.

 

The leech would loop a couple of times and frantically try to reach me by extending its body to the maximum. When i was out of reach it would move up the stalk and try again.

 

While moving higher and higher up the stalk it was nearing the perched frog.

 

I was amused. I was eager to see what would happen when the 2 meet.

 

Would anything happen at all?

Would the frog feed on the leech or the leech feed on the frog?!!

 

As soon as the Leech detected the frog, it carefully inspected the frog for a suitable area. Once found, the leech latched on, made itself home and just dug in!

 

The frog was now in a state of shock i guess. With the heavy parasite on its back, It started moving up the stalk in haste.

 

In a few seconds the frog was high up among the leaves, beyond my reach.

 

I was in utter disbelief!

What would have happened next?

 

Would the frog survive after losing so much of body fluid to this monstrous leech?

 

I don't know. Maybe one of you can answer?

Time we visited again.

Captain James Cook was the first to officially discover Norfolk Island, describing it as “paradise” – a term he did not use liberally in his journals. From 1788 to 1854, this paradise became a harsh penal colony and home to hapless convicts. Today, it is home to the descendants of the Bounty Mutineers.

 

norfolkisland.com.au/about-norfolk/history-of-norfolk-island

I am not doing it, or setting it down, for attention or sympathy.

 

I think I am as healed as it is possible to be, and I consider ‘abuse’ to be, perhaps, one of the fundamental creative forces at work in our evolution. It is pitched, in my imaginings, beyond good and evil, something intrinsic even, rather like the pruning a gardener might do, that lobbing off of parts of a plant to encourage it to be more productive. For what it is worth, I consider that ‘intrinsic’ act to be a barbaric one, that ‘cultivation’, that bending of other lifeforms to the will of a different species. Barbarism would appear to be central to life. There is also the removal of a whole species that might have ‘run its course’, whether that be bees or dodos, that sloughing off, and the other one too, the realisation of one’s own individual mortality, and that process of dying, that letting go, that recycling backwards and forwards, being food for more life, through ‘dust breeding’ to the formation of new stars, even, that infinite loop.

 

These are all unforgivable seen through the ‘eyes’ of the un-limbed plant, or the truncated species, or the dying patient, and an example of nature being red in tooth and claw, Tennyson’s equal and opposing flip-side to the much-beloved earth mother.

 

Joyce described this as "The sow that eats its farrow", Goya represented it in Saturn devouring his children.

 

Rousseau wasn’t right. De Sade wasn’t right. Though combined they started to describe what undeniably ‘is’.

 

The image, on the wall here, is a double self-portrait, done at a time when I was less healed than I am now. But that healing is never finished, it is ongoing. Ageing might be that lubricant which encourages the letting go, in tandem with being forced to face the reality of that other letting go, that one we all absorb eventually.

 

The abusive uncle is dead. He died two months ago, a broken old man. In my experience, my investigation, I have discovered that it is quite often ‘the uncle’ who is often the despoiler, not saying that there are not innumerable good uncles, but the rogue male is a force in our animal kingdom, throughout multiple species. This came up many times in the interviews I did with abuse survivors in my exhibition, and body of work, entitled ‘Traditional Family Values’.

 

I am putting it here because it is intrinsic to a ‘story’ I want to tell, a story about ‘Universal Equality’, not of you and me, we can take that for granted, but of everything, and non-thing. I would also like to attempt to embrace two other majorly contentious ideas along the way, the ‘Illusion of Choice’, of ‘Free Will’ and the idea of ‘Universal Sentience’, that everything, the universe itself is conscious, that “the stones themselves cry out”, as some religious scriptures might have us believe.

 

I write this as an unbeliever, but what does that mean anyway? Hope happens either way, and can manifest as art, as description, or as any attempt to communicate, even when that attempt manifests as an unthinkable chainsaw massacre, or a world war. Either way, description will happen.

 

Hope is not religion-bound, thankfully. Disregarding this, all and everything seems to be constantly involved constructing new religions, or belief systems, in a hapless attempt to tie down ‘Hope’, dare I say to domesticate it?

 

There was something about an Irish childhood in the late 50s and early 60s that seemed to involve being dragged backwards, scratching, through the hedges of your own personal ‘Garden of Gethsemane’ for those early development years.

 

When I speak of ‘developing’, I am referring to that nub, the hippocampus, lodged there, shrunken and vulnerable, in the boychild’s pate. I specify ‘boychild’ as this ‘centre’ develops earlier in girls. This ‘Gethsemane’ parable was only magnified by that ‘Why hast thou forsaken me?’ of the story, in the imagination of this abused child. But at that point, the whole country was in recovery from abuse. Hundreds of years of Sassenach abuse, as it would happen, followed by decades of a clergy demanding that the populace accept the chalice proffered, aligned with that chastisement insisting that to be true ‘Soldiers of Christ’ was the only possible route forward.

 

There was no time there at all for any recovery. Recovery was for ‘sissies’, and I knew somewhere deep down that I might have been one. But I was too under-developed to know, a stammering nervous child, a mammy’s boy.

 

It was about accepting the chalice or not. The pressure was constant, that begging for the cup to pass over, if only it might be ‘my father’s will’. But you knew, that to manifest goodness, the acceptance of the chalice had to be somehow accommodated. It was the only way, leading to the truth and the light.

 

How was my mother to know to protect her eldest boy from the approaches of her half-brother? But then she had put him in my bed for two years, charging him four Irish pounds for the sharing, completely by-passing any ‘grooming’ which might otherwise have been necessary.

 

How was she to know? My mother had never been protected herself. She had been, in her turn, abused, another rogue uncle. Why have I blamed her for most of my life? I somehow imagined it was her only job. This wasn't true.

 

These questions might be all part of ‘the glorious mysteries’, that nightly rosary intoning that supposedly could prepare you for drinking from that holy chalice, and the acceptance of your own personal cross to bear.

 

Feck that.

 

The Oprahs and A.I.s of the world would suggest ‘forgiveness’ as the route to another type of salvation. I find this to be trite, as trite as religion even. Running around declaiming one’s mother to be “my pimp” is perhaps not to be recommended, not the best way to make friends, but the real healing happens in forgiving oneself. Pain will find an exit wound, and push persistently there for egress. Luckily mine found expression through art, and not a ‘chainsaw’. This happenstance is totally serendipitous, a fluke, a fortuitous combining of who knows what.

 

A shrunken hippocampus is a shrunken hippocampus, this is irreversible. Ask Robert Sapolsky.

 

They can keep their chalice.

 

I completely forgive my sex, drugs and alcohol excesses. Luckily, with age and infirmity I appear to have vanquished all three, making old age a joy.

 

About fecking time too. Amen.

 

A.I. suggests I supply a glossary:

 

Sassenach: Gaelic for the perfidious English colonisers.

 

Soldier of Christ: What the Bishop declares you to be when he slaps you across the face during Confirmation, soon after your 11th birthday.

 

Professor Robert Sapolsky: Professor of Neurobiology, physiology, and biological anthropology, at Stanford University, and acclaimed author.

 

West-African mature male Mandrill (Mandrillus sphinx) barking orders at his hapless subordinates.

 

ALL of THEM HERE

Did you leave Earth to escape the constant chaos, noise, and bustle? Then you're out of luck, because the Space Clowns are bringing all those modern inconveniences to space. Making noise, chasing hapless astronauts, and causing mostly-harmless mischief is their mission.

 

I've been contemplating this project for a couple years now. I finally started it at the beginning of the covid quarantine, since I had a lot of time to kill at home, and I felt like something a bit sillier than usual might be uplifting in this difficult time.

 

Also check out the YouTube video to see the blinking lights on the banner in action.

 

In this photo, it is obvious that the raw bull power has over come the fine art of guidance and control by the bull racers. The hapless team of 3 has given up the race and and are trying desperately to control the run away bulls as they seem to be jumping over the embankment in one fine move.

 

The racer in the red cloth is the one who should have controlled the bull on his side to turn him around to do a 360 degree turnaround.

 

The dark spot of splashing water in the middle is the jockey who rides a thin plank of wood and he is the only one still going strong but now he seems to have gathered the futility of his jockeyship and seems about to abandon the the platform in the face of imminent danger of running on to the embankment.

  

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Adoor in Kerala holds its famous Bull Races every year around the time of Onam. It is a celebration of agrarian existence and is carried on without any grants or aid from the Government. This is a spectacular fiesta of rural Kerala. There are 2-3 other such events that are held in Kerala.

 

Two racing bulls are hitched together and three men come into action. Two racers with lead ropes on either side of the bulls who try to control the direction and speed if possible and one often obscured by sprays of mud and water, a jockey who rides on a small flat strip of wood.

 

The bulls race ahead with the men keeping desperately abreast of the thundering hooves. At the end of the racing track there is a 4-6 feet embankment of earth which acts as a protection and a marker for the bulls. The embankment gets totally crowded with onlookers. The bull racers need to turn the bull around and do a 360 degree here but most times that effort fails as the bulls in their racing frenzy would be uncontrollable.

 

I have no idea on the current status of the bull races. There are enough organisations howling to stop such races but the Supreme Court of India in a judgement a few months ago allowed bull/bullock cart races to go on in Punjab. So chances are that the tradition may still live on.

 

Dates

Taken on August 15, 2007 at 1.16pm IST (edit)

Posted to Flickr September 22, 2012 at 9.32PM IST (edit)

Exif data

Camera Nikon D70

Exposure 0.001 sec (1/1000)

Aperture f/4.0

Focal Length 70 mm

ISO Speed 200

Exposure Bias 0 EV

Flash Off, Did not fire

DSC_0381 via ACr redone

An assassin bug, Zelus tetracanthus, chowing down on a hapless caddisfly (Oecetis sp.).

Juvenile Hobby @ Marsh Lane Nature Reserve, England.

 

A late departer for their African wintering grounds was still in the UK until late October 2015.

This is one of East London's most beautiful beaches. Those dark clouds later disgorged their rain onto us hapless walkers. Despite the rain there were learner surfers in the waves. This just gives you a glimpse of an Eastern Cape beach. The Nahoon river mouth is just behind the two distant walkers