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This pitcher plant is native to North America. The trumpets are highly modified leaves, which are perfectly adapted to catching and digesting insects. The cover, or operculum, prevents rainwater entering the pitcher and diluting the digestive fluid in the tube. The flared lip and inside of the cover produce secretions of nectar which attract insects, but they also have a slippery waxy surface which causes the hapless insects to slip into the pitcher, whereupon they are prevented from climbing back out by downward facing hairs. What amazing trapping and killing machines!! :o)
A bunch of hapless chancers, ready to rock any venue. Loud, proud and none too serious. A four piece, Punk / Rock 'n' roll band.
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More from The Von Trapps gig here:
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One of numerous memorials to the Pellew Viscounts Exmouth family in the chancel , this one signed E Gaffing Regent St London.
"In a vault beneath repose the remains of the Right Hon. EDWARD PELLEW, Viscount and Baron EXMOUTH, of Canonteign, a Baronet, and LL.D. Vice-Admiral of the United Kingdom, and Admiral of the Red Squadron of His Majesty's Fleet, Knight Grand Cross of the Most Honourable Military Order of the Bath, also of the Royal and distinguished Order of Charles the Third of Spain,
Of the Military Order of William of the Netherlands,
Of the Royal Sicilian Order of St. Ferdinand and Merit,
Of the Military Order of St. Maurice and St. Lazare of Sardinia, and Knight of the Most Honourable and Most Ancient Order of the Annunciation of the Royal House of Savoy,
High Steward of Great Yarmouth, and one of the elder Brethren of the Hon. Corporation of the Trinity House.
His eminent public services are recorded in the annals
and live in the memory of a grateful country.
This private and more humble monument records his Christian virtues: His active benevolence, which often risked his life to
rescue fellow-creatures from the deep, and to break the chains of Christian brethren, mourning in helpless captivity in a heathen land.
All human glory ceases in the grave: but far dearer is the memory of that devout faith which led him in deep humility to the cross of Christ,
the star which guided him to his desired haven,
the anchor of his hope, when, on the death-bed of the just,
he yielded up his soul to his Redeemer.
He departed in peace, on the 23rd day of January,
in the year of our Lord 1833, and in the 76th year of his age.
This monument is erected by his grateful and affectionate family, to the memory of the best of husbands and of parents"
Below is a long verse below recording Pellew's rescue of 500 people from the wreck of the 'Dutton' ;
"HOW rife of deep and thrilling interest
This simple incident in social life!
How pregnant with Reality’s romance
The thoughts and retrospections it awakens!
For thus, through Friendship’s genial impulses,
Are brought into close contact with each other
Two mighty and illustrious naval chiefs,
Though in Time’s circuit placed so wide apart.
As actors on the fields of human strife; –
Thus to the mind’s eye are made visible
At the same moment, in the expanse serene
Of peaceful life’s benign and joyous sky,
Two brilliant, potent, and beneficent orbs
Which had before, in widely separate ages.
Shone forth in War’s portentous firmament,
And shed effulgence on the British name; –
Stars, which had by the tutelary might
O’er Britain, and, through her, o’er all the world.
Wherewith their influence and career were fraught,
Swayed mightily the destiny of this realm,
And proved themselves Heaven’s chosen ministers
Of weal and blessing to the human race.
Felicitous encounter, this, betwixt
The mighty living and the mightier dead! –
If immortality-crowned mortals e’er
Can rightly with departed ones be numbered.
What spectacle could prove more spirit-stirring
To all reflecting and true Englishmen,
But chiefly to Devonians justly proud
Of those undying Worthies who have shed
Such peerless lustre on their native shire! –
How vividly suggestive, at this hour,
When Froude’s historic powers are stirring up,
In many a Briton’s breast, the slumbering embers
Of patriotic ardour, and thereto
Fresh fuel adding, as his graphic pen
Resuscitates, and re-displays to view,
The marvels of the Elizabethan age!
Drake and Pellew ! In one we recognize
This habitable globe’s first compasser!
Likewise the bold confronter and defeater
Of Spain’s, so-called| Invincible Armada!
In the heroic second we descry
The conqueror of Algeria’s savage lord!
Happy conjunction of redoubtable names,
And memories which make those names immortal,
Their scenes of action, bellicose exploits,
The foes colossal they had fought and conquered,
And the inestimable blessings linked
With all these, in the thoughtful British mind –
As earthly friendship’s gifts thus strikingly
Exhibit them to contemplation’s gaze!
How potent to awaken recollections
Of England’s glory in the eventful past;
Her many brilliant naval victories;
Her proud supremacy upon the sea;
And her deliverance from the Papal yoke!
Not in his actual person, it is true,
Did Drake thus visit his compatriot,
As if to show, that like some modern Tishbite,
He had defied Death’s devastating touch;
That in his race with Time he held his own
And kept abreast of it and its events –
Pellew’s contemporary thus becoming ; –
For Drake had had to wage, as well as others,
An unsuccessful contest with that foe;
Had been prostrated by its direful stroke.
And like all other mortals, great and small,
Save Enoch and Elijah, had succumbed
To that relentless enemy of man.
Yet Death had claimed but the corporeal substance
Of that illustrious departed one
Whereon to prey and work its ravages –
On it possessing an undoubted right
To inflict whatever havoc it might list –
But o’er the nobler portion of his being,
That which most worthy is to be called man,
It had not, nor could exercise, dominion,
Or morally disorganizing power.
He still was living, in life’s higher sense,
And to Reflection’s optics visible.
Yes! it was in his ‘Life ‘ that Drake appeared
To that brave follower in his footsteps –
Exmouth -His ‘Life,’ as History had emblazoned it.
He came, – that he might amicably greet
The scourger of barbarian cruelty,
And liberator of its hapless victims;
He came to thank him that he had redeemed
From Islamism’s fell and cruel thrall,
(As he himself had rescued in times past.
His countrymen from Rome’s dire tyranny)
Those votaries of Christianity
Whom piracy had placed within its grasp;
And that because, as the executor
Of heaven’s unerring and retributive justice,
He had inflicted on the barbarous author
Of their captivity and sufferings.
So richly merited a punishment.
And his strongholds so utterly o’erthrown.
His visit’s purport likewise was to render
Thanks, and encomiums pass on brave Pellew,
That he so oft triumphantly had waged
Contention with the naval might of France –
Our then most potent foe upon the main –
And England’s liberty and homes, thereby,
Defended, and their sanctity and peace,
So greatly aided to perpetuate –
Ev’n as he had himself, ages before,
On the same vast, unstable battle field,
Vanquished and humbled fierce and haughty Spain.
He came to vindicate and eulogize
A life then verging ‘twards its earthly close;
To loud pronounce the verdict of his judgment,
And tribute of his praise thereon award;
To say to the illustrious peer – ‘well done!’-
Anticipating thus the self-same verdict
Ordained to be, ere long, pronounced
On the great Sailor, in the court above,
By an unerring and far higher judge;
Foretokening righteous heaven’s entire approval
Of qualities in the brave warrior’s breast
Transcending mightily, in worth and glory.
Those which had so distinguished him ‘mongst men;
For although valour and philanthropy
Had signalized his brilliant course on earth,
As one of Britain’s champions and defenders
He had not vainly trusted in his own
Heroic and beneficent exploits
In succour of oppressed humanity,
Or in his many signal victories
O’er England’s mightiest maritime opponent,
And as her delegated instrument
To smite the oppressor and the enslaved set free;
In none of these achievements, nor the fame
He had acquired — though they had much conduced
To his country’s glory, peace, and happiness –
Had trusted, whereby to secure God’s favour,
And the salvation of his deathless soul.
But solely to the merits of that Saviour
Who on Gethsemane had agonized
And on the hill of Calvary had died –
The Just One for the unjust — that all those
Believing in Him might not perish, but
Obtain forgiveness, endless life, and joy –
For in this faith and hope Lord Exmouth died!!
He was the 2nd son of Samuel Pellew (1712–1764), commander of a Dover packet, & wife Constantia Langford
He m 1783 Susan daughter of James Frowde of Knoyle, Wiltshire
Children - 4 sons & 4 daughters
1. Emma Mary Pellew (18 January 1785 – March 1835) m 1803 Captain Lawrence Halsted in December 1803.
2. Pownoll Bastard Pellew, 2nd Viscount 1788 - 1833 www.flickr.com/gp/52219527@N00/n1v3S5J8x0 m1 Eliza Harriet 1789 - 1833 eldest daughter of Sir George Barlow, 1st Baronet, the Governor of Madras, divorced in 1820. ; m2 1822 Georgina Janet 1800 - 1870 eldest daughter of Mungo Dick,
3. Julia Pellew (28 November 1787 – 26 December 1831)
4. Sir Fleetwood Broughton Reynolds Pellew 1789 - 1861 www.flickr.com/gp/52219527@N00/01v04WoffJ
5. George Pellew, Dean of Norwich (3 April 1793 – 13 October 1866) flic.kr/p/STNEDW m Frances daughter of Henry Addington, 1st Viscount Sidmouth, PC and wife Ursula Mary
6,. Edward William Pellew, later a minister (3 November 1799 – 29 August 1869), whose daughter Frances Helen Pellew m Sir Louis Mallet[
This famous admiral, Edward Pellew, Viscount Exmouth (1757-1833). Like his contemporary Nelson, was a scourge of the French throughout the 22 year long struggle with them at sea
Captain Sir Edward Pellew, later Ist Viscount Exmouth, is best known for his bombardment of Algiers in 1816, which forced the release of over 1200 Christian slaves. The portrait shown may commemorate an event of 1797 when he was captain of the frigate ‘Indefatigable’ and drove the much larger French ship, ‘Droits de l’Homme’, aground on the Brittany coast. Pellew was already celebrated by this time, since when commanding the frigate 'Nymphe' in the Channel at the start of the French Revolutionary War, he fell in with the French frigate 'Cleoptatre' off Start Point on 18 June 1793 and captured her after a short by bloody fight. This was greeted in England with acclaim as the first such single-ship capture of the war and he was knighted on the 29th.
Also in the chancel is preserved an old flag, near which is tablet with the following inscription:—
The flag of Admiral Lord Exmouth at the battle of Algiers 27th August 1816. It was saved from the great fire at the Arsenal
Devonport 1840, and restored to the family of Mr A Lunesdale, R.N.M. attendant of the dockyard and who was master of the the Flagship in the battle. Placed in this church Sept 27th 1842".
"The funeral of Lord Exmouth took place on the 6th of February at Christowe, in which parish the mansion and estate of Canonteign are situated. His Lordship had expressed a wish that his funeral should be conducted with the utmost privacy; but the desire to show respect to this brave sailor and excellent nobleman was so strong that a very numerous cortege, composed of the carriages of the neighbouring nobility and gentry, attended.
"The flags at Teignmouth on board the ships, and on all the flag-staffs, were struck half-mast, the shops were closed, and every possible demonstration of respect was exhibited. The British ensign, under which his Lordship had served and fought in every quarter of the globe, was used in lieu of a pall; and on the coffin was placed the flag (blue at the main) which flew at the mast head of the Queen Charlotte during the arduous conflict at Algiers; several shots had passed through this honourable emblem of the departed nobleman's great achievement; the sword his Lordship wore on that occasion, hung with crape, was also placed on the coffin.
"His Lordship's four sons, his son-in-law Captain Harwood, and other near relations of his family, attended on the occasion, as did also Vice-Admiral Sir Charles Ekins, Captain the Hon. T. W. Aylmer, and Captain Parson, all of whom served under his Lordship at Algiers; Rear-Admiral Sir Charles Dashwood, Captain Bastard, Captain Hill, Captain Reynolds, and other of the Royal Navy; Mr. Bentinck, Rev. Mr. Carrington, Mr. Munro, Mr. Chichester, and many other gentlemen. On the conclusion of the solemnity, a young oak tree was planted, and named the Exmouth Oak, opposite the door of the vault."
- Church of St. James, Christow Devon
books.google.co.uk/books?id=2_ZstVBZSfIC&lpg=PP1&...
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edward_Pellew,_1st_Viscount_Exmouth
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Susan_Pellew
www.findagrave.com/memorial/118239590/edward-pellew
doverhistorian.com/2013/10/08/admiral-edward-pellew-1st-v...
In a rarely-seen or photographed event, thousands of hapless jellyfish on their way to spawn were stranded and frozen along the shores of the Connecticut River last week. The gelatinous creatures are not uncommon, but usually go unnoticed because they are a cold water species that do not sting. But the necessities of reproduction bring them together in great numbers this time of year, as they return to their traditional spawning grounds. That, combined with a freakish combination of weather conditions allowed lucky and observant onlookers to enjoy this serendipitous spectacle.
"As a rule, we don't even notice them." explained Caleb Shoeworthy, whose family have fished these waters for shad for five generations."The thing is, you just can't see them in the water. They have no color. You could have half a dozen in that bucket and you'd swear there was nothing but water. Even the big ones are pretty much invisible."
Invisible they may be, but any creatures are hard to ignore when they come drifting in to narrow channels in the hundreds of thousands. In some parts of the world, relatives of these jellyfish have been known to clog cooling intakes of nuclear power plants and have forced some giant cruise ships to change their itinerary. A close relative of the common moon jelly "Aurelia aurita", the greater river jelly "A. awlryta" spends its adult life in estuaries such as Long Island Sound. The animal, which is easily killed by heat, moves downriver as it matures in the early spring, but swims to deeper water during the warmer months. It is only when the days shorten and water temperatures drop, that they come inshore and start to move upriver.
"The greater river jelly can cause some pretty impressive spectacles" says Dr. Kent Dogwhistle, head of the Department of Tentacular Studies at Miskatonic University in Massachusetts."but as they are getting their freak on in cold water, not many people are out and about to notice. The jellies can be very common in the Bay of Fundy," he further explained. "But they aren't equipped to handle the tidal bore very well. And the thomping great splat of them hitting the rocks at speed is something you never forget once you've heard it. It's one of those great mysteries of nature as to why they are there in the first place. Hardly any of them survive to complete their lifecycle."
While most jellyfish are marine and live in salt water, freshwater species are not unknown. However, greater river jellies are unique in that they are the only jellyfish known to be anadromous. They are born in small freshwater streams, to which they return to mate, lay their eggs, and die. This is especially impressive considering these jellies are weak swimmers, moving using contractions of their bell-like bodies in a pumping motion.
"It's kind of amazing they get anywhere." Dr. Dogwhistle told this reporter. "They (A. awlryta) wouldn't seem to move fast enough to even count as pelagic. What they do is hardly more than an agitated sort of drifting. Yet, as long as there are no dams along the way, they seem to manage to get upstream. They cannot, obviously, make use of a fish ladder."
And up the Connecticut River they came last week, at least as far as Chicopee. A combination of a post-storm drop in water levels left countless jellies high and dry along the shore and even in trees! And if the sight of school of jellyfish stuck to trunks and impaled on stems and branches was not surprising enough, a sudden cold snap froze the stranded creatures solid. It might have been a rum deal for the jellies, but it was a delight and amazement to onlookers along the river, as is evidenced by this fascinating collection of photographs from Windsor Locks.. They looked, exclaimed a tourist from Miami, like Christmas ornaments.
Dr. Dogwhistle assured us that enough of the plucky cnidaria survive to carry on the species, and that they are likely to continue to do so, unless global temperatures continue to rise.
"They're pollution tolerant, so they are still plentiful, even if no one notices them because they have no commercial value. But they do need the cold. If it does not freeze, we do not see them here. I can only hope that they will continue to thrive and add their beauty to the diversity of these waters."
Walking down the aisle at the Australian premiere will be director Stephan Elliott and the film's stellar cast, including Olivia Newton-John, Rebel Wilson, Kris Marshall, Kevin Bishop, Rebel Wilson, Xavier Samuel and Tim Draxl.
Directed by Stephan Elliott
Starring Xavier Samuel, Kris Marshall, Kevin Marshall, Olivia Newton-John
When English lad David announces he is getting married to an Australian, his hapless mates give a whole new meaning to the phrase 'for better or worse'! The chaotic wedding day tests their new marriage, challenges David's relationships with his three best men, and risks turning what should be the best day of their lives into the worst. A Few Best Men is a hilarious culture clash between his friends and her family - because blood is thicker than water, and so are David's mates!
Event Cinemas Bondi Junction, 500 Oxford Street, Bondi Junction
Websites
A Few Best Men official website
Icon Film Distribution
Event Cinemas
Nix Co
Eva Rinaldi Photography Flickr
www.flickr.com/evarinaldiphotography
Eva Rinaldi Photography
Splash News
A bunch of hapless chancers, ready to rock any venue. Loud, proud and none too serious. A four piece, Punk / Rock 'n' roll band.
www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=5721657742
More from The Von Trapps gig here:
www.flickr.com/photos/davidambridge/sets/7215762565710712...
PRINCE RUSPOLI'S TURACO Tauraco ruspolii. Near Negele, Ethiopia. Dec 2014.
As well as being very rare and very colourful, Prince Ruspoli’s Turaco has a truly enigmatic history. Prince Eugenio Ruspoli was an Italian aristocrat and explorer; in the early 1890s he went on an expedition to Ethiopia to find and collect species which were new to science, during when he obtained the first specimen of a new species of turaco. Ruspoli later met an unfortunate end on the same expedition; he was trampled to death by an elephant which he had been attempting to shoot.
His collected specimens were sent back to Italy, where Salvadori posthumously named the new turaco in honour of the hapless prince. Unfortunately Ruspoli had failed to label the bird, so nobody knew where in all of Ethiopia he had obtained it. The species remained a complete mystery, known only from that single specimen until the 1940s when it was rediscovered near Negele, and to this day is known only from a handful of sites in the near vicinity.
With another thoughtless clash of styles, the Madame Tussaud's building was designed by a hapless amateur with a pencil, ruler and the back of a cigarette packet.
Among the exhibits at the Custom House Museum in Key West was a display dedicated to the local ''wreckers.''
According to this informational placard:
The Wreckers
Salvaging shipwrecks on the dangerous reefs of the Florida Keys has always been important to the local inhabitants. Native American Indians, in dugout canoes, were the first to plunder hapless European ships. The earliest settlers in Key West included men who realized the value in salvaging wrecks for profit. These American and Bahamian businessmen were called ''wreckers'' by other early Key Westers and they operated a salvage business as a sideline, generally working at other maritime enterprises as their main employment. By 1830, the population of Key West had reached 517. Most of the inhabitants were involved, in some manner, in the primary enterprise of the island -- wrecking.
The salvage business became so profitable that the U.S. government established an Admiralty Court with jurisdiction to oversee the allotment of prize money and the licensing of wreckers. By 1835, about 20 large vessels, owned by successful merchants, operated in the waters off Key West.
Father Benedetto: I ask him to look after those of my friends who are sinners.
Jack: All men are sinners.
Father Benedetto: Some are greater sinners than others. But those who seek peace are much sinning in the history.
Here's the thing about that whenever I fall..hapless would usully really ENJOY that feat and vs ssscne..but it's gone all steve race on him...not just of the TN..Maybe cause IT's not MAAM's or prince phillip's department..sure amelia didn't want in at this level..that's what really P.O'd the streets but like they say here's the thing forwarned is for armed and wheels within wheel..
let's call MACbeth Barry...this is barry..hey urial what if we call the holy spirit BOB...and he laughed but the angel of the spet didn't so well that's a negative on that jokey...
and jesu chuck a rock at him over that one Maybe...
now i just don't wantta here from jew of the northpoint crew the why and wherefores of exactly how good mates they were to me for doing this..the bottom line is that I"m on the dsp and ole mother can't get into a retirement home without asking a favour...while they claim to be the next...oh and to appeal to my good nature they cart out their kids in a don't you understand..160 years ago..and crys is
IT better no be over street credi..and the sainted heart just carked...it worked for ed the head...
NON people dusted on route guno...I"m supposed to be living in france at veliois
have all the titles they said...
or at that block of land..and all the come on bro shite....
Mates...and just because i was between jobs kiwi throw me down after giving me the tn in just....after a handshake agreement that i could take over the lease..oh he tried to set US up..you not maam..it's not her job to do these things...
Badbury Clump, near Faringdon, Oxfordshire.
HINGEFINKLE''''S LOGBOOK (Sixth Instalment)
The Great Goblin War
I have long been fascinated by the morphological characteristics of the various races of hominids; so much so, my dear boy, that when you arrived on my doorstep at Samhain all those months ago, and I discovered that you had pointy ears, my most urgent task was to determine the number of chambers in your heart. There were three, little Alias, whereas men like Agrimony and myself possess four. Four is such a prosaic number; but a heart with two ventricles and one auricle is a wondrous thing indeed. Its beating has that sophistication which a waltz possesses, and which the average bawdy song so sadly lacks. You share this honour with numerous other creatures: the hydras, the dragons – and, of course, the elder hominid races: the High Elves, the Gnomes, and even, so I have heard, the Dwarfs. Three is really the minimum practicable number in a hominid, unless one unwisely includes the Goblins, those horrid, merciless, treacherous travesties of humanity, whose hearts (if you can call them that) are nothing but a knot of black muscle which spasmodically squelches blood about the body, and makes no effort whatsoever to separate the fresh blood from the spent. The result is that the blood of Goblins is as black as the ink of the Kraken, and far smellier. I should know, for in darker days than these, I have had occasion to observe it running thick and fast.
It is evident that the freshness of the blood is a great virtue, for in Goblins, where it is foul at birth and grows the fouler with age, it addles the brain and incapacitates all powers of reason. If a good man were to pursue his goodness with the single-mindedness and devotion with which a Goblin pursues evil, his life would indeed be spotless and pure; the lives of Goblins, by contrast, are dark, grim and grotesque. It is a well established fact, too, that two Goblins are not merely twice as evil as one – for they have not lost their powers of inventiveness, nor have they abandoned the obvious advantages gained by co-operation. The atrociousness of their deeds increases exponentially as a group becomes a gaggle, and a gaggle a conglomerate, and a conglomerate a fully-fledged organisation (for Goblins, you should know, are not averse to bureaucracy). When Goblins form an alliance, misery is never far off; if ever it should happen that they gain the resources to form an army, one must have no reasonable justification for expecting anything but a reign of terror lasting a thousand years.
And yet, when all is said and done, the worst thing about Goblins is that they have, as I have already demonstrated, an uncanny ability to cover all that corruption and vice with a thin smear of whitewash, and thereby to seem all sweetness and light. You will have noted already my remark that the Goblin who endeavoured to steal my Hydra (and his purposes in doing so shall soon become evident), had, judging from his most excellent cravat, all the external makings of a man of true panache. The Goblins’ veneer of respectability is so very near to being flawless that they have become specialists in the art of beguilement, inspiring the admiration and even the loyalty of the innocent until, once they have earned unqualified trust, the veneer quite literally cracks open, and all at once their true identity is revealed. I have been told that the Goblins of other countries are not like this; they are quite content to be perfectly horrible creatures and leave it at that. But here, Goblins are so obsessed with manners that, when I see a man piling his peas on the back of his fork, or opening a door for a lady, or refusing to enter a room before somebody else - I instantly become suspicious. The gratuitous display of unnecessary airs and graces, the sonorous musicality of a genteel South-Eastern accent, the wearing of spatterdashes, cravats and bowler hats: all of these have become cause for alarm. Anyone behaving thus will, upon being introduced to me, be subjected to a simple taxonomic test. I will smell them.
For that is the one flaw in the average Goblin’s disguise. No Goblin can hide the fact that he stinks like fermented bat’s bile, as Agrimony so picturesquely puts it (Goblin skin is also bright green, of course, but as a morphological character that is not quite so decisive). So the average yokel is in fact relatively safe from Goblin beguilement; one whiff and the game is up, so to speak. Difficulties only really arise when the intended victim lacks a sense of smell, and that, I am sorry to say, was the problem with Prince Eugene, son and sole-surviving heir of Leartus, King of the East, who, as you may remember, lost his daughter Catriona in a most regrettable incident in the forests beyond the Bluebell Wood. Rumour has it that Eugene’s sense of smell had abandoned him when, as a little boy, he had been kidnapped by Orcs and forcefed on six-week old tripe seasoned with pickled Stapelia flowers. Typical Orcish delicacies, to be sure - and incontrovertible evidence that the Orcs were trying to fatten him up for the pot - but it just about blew Prince Eugene’s head off, and his olfactory organs were thoroughly cauterised. And so, when poor Prince Eugene, who had inherited his father’s hatred of the lands which had robbed him of his sister, was visited one day by a dapper little fellow named Scabpicker, wearing a pin-striped suit and a blue carnation in his buttonhole, he was happy to let the visitor into his throneroom provided he did not speak with a Cambrian accent. Furthermore, when Scabpicker, partaking delicately of a water-cracker smothered with caviare from the royal table, informed Prince Eugene that he was the owner of a large and well-equipped private army, and would be willing - for a small fee, of course - to invade the West, Eugene greeted him with open arms and signed a non-aggression pact with Scabpicker’s Notoriously Odious Territorials (or SNOT for short) that very evening.
Scabpicker went on to explain whilst politely nibbling on a prawn vol-au-vent (which he held expertly between thumb and forefinger with his pinkie sticking up in the air) that he would initiate the campaign that very night by sending an advance cohort of spies and undercover operatives to jinx the government of King Math, make black puddings out of any potential future leaders, and persuade some of the less scrupulous inhabitants of the West to become honorary members of SNOT and assist the invasion by provoking insurrections. Prince Eugene and Scabpicker exchanged innumerable bows, handshakes and insincere pleasantries, and Scabpicker introduced his Chief Military Advisor Spitmucus. They held a council of war which lasted all night, and in the morning, Prince Eugene issued a royal proclamation making King Math and his regent Llew Llaw Gyffes outlaws, declaring war on the West, and announcing that, due to unforseen circumstances, all caviare, prawns and vol-au-vents were required by the State for the war effort, and should be delivered up to the local magistrates. It is a terrible thing when those whose hearts have multiple chambers see fit to take counsel with those whose hearts have only one.
*
With hindsight, it seems obvious that Agrimony had been on to the conspiracy from the very beginning. I caught up with him at the Hermitage on the same evening that the Hydra had gained his fortuitous release, determined to persuade him to explain why it was that the anonymous Hydra-thief’s caper should be considered an event of the utmost importance. For I must confess that I was flummoxed: why should Agrimony, a man whose predilection for inaction was notorious, be so concerned about the deeds of a hapless monster-collector who - to use an apposite metaphor - bit off more than he could chew? I was therefore in a state of considerable bewilderment when I knocked on Agrimony’s door, and that bewilderment was only compounded when the door swung open and I perceived that the front room, normally so quiet and still, was filled with a group of illustrious personages, all of them angry, and arguing loudly.
“Codswallop!” roared Agrimony as I entered, “You cannot appease Goblins, King Math, any more than Bilgeguzzle could appease the Hydra. They will take what you offer, say thank you very much with a great show of civility, and then take your generosity as a sign that they can do whatever they like. The land will be awash with blood before you know it, and it will be your fault. And when they want the royal blood for a black-pudding - don’t come crying to me!”
“Well we never!” cried King Math indignantly. “We do not take kindly to being spoken to in that manner, even if you are a Druid.”
“Verily, verily, merrily, merrily, m’Lord,” squeaked Codpiece the Fool, bashing the back of his neck with his bauble, “It is his head which is the problem. Too many brains - too many objections! Chop it off, m’Lord, chop it off, and see if it will say codswallop from the bottom of a basket!” He waddled over to the corner of the room, tipped the firewood out of Agrimony’s basket, and mimed a beheading, with himself as both victim and executioner.
“Agrimony may be discourteous, King Math, but he is also right. You would do well to listen to him.” The voice was unknown to me; it came from a figure sitting by the fireplace, clad in leather armour, and with a great iron-headed spear at his right hand. He stood up as he spoke, and I gasped with wonder, partly because of his great height, which compelled him to stoop beneath the rafters, and partly because, in his gaunt, hawklike face and his long black locks, I beheld the likeness of Gwydion the Mage.
“Llew Llaw speaks well,” said Agrimony, giving an uncharacteristic nod of respect. “Say on.”
“We must resist the East without further ado. They have formed an unholy alliance, and they must be stopped in their tracks. The Elf-Lords realise this; that is why they have reoccupied their ancient castles along the Eastern marches.” Llew Llaw paced the floor gravely as he spoke, rapping the butt of his spear with every step. “But the Elf-Lords will not be able to withstand the flood - make no mistake about it. They do not belong to this world any longer, and the ways of war are not what they were when the Shard was shattered. The Goblins and the Easterners will be held on the Marches of the Elf-Lords for a week at the most. If Agrimony is correct, and the Goblins mean to bring other creatures with them to aid them in their rampage, then the Elf-Lords will not even last that long -”
“Fiddlesticks!” I interjected. “So that is why that Goblin - Sewerdrinker, did you call him? - wanted to steal the Hydra. Well, well! It certainly would have made a formidable secret weapon, if it hadn’t been so incorrigible!”
“Indeed,” said Agrimony. “But other creatures with more concentrated mental powers might possibly be persuaded to co-operate with the invading forces, if they can be convinced that there is something in it for them.”
“Hum, yes. Some of the lesser species of fire-dragon might be quite amenable to the idea, provided they could have a share in the treasure. Draco diminutivus obnoxiosious, for example, would jump at the chance-”
“- And there will be weeping in the Bluebell Wood before this is over,” added Llew Llaw, looking King Math in the eye. Coxcold started to say something, but stopped when Llew Llaw lifted his spear. He scurried behind an armchair, and cowered there, shuddering with fear. The war-lord looked out the window, casting his pale, blue eyes towards the east. “We must show no mercy,” he said. “The Easterners must be annihilated. I understand, Agrimony, that your friend Gladys Sparkbright has power over fire?”
Agrimony turned to face Llew Llaw, and met his gaze without flinching. “You would do well to keep her out of this, Llew Llaw. You say the Elves are otherworldly - but they know more of fighting than do the Gnomes. Gladys is an inventor - her explosives are for mining, nothing more. And besides, explosions like that would do untold damage among the Easterners. Their use would not be justifiable.”
“Untold damage. That is precisely what we want to do to the Easterners,” replied Llew Llaw. “We must obliterate their army, and launch a counter attack on their own people. I will not rest until we have annexed their whole territory.”
“And in so doing, you will become like a Goblin,” roared Agrimony. “For a moment I thought you were a man to be trusted, but now I perceive that you are a bloodthirsty tyrant. I’m not sure which is worse: your battle strategy, or King Math’s lily-livered appeasement plan. Frankly, I can’t be bothered -”
“We are not lily-livered,” blustered King Math. “We are the King, and we will observe the wisdom of Codpiece. Fool, go fetch the basket. Orf with his head!” But as he spoke, Agrimony turned upon him in a paroxysm of rage, and thrashed the floor with the end of his staff. The room was plunged into darkness for a moment, and then was filled with dazzling lights; it felt as though the whole fabric of the universe was being turned inside out. And then everything was back to normal again, except that, in the place where King Math had been sitting, there now crouched a bleary-eyed frog. It croaked forlornly, and hopped wetly onto the floor. As it did so, a second frog hopped from behind a chair and made for the basket, its belly making a hollow plopping noise at the end of each leap.
“Well, at least we are agreed on one thing,” said Llew Llaw unshaken. “Math and Codpiece had outlived their usefulness. Besides, he once did a similar thing to my father - it will do him good to have a dose of his own medicine.” And with that, he returned Agrimony’s nod of respect and marched out of the room, almost tumbling me to the floor as he passed.
“So,” said Agrimony, throwing himself into his armchair and gazing expressionlessly into the fireplace. “What did you think of that little interview, Hingefinkle?”
“Hum. Well, it certainly had a spectacular conclusion. I suppose you will be wanting some help with the paperwork?”
“Paperwork schplaperwork!” bellowed Agrimony, and he leapt from his seat, seized the appropriate notification forms from the table, and tore them to shreds until the remains lay on the floor like so many snow-flakes. “This is no time for bureaucracy! Exploding mice take the lot of them!” He collapsed once more into his chair.
“Hum. Speaking of exploding mice, what about Gladys? What is she going to say when Llew Llaw wants to use her magical explosives in battle?”
“She will not understand what he is talking about,” said Agrimony. “Gnomes and war do not mix. In the meantime, what are you going to do with those pathetic frogs? I’m sure they are more in your line of specialism than mine.”
“Indeed,” I said, regarding the two bewildered amphibians with some perplexity. “I know!” I cried at last, “I’ll take them to the Rancid Swamp! They’ll like it in there!”
“Quite so,” said Agrimony, and I scooped the two frogs into my pockets, and left Agrimony to brood over the state of the realm.
*
You may read of the terrible onslaught of the Goblins and the Easterners, my dear little Alias, in the Chronicles of the Elf-Lords. I am not a historian, and military matters bore me almost as much as political intrigues, but I must concede that there were certain aspects of the conflict which were truly remarkable. The Goblin hordes surrounded the castles of the Elf-Lords, having quite abandoned their urbane and sophisticated facades, and the fortresses withstood the sieges well until the Sun reached the twentieth degree of Aries. Shortly after midnight, just as Vega reached the fortieth degree in the Eastern sky, Scabpicker rode forth on a steed so terrible that all who beheld him went mad with fear. For he rode upon a dragon, dear little Alias - not, to be sure, anything so fearsome as Draco terribilis pyromanicus, but it was a fire-dragon nonetheless: a hideous creature, black with its own soot, which belched and vomited great sheets of flame over the battlements of every castle until all who sought shelter within the walls were burned or cooked alive. And at his cruel, taloned heels, there swept a host of other creatures, the like of which have never been seen in the East, and which - may Oghma be merciful - will never be encountered again. For Scabpicker and his general Spitmucus brought forth a great host of reptiles, all of them deformed by excess of evil, all of them with baleful slitted eyes which glowed green in the darkness. Some of them flew; others of them crawled. The ones without legs made do by slithering and puking venom into the waters. Some spat fire; still others contented themselves with more conventional deployments of tooth and talon. And some of them - not very many, but enough nonetheless - were skilled in the arts of enchantment, and toyed with their victims as cats do with mice, before pursuing them to their inevitable doom at the foothills beyond the Marches of the Elf-Lords. And so, at last, they flowed like a furious, unstoppable river into the realms of King Math, and fire and death followed after, until, as Agrimony and I stood atop the highest hill in the village, we cast our eyes on an eastern horizon littered with plumes of smoke, and the stars could be seen no more.
“Thar’s no doubt abaht it - that Llew Llaw duzzne know nothin’ abaht explosives!” said a voice behind us. I turned to see Gladys Sparkbright, even more bedraggled-looking than usual, and, beyond her, a large group of very despondent-looking Gnomes, all of them, apparently, employees from her workshop. “He has requisitioned all mah equipment,” she sighed, and her arms flapped limply at her side, betraying a state of nervous exhaustion. “An’ he’s started testin’ mah explosives already. Three of ‘is men got blown ter smithereens as we watched!”
Agrimony touched her shoulder with his hand. “Then you and I are both opposed to the way Llew Llaw chooses to conduct this war. Perhaps I was over-hasty in turning King Math into an amphibian - at least he represented an opposite point of view, however ineptly.”
“Hum,” I said. “What will you and your friends do now?”
“Ah don’t doubt that most of us will pack up shop an’ move further east.”
“Fiddlesticks!” I cried, “But there’s only ocean further east!”
“Aye,” said Gladys. “An’ after th’ ocean thar’s more land. Th’ Goblins surely won’t be comin’ that far. But Ah’ll be stayin’ nonetheless. Ah made t’explosives, an’ if thar’s any trouble with ‘em, Ah figger it’s dahn ter me.”
And so it was that when the Goblins and the Easterners entered the realm of King Math, they found hardly a single Gnome, for Gladys was sheltered by Agrimony, and the rest had taken their ships over the seas to the land where Bendigeidfran once walked. Gnomes are not like us men; they set no store by places. They could live anywhere and leave anywhere - but try to persuade a Gnome to change one of his ideas and, well, he won’t budge an inch. In this, as in so many other things, Gnomes are the precise opposite of Goblins, who set very great store by places (provided they can get them, and bleed them dry), and care not a fig for ideas.
In the meantime, Llew Llaw was implementing ideas of his own. He had employed all the mages in the land to attempt a reformulation of Gladys’s recipe which would be guaranteed to burn all of the Eastern forces to a crisp. The net result of all those intellects being combined was a magical formula which, when transformed into a concoction of powders and potions, ought to have made the breath of dragons look like harmless pyrotechnics. Then he invited all his most trusted advisors, and anyone with any influence in the realm, to a special Council of War, and he even - oh, dubious honour! - invited Agrimony and myself. We were ushered into the Royal halls and offered a sumptuous banquet, which Agrimony resolutely declined, and as the others ate, Llew Llaw invited us all to gloat over the new secret weapon, describing in detail its unparalleled destructive capacity, and providing a bewildering array of figures and formulae designed to provide an impression of the extent of damage to everything from city walls to chain armour to human tissue. He spoke with a very beguiling politeness, and his audience was enthralled. He made all sorts of courteous and flattering comments about the abilities of his advisers, and, seeking refreshment during a break in his speech (which lasted, all told, for three hours), he was observed to have developed a particular predilection for caviare and vol-au-vents. He condescended to eat some peas, too, piling them up in a precarious little pyramid on the back of his fork. And then he rose to speak once more, remarking in the gentlest of tones that he had saved the best for last.
“And so it is evident,” he said, “that while the Easterners -” (and how odd it was, I noted, that Llew Llaw now spoke of the enemy only as “Easterners” and never once mentioned Goblins) “- that while the Easterners think they have the advantage over us, we are in fact in possession of a weapon which will bring them to their knees. But I have, as I said before, saved the best for last. Deployment of this weapon against the advancing forces, spread out, as they are, in a line across the country, would be wasteful of its potential. So, even as we speak, Gentlemen, a special envoy of mine has entered the court of Prince Eugene, ostensibly to offer our terms of surrender. The envoy will, however, do nothing of the sort, for he is carrying in his backpack certain powders and potions. Hingefinkle, will you kindly tell us the time?”
I moved to the window, and measured the altitude of Vega, twenty-two degrees above the horizon. “Hum. It is ten o’clock.”
“Oh, how spiffing,” said Llew Llaw. “Ten o’clock is it? Marvellous. In that case, Gentlemen, I am delighted to inform you that the court of Prince Eugene no longer exists. Neither, for that matter, does the town surrounding it, nor any of its inhabitants. Now, fellows, don’t you think me remarkably clever? Let me propose a toast,” and here he lifted the stem of his glass between thumb and forefinger, his pinkie pointing in the air, “to Gladys Sparkbright!”
And as Llew Llaw spoke, the people at the table slowly began to shrink back towards the walls. Agrimony grabbed a napkin and clapped it to his nose. Some of the people with weaker stomachs were sick on the floor. It was not possible. It could not be. And yet, most assuredly it was true that the breath of Llew Llaw Gyffes had suddenly begun to smell like fermented bat’s bile. And when the wall caved in behind him to reveal Spitmucus astride what was - I am compelled to admit - a particularly impressive specimen of Draco diminutivus obnoxiosious, it was my distinct impression that the General of the Goblin Army, in all his hideous, pungent glory, was Llew Llaw’s identical twin.
A Ghost Crab keeps a low profile in the sand, alert for danger from predators and the feet of old photographers.
does anyone care
her life her misery
her despair her agony
drunk asleep
a tragic comedy
one comes
pushes himself
into her warmth
goes away happily
than comes the druggie
pushes into her forcefully
while her child
watches haplessly
this is the dark side
of mans ignominy
casting his evil spell
to be or not to be
seminal words
re echoing a sordid
soliloquy
a film reel
that goes on and on
entirely
ps
on the other hand
not far away
election day
continues
the break dance
of democracy,..
Walking down the aisle at the Australian premiere will be director Stephan Elliott and the film's stellar cast, including Olivia Newton-John, Rebel Wilson, Kris Marshall, Kevin Bishop, Rebel Wilson, Xavier Samuel and Tim Draxl.
Directed by Stephan Elliott
Starring Xavier Samuel, Kris Marshall, Kevin Marshall, Olivia Newton-John
When English lad David announces he is getting married to an Australian, his hapless mates give a whole new meaning to the phrase 'for better or worse'! The chaotic wedding day tests their new marriage, challenges David's relationships with his three best men, and risks turning what should be the best day of their lives into the worst. A Few Best Men is a hilarious culture clash between his friends and her family - because blood is thicker than water, and so are David's mates!
Event Cinemas Bondi Junction, 500 Oxford Street, Bondi Junction
Websites
A Few Best Men official website
Icon Film Distribution
Event Cinemas
Nix Co
Eva Rinaldi Photography Flickr
www.flickr.com/evarinaldiphotography
Eva Rinaldi Photography
Splash News
still, Maud Gonne Nuts, full colour 16mm film, 08.53mins Rosie Roberts 2019
The film explores the transformation of a fish, into a women, Maud by a hapless unseen male Aenghus. The film was shot on location in Ballachuan Hazelwood with thanks to The Scottish Wildlife Trust.This film was supported, processed and scanned by Kodak Film Lab London. Featuring Catriona Smith as Maud and a vocal performance of Static Hazelwood by Rachel Lena Nicolson
Rosie Roberts is an artist, writer and filmmaker her research gestures towards moments of relief, companionship, self-stimulation and landscape both real and imagined as metaphor. Her process weaves performative histories of transformation and a subversion of the male voice into the narrative fabric of her films. Working through and with autotheory and autofiction Rosie wishes to contribute to an understanding of how artworks, writing and thought are produced in a multiphrenic contemporary climate; investigating ways in which the speculative and the imaginative can inform emancipatory thinking.
r.robertstudio@gmail.com
instagram: @liftbackdown
twitter: @Rosie__Roberts
An early morning wakeup got us out of the door and on our way to catch the first of two flights. It was morning, but there was still three hours or more of darkness left in the sky. The first flight was a short two hour flight from Orlando, Florida to Washington, DC. The second flight would be seven times longer than that. There was only one hour and ten minutes between connecting flights, so any delay would domino into a series of major travel setbacks on the destination end of this trip. We gave ourselves a comfortable two-hour cushion to catch the first airplane.
While driving south on Interstate Highway 95, we were talking about how the 14-hour flight would not seem too bad if we compared it to our customary 26-hour sail from Miami to Nassau in the Bahamas.
Jill had just said, "At least we don't have to be awake to watch for other traffic during this trip", when the brake lights of the long-haul truck ahead of us suddenly glowed brightly. I quickly summoned the Jeep’s brakes. Through the early morning darkness I could see a cloud of dust in the median ahead to my left. Everything on the highway came to a complete stop. I stopped the Jeep a few yards behind the huge truck ahead, which had fishtailed on the roadway to avoid becoming part the calamity on the dark road ahead.
The calamity was caused by two large eighteen-wheel cargo haulers hitting each other at very high speeds. I can only speculate that one or both of the drivers fell asleep after driving all night. The result was a lot of debris strewn all across the highway, the right lane blocked by a smashed transfer truck and the left median littered with the bent trailer and cab of the other freight carrier.
Just like that, the two-hour cushion we had given ourselves to catch the first flight didn't seem to be enough. The truck ahead of us moved to the edge of the highway. Its driver got out to help. Lights of emergency vehicles were already approaching from the opposite direction. There was a slim opening amongst the debris. In my judgment there was just enough room for the jeep to squeeze by and gain access to the empty highway ahead. A crowd of drivers gathered around the two hapless truck cabs as I maneuvered the Jeep past the scene. We gingerly missed unrecognizable cargo lying in the left lane and broke free of the fiasco just as a police car pulled across the median and blocked the lane behind us. If I would have waited another minute to make my move through the wreckage, I am sure we would have missed our flights; both of them. I said a silent prayer for the two truck drivers, and then pressed down on the gas pedal to take advantage of the empty highway ahead of us.
We still had our two our cushion after we went through airport security. We had time to have a little breakfast, the first of many meals that would be a big part of the next two weeks.
An early morning wakeup got us out of the door and on our way to catch the first of two flights. It was morning, but there was still three hours or more of darkness left in the sky. The first flight was a short two hour flight from Orlando, Florida to Washington, DC. The second flight would be seven times longer than that. There was only one hour and ten minutes between connecting flights, so any delay would domino into a series of major travel setbacks on the destination end of this trip. We gave ourselves a comfortable two-hour cushion to catch the first airplane.
While driving south on Interstate Highway 95, we were talking about how the 14-hour flight would not seem too bad if we compared it to our customary 26-hour sail from Miami to Nassau in the Bahamas.
Jill had just said, "At least we don't have to be awake to watch for other traffic during this trip", when the brake lights of the long-haul truck ahead of us suddenly glowed brightly. I quickly summoned the Jeep’s brakes. Through the early morning darkness I could see a cloud of dust in the median ahead to my left. Everything on the highway came to a complete stop. I stopped the Jeep a few yards behind the huge truck ahead, which had fishtailed on the roadway to avoid becoming part the calamity on the dark road ahead.
The calamity was caused by two large eighteen-wheel cargo haulers hitting each other at very high speeds. I can only speculate that one or both of the drivers fell asleep after driving all night. The result was a lot of debris strewn all across the highway, the right lane blocked by a smashed transfer truck and the left median littered with the bent trailer and cab of the other freight carrier.
Just like that, the two-hour cushion we had given ourselves to catch the first flight didn't seem to be enough. The truck ahead of us moved to the edge of the highway. Its driver got out to help. Lights of emergency vehicles were already approaching from the opposite direction. There was a slim opening amongst the debris. In my judgment there was just enough room for the jeep to squeeze by and gain access to the empty highway ahead. A crowd of drivers gathered around the two hapless truck cabs as I maneuvered the Jeep past the scene. We gingerly missed unrecognizable cargo lying in the left lane and broke free of the fiasco just as a police car pulled across the median and blocked the lane behind us. If I would have waited another minute to make my move through the wreckage, I am sure we would have missed our flights; both of them. I said a silent prayer for the two truck drivers, and then pressed down on the gas pedal to take advantage of the empty highway ahead of us.
We still had our two our cushion after we went through airport security. We had time to have a little breakfast, the first of many meals that would be a big part of the next two weeks.
Fantastic, brilliant artwork gracing the Russell Bazaar building in downtown Detroit. Locals especially but even outsiders will recognize what has made the city great, as well as very clear cues to all of her sports teams, beloved by Detroiters (yes, even those hapless Lions). What an AMAZING mural! Just stunning and remarkable, a marvellous tribute to Detroit. It wasn't there when I went up to Michigan for Mom's surgery; there's no way I'd have missed something this awesome.
You may read a little bit more about the artwork (and a few comments from the artist) here in this blog post. Apparently, artist Kobie Solomon isn't even done with this smashing piece. I can't wait to see it when he has finished!
Should you like a detail shot of any part of the piece, one which I've not already posted, please just leave a comment. I spent a looooong time studying this despite the bitter cold and might have a capture. I haven't been this excited by a piece of artwork in a long, long, long while. Stunning. Great job, Mr. Solomon, and thank you!
The Plague of Adonis - Book I: ( A Redon Geddes Novel ) Kindle Edition
In the cover or darkness, a homeless man is kidnapped and dragged down to the bowels of New York City to a secluded place called The Palace where the face of evil awaits to take him and many others to their grave
Death sits beside him as his hapless victims fall prey to his traps
His pale skin and abnormal strength makes him unstoppable but it will take the strength of one man who's grieving the loss of his brother to destroy the thing that lives far below the City of New York
With his mind crippled with panic attacks, Detective Redon Geddes is a man struggling to come to grips with the disappearance of his brother. As he hunts for the truth the closer he falters on the brink of insanity.
The homeless of the city are slowly vanishing. Hunted by Scouts, they're brought to kneel at the feet of Adonis, a man with no mercy, a man who will kill anyone and anything to satisfy his thirst for power and greed.
Find this book
www.amazon.com/Plague-Adonis-Redon-Geddes-Novel-ebook/dp/...
Angers Castle 2019
Mill tower by Blanche of Castile
Blanche of Castile (Spanish: Blanca; 4 March 1188 – 27 November 1252) was Queen of France by marriage to Louis VIII. She acted as regent twice during the reign of her son, Louis IX: during his minority from 1226 until 1234, and during his absence from 1248 until 1252. She was born in Palencia, Spain, 1188, the third daughter of Alfonso VIII, King of Castile, and Eleanor of England.
.................
The Château d'Angers is a castle in the city of Angers in the Loire Valley, in the département of Maine-et-Loire, in France. Founded in the 9th century by the Counts of Anjou, it was expanded to its current size in the 13th century. It is located overhanging the river Maine. It is a listed historical monument since 1875.[1] Now open to the public, the Château d'Angers is home of the Apocalypse Tapestry.
History
Originally, the Château d'Angers was built as a fortress at a site inhabited by the Romans because of its strategic defensive location.[2]
In the 9th century, the Bishop of Angers gave the Counts of Anjou permission to build a castle in Angers.[3] The construction of the first castle begun under Count Fulk III (970–1040), celebrated for his construction of dozens of castles, who built it to protect Anjou from the Normans.[4] It became part of the Angevin Empire of the Plantagenet Kings of England during the 12th century. In 1204, the region was conquered by Philip II and the new castle was constructed during the minority of his grandson, Louis IX ("Saint Louis") in the early part of the 13th century. Louis IX rebuilt the castle in whitestone and black slate, with 17 semicircular towers.[4] The construction undertaken in 1234 cost 4,422 livres, roughly one per cent of the estimated royal revenue at the time.[5] Louis gave the castle to his brother, Charles in 1246.[6]
In 1352, King John II le Bon, gave the castle to his second son, Louis who later became count of Anjou. Married to the daughter of the wealthy Duke of Brittany, Louis had the castle modified, and in 1373 commissioned the famous Apocalypse Tapestry from the painter Hennequin de Bruges and the Parisian tapestry-weaver Nicolas Bataille. Louis II (Louis I's son) and Yolande d'Aragon added a chapel (1405–12) and royal apartments to the complex. The chapel is a sainte chapelle, the name given to churches which enshrined a relic of the Passion. The relic at Angers was a splinter of the fragment of the True Cross which had been acquired by Louis IX.[4]
In the early 15th century, the hapless dauphin who, with the assistance of Joan of Arc would become King Charles VII, had to flee Paris and was given sanctuary at the Château d' Angers.
The 15th-century chapel
In 1562, Catherine de' Medici had the castle restored as a powerful fortress, but, her son, Henry III, reduced the height of the towers and had the towers and walls stripped of their embattlements; Henry III used the castle stones to build streets and develop the village of Angers. Nonetheless, under threat of attacks from the Huguenots, the king maintained the castle's defensive capabilities by making it a military outpost and by installing artillery on the château's upper terraces. At the end of the 18th century, as a military garrison, it showed its worth when its thick walls withstood a massive bombardment by cannons from the Vendean army. Unable to do anything else, the invaders simply gave up.
A military academy was established in the castle to train young officers in the strategies of war. Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington, best known for taking part in the defeat of Napoleon Bonaparte at the Battle of Waterloo, was trained at the Military Academy of Angers.[7] The academy was moved to Saumur and the castle was used for the rest of the 19th century as a prison, powder magazine, and barracks.[7]
Modern
A bunch of hapless chancers, ready to rock any venue. Loud, proud and none too serious. A four piece, Punk / Rock 'n' roll band.
www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=5721657742
More from The Von Trapps gig here:
www.flickr.com/photos/davidambridge/sets/7215762565710712...
A bunch of hapless chancers, ready to rock any venue. Loud, proud and none too serious. A four piece, Punk / Rock 'n' roll band.
www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=5721657742
More from The Von Trapps gig here:
www.flickr.com/photos/davidambridge/sets/7215762565710712...
A bunch of hapless chancers, ready to rock any venue. Loud, proud and none too serious. A four piece, Punk / Rock 'n' roll band.
www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=5721657742
More from The Von Trapps gig here:
www.flickr.com/photos/davidambridge/sets/7215762565710712...
The Raiders won against the hapless eels but it wasn't pretty, as Victor will tell you this week. A win is a win though............
More time-travelling ghosts from this series. Tonight I am (obviously) playing with the idea of placing the hapless denizens of my vintage photographs in a contemporary urban setting that they might just have a little trouble dealing with.
*at least in retrospect
Because I am both graceful and eagle eyed I had warned Emily that her only job on our trip to London was to THROW HERSELF UNDER ME when I inevitably (inevitably, I say!) fell. You may have gathered, she did not. Honestly, kids these days. Next year? We go to Cleveland.
The foot is confirmed to be fractured (although only three metatarsals, which really, would still count as toes if I were a monkey. Although I suspect monkeys do not drop like dead wood.) The orthopedic doctor was actually impressed by the degree of fracture. Oh, I live to please. This picture is hysterical because it shows the lurking curb/cobblestone combination that would be my doom, and I suppose shows why you should not walk and take pictures. Also, you can almost just see the white line that some helpful English person had drawn at the curb/cobblestone border that is clearly dangerous enough that somebody had thought to mark it. Didn't help, but somewhat reassuring that it was assessed to be enough of a risk to hapless Americans that it warranted some paint. Aw thanks, English paint guy.
Created with fd's Flickr Toys
I ran across this gecko, haplessly stuck to the back of a sign that had fallen off of the wall. It kind of made my stomach turn how sad and unfair it was. I freed the gecko, certainly harming it a little in the process; it dropped its tail midway through and looked very much worse for wear afterward. But my hope is that it will heal enough to live a little while longer.
International community must take into account the humiliation meted out to this hapless Kashmiri mother.
A candid shot of Little Joey observing a pair of sparrows in flight. So far he has never caught any, but sadly two days ago, our Toomey managed to catch and kill a hapless baby sparrow outdoors. It must have fallen from its nest or was already sick.
Joey actually saw Toomey playing with the dead bird through the TV room gate and wanted to be let out, but I wouldn't allow him. One of the reasons for my putting bell collars on my cats is to warn off birds.
A bunch of hapless chancers, ready to rock any venue. Loud, proud and none too serious. A four piece, Punk / Rock 'n' roll band.
www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=5721657742
More from The Von Trapps gig here:
www.flickr.com/photos/davidambridge/sets/7215762565710712...
I discovered a life and death drama in my backyard yesterday. A hapless bee was caught in a spider web. While I watched (yes, I did run to get my camera) the spider attacked the bee. Life is a delicate balance and in the wild world Nature can seem harsh.
A bunch of hapless chancers, ready to rock any venue. Loud, proud and none too serious. A four piece, Punk / Rock 'n' roll band.
www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=5721657742
More from The Von Trapps gig here:
www.flickr.com/photos/davidambridge/sets/7215762565710712...
Flickr - Abstract Series 105 - Walter Sickert & The Army of Broken Toys @ The Lilypad Part 2
"Musically sophisticated and immensely talented, wildly unusual and diverse in material and presentation, a Dada-esque circus carnival run amuck, and just plain good 'not-always-so-clean' fun" - Boston Survival Guide
Those masters of SteamCrunk have done it again! Click the links on the right to order the NEWEST FULL LENGTH ALBUM by your favorite SteamCrunk superheroes.
"Sickert and the Toys broadcast the sound of hapless, doe-eyed innocence gazing into the abyss - which counterintuitively makes for highly enjoyable listening." - The Boston Phoenix
"Walter Sickert and the Army of Broken Toys (or, if you're feeling concise, the Army of Toys) brings a big, baroque sound that makes emotional desperation the stuff of epics and sea-chanteys." - The Weekly Dig
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"Walter Sickert & The Army of Broken Toys" Abstract Photography, Rock & Roll, Cabaret, abstract, photography, Cambridge, MA USA, Hans, Wendland, Hans Wendland, hanswendland, Lilypad, Cabaret, music, performance, nightclub, live performance
who BBC last night ditial plant and equitte on atrrubution and who hebrew is it anyway..MAn is born to work..the key property..can that Idea....IT was a good Idea until
Well KING of Jordan you lost your kingdom and here we go again Just cause I rang gadafi..halibuton made lost of money BUT
I saw some dripping the other day...HOpe it's not JILL
you know what there like gilly a nice name for serial killer..the shoals or whatever...
new manes but she worked OUTTA showgirls didn't she...
OH man NO..she was OUTTA contract just ask tock what happened...were the next generation says the royal commissioner..
NOT in my day
Dirty scrots..Sir Irving go see gill and the anglican archbishop just have a talke ADULTS
NOW NSW synod of the Uniting church..you were all warned of a satanic incusion
read this
In 1997 the Assembly agreed to the introduction of 4-phases of ministerial education.
Phase One is a Period of Discernment;
Phase Two is a period of core theological education and formation;
Phase Three is a period of transition into the ministry workplace; and
Phase Four is the continuing education and formation for ongoing effective
ministry.
when we did young leaders organising committe the elders did a full commsioning
Consequences of
noncompletion
Failure to achieve satisfactory completion by the end
of the third year would normally result in terminating
placement without ordination/ commissioning taking
place
IT's like my dip ed really have to do 3 months full teaching in highschool..did it as hapless..
and in TOYVILLE..that's not the strip man everybody started looking over the back fences wtf is that sound
an eletric mower
TOY don't let anyone tell you you are a shorttimer OK?
Gilly YOU Can't forgive that..what that serial killers cluster tomb..that's just part of humanity..and a certain priest said PLace HER..JILL..when she'd been on the cord=working since she was well I don't know
and my fam, the older cousins say we were at winona before you were born and prince edward said comb back but heis didn't
I don't know who was dripping but we all know that great voice gets upset when he loses his place in his almamc
Yaks: this earthquake is a great opportunity
and the blacklimo OH jeez that was easy the othernight send just hit tokyo..hopefully in one of the building I own in Yedo...
IT's like this static trick cubli just rub your leather shoes on the floor....and they intercept my carrier pigeons and see BE A BOW FOR CUBLI, I just like saying it...
then he got angered about that for a second..oh everyone knows in the fewch but not everything
BUt there are still people trying to pick them up
and an american just takes while an aussie just holds
JUST, I better explain a tad..
the BULLY yell yell yell still thinks huis his surperior in hitler youth right
PUll the bullet vest down further...and his grandkid pull it down and the assin bullet hit's there...yelp
AND THEN YOU LAUGH AT THEM
A LITTLE HURT
B it'S CLOBBERING TIME..AND KIDS DAYB AROUND A BIT...
An RTC - Retail Trolley Collision? A damaged Morrison’s trolley by the steps and lift. Possibly someone has seen the film ‘Battleship Potemkin’ and reprised the scene where the pram bounces down the Odessa Steps with the hapless baby in it.
Caught in the act, this hapless mockingbird is trapped behind the chickenwire and netting surrounding my neighbor's blueberry patch. Mockingbirds, Brown thrushes, and Northern Cardinals have been getting themselves into this predicament fairly regularly in the last couple of weeks, but they eventually find their way out after periods of near panic.
Thank you for both your visit and your friendship.
The hapless hero of this new Turinese novel is doomed to translate novels by Bruce Sterling, "the dark prophet of cyberpunk literature"
Jennifer lurks in the shadows, waiting for a hapless victim.
Photograph by Harris O'Malley; model: Jennifer Blair.
Jewelry by Astraea Designs.
Part of the "Vampire Night" series.
Blog: astraeadesigns.blogspot.com/
Facebook: www.facebook.com/pages/Astraea-Designs/146152360093
A bunch of hapless chancers, ready to rock any venue. Loud, proud and none too serious. A four piece, Punk / Rock 'n' roll band.
www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=5721657742
More from The Von Trapps gig here:
www.flickr.com/photos/davidambridge/sets/7215762565710712...
Beddgelert stands next to the hapless No.13 which was determined to spoil the day with it's constant derailing.
DVD 354
Leave it to the wildly inventive Coen brothers (Joel directs, Ethan produces, they both write) to concoct a fiendishly clever kidnap caper that's simultaneously a comedy of errors, a Midwestern satire, a taut suspense thriller, and a violent tale of criminal misfortune. It all begins when a hapless car salesman (played to perfection by William H. Macy) ineptly orchestrates the kidnapping of his own wife. The plan goes horribly awry in the hands of bumbling bad guys Steve Buscemi and Peter Stormare and the pregnant sheriff of Brainerd, Minnesota, (played exquisitely by Frances McDormand in an Oscar-winning role) is suddenly faced with a case of multiple murders.
Continued....
Well, after that, we had several months of "fun" trying to get Jasper to go to the toilet outside, to not chew our books, to generally behave himself while in our company. Unsuccessfully, of course.
We went for long walks in the snow and ice. He would always tug on the lead, eager to run. Such was it, that that would become my everlasting impression of our time together.
Over those months we bonded, quite inextricably so.
I would awaken to an ever-growing heap of white fur and loving brown eyes - and an equally-adoring tongue on my cheek - every morning. I would leave for school to whines, and return home to a dog who was always euphoric to see me. It lifted my depression. It made everything alright, to gaze into those eyes. He yearned for freedom; as did I.
So the cycle would continue. Daily walks, to open spaces, parks. Arrive, off-lead and run. Run like you have never run before.
An hour might pass, during which I would haplessly attempt to call "Jasper! Jasper! Come here!", and he would, of course, never follow. He appeared at one with the dry air, and at first, the bleak winter sun, followed in time by the green warmth of spring and the long, carefree, wispy grass and the drawn-out evenings of the early summer.
Jasper was at his least content while held within the confines of the family home; in turn, his happiest moments came at the park, or down by the seafront at Hardway, or muddying himself at Monks Walk.
In the spring of 2010, he ran away for the first time. He jumped over our 3-foot high fence, from our garden into the alleyway it backed out onto, and bolted. I managed to apprehend him before he ran out into our road, but a trend was set.
Over the next few months, he did this three times. Each time he would be found and escorted back.
I think, now, he had an innate desire to be free.
Myself, my mother and sister went on holiday to Spain in July 2010; my father was left at home with Jasper.
Several days into our holiday, he sent us photos of Jasper at his favourite spot, and what has since become my own favourite spot, by the shore at Hardway, near the Explosion museum. He looked happy.
The following day we received an email. It said, rather simply, words to the effect of "Jasper has run away again. Have had to give him to RSPCA".
We took this in, we lived our holiday - I had an impending relationship to worry about, which was at the forefront of my mind - and we came back.
I have not seen Jasper since.
It is late July 2010. The balmy summer afternoon sun ambles its way through the patio door and into the living room. I am the only inhabitant of the house, for now. For the first time in a long time, there is total silence.
It is numbing.
So where my companion is now, I do not know. I will never know, probably. Most probably we will never set eyes upon one another again.
But I take invaluable solace in a mental image I keep to this day: I imagine the forest of Monks Walk; and the trees swaying calmly in the summer sun, gleaming and weaving its way through their branches and caressing the ground.
There is a path running through the wood.
Along the path runs a dog; white of fur and brown of eye, free of spirit and heart.
That dog knows no limit. He lives on in time, forever immortalised by the glint in his eyes of the sun, and the breeze whispering through the trees, and he listens to none who may call him back.
He runs, and he runs free forever more. Just as he always has, as shall he always.
To you, my beautiful friend Jasper; run, run, and run free. For ever more.
Along the path runs a dog. White of fur, and brown of eye; free. Free. Of spirit - and of heart.
Day 224-Today is Michael Caine's birthday and I decided to watch this one as I love him in this one. Its interesting because he plays this hapless guy who is seduced by his friend's daughter while on a vacation in Rio. Its so of its time and quite sexual. Michelle Johnson is quite amazing in it. It features a pre breast enhanced Demi Moore as Michael Caine's daughter.
Its quite a funny movie and def one for after dark.
Using their wits, Ganpatrao "Babubhai" Apte, Ghanshyam "Shyam", and Raju find themselves wealthy beyond their imagination. They each have a car, a palatial house with a huge swimming pool, that Babubhai is yet to familiarize himself with, and a very easy life. Then Raju finds out that he can double his wealth in 21 days, and meets with an attractive young woman named Anuradha from an agency in Bombay's business district. She informs him that the minimum investment is one Crore, and Raju quickly agrees to invest this money. He dupes another man by the name of Pappu into parting with 50 Lakhs, and the rest of the money comes through by getting Shyam and Babu to sign away their respective investments. After 21 days when the trio go to collect their doubled wealth, they find that Anuradha and her company have disappeared. Devastated, they move out of their bungalow and are now living in a shanty room in a Chawl when they get a visit from Pappu, who wants his money back, as he owes this money to Tiwari, an underworld Don. The trio decide to meet with Tiwari and plead with him, but all in vain, then they decide to stage a robbery, however, that does not go well either. It is then they find out that a rich Parsi man owns an antique gun collection that is worth more than their loss. They plan to steal these guns, and make a deal with Tiwari, however, once again Murphy's Law prevails and the hapless trio find themselves on the run from a multitude of gangsters and killers - including a man who can bite through steel and a faceless 8 foot monster - who will not stop at anything to get their hands on the guns. Written by rAjOo (gunwanti@hotmail.com)
That three inch vertical sheet of ice extended nearly 15 feet up and back along the fashion plate of the lower house. Later that afternoon while busting ice off the rest of the boat this sheet fell to the deck. It was assisted in its release with a careful eye for safety but if we had not been so mindful it could have been disastrous for a hapless crew member absent mindedly strolling by. The Captain, earlier in the morning, had ordered that no one was to pass along the port side for that reason, at least until the sheet of ice was cleared.