View allAll Photos Tagged MINOR
Car: Morris Minor.
Date of first registration: 20th July 1965.
Registration region: Cardiganshire.
Latest recorded mileage: No MOT history.
Last V5 issued: 24th October 1980.
Untaxed since 1st May 1991.
Date taken: 1st March 2021.
Album: Abandoned and Neglected Cars
present the "Mike Del Ferro Trio"
Mike Del Ferro is a famous jazz musician from the Netherlands.
Mike de Ferro (Amsterdam 1965) began studying the piano when he was 5 years old. Then he developed his interest in jazz and world music.
In 1989 he won three awards; first prize (grand piano) in Lichte Muziek Pianoconcours Nationale (National Competition minor piano music) in Rotterdam and a solo winner in the Euro International Jazz Contest in Brussels.
Also the first winner of the jazz competition in Czechoslovakia.
Mike del Ferro, among others have worked with Toots Thielemans, Trijtje Oosterhuis, Jack DeJohnette, Thijs van Leer, Richard Galliano, Deborah Brown, Jan Akkerman, Eric Vloeimans, Benjamin Herman and many others.
Broad musical interests and skill in many areas make the player escort is wanted musicians and he has been involved in thousands of recording a CD, from Dixieland to the music world.
He also has made his own CD recordings, among others, is a successful program "Opera Meets Jazz". Together with Marcus Dengate, bass, and Lewis Pragasam, drums.
When this photo was taken he appeared in the composition of the trio and collaborating with traditional music of Batak in Medan City - North Sumatra.
Seen in Lewes, Sussex, still taxed despite looking like it has been sat in that spot for a bit of time.
Morris Minor 1800 Automatic 4dr Saloon from 1962 WFO 963
Seen at the 2023 East Midlands Steam and Country Show
This Moggy has been retro fitted with a 1800 B Series engine and gearbox from a Morris Marina
The westbound Zephyr is approaching a red signal at the west end of Eisele (Clay) on the siding. The oil train on the main is too long to fit between switches, and is waiting for the a clear signal at the east end to proceed east. Once the train clears the west switch, DS-380 will get the Zephyr a light to continue west.
©2024 ColoradoRailfan.com
Car: Morris Minor 1000.
Date of first registration: 20th November 1959.
Region of registration: Carmarthenshire.
Latest recorded mileage: 47,281 (MOT 26th April 2010).
Date taken: 7th August 2019.
Album: Street Spots
Car: Morris Minor 1000.
Date of first registration: 17th September 1968.
Registration region: Plymouth.
Latest recorded mileage: 82,485 (MOT 24th November 2016).
Date taken: 22nd May 2020.
Album: Carspotting
Blog on (other people's) photography
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I was a little surprised by The Evening Standard's crusade for the poor in London in their recent week-long series of articles on those who don't live in Notting Hill or Knightsbridge. It was probably just an attempt to gather a bit of support for the Tories by blaming everything wrong in the world on the Labour Government now that the General Election is on the horizon.
Now, reporting the poverty that still exists in London (and the rest of the UK of course) is very important and it is a good thing that somebody is doing it. What I object to is the utter ignorance of this poverty in the paper for the other 51 weeks of the year, and the attempt to turn this poverty into a political issue to use to the advantage of a political party. That's not going to breed positive results is it?
The opening paragraph on day one of the Standard's campaign was:
"London is a shameful tale of two cities. In the richest capital in Europe almost half our children live below the poverty line. These families are cut off from the life most Londoners take for granted. They are the dispossessed.
The Evening Standard will shine a light on their plight. With the general election imminent, we demand action."
As the only citywide newspaper in London you'd think that the poverty that exists here wouldn't come as such a surprise to the staff of the Standard. Yet reading the paper you realise that its target audience live in another world of minor Royals, book launches, West End theatres, disputes with architects, and restaurants where the price of a meal for two, with wine, would feed the dispossessed for 6 months.
You probably won't be surprised to learn that the Evening Standard is owned by a Russian billionaire and it's editor is an ex Etonion who went to Oxford, lives in Notting Hill and "has never let up his devotion to the privileged social scene". Average Londoners then. The absence of any criticism for London's multi-millionaire Conservative Mayor was also noticeable by it's absence.
I believe that the only thing the Standard had in mind with its light shining plight is to stoke up right wing fury (check out the comments on any of the articles to see how successful they were in this) and boost support for their equally rich Conservative friends in the election in May. Be careful what you wish for.
Arthur Rubinstein - Chopin Nocturne Op. 55, No. 1 in F Minor
"Happy sight, sound and Halloween my friends"! 🎃👻
Car: Morris Minor 1000.
Date of first registration: 1st October 1970.
Registration region: Devon.
Latest recorded mileage: 82,865 (MOT 22nd July 2016).
Last V5 issued: 9th October 2013.
Date taken: 28th July 2020.
Album: Street Spots
Canon A1 with Canon FD f1.2/55mm, Orwopan 100 EI 80 in Rodinal 1+40 for 8.5min 20C.
Here is one of the overlapped shots that I'm getting with my A1, it's not in every shot, but in this 36 frames roll it happened 5 times. I'm sending it for a full CLA.
Sometimes with malfunctions you can get nice results, I kind of like this shot.
Blue 1961 Morris Minor 1000 - 254 CGE - described as driven daily, seen at Summerlee Museum of Industrial Life, Coatbridge, Lanarkshire on the occasion of the "Scottish Drive It Day" Classic Car Show at the venue, April 2015.
Any extra information on the cars, their history or any work done on them will be gratefully received.
The event supported the Children's Hospice Association Scotland (CHAS). More about this charity can be found at the following link:
Press "L" to view large.
Car: Morris Minor.
Year of manufacture: 1957.
Date of first registration in the UK: 15th July 2019.
Registration region: London.
Latest recorded mileage: 69,590 (MOT 22nd May 2019).
Last V5 issued: 15th July 2019.
Date taken: 15th September 2020.
Album: Carspotting
The Minor was a very succesful British car in the 1950's. It was built from 1948 until 1971. This one is from 1967.
Morris Minor 1000 taken at the Caldicot Classic Car Show in 2019. It has been repositioned onto a National Trust property at Barrington Court, to give it the setting it deserves.
The Morris Minor is a British car that made its debut at the Earls Court Motor Show, London, on 20 Sept 1948. Designed under the leadership of Alec Issigonis, more than 1.6 million were manufactured between 1948 and 1972 in three series: the MM (1948 to 1953), the Series II (1952 to 1956), and the 1000 series (1956 to 1971). The example shown is an early Morris Minor 1000 with a split windscreen located in Sri Lanka,
Initially available as a two-door saloon and tourer (convertible), the range was expanded to include a four-door saloon in 1950, a wood-framed estate car (the Traveller) from October 1953 and panel van and pick-up truck variants from May 1953. It was the first British car to sell over a million units and is considered a classic example of automotive design.
This particular example is the Morris Minor 850cc side-valve engine. The later model was the 950 cc OHV engine known as the Morris 1000.
Seen on the streets of Sri Lanka.
IMG_5547
I don't remember the long trip to the expansion region, I don't remember the explosion, and I don't remember the impact. Not clearly, anyway. It hadn't been my first crash, but the thick jungles of Parcellus Minor tore apart our gunship as soon as we got low enough to graze the first treetop. There wasn't even a crash site - I woke up tied right up against the troop bay door by a mess of vines with my DC-15x pressing tight on my chest making it difficult to breathe. I was still high above the forest floor, with my feet dangling in the open air. It actually took me longer than it should have to find the rest of the ship, as my eyes followed a breadcrumb trail of busted scrap painted white and red scattered about in the trees. It was extremely difficult to carefully free my body from the vines without dropping the entire door and killing myself, especially since at first I only had one arm free to move and the other pinned to my side. Once I was eventually free, reaching the ground was surprisingly simple as I could just slide down the mess of vines hanging in the open from massive overbearing trees camouflaged by a shell of fungus and weeds.
After I made my way to what remained of the gunship I was amazed to find that the entire crew had survived, including the pilots. Like the troop bay door before, the main cabin of the LAAT/i had been cushioned on impact by getting caught in all the fauna before actually touching the ground. It barely looked like what we flew in on, considering all the armor plating on the outside had been stripped from the mainframe, along with both wings, both bubble turrets, and one of our engines. Everyone on the inside had been beat up pretty badly, but we were still in fighting shape besides a few cuts, bruises, and broken bones.
And so I was left with a full set of men in my command, like the old days. I hadn't been responsible for anyone for awhile, but something on the inside felt wrong knowing that with everyone still alive I was obligated to keep their hearts beating. This was Prom Squad, who I'd only met several hours earlier onboard the CR70 Corvette in orbit around Parcellus Minor. I no longer ask for the names of my soldiers, not since I lost Yankee Company. We had 12 men including myself currently ready to carry out our objective, except now it would be a good long walk to wherever we were going. We had a mission to complete, and there would be no point staying at the wreck. Nobody was going to come looking for us out here in this muck; I would be impressed if the CR70 even stuck around in the system after we dropped out of contact. I instructed my troops to pack up only whatever necessities they would need; all the food we hadn't lost, some personal medical supplies, and blasters. I'm not out here for a long hike in the woods; we still had things to kill. Prom Squad had been sent to Parcellus Minor to eliminate an elusive target who had recently fled to this planet and been shot down by one of our ARC-170 pilots in atmosphere before she could land. Her ship had crashed on this same isolated island, but when troopers would reach the ground to search for her body, they wouldn't come back. Our first location to search was the crash site of her fighter, which had been marked for us in orbit and was still identified on our HUDs.
It was getting late in the night, and my men had been marching for several hours doing nothing but shooting at occasional Emmosi lizards for sport. It was getting increasingly hard to see, and I became more and more reliant on the feedback from my HUD to actually navigate through the harsh jungle. My minimap displays each Republic Clone Trooper located within close proximity, highlighted as a yellow dot coming from a signal broadcasted from their armor. It had only displayed my own icon with 11 others trailing right behind me before I noticed something unusual. I actually didn't notice it until one of my men spotted a silhouette in a relatively open area on the forest floor.
"Hey Sarge," he began: "I've been walking in this muck for hours now, but that over there sure doesn't look like anything we've seen all day."
He pointed to a tall pin-like shape sticking out from the ferns, which was clearly visible against the backdrop of dim blue fauna illuminated by the moonlight. It was located right where another another yellow dot was placed on our minimaps. As we cautiously approached, we found a haunting display of aggression. We had found a bloodied helmet from a fallen trooper planted right on top of his rifle, protruding directly up from the ground. This wasn't a grave, as the ground beneath the helmet was still covered in greenery and there was no body to be found. There were signs of a struggle, with blaster burn scars all over the area around us. However, the helmet itself was relatively untouched on the outside.
I boosted the receptive area on my minimap and instructed my men to do the same. As the display grew larger and larger covering the island, more and more yellow specks would appear on my HUD - each and every one would lie motionless on the map.
For the rest of the night we remained on high alert and traversed the jungle in a kill circle rather than a marching line. I could tell that my troops were spooked, especially the two pilots whom were only armed with a single DC-17 hand blaster for each of them. It was a cold silence for several hours as none of my men said anything, until that silence was broken when one of my troopers spontaneously let out a nightmarish scream and gripped his stomach before falling to the ground. He was still moving, but his chest armor and utility belt were both badly crushed and dusted a light brownish color. Of all the things that my men die from, he had been hit by a rock.
I didn't even give the order to shoot, but out of simple confusion and anger my men let out a barrage of blaster fire into the trees around us, illuminating the night in a brilliant display of whites and blues before I finally told them to stop. We all stood around our fallen trooper, watching as blood leaked from his armor. We had another short moment of chilling silence before I noticed on my HUD that another yellow speck on my minimap was moving away from the group. In all the commotion another one of my men had been separated from the squad and we could barely hear his cries for help over the deafening buzz of jungle bugs. One man roared in rage as he charged after our missing trooper while the others called for him to stay.
"YOU TWO," I ordered: "Go bring him back! Leave the food and bacta packs here, they'll slow you."
They both nodded, and trudged into the trees in the night, getting further and further away until they dropped out of range of my map. I was left with two pilots and four soldiers in Prom Squad to reach the crash site. Radio was useless, I couldn't reach my split off troops through the dense jungle. We did not wait, as I ordered my men to stand up and keep moving. Several minutes later we could hear faint blaster fire in the distance which became increasingly more frequent until abruptly departing completely.
As the night began to end, we could tell we were getting closer and closer to the crash site as small shards of battered debris would be found peppered on top of the fauna on the forest floor. It was broad daylight when we finally reached the downed starfighter. Unlike our gunship, this had hit pretty hard when it crashed and blasted away whatever had been around it. For the first time since we arrived, we could actually see the dirt we were standing on, which had been smoothed and blackened into a small crater around the fighter. We set up a patrolling perimeter around the downed craft as I had my remaining men investigate. The ion cannons were removed, the weapons had been emptied of all ammunition, and the reinforced glass on the cockpit was missing entirely. However, we still hadn't found a body. It had been my shift to patrol around the ship when one of my pilots started yelling to me. Most of my men had started going through the ship, which had been turned into a makeshift hut before we arrived.
"We found something!" He called.
I had just begun to walk over to them when the shields on the starfighter flickered briefly, and the entire ship detonated with my men on it. What remained of the ship was obliterated, and a slab of burning debris flew from the explosion and nailed my pelvis. There were no more yellow specs on my HUD aside from my own, and they wouldn't be coming back. I painfully sat up and crawled over to my DC-15x rifle. As black ash began to fall while I lie in the soil, my weakened body slowly righted itself and I stood up - facing the blazing corpse of one of my fallen soldiers. I continued to monologue to myself for far too long, I don't remember how much time had passed.
"I am the highly decorated Major Pyne of the 707th legion of the 457th Corps of the Grand Army of the Republic. I am identified by CT-28-6377. I am a perfect clone of Jango Fett, the most renowned bounty hunter the galaxy has ever known. I have fought the Separatist forces for countless months in order to preserve peace and order across the stars. I have liberated cities, planets, star systems. I have survived the Rakghoul plague. I have braved Cularin. I have conquered Geonosis. Now it's just you and me all the way out here, and I am going to win."
I waited for hours until the smoldering wreck of the ship burned out. I then perched myself in the middle of the open area, crouching adjacent to the bones of my brothers. Throughout the time my troops had spent tied up in this mess, not a single soldier to my knowledge had actually been shot. I could reasonably expect that my enemy was not armed with blasters, as each glorified clone trooper trophy helmet had been left by his own DC-15a. I was forcing my aggressor to approach me on my own terms, as neither of us would be leaving the island and we were bound to confront each other eventually.
It worked. During the same day, I saw a hooded human figure slowly approach the crash site in plain view. She was very scantily clad, with her clothing torn and ripped. She was wearing a sash over he shoulder of white thermal detonators taken from the backs of clone troopers. On top of all this was a long hooded robe which hid her face, with a single short braid hanging out the front. There was no exchange, no words. I slowly raised my DC-15x and activated the scope, with the crosshair leveled right in the center of her shoulders. As I did this, her body shifted into a more aggressive standing position. There were several moments where in the midst of all the life in this jungle, it seemed like nothing was moving, nothing was stirring. I had drowned out everything, and focused only on my clear shot at the woman who had killed 11 replications of me in the past day.
I pulled the trigger. In one rapid movement, she whipped in the air and dodged my shot right before she began to run towards me. What she did not account for, is that my DC-15x fires explosive rounds - I had pegged a tree directly behind her which shattered on impact. Shreds of wood and fire filled the air and covered her back. She wailed and collapsed into the dirt while I readjusted my crosshair back onto her body. Moaning in pain and covered in blood, she lifted her body up and broke into a sprint, dodging my shots. As she got closer and closer she became a larger target, easier to hit. As she got closer I could see a distracting white reflection on her hip which doubled as a target. My shots became more consistent, right to the point where I had lined up a shot which is physically impossible to miss at said range. I fired, and her figure was consumed by a cloud of sparks and flames. But she kept running towards me, her clothes on fire and blood trailing from her arms. I hesitated. I had another kill shot, but I couldn't pull the trigger. She was charging me with a lightsaber, shining a brilliant blue which illuminated her body even in the harsh sunlight.
She was screaming now, and close enough that the hum of her sword became louder and louder as she closed the distance between us. I readjusted my aim, and fired. She attempted to reflect my shot with her Jedi weapon, which was a futile effort as my round detonated in front of her. Nonetheless, she kept running. I fired again and again, each shot slowing her approach until she collapsed a second time right at my boots. As I kicked away her lightsaber, I moved her body onto her back with my legs and stood over her. I pulled out my DC-17 sidearm. She could not see, she could not move, but she could feel. I pressed the barrel up to her forehead. She smiled at me and whispered:
"You, you're not real."
I am the disgraced leader of thousands of men. I have marched my brothers into battle and abandoned their bodies on dozens of worlds across this war-torn galaxy. I have disrupted peace and security and pulled us into an unending state of conflict. I have decimated cities. I have killed warlords. I have killed prisoners. I have killed Separatists.
And now, I have killed Jedi.
Minor (Latin for "small").
The Minor chocolate bar is a true classic. With its unique recipe and fine Swiss chocolate, it is the perfect indulgent chocolate bar.
The Maestrani family opened a chocolate shop in Lucerne around 1850. In 1859, Aquilino Maestrani relocated the business to St. Gallen. The "Minor" brand was founded in 1936.
Presentation of the chocolate bars on a diorama in 1:87 scale (H0).
The truck is a Büssing LS11FS, built in 1961. The model is by Brekina.
Like I say just incase anyone was unsure!!
Slightly infuriating is the fact that I ruined one of my best orb shots with the stupid urge to write on the beach with a torch... Now is it OK to photoshop that shit out?
(taken on one exposure, no additions after the exposure. I will adjust levels, saturation, white balance, brightness and some minor cropping if required.)