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Mark Viso, President and Chief Executive Officer, Pact, USA, in Trust or Bust? at the World Economic Forum on East Asia in Jakarta, Indonesia, April 20, 2015. Copyright by World Economic Forum / Sikarin Fon Thanachaiary
We are celebrating the 25 th Anniversary of the opening of the famous Channel Tunnel between the UK and France, with pictures of other tunnels that help us get to see more of the world.
This is one near my home along Stevens Creek.
Happy Birthday.
WAH - Tunnels, Pipes or Holes.
In the heart of the flower. Digitalis purpurea is an herbaceous biennial or short-lived perennial plant. The leaves are spirally arranged, simple, 10–35 cm (3.9–13.8 in) long and 5–12 cm (2–5 in) broad, and are covered with gray-white pubescent and glandular hairs, imparting a woolly texture. The foliage forms a tight rosette at ground level in the first year.
The flowering stem develops in the second year, typically 1–2 m (3.3–6.6 ft) tall, sometimes longer. The flowers are arranged in a showy, terminal, elongated cluster, and each flower is tubular and pendent. The flowers are typically purple, but some plants, especially those under cultivation, may be pink, rose, yellow, or white. The inside surface of the flower tube is heavily spotted. The flowering period is early summer, sometimes with additional flower stems developing later in the season. The plant is frequented by bees, which climb right inside the flower tube to gain the nectar within.
The fruit is a capsule which splits open at maturity to release the numerous tiny 0.1-0.2 mm seeds.
Belfast (/ˈbɛl.fɑːst/ or /ˈbɛl.fæst/; from Irish: Béal Feirste, meaning mouth of the sandbanks) is the capital and largest city of Northern Ireland, on the River Lagan. At the 2011 census, it had a population of 286,000. Belfast was granted city status in 1888.
Belfast was a centre of the Irish linen, tobacco processing, rope-making and shipbuilding industries: in the early 20th century, Harland and Wolff, which built the RMS Titanic, was the biggest and most productive shipyard in the world. Belfast played a key role in the Industrial Revolution, and was a global industrial centre until the latter half of the 20th century. Industrialisation and the inward migration it brought made Belfast the biggest city in Ireland at the beginning of the 20th century, and industrial and economic success was cited by unionist opponents of Home Rule as a reason why Ulster should fight to resist it.
Today, Belfast remains a centre for industry, as well as the arts, higher education, business, and law, and is the economic engine of Northern Ireland. The city suffered greatly during the period of conflict called "the Troubles", but latterly has undergone a sustained period of calm, free from the intense political violence of former years, and substantial economic and commercial growth. Additionally, Belfast city centre has undergone considerable expansion and regeneration in recent years, notably around Victoria Square.
Belfast is served by two airports: George Best Belfast City Airport in the city, and Belfast International Airport 15 miles (24 km) west of the city. Belfast is a major port, with commercial and industrial docks dominating the Belfast Lough shoreline, including the Harland and Wolff shipyard, and is listed by the Globalization and World Cities Research Network (GaWC) as a global city.
Name
The name Belfast is derived from the Irish Béal Feirsde, which was later spelled Béal Feirste. The word béal means "mouth" or "rivermouth" while feirsde/feirste is the genitive singular of fearsaid and refers to a sandbar or tidal fordacross a river's mouth. The name would thus translate literally as "(river) mouth of the sandbar" or "(river) mouth of the ford". This sandbar was formed at the confluence of two rivers at what is now Donegall Quay: the Lagan, which flows into Belfast Lough, and its tributary the Farset. This area was the hub around which the original settlement developed. The Irish name Béal Feirste is shared by a townland in County Mayo, whose name has been anglicised as Belfarsad.
An alternative interpretation of the name is "mouth of [the river] of the sandbar", an allusion to the River Farset, which flows into the Lagan where the sandbar was located. This interpretation was favoured by Edmund Hoganand John O'Donovan. It seems clear, however, that the river itself was named after the tidal crossing.
In Ulster Scots the name of the city is Bilfawst or Bilfaust, although "Belfast" is also used.
History
The site of Belfast has been occupied since the Bronze Age. The Giant's Ring, a 5,000-year-old henge, is located near the city, and the remains of Iron Age hill forts can still be seen in the surrounding hills. Belfast remained a small settlement of little importance during the Middle Ages. John de Courcy built a castle on what is now Castle Street in the city centre in the 12th century, but this was on a lesser scale and not as strategically important as Carrickfergus Castle to the north, which was built by de Courcy in 1177. The O'Neill clan had a presence in the area.
In the 14th century, Cloinne Aodha Buidhe, descendants of Aodh Buidhe O'Neill built Grey Castle at Castlereagh, now in the east of the city. Conn O'Neill of the Clannaboy O'Neills owned vast lands in the area and was the last inhabitant of Grey Castle, one remaining link being the Conn's Water river flowing through east Belfast.
Belfast became a substantial settlement in the 17th century after being established as a town by Sir Arthur Chichester, which was initially settled by Protestant English and Scottish migrants at the time of the Plantation of Ulster. (Belfast and County Antrim, however, did not form part of this particular Plantation scheme as they were privately colonised.) In 1791, the Society of United Irishmen was founded in Belfast, after Henry Joy McCracken and other prominent Presbyterians from the city invited Theobald Wolfe Tone and Thomas Russell to a meeting, after having read Tone's "Argument on Behalf of the Catholics of Ireland". Evidence of this period of Belfast's growth can still be seen in the oldest areas of the city, known as the Entries.
Belfast blossomed as a commercial and industrial centre in the 18th and 19th centuries and became Ireland's pre-eminent industrial city. Industries thrived, including linen, rope-making, tobacco, heavy engineering and shipbuilding, and at the end of the 19th century, Belfast briefly overtook Dublin as the largest city in Ireland. The Harland and Wolff shipyards became one of the largest shipbuilders in the world, employing up to 35,000 workers. In 1886 the city suffered intense riots over the issue of home rule, which had divided the city.
In 1920–22, Belfast became the capital of the new entity of Northern Ireland as the island of Ireland was partitioned. The accompanying conflict (the Irish War of Independence) cost up to 500 lives in Belfast, the bloodiest sectarian strife in the city until the Troubles of the late 1960s onwards.
The Troubles
Belfast has been the capital of Northern Ireland since its establishment in 1921 following the Government of Ireland Act 1920. It had been the scene of various episodes of sectarian conflict between its Catholic and Protestant populations. These opposing groups in this conflict are now often termed republican and loyalist respectively, although they are also referred to as 'nationalist' and 'unionist'. The most recent example of this conflict was known as the Troubles – a civil conflict that raged from around 1969 to 1998.
Belfast saw some of the worst of the Troubles in Northern Ireland, particularly in the 1970s, with rival paramilitary groups formed on both sides. Bombing, assassination and street violence formed a backdrop to life throughout the Troubles. The Provisional IRA detonated 22 bombs within the confines of Belfast city centre in 1972, on what is known as "Bloody Friday", killing eleven people. Loyalist paramilitaries including the Ulster Volunteer Force (UVF) and the Ulster Defence Association (UDA) claimed that the killings they carried out were in retaliation for the IRA campaign. Most of their victims were Catholics with no links to the Provisional IRA. A particularly notorious group, based on the Shankill Road in the mid-1970s, became known as the Shankill Butchers.
In all, over 1,600 people were killed in political violence in the city between 1969 and 2001. Sporadic violent events continue as of 2015, although not supported by the previous antagonists who had reached political agreement in 1998.
Headman aquatints himself with the new judge in town. He explains that, when it comes to Headhunter affairs, the judge has two choices: either accept the generous bribe provided by Cobra, or take a bullet to the face. Silver, or lead...
Sambucus ebulus - Le Sureau hièble ou Sureau yèble ou Petit Sureau ou l'Hièble - Danewort or Dane weed or Danesblood or Elderberry or Elderwort or Blood hilder - FRANCE - Occitanie
Elle est toxique pour l'homme et peut être confondue avec d'autres espèces de sureaux.
La plante est mellifère et a des propriétés médicinales => sa souche rhizomateuse est diurétique, sa fleur est sudorifique (provoque la transpiration chez l'être humain), son fruit est purgatif.
Or rather the end of the evening of the day. A good meal with a good friend and a few minutes of quiet thoughts on absent friends and relatives.
are we human or are we dancer.
ps. this song was sammies song [ the first dancer, in the orange] in the recital for her solo
these are some of the solos from the recital
all pictures are sooc [:
darn, it plays wayyy faster on here then in movie maker :/ watch it twice and the second time its way better
Ian's on the road again, wearing different shoes again.
Or something.
Yes, have audit will travel is taking me back to the north west and head office (UK) in Warrington.
I wasn't keen to go, as I would be one of those being audited, rather than being the auditor.
So it goes.
Up even earlier than usual, Jools went swimming first thing, while I woke up and packed.
It was to be a bright if cold day, and the promise of actual snow once I reached Manchester, so that was something to look forward to. No?
Jools dropped me off on the prom so I could have a walk, take some snaps before picking up the car.
It was cold.
Not Canada cold, clearly.
Minus three. And too cold to linger to watch the actual sunrise, so made do with snapping the reflected light of the hotels and a ferry coming into the harbour. I walked over Townwall Street, now cold to the bone, hoping the car hire place would be open on time.
It wasn't, but a couple of minutes later, a guy came to open up and let me inside where it was slightly warmer.
My old ruse of getting an automatic thus getting a larger car was ruined this time was I was given a Toyota Yaris. It struggled to get up Jubilee Way without the engine screaming. You'd better behave yourself for the next three days I told it.
Back home for breakfast, load the car and say goodbye to the cats. One last look, and I was off. The car had no sat nav, so had to use the phone.
Before going to the hotel, I was going to visit a former colleague who lives in Warrington, or nearly St Helens as I found out later, so programmed her address in, and off I went, along our street and towards the A2 and the long slog up to Dartford.
I connected my phone to charge, and straight away tunes from my Apple music store started playing. So, apart from the free U2 album it forced on all users, the rest was good if a little Skids and Velvet Underground heavy.
The miles were eaten up, even if I had to turn the music way up to drown the sound of the screaming engine.
Like all trips, I had something extra to sweeten the time away, and in this case it was a church. But not just any church, as you will see.
I watched a short documentary on Monday about Mary Queen of Scots, and remembered that she had been imprisoned and executed at Fotheringhay Castle in what is now Northamptonshire, and if I went over the Dartford Crossing, up the M11 to Cambridge, then were the A14 crossed the Great North Road, ten miles north was Fotheringhay.
So, I pressed on, under the river and into Essex, then along to the bottom of the M11, and north past Stanstead to Cambridge. Traffic wasn't bad, so I made good time, my phone telling me I would reach Fotheringhay at midday.
Turning off the A1, down narrow lanes, then the view to the church opens up, in what is possibly one of the finest vistas in all of England. St Mary and All Saints, 15th century and in its Perpendicular finest, it looks too good to be that old, but is.
Not only is the church mostly as it was, if plain inside, this was the parish church of the House of York, of several Kings including the final, Richard III.
This is real history.
I crossed over the narrow hump-back bridge that spanned the fast flowing, and nearly flooding, River Neane, into the village and parked outside the church. A set of grand gates lead off the main road to the northern porch, lined with fine trees, naked it being winter.
The tower seems over-large for the Nave and Chancel, it stands 116 feet tall, and is a chonker, the rest of the church seems small beside it, but the interior of the church is a large space, high to its vaulted roof.
I take shots, not as many as perhaps I should, but the church doesn't have centuries of memorials, but does have two House of York tombs, or mausoleums.
I had some time, so I thought I would visit any interesting church I might see before getting back on the A14.
That was the plan.
The road took me round Oundle, which had at least two interesting looking churches, but them being what you might call "urban", I passed both and carried on over the rolling hills of Northamptonshire, much hillier than you might have thought.
Just before the A14, I see a large tower, and a lane lead to the village of Titchmarsh.
Titchmarsh is the name of a very famous TV gardener over here in Britain, not sure if this is where he hails from.
The village itself is set along a long high street, lined with half-timbered houses, most thatched, which was very picturesque.
I parked up, screams from the primary school, out for lunch, filled the air. But I had eyes on the church.
Oddly, on the north side, the churchyard is marked by a haha, or half of one.
A ha?
Certainly not a ditch, but there was a grille in the wall to allow water to get out.
Access to the church was over a small bridge, the grand porch in front.
The door opened easily, and I saw first, lots of wall paintings. Not old, perhaps Victorian.
I set to work taking shots, using the compact to snap close ups of the windows.
In truth, not much of great interest, and I was aware from the radio there being talk of snow.
Better get going and head north.
Back outside, my phone tells me I should be in Warrington by four, my friend, Teresa, wouldn't be home until half past, so I could have another break on the way.
The sat nav took me back to the A14, and from there it is just a 60 mile drive to the bottom of the M6 and then the hike two hours north.
At least it was a sunny day, though clouds were building, and was it my imagination, or did it look like snow falling already?
No, it was snow. big, fat, wet flakes at first, not much to worry about, but I pressed on past Coventry to the toll road, I sopped for half an hour there, enough time to have a drink and some crisps, then back outside where darkness was falling, as well as more snow.
The M6 might have had its upgrade complete, but a trip on it is rarely without delays. And for me, an hour delayed just before Warrington due to a crash, so we inched along in near darkness.
Teresa lived the other side of Warrington, so I had to press on further north, then along other main roads, round a bonkers roundabout before entering the town. Roads were lined with two up/two downs, doors leading straight onto the pavement. Cozy and northern.
They have two dog-mountains, I'm not sure of the breed, but think of something like a St Bernard and go bigger. They had just been for a walk, were damp and happy to be inside, laying on the kitchen floor. Taking up all the kitchen floor.
We talked for an hour, then I received a call from a guy I was supposed to be meeting up with: heavy snow was falling, I should get there sooner than later. So, I said my goodbyes and programmed the route to the hotel. Sorry, resort. Golf resort.
16 miles.
Snow was falling heavy, not too bad on main roads back to the motorway, though traffic on that was only going 40, it was fast enough. But the final six miles was long a main road, but it was covered in snow, with more falling.
The the fuel warning light went on.
Ignore that, I just wanted to get to the hotel safe and have dinner. Not end up in a hedge.
The final mile was very scary, snow only an inch deep, but slippery. There was a gatehouse marking the entrance to the golf club, I turned in and parked in the first space I came to.
Phew.
I checked in, and the place is huge, swish, but full of golfers.
But it does a sideline in conferences, training centre and a hotel. It was full.
I checked in, walked to the room, which is huge, and very comfortable, dropped my bags and went to the bar for dinner of beer and burgers. The place was almost empty, I watched cricket live from South Africa while I ate and drank.
Would I be tempted by the cheeseboard?
I would, dear reader, I would.
To my room to watch the football and relax while snow fell outside.
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Another bike ride into the wilds and wolds of Northamptonshire. I set off from Huntingdon railway station, and after a sixteen mile slog into the wind I crossed the county boundary at Clopton, a church I visited three weeks ago. Now, the real bike ride could now begin. Resisting a revisit to the church, I turned off on a very lonely, narrow lane through the woodlands. The Cambs/Northants borderlands are often like this, remote and lonely, wooded and rolling, devoid of houses outside the villages and with only the rare car, horse or other cyclist. It reminds me of parts of France.
After a couple of miles I came to Titchmarsh, and its splendid church, a big church in a pretty stone village. The tower is enormous ('The finest church tower in England outside of Somerset' - FJ Allen) and there is no spire. The churchyard is surrounded by a haha, with a little bridge across the moat. The church was being prepared for a rock concert, with a stage built up under the tower and tables and chairs in the nave. Not a huge amount to see in any case, although I liked the memorial to a servant who saved his master's life by getting in the way of an assassin's knife, only to later drown in the Nene. As you'd expect in this part of the world, good stone capitals in the arcades, with stiffleaves you could cut yourself on as well as dripping fruit.
And then it was on past the IKEA warehouse ('the largest building in the British Isles') into the town of Thrapston.
Simon Knott, July 2017.
www.flickr.com/photos/norfolkodyssey/35483761652/in/photo...
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The Parish Church of St Mary the Virgin, standing in a prominent position on the higher ground to the North of the village, has been the centre of the Christian community in Titchmarsh for some 800 years.
The name of Tichmarsh (or the modern version Titchmarsh) seems to date from Anglo-Saxon times when a piece of land was granted to one Ticcea and became known as Ticcea’s marsh (Ticceanmersce, Tychemerche, etc).
The earliest records of the church date from 1240. It was from Tichmarsh that Viscount Lovell left his manor to fight with Richard III at Bosworth. Before that he had employed his Somerset mason to build what Pevsner described as “the noblest village tower outside Somerset”, on top of which in 1588 an Armada beacon was lit.
The church is remarkable for its magnificent tower, its long and lofty clerestory, its spacious chancel, and for its light and uncluttered interior. It also houses a collection of unique and interesting wall monuments, fine stained glass windows and a recently restored 1870 TC Lewis organ. (see separate links)
The building that you see today is not the first church to have existed on this site. The remains of a 12th century doorway in the chancel is the only relic of the Norman building, and the subsequent centuries have each made their distinctive architectural contribution. The building assumed its present appearance when, late in the 15th century, the tower, clerestory and porch were added, and the present perpendicular style windows were inserted. In the late 17th and early 18th century the Pickering family contributed a number of important memorials, including one to John Dryden the poet- laureate, who spent his childhood in Titchmarsh. In the 19th century a number of the windows had stained glass inserted, a vestry was added in the northwest corner, and much of the internal woodwork was replaced (including the pews, recently adapted to provide more mobile seating).
The focus of the church, both architecturally and spiritually, is the Altar. This is God’s table, at which the faithful share in the power of Christ’s Risen Life, by feeding on the Sacrament of his Body and Blood under the forms of bread and wine. The reredos of Caen stone and Derby alabaster (1866) depicts the Old Testament scenes of Melchizedek’s offering of bread and wine, and Abraham’s offering of his only son Isaac, illustrating different aspects of the eucharistic theme.
The semi-circular Norman arch to the south side is a visible reminder that Christian worship has been offered on this site for at least some eight centuries.
The two-level sedilia and the piscine are of the 13th century, as is also the arcading which opens into the north chapel (now occupied by the organ). The opening known as a hagioscope or squint, gave additional visual access from the north chapel to the High Altar. The low, pointed 13th century doorway to the north of the Altar probably led to a tomb or chantry adjoining the Chancel on the north side. Much of this work can be attributed to the patronage of the Lovel family, who were Lords of the Manor from about 1268 until 1485.
Piercing the north-west corner of the Chancel wall are the remains of the stairway which originally led to the Rood-loft.
Dimly discernible in the apex of the Chancel arch is a crowned head. Experts suggest that it most closely resembles Edward IV who died in 1483 when Francis 1st (and only) Viscount Lovel was Lord of the Manor. The last years of the reign of Edward IV covered a peaceful period, favourable to the rebuilding of a church. In 1486 Henry VII granted the Manor of Tichmarsh to Sir Charles Somerset when Francis Lord Lovel who had supported Richard III was deprived of his estates at the end of the War of the Roses. This is the Lovell, who as Richard III’s Chamberlain and friend, was lampooned in the contemporary rhyme:
‘The Cat, the Rat, and Lovell our dog
Rule all England under the Hog’.
The walls and windows of the chancel were much embellished in Victorian times. The stained glass in the chancel windows is all by Messrs. Hardman of Birmingham. The east window depicts Christ’s Nativity, Baptism, Crucifixion and Ascension, and several episodes from the life of the Blessed Virgin Mary, to whom the church is dedicated. The windows on the south side of the chancel depict various incidents from the New Testament, giving particular prominence to St Mary Magdalene and St Peter.
The reredos of Caen stone and Derby alabaster were completed.
The organ, a good example of the work of TC Lewis was installed and first used in 1870. (fully restored in 2016). We learn from the Parish Magazine that prior to the installation of the instrument, music for Devine service had been supplied by a barrel organ, the introduction of which in 1837 replaced the services of the eight singers who had occupied a musicians gallery under the tower, and sang very loud. Singing was also led by string and woodwind instruments until 1861.
According to the parish magazines, the paintings on the chancel walls were by Miss Agnes Saunders, who was sister-in-law to the Rev. F M Stopford, (rector 1861-1912). The fine limed oak chancel screen was the gift of Canon A M Luckock, (rector 1912-1962).
The North Chapel and Transept
This was largely rebuilt in the 14th century, and now houses many mural memorials to the Pickering family
Gilbert Pickering bought the manor of Tichmarsh from Charles Somerset’s grandson in 1553, and for more than two hundred years it remained in the possession of his descendants. When the direct line came to an end, the estates were acquired in 1778 by Thomas Powys, later the first Lord Lilford.
John Pickering married Susannah Dryden of Canons Ashby in 1609, and twenty-one years later, Susannah’s brother Erasmus married John’s cousin Mary Pickering. Of these unions were born two men well known in the highest circles of their day, the notorious Sir Gilbert Pickering (1613-1668) and the famous John Dryden the poet (1631-1700).
Sir Gilbert was a convinced Parliamentarian, and became Lord Chamberlain to Oliver Cromwell. John Dryden’s upbringing in Tichmarsh is mentioned in one of the memorials. This and another were painted by Sir Gilbert’s daughter, Elizabeth, who became the wife of John Creed.
A woman of talent with needle, pen and brush, Elizabeth Creed was responsible also for the wording of the altar tomb and wall angle memorials of the south aisle as well as the Dryden monument which has been moved to the north transept.
The South Aisle
Here we find Mrs Creed lamenting the death of her husband, a boon companion of Samuel Pepys, of their son Christ’s family. By ancient custom the Font stands near the main (west) door of the physical building, as a reminder that it is through Baptism that we enter Christ’s Church.
The West Window
The tracery of the tower window is 15th century, (extensively restored in 2016). In 1904 the west window was filled with stained glass, the gift of Rev’d F M Stopford to mark his 50th year in Holy Orders. It is a powerful representation of Christ’s Second Coming and the Day of Judgement, and approximately balances the episodes of Christ’s first Advent depicted in the east window. The same firm of artists, Messrs Hardman of Birmingham, was employed for the work, and it is interesting to notice how the passage of some forty years makes a considerable difference in style and taste between the tower window and their earlier work.
The Bells
The tower houses a fine ring of eight bells. All were recast and re-hung in 1913 as a memorial to Rev’d F M Stopford who died in office in 1912 having been rector for 51 years, and a chaplain to Queen Victoria, Edward VII and George V. Before recasting, the oldest bells dated from 1688, with additions in 1708 and 1781. The ring was completed in1885 by the gift of two bells in memory of Florence Augusta Stopford, the rector’s first wife. At the same time the present church clock, which strikes the hours and quarters, replaced the previous one made by George Eayre in 1745.
At the base of the tower are some interesting photographs of the re-hanging of the bells.
The South Porch
The original porch was a single storey structure, with window openings to east and west. The upper storey was added in1583 and housed the Pickering family pew, complete with fire place! After the death of the last Tichmarsh Pickerings the wall opening was blocked up. It was reopened in 1931, when Canon Luckock (rector 1912-1962) and his wife put in the present glass panel and hung the massive oak south door as a thanksgiving for their silver wedding. The seating around the walls of the porch is a reminder of its earlier function as a place of meeting.
The Exterior
The large and splendid tower is built in four stages, richly decorated with triple bands of quatrefoils in circles on the ground storey and similar bands on the second and third stages. The niches on the west face contain modern stone figures representing Moses and Aaron, the Blessed Virgin Mary and St. Peter, and the archangels Michael and Gabriel. The parish magazine for 1901 records that the rector’s wife paid for the replacements by breeding and selling black fantail pigeons.
The ‘crown’, ie. parapet and pinnacles above the fourth stage is considered by experts to date from about 1500. The will of one Thomas Gryndall, dated 1474, bequeaths money towards the building of the tower, probably completed except for the ‘crown’ in about 1480.
The prominence and size of the tower made it a significant landmark. In 1585 when the country prepared to resist the threatened invasion from Spain, the Lord Lieutenant, Sir Christopher Hatton of Kirby Hall, gave order for Beacons to be made in places accustomed and that ‘Tychemershe Beacon’ be sett upon Tychemershe church steeple
On the south wall of the tower is a painted sundial, dated 1798, and below it a disused clock face made in 1745. There are three scratch dials on the south side of the church – on the porch and on two of the buttresses.
The churchyard, which contains many good examples of local stonemasons’ work of the 18th and 19th centuries, is remarkable and perhaps unique in being bounded almost entirely by a ha-ha.
Acknowlegements: The Victoria County History of Northamptonshire; Northamptonshire by Niklaus Pevsner; and to various numbers of the Titchmarsh Parish Magazine; Titchmarsh Past and Present by Helen Belgion, published 1979
titchmarsh.info/church-of-st-mary-the-virgin/church-history/
Galathea squamifera - Galathée noire ou Galathée brune ou Galathée écailleuse ou Galathée épineuse ou Galathée verte - Sklap-lost or Black squat lobster or Montagu's plated lobster - FRANCE - Bretagne
Nissan R390 GT1
Hot Wheels 1/64 diecasts.
The white model is better detailed with nicer wheels than the earlier red version.
The Firehydrant..chapter one..Busted..an excerpt from a story set in 1973/74
After that first court appearance in the Windsor courthouse I was sitting in the back of the paddy wagon being transported along with a few other criminals to the county bucket a five minute or so ride from the courthouse. I was still pretty high, if you look at it from a different perspective, I’d been high for about four or five years. Once, years earlier at the Don Gaol in Toronto, I was serving a four day weekend when these two cool hip looking Yankee dudes asked me what the prices were on the streets for weed and hash, shit like that. They had all the hippie trappings, long hair, hawk like features from looking over their shoulders too often. Briefly I thought maybe they were cops, plants, but they were Americans and had just left the O.R. in Guelph where they knew my buddy Coop de Grasser who was the head of the inmate committee at that time. I knew the difference in body language and voices from that of common pigs, they gave me that term, “we’ve been high for seven years, then we got busted” they had a Cheech and Chong quality about them especially in the eyes, they were crazies too, coming from California I could grasp their earlier introduction to the Herb.
Sitting in that wagon, (nic nac paddy whack, paddy wagon gonna take ya back, lock ya up and thro away the keys) handcuffed to some murderer or child molester, it just didn’t feel right, or seem right. I was not in the same criminal category as “those” criminals. They were bad, I just sold recreational drugs, which made people happy. I looked out the unmarked vans wired windows at some familiar sights. There was the Ambassador Bridge the Hippies at school had marched on the year before protesting for an end to the war in Vietnam while the Simon and Garfunkel song A Bridge Over Troubled Water played over loudspeakers. It was the same bridge Pete Kalci and self used to score the Hookers, buy the case of Ripple Wine, cross over to attend the Ravi Shankar and Traffic concerts. The very same bridge that took you to Ann Arbour and all the hip people living near those Michigan campuses. I was feeling greasy, very dirty, sweat was stinking up my armpits, my new blue leisure jacket was all wrinkled from being used as a pillow in the police station cell the night before where I once again carved the initials CTuna into the institutional paint.
Prison is a very sobering experience. That morning in the courtroom a man in his thirties, a violent robber, he threatened the people he robbed, gave them a smack with a gun to get their attention, you’d think this guy was rock solid, wouldn’t crack, no matter what. He started to ball when they gave him eight years in Federal Penitentiary, His lawyer had pleaded for leniency as he had a wife and a new baby on the way. You could tell the judge wasn’t swayed by this plea bargaining, he had to protect society from this monster repeat offender. Downstairs in the dungeon like remand cells I stayed away from him he was so emotionally distraught he might of lashed out at me.
You don’t get to pick your company in jail. At the county prison where I would be held for six weeks waiting for my trial and sentencing I was put through the usual routines, fingerprinted, again as I had already been fingerprinted at the police station the night before when I was arrested. At the county jail your clothes are taken from you and put in a bag with your name on them. The intake officer instructs you to have a shower in this big stall that was doorless. Afterwards you are instructed to stand there while a another officer sprays you for lice with a pressure mister that resembles a brass plant and weed sprayer similar to one you would use in your garden to kill bugs. All loose things like lighters, smokes, pills, cough candies, change, had been put into a manila envelope with your name on it at the police station downtown. This included my teacher/friends Don and Carol’s car keys to their car which I had parked on one of the upper floors at the Toronto Airport before taking the flight to Windsor. The paddy wagon driver another pink faced anglo saxon refugee handed that manila envelope over to the guard on duty when we arrived through the heavy steel gates and through a small brick lined tunnel into the courtyard of the very old county jail, the steel gates clanked shut automatically.
The desk guard had each of us answer some rudimentary questions, sex, race, age, education, religion, he looked startled and upset when he heard I was Taoist (pronounced Daoist). This was my spiritual flavour of the month, a Chinese faith based on the worship of Nature.
My bed for the next six weeks was located on the second tier of the three tiered old thick stone building built I would think in the last century. On this tier there were three other wards each ward holding a dozen cages/cells/cribs, each cell comprised of a steel bed a dull once stainless steel washbasin and a similar steel toilet without a seat, a piece of four inch square stainless steel was mounted above the sink, the mirror. The tier was designed to allow a single guard to patrol all four wards on the floor from the command centre located in the centre of the unit. There were always two guards on each floor one in the booth, the other always roaming. A roll of toilet paper had been issued to me as well as a cheap toothbrush and some tooth powder a threadbare facecloth and a towel big enough to dry your face and hands. A twenty five watt bulb glowed in the ceiling above, it would be on from six in the morning, till lights out at ten.
Home Sweet Home. My roommates were of various criminal backgrounds, there was a tall skinny biker with greasy yellow hair like the kind a worker at a wrecking yard might have, he was in for rape, his partner slept in the next set of cells, a portly unshaven fellow possibly related to a black bear or Kentucky mountain person, he was also in for rape, the two of them belonged to the Loners M.C, the local biker club. Next to me in the adjoining cell was a guy named Bill Hoskins who was quiet, had a scared look on his face, hadn’t shaved in a while, slightly receding, looked a bit like Garth Hudson of the Band, he was in on a smuggling marijuana charge and was not pleased with his circumstances. Little Mikey was the ward comic, shit disturber, go between, who was the one who bridged social classes and intermingled with all types, a chatterbox. There were a few quiet chaps and there was a young likeable guy all tattooed with crudely tattooed LOVE and HATE on his knuckles who it seemed had spent most of his young life in jail. He was just hoping to get sent to a prison in the area The Burtch Institution, he spoke of Burtch the way we would usually talk about home. Besides this motley crew there was one guy who everyone liked, I don’t recall his name, it might have been Jim he was coming down from using junk, he was dark haired and sort of reminded me of the Veteres from my youth, my neighbourhood Mt.Dennis, this Jim, he was street wise, quick to talk, he’d been around for his young twenty something age.
In very quick fashion a new person is sized up by the powers on the ward of any prison in any country, and it isn’t very long before the new prisoners place in the prison pack is established. For some reason my popularity irritated the power and after a few days I was asked to give the bad guys smokes while we were out in the small yard strolling around getting fresh air, I gave this some thought and passed out a few TMs as tailor made cigarettes were called but not without some resistance, the bikers weren’t very pleased to have a smart ass comparatively wealthy guy like myself around who might wrestle the minds of the weaker members of the pack from them.
As usual I became quite popular, my ability to tell stories and write stories about the fabled life in Toronto, the apartment building full of drugs (Rochdale) had every ones eyes bulging out. By this time two black brothers from Detroit were in the same ward with a minor infraction, they passed themselves off as bona fide black 'gangstas', I bought their story, they needed a connection to some crystal meth in TO and I turned them on to a pair of bikers who were living in the west end and whom I thought might appreciate the referral. As it was I had a list of phone numbers hidden in my shoes under the lining which along with some of my street clothes I was allowed to wear after they had been fumigated and cleaned since I was on remand and not yet officially a ward of the government. The black guys got bail fast, I never saw them again. Later in life the guys I referred them to paid me a visit as I worked the day shift at the Queensbury Arms, they weren’t pleased with my introduction. It could have been curtains for me, had I not been able to think on my feet. They thought the black guys may have been cops..
There was a crooked screw (guard) on the floor who for a price would smuggle in drugs and other contraband for those who had money and cravings. His name was Sidney and he was very tight with the diverse criminal element. In every prison man ever created there have been bent guards. Up to this time in life I had only known the soft side of Windsor, the niceties of the University scene, this was a much different perspective as the other folk I was now incarcerated with thought this situation as one of their schools of higher learning, a step in the ladder of criminality.
To help make time pass we played cards at the larger than picnic table sized metal tables that were bolted to the floor along with metal benches that were also bolted I suppose so no one would use them to hit each other with. A box shaped colour TV set sat in one corner of the ward. It was hung on one of those hospital style adjustable mounts and it was only put on at certain times, in the evenings from 7 to 10 or a bit later if something that was important was being shown. On weekends that TV might be on all day, starting with cartoons in the morning, which I recall quite a few of the people enjoying, then sports, and then hockey at night. There wasn’t much to do on weekends everybody’s routines ground to a halt.
The news story of the day was Richard Nixon’s impeachment from office. The previous year it seemed as if I had lost touch with events in the world. On reflection it may have been a lack of interest in the news that television and other media fed you. Lacking very many options at this time I began to join the herd and watched and laughed at All in The Family. The dreaded hockey games were on Saturday nights. Hockey is a Canadian staple and there were fierce conversations about various teams. Being so close to Detroit made for a lively rivalry, there weren’t as many teams in the league, it was an easier sport to appreciate.
Besides these time fillers I wrote pages and pages of short stories, some lyrical, like poems or songs. One in particular was a rhyming story about a “Gypsy Caravan” that parked under the full moon and where my lost love wept for me as I’d been sent to war. There were numerous verses and choruses, it was in my eyes a grand work. Several of the inmates would gather around the table as I would recite these stories, I recall Jim the Junkie giving the story his blessing and that was quite important for me as his sense of beauty and appreciation was different than the others. The other prisoners on remand held him in awe for some reason, he was like a Robin Hood type, a criminal All Star born and raised in Windsor. He got out on bail and a short while later word filtered back that he had died of an overdose of heroin and I always felt good that I had painted this nice scene for him of gypsies and love along a riverbank in golden days, like a Van Morrison lyric and his praise still ranks with the praise of others given me over the years.
Perhaps that is where my new nickname came from, that story about the gypsies. Around then someone tagged me with the title ‘Gypsy’ and it stuck right through my prison life. It took a while at first to get used to the new title, after all, nicknames were nothing new to me, as a kid I had been called Brooks by Bud Walford after Brooks Robinson the ballplayer with the Baltimore Orioles, Barb Sue Kevin and Shane often called me Weaver “Hey Weave” when we were younger playing cards on Victoria Blvd, then early on I used to carve my initials into the poured concrete sidewalks all over our area called Mount Dinky. C Tuna I would carve, using a stick or a piece of rock. Around this time there was a cartoon character called Charlie Tuna who was seen in tv advertisements for the Starkist Tuna company, there was a jingle with the ads and the ads were based on the premise that only the finest Tunas were good enough for Starkist customers and old Charlie a suave, Jackie Gleason type of Tuna with slicked back hair was always thrown back in to the sea. C Tuna was scraped also in the odd prison cell of Toronto’s #12, #31 and #52 Divisions as well as the gritty Don Gaol and now Windsor. One time, in Toronto I woke up from a drunken stupor and a police man at the #52 Divison asked me, “are you Charles Gregory aka C Tuna?” I replied I was, and was curtly charged with being drunk in a public place. I went back to sleep and was released in the morning, I couldn’t have been much more than sixteen.
My long relationship with the drink started around fifteen or so. While hanging out at Nick’s Pool Hall on Weston Road near Eglinton I met guys who were a bit older and liked to drink, especially on the weekends. An older guy named Bud a good pool player would go to the beer store and buy us a box of beer, I had developed a taste for it. Today, when I reflect on this behavior I have difficulty in recalling why I drank so much to the point often of blacking out as the consumption of beer became mixed with that of hard alcohol, whiskey, scotch etcetera. A common Saturday night would find me drinking a dozen beers with a mickey of Johnny Walker red as a chaser. At one time, I had been arrested six weekends in a row for drinking under age, drinking in a public place, drunk and disorderly…My mom was fed up bailing me out on Sunday mornings at the local police holding cells, located in the police stations, 31 division and 12 division. The fine for such behavior was usually $25 or $35 dollars or three days in jail. Not once do I recall anyone saying, this boy needs counseling. I may have been such a ‘tough nut’ that they felt it would have been a waste of time.
My friend George Holmes loved shouting out “here comes Tuna Fish” up at the corner of Keele and Eglinton during my greaseball period. This period took place between frat days and hippy days. Around town in my greaseball days that name C Tuna was recognizable up in the Junction, over on St Clair at Blackthorn and as well at Lansdowne and St Clair, also farther west towards Jane and Wilson and in Weston proper. I suppose the greasers up at Dufferin and Eglinton like Kenny Tanaka and Danny MacDonald had also known my AKA. It wasn’t that I was a prize fighter or anything a moniker was more a Title like that of a knight or a duke, sort of a right of passing, like a coming of age. Lots of guys had nick names just like the TV gangsters of the day, or the good guy bad guys in cowboy films. Names that quickly come to mind are, Hook, Coop de Grassser, Gooch, Scarecrow, Mars, Jake the Snake, Crazy Ivan, Fat Jack Hamilton, Mod, Vern the Tern, Dump, Butler, The Kid, Toot, Count, one guy, my friend Dave Wellwood had several nick names, The Goat, News, The General, Pee Wee and on and on.
Chassly Gangbusters was a favourite of the Hook and Coop years, Herbie used to like calling me Storch it was his invention he’d say it ‘Storch’ then back off a few steps in case I’d give him a smack, I always gave him a nasty sneer when he called me that. Charlie, Chuck, Chas, but almost never Charles. My name comes from a friend of my dads, Charles Bishop who died in the second war. Lately Schmiddy has been calling me the Kaliph of Keene which I really like. In the tradition of moms father Leon Yamel, actually Noel Lemay I’ve often tagged myself as Selrahc Yrogerg, this dates back to my saying words backwards while I waited to get on the field at the Smythe Park baseball league.
After a few days in the ward I could almost feel the drugs leaving my system and after two or three weeks I’d never been so clean, voluntarily. Even when I had the Hepatitis at Rochdale earlier that winter I was toking the finest hash and bud available. I must admit there was a new clarity to my mental comprehension, I could not adjust myself with other substances, alcohol included.
The food was awful, repetitive, I smoked like a chimney, there was a few hundred dollars in my pocket when I was picked up, I don’t recall the figure exactly. These funds in prison buy a lot of tobacco! To keep the peace I gave out as many smokes as required to avoid the bad guys wanting to shank me. We played cards night and day to pass the time, if anything I can remember that in particular, the time passing real slowly. That’s what more seasoned guys were saying that once you got where you were going, once you were sentenced you would find that your days took on structure and time was easier to do. This kind of time, waiting to be sentenced is called Dead Time and rightly so.
Michael Snyder the lawyer supplied free via the government legal aid program was a little lame in court during my first appearance. I took him aside and chewed him out. I wrote a letter to the court system, maybe the judge or the Attorney Generals Office, I’m not sure. The crooked screw Sidney read the letter and informed the lawyer of my dissatisfaction this got his attention and he did a fine job afterwards. I wonder if that letter ever made it out of that place.
Bill Hoskins as it turns out was in for a serious smuggling rap that he was not telling any of us about. He was on a sailing boat that had come up from the Bahamas area loaded with marijuana. The pot was hidden in false walls built into the customized ship, tons and tons of gange. As advisory counsel for my defense he nixed my hand written ten page dialogue about my historical accounting of the events leading up to my arrest, from the dysfunctional family situation with big Al at home which I used as my starting point in the dialogue, nixed the U.I.C. appeals process where I was cut off pogey for quitting my position without proper reason, nixed it all. He said to get a bunch of people to write letters who could speak for your good side, which in point of fact wasn’t so long ago, just the previous year I was bringing the teachers apples and cleaning the chalk off of the blackboards.
Turns out Sidney the crooked guard did me a favour by reading the mail that I had addressed to the law society and others regarding my lawyers lameness. When the lawyer caught wind of this he rushed in to appease me. Three weeks in the bucket passed and I was anxious to get on with things, when asked how I wished to plead it was a no brainer, I pled guilty. In court the judge found me guilty of all the charges, trafficking in narcotics, marijuana, hashish, peyote, acid, there was no blow left and I guess they didn’t bother to analyze the salt like crystal meth, there wasn’t much of it. I sat in the dock, again resolved, resolved not to break down and cry when sentenced like that other guy had done. I had to wait three more weeks for sentencing as the judge had asked for a pre-sentence report, which is like a record of your life, the details of your life, your failures and your successes if any. I recall finding this worrisome, although in my mind, having recently attended university under trying (at home) circumstances as a mature student, I felt I was on the right track, just jumped off the track momentarily.
That morning back in the court holding cells this big young Coloured man, I repeat, this was a big, strong athletic mean and angry twenty year old who wore those thick soled, tan coloured boots that motorcycle riders wore in the day, Fry Boots was their name. A diddler, a full grown twenty something farm kid from the sticks had just been returned to the holding cells in the basement of the court house, he walked with his head down, ashamed and afraid at the same time. As if in a movie the cell area was dimly lit an invitation for terror.
The farm kid went into a cell at the back of the block, none of the cell doors were locked. In court it came out that a couple of young girls had been molested the day before, quite young, under ten or so. You know how they say the jail system has its own way of getting folk, well this kid was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That big negro boy took his hatred out on that boy, he went into that cell and put the boots to the farm kids face, his gut, his balls, his legs, you name it, he got hit real hard. Nobody, no prisoner, no guard interfered I just watched stunned, I didn’t try to break it up, I just watched in my own kind of terror, that’s the way it can be in prison for diddlers they get no mercy, they are garbage. The guards very slowly came and broke it up, put the diddler in a solitary area, by this time his assailant had left the cell, he just brushed pass us all, me the other prisoners, the guards and took a seat in a cell holding his head in his hands, the screws never even bothered to ask what had happened, then we all went to the jailhouse in the paddy wagon, the diddler got separate transportation. Funny, I never saw that black guy again, he may have gone up to court and been given bail.
At the county bucket they put the diddler in a cell on my ward. That night we got him there as well but in a different way. Myself and others made a mixture of shit and piss, cold tea, spit and saliva, toilet water any vile substance we could find and poured it all over him as he lay in a back corner of the ward, not saying a word, afraid for his life, afraid to say anything, I mean we really humiliated him, I was a big part of this humiliation, this hazing, it was worse than a military blackballing. I’d been involved as a recipient in a mild fraternity hazing, I suppose that is where I got the idea. Over the years I’ve had a lot of remorse about this event but I still hold that this punishment, this prison tar and feathering was better than him losing his life, his balls or an eye or an ear.
They moved the big scared blonde haired blue eyed farm boy diddler from the ward that night put him into solitary confinement. In the visiting room the next day Frankie Herbert’s dad Frank Sr. came to visit, my first visit in nearly a month. Mr. Herbert worked as a travelling salesman for a big novelty company, he toured Ontario selling kitschy stuff like bingo markers, and roulette wheels and all sorts of things fundraising organizations use in their work and that large corporate stores stocked. At the same time Frank Sr. was visiting the diddler was visiting his dad, telling his dad through his pulverized face that I was one of his enemies, one of the perpetrators of his black eyes and bruises. That diddler, he don’t know how close he come to dying in that cell downtown. Frank Sr. he just looked at this farm kid with the shiners, looked at me, Frank Sr. he knew what the score was, he just shook his head, my father figure, surrogate dad visiting his son in gaol. Years earlier, Mr. Herbert had put up bail for me when the RCMP had placed a bag of pot in our groups car (actually a stretch Cadillac limo) as we tried to enter the Rockwood Festival. We had heard via the radio that everyone was getting busted that heading to the concert so we had stopped and stashed our goods in the woods, a ways from the entrance. The other five people were given bail but I was refused because of a previous minor offence. The charges were all thrown out in court later. I told the RCMP, this guy last name of Ryan, that if I saw him on the streets, I would kick the shit of him!
A couple of university school chums paid a visit one day after I had been sentenced, Tim, a bright musician type from the university showed up with my old baked and breaded sardine dinner girlfriend, Mary Lewis. That was kind of them to show up at that depressing place, it was the last time I ever saw or heard from them except when I contacted Mary Lewis and she sent me a year book from the university. A book I looked at maybe twice then mysteriously wrapped in several windings of masking tape for thirty years and hid in a milk crate with several old photo albums on top, securing its hiding place, was that my soul in that book? Who was that guy?
Bill the Smuggler had a birthday card sent in from someone on the outside, in the card, on the nose of the clown they had poured some liquid LSD and Bill did some, offered me a taste, I declined, felt the surroundings not conducive to a good trip. Bill laid some on the bikers to secure their loyalty. Now here you have these three or four biker types running around all looney, higher than kites, grooving to the little AM radio playing in the corner, digging the tunes, staring at hallucinations only they could see. In a way it was like the lawyer in Easy Rider getting turned on, except these were bad guys, getting all soft and mushy, I stayed in my crib that night until the party settled down. I think I was scared the bikers might be able (through the power of acid) be able to see my true feelings for them. Like many a night I read to sleep. Dostoyevsky offered imaginable experiences to escape to.
Next day in the yard the bikers were hovering together, conspiring, they were good at that, at joining forces, intimidation by numbers. At some point this middle aged black inmate took an epileptic fit, started shaking all over, fell to the ground, I thought he had been shot, the guards blew their stupid whistles they thought someone had beaten the guy up. We all had to stand at attention while the screws came and took the fellow away on a stretcher. It was a cool forty five degree F morning, the sun was shining. The heavy grey cloth winter coats we’d been issued had to be turned in when we went back inside, it felt so good being out in the yard, the fresh air, the bit of Spring green showing on the small lawn. Another inmate pointed out where they used to do the hangings, there remained a shuttered doorway a few levels up I was also shown where they used to bury the bodies they had hung, this was becoming a real adult experience.
I didnt understand the language but it was a nice long Buddhas lecture.
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Monk Monks "Wat Bo" "Siem Reap" Kampuchea Cambodia
"Temple City" "City of Temples" "Southeast Asia"
Angkor អង្គរ or នគរ "Capital City"
Kampuchean Khmer Cambodian Cambodians
"Khmer People" "Khmer PPL"
Portinatx, Ibiza or Eivissa.
Don't use this image on websites, blogs or other media without my explicit permission. © All rights reserved.
Portinatx is a small urbanization, formerly a very small fishing village, on the island of Ibiza. It is located 1 hour from the island airport in the municipality of Sant Joan de Labritja and is the most northern bay on the island.
The small resort of Portinatx offers magnificent panoramic views, crystalline clear water, high, rocky shorelines and three beaches (S'Arenal Gros, S'Arenal Petit and Playa Porto) with fine white sand.
Portinatx is a remote part of Ibiza, making it difficult to get to other parts of the island.
Landmarks include the Punta Moscarter Lighthouse
"A capacitor is like a battery in the sense that capacitors and batteries both store electrical energy. A capacitor is much simpler than a battery, although it cannot produce new electrons -- it can store them whereby the battery has two terminals and inside the battery chemical reactions produce electrons on one terminal and absorb electrons on the other terminal." ~Tomitheos
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Copyright © 2012 Tomitheos Photography - All Rights Reserved
Tachinid Fly feeding on a Maiden Veil or Stinkhorn fungi, Phallus indusiatus. As the fungi decays it smells like rotting meat so attracts a variety of insects that feed on it, and at its decaying peak it is such a huge insect magnet.
I really appreciate all who visit to view, comment and/or fave my nature offerings from various parts of Australia. Thank you!
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All my photographs are © Copyrighted & All Rights Reserved. Please do not reproduce or transmit in any form or by any means without full acknowledgement of it being my work. Use without permission is illegal so please contact me first if you’d like to use it.
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Italien / Lombardei - Lago di Como
Tremezzo
Lake Como (Italian: Lago di Como [ˈlaːɡo di ˈkɔːmo], locally [ˈkoːmo]; Western Lombard: Lagh de Còmm [ˈlɑː‿dːe ˈkɔm],[a] Cómm [ˈkom] or Cùmm [ˈkum]), also known as Lario (Italian: [ˈlaːrjo]; after the Latin: Larius Lacus), is a lake of glacial origin in Lombardy, Italy.
It has an area of 146 square kilometres (56 sq mi), making it the third-largest lake in Italy, after Lake Garda and Lake Maggiore. At over 400 metres (1,300 ft) deep, it is the fifth deepest lake in Europe and the deepest outside Norway; the bottom of the lake is 227 metres (745 ft) below sea level. One notable characteristic is its distinctive "Y" shape.
Lake Como has been a popular retreat for aristocrats and wealthy people since Roman times, and a very popular tourist attraction with many artistic and cultural gems. It has many villas and palaces such as Villa Olmo, Villa Serbelloni, and Villa Carlotta. Many famous people have owned homes on the shores of Lake Como, including George Clooney, Madonna, and Donatella Versace.
In 2014, The Huffington Post described it as the most beautiful lake in the world for its microclimate and environment with prestigious villas and villages.
Etymology
The lake's official name is Lario (derived from the Latin Larius), but it is rarely used informally, while it is still used in formal language; it is also found in the toponym of some villages along the lake such as Pognana Lario and Mandello del Lario; Italians usually call it Lago di Como.
Geography
The lake is shaped much like an inverted letter "Y". The northern branch begins at the town of Colico, while the towns of Como and Lecco sit at the ends of the southwestern and southeastern branches respectively. The small towns of Bellagio, Menaggio and Varenna are situated at the intersection of the three branches of the lake: a boat service operates a triangular route between them.
Lake Como is fed primarily by the Adda, which enters the lake near Colico and flows out at Lecco. This geological conformation makes the southwestern branch a dead end, and so Como, unlike Lecco, is sometimes flooded.
The mountainous pre-alpine territory between the two southern arms of the lake (between Como, Bellagio, and Lecco) is known as the Larian Triangle, or Triangolo lariano. The source of the river Lambro is here. At the centre of the triangle, the town of Canzo is the seat of the Comunità Montana del Triangolo lariano, an association of the 31 municipalities that represent the 71,000 inhabitants of the area.
History
At the beginning of the first millennium B.C. during the Iron Age, the Comum oppidum was born and the civilization of Como developed, inserted in the broader Golasecca culture. In 196 B.C. the army of the consul Claudius Marcellus defeats the Celts tribe of the Comenses and conquered the city. Comum was then strengthened and rebuilt after a raid by Rhaetian and repopulated with 3,000 settlers in 77 BC. Finally, after having reclaimed the marshy area, in 59 B.C. it was re-founded with the name of Novum Comun in its current location on the lake shore at the behest of Gaius Julius Caesar. Pliny the Younger, in one of his Epistulae, describes the lake and its surrounding area as providing plentiful opportunities for fishing and hunting. According to the Notitia Dignitatum, at least since the 4th century, a Praefectus commanding a Roman military fleet was present on the lake.
During the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, the waters of the lake were the scene of military clashes, such as in the 12th century during the war of Milan against Como, which saw the Como fleet in action against the ships of the Milanese and their allies or between 1525 and 1532 due to the Musso war unleashed by Gian Giacomo Medici.
On 28 April 1945, deposed Italian dictator Benito Mussolini was executed in the lakeside village of Giulino, about 180 metres (590 ft) from the waterfront.
Tourism
As a tourist destination, Lake Como is popular for its landscapes, wildlife, and spas. It is a venue for sailing, windsurfing, and kitesurfing.
Although generally considered safe, bathers aiming to find relief from the heat and swimming enthusiasts alike should exercise caution, as a prevailing regulation prohibits diving and swimming both in the city of Como and in the various small villages along the lake. Exceptions are found only in privately managed lidos or designated public beaches where explicit signage permits swimming activities. This prohibition stems from the danger posed by the lake's waters that swiftly transition from shallow to deep near the shoreline and from unpredictable aquatic conditions, which have led to numerous incidents, including drowning cases attributed to sudden thermal shock.
Transportation
Lake Como is served by a public transport system connecting the various villages on the lake. A motorized service began in 1826 when a steamship with sails, the Lario, was launched by the newly established Società privilegiata per l'impresa dei battelli a vapore nel Regno Lombardo Veneto. Since 1952 the fleet has been managed by a government organisation named Gestione Commissariale Governativa and later Gestione Governativa Navigazione Laghi, which is also responsible for transport services on Lake Maggiore and Lake Garda.
There exist three primary services:
Motorship services along the western branch and north towards Colico and back to Como, with additional shuttles to the mid-lake area;
Fast services that broadly follow the same route but with fewer stops; the service, which is more expensive, is operated by hydrofoils;
Ferries able to carry passengers and cars across the popular tourist destinations Menaggio, Bellagio,Varenna and Cadenabbia.
Economy
Lake Como attracts visitors from around the world and as a consequence the economy of the towns surrounding Lake Como is predominantly dependent on tourism and related activities. The tourism sector stimulates local businesses, including hospitality, restaurants and retail, while also fostering the growth of ancillary services such as transportation, cultural tours and recreational activities. This reliance on tourism has led to significant investments in infrastructure and amenities to accommodate and enhance the visitor experience, making it a vital component of the regional economy.
In literature and the arts
Letitia Elizabeth Landon's poem The Lake of Como was published in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book, in 1837. It illustrates a painting by Samuel Prout, engraved by William Miller.
In 1818 Percy Bysshe Shelley wrote to Thomas Love Peacock: "This lake exceeds anything I ever beheld in beauty, except the arbutus islands of Killarney. It is long and narrow, and has the appearance of a mighty river winding among the mountains and the forests."
(Wikipedia)
Tremezzo is a comune (or municipality) of some 1,300 people in the Province of Como, in the Italian region Lombardy. It is one of I Borghi più belli d'Italia ("The most beautiful villages of Italy").
It is located on the western shore of Lake Como between Mezzegra to the southwest and Griante to the northeast, and about 20 kilometres (12 mi) from Como. Tremezzo, which has an area of 8.4 square kilometres (3.2 sq mi), also borders the territory of the following communes: Lenno (south and west of Mezzegra), Menaggio (north of Griante), Grandola ed Uniti (inland from Menaggio) and, on the facing shore of the lake, Bellagio and Lezzeno.
As well as the capoluogo of Tremezzo, the area of the commune includes the frazione Rogaro, birthplace of the architect Pietro Lingeri.
Tremezzo is best known as a tourist resort—it was a favourite of Konrad Adenauer—and for its villas, of which the most famous is the Villa Carlotta with its much-admired gardens, and Villa Sola-Busca. The Brentano family hails from the Tremezzo, in the 17th century the family relocated to the Free City of Frankfurt. Members of the family include 19th century German Romanticist novelist Clemens Brentano and his sister Bettina von Arnim.
The comune of Tremezzo was united with Mezzegra, Ossuccio, and Lenno to form a single municipality named Tremezzina following the election of the Major on 25 May 2014.
(Wikipedia)
Der Comer See (Schweizer Schreibweise Comersee, italienisch Lago di Como oder Lario, lombardisch Lagh de Comm; lateinisch Lacus Larius) ist einer der oberitalienischen Seen. Er liegt vollständig in der Region Lombardei.
Charakteristisch sind die zahlreichen am Ufer liegenden kleinen Dörfer, von denen viele ihren eigenen Charakter bis heute erhalten haben. Viele der Villen (u. a. Villa Carlotta, Villa d’Este) stammen aus dem 15. Jahrhundert, als die Bewohner der Region durch die Seidenraupenzucht und die dadurch entstandene Seidenindustrie zu Reichtum gelangten. Während der Zeit Napoleons erbaute der Vizepräsident der italienischen Republik (1802–1805) Francesco Melzi d’Eril die Villa Melzi.
Durch das mediterrane Klima gedeihen viele subtropische Pflanzen wie z. B. Palmen, Zitrusfrüchte, Zypressen und Olivenbäume.
Geografie
Der Comer See, von den Einheimischen auch Lario genannt, ist 146 km² groß, 51 km lang und maximal 4,2 km breit. Damit ist er nach dem Gardasee und dem Lago Maggiore, gemessen an der Wasserfläche, der drittgrößte See Italiens. Mit einer durch seine charakteristische Form bedingten Uferlinie von 170 km übertrifft er die beiden vorgenannten Seen in diesem Punkt. Seine maximale Tiefe – vor Nesso – beträgt 425 m; damit ist er der tiefste See Europas außerhalb Norwegens.
Der Comer See wird von der Adda durchflossen. Er liegt in einem Zungenbecken des ehemaligen Addagletschers, das sich vor der Alta Brianza in die Arme von Como und Lecco teilt, und hat so die Form eines (umgekehrten) Y. Die Adda mündet bei Colico in den nördlichen Teil des Sees und verlässt ihn bei Lecco; der südwestliche Arm, an dem Como liegt, hat keinen anderen Abfluss.
Die einzige Insel im Comer See ist die etwa 7,5 ha große Isola Comacina. Sie war bereits in der Antike besiedelt, nach Zerstörung der Siedlungen im 12. Jahrhundert durch Truppen Comos aber lange unbewohnt.
Tourismus
Der Comer See ist ein Touristenziel mit zahlreichen Kurorten, Parks und Golfplätzen. Auf seiner Westseite liegt der Sacro Monte di Ossuccio, der 2003 in die Liste der Weltkulturerbe der UNESCO aufgenommen wurde. Die umliegenden Berge bieten Wander- und Klettermöglichkeiten. Durch das milde Klima gibt es eine reiche Vegetation. Jährlich im Frühjahr findet das Oldtimerevent Concorso d’Eleganza Villa d’Este statt.
Prominente wie George Clooney besitzen ein Feriendomizil am Comer See. Dieser dient immer wieder als Filmkulisse, beispielsweise wurde hier für Star Wars: Episode II, Casino Royale oder Ocean’s 12 gedreht.
Der deutsche Bundeskanzler Konrad Adenauer (1876–1967) verbrachte dort auf seinem Anwesen in Cadenabbia viel Zeit. Nach der Niederlegung seines Amtes, kurz vor seinem Tod, schrieb er dort einen großen Teil seiner Memoiren. Die 1899 erbaute Villa La Collina mit ihrem Park wird seit 1977 als internationale Tagungsstätte von der Konrad-Adenauer-Stiftung genutzt.
Schifffahrt
Täglich fahren mehrere Boote zwischen Como und Colico, des Weiteren gibt es verschiedene Routen zwischen Como und Lecco oder Menaggio und Como bzw. Lecco. Es existiert eine Fährverbindung zwischen Lierna, Varenna, Menaggio und Bellagio.
Wassersport
Zwischen Bellagio und Colico herrscht ein reges Treiben von Wassersportlern, da dort zuverlässige Windverhältnisse herrschen.
Laut Berichten aus dem Jahr 2010 lässt die Wasserqualität an gewissen Stellen (durch fehlende Kläranlagen) zu wünschen übrig.
Windverhältnisse
Außer im Winter weht im oberen Teil des Comer Sees praktisch täglich ein thermischer Wind, die Breva. Am Morgen beginnt der Wind etwa ab 10 Uhr mit 1 bis 3 Bft und frischt am Nachmittag auf 3 bis 6 Bft auf. Juni bis September sind die besten Monate zum Wind- und Kitesurfen. Im Oktober lässt die Breva nach, um dann bis Anfang Februar ganz einzuschlafen.
Der Südwind Breva hat seinen Gegenpart im nördlichen Fallwind Tivano, der bei großem Luftdruckunterschied zwischen der nördlichen und der südlichen Seite der Alpen entsteht. Der Tivano weht bereits am frühen Morgen und ist oft stärker als die Breva, am stärksten in der Region von Lecco. Im Süden des Sees, im Larian-Dreieck, dem Gebiet zwischen den beiden Seearmen, bietet auch er gute Voraussetzungen zum Wind- und Kitesurfen.
(Wikipedia)
Tremezzina ist eine italienische Gemeinde mit 5027 Einwohnern (Stand 31. Dezember 2022) in der Provinz Como in der Region Lombardei und Mitglied der Gesellschaft I borghi più belli d’Italia (dt. „Die schönsten Orte Italiens“).
Geographie
Die Gemeinde liegt am Fuße des Monte di Tremezzo (1700 m s.l.m.). Zur Gemeinde gehören die am See gelegenen und vom internationalen Tourismus geprägten Ortsteile Tremezzo, Mezzegra, Lenno und Ossuccio.
Die Nachbargemeinden sind: Griante, Grandola ed Uniti, Menaggio, Perledo (LC), Plesio, San Siro, Varenna (LC) und Bellagio und Ponna.
Gemeindefusion
Tremezzina war eine Gemeinde in der italienischen Provinz Como. Sie entstand im Jahre 1928 aus dem Zusammenschluss der drei Gemeinden Lenno, Mezzegra und Tremezzo. Benannt wurde sie nach der Landschaft Tremezzina, einer Region im Westen des Comer Sees.
In der Gemeinde lebten zu jener Zeit 4242 Einwohner (Stand: 1936). Nach dem Ende des Zweiten Weltkriegs wurde sie 1947 aufgelöst und die drei Gründungsgemeinden wurden wieder selbständig.
Am 4. Februar 2014 wurde die Gemeinde Tremezzina durch einen Zusammenschluss der Gemeinden Lenno, Mezzegra, Tremezzo sowie Ossuccio neuerlich gegründet. In diesen vier Gemeinden fand am 1. Dezember 2013 ein nicht bindendes Referendum statt, bei dem sich 63 % der Wähler für einen Zusammenschluss der Gemeinden aussprachen. Zuvor waren vorgenannte Gemeinden gemeinsam mit der Nachbargemeinde Griante in dem Gebietszusammenschluss Unione die Comuni della Tremezzina organisiert. Letztgenannte wurde indes nicht Teil der neugegründeten Gemeinde.
Die Gemeinde gehört zur Comunità Montana del Lario Intelvese und wurde im Jahre 2014 neu gebildet, nachdem sie bereits in den Jahren 1928 bis 1947 unter diesem Namen bestanden hatte.
Sehenswürdigkeiten
Kirche San Bartolomeo im Ortsteil Tremezzo
Villa Carlotta im Ortsteil Tremezzo
Grand Hotel Tremezzo
Abtei Acquafredda im Ortsteil Lenno
Kirche Santo Stefano und romanisches Baptisterium im Ortsteil Lenno
Isola Comacina im Ortsteil Ossuccio
Romanische Kirche Sant’Andrea
Hospitalis Santa Maria Maddalena di Stabio im Ortsteil Ossuccio
Kirche San Benedetto im Val Perlana
Sacro Monte di Ossuccio
Villa del Balbianello im Ortsteil Lenno
Villa Casinella im Ortsteil Lenno
Villa Sola Cabiati im Ortsteil Tremezzo
Villa Balbiano im Ortsteil Ossuccio
Observatorium am Monte Galbiga
(Wikipedia)
Barcelona’s Music Festivals 2017: Primavera Sound by bike
Primavera Sound by bike: the best solution for electronic music lovers!
From 29th to 4th of June, Barcelona will host one of the most important Festivals of electronic music. We’re talking about the Primavera Sound! What about hiring a bike with us? It’s the best way to enjoy the festival. You’ll escape queues with metro or bus, and you could come back home at the time that suites you best! Here some tips to enjoy Primavera Sound by bike. Choose Ride or Die, the best bike rental of Barcelona!
How to book a bike parking
Bike rack
Located at the access to the Parc del Fòrum site. Free service with surveillance and technical assistance for small reparations. Users must bring their own locks.
Timetable
Wednesday 31st May from 17:00 to 00:00 h
Thursday 1st June from 18:00 to 06:00 h
Friday 2nd June from 18:00 to 06:00 h
Saturday 3rd June from 18:00 to 06:00 h
Everyone in town knows that enjoying the Primavera Sound by bike is the best solution! Leave at home stress and anxiety, choose Ride or Die and let us work for you!
Line up
Monday 29th May: Jeremy Jay · The Wave Pictures
Tuesday 30th May: Cigarettes After Sex · Les Sueques · Let´s Eat Grandma
Wednesday 31st May: 7 Notas 7 Colores · Anímic · Elmini · Formation · Gordi · Kate Tempest · Local Natives · Marc Piñol · No Zu · Retirada! · Saint Etienne · The Wedding Present
Thursday 1st June: The Afghan Whigs · Alexandra Savior · Annette Peacock · Aphex Twin · Aries · Aurora Halal · BADBADNOTGOOD · Ben UFO · Bicep · The Black Angels · Bon Iver · Broken Social Scene · Converge · Cymbals Eat Guitars · The Damned · Death Grips · Discos Paradiso Crew · Elza Soares · Fatima Yamaha · Glass Animals · Gojira · Henrik Schwarz · Joy Orbison · Julia Jacklin · Kate Tempest · Kevin Morby · King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard · Kokoshca · Lord Of The Isles · Matrixxman · Miguel · Mishima · The Molochs · Moscoman live band · Nikki Lane · No Zu · Nots · Pearson Sound · Pender Street Steppers · Pinegrove · Romare · S U R V I V E · Skinny Puppy · Slayer · Solange · Soledad Vélez · Dj Tennis · This Is Not This Heat · Triángulo de Amor Bizarro · Tycho · Vox Low · Youandewan · The Zombies perform “Odessey & Oracle”. 50th Anniversary
Friday 2nd June: Abdulla Rashim · About Leaving · Âme live · Autarkic · Avalon Emerson · Belako · Berri Txarrak · Conttra · Descendents · Dixon · Flying Lotus · Frank Ocean · Front 242 · Grandaddy · The Growlers · HVOB · InnerCut · Iosonouncane · It´s Not Not · Kepa Junkera & Los Hermanos Cubero · King Sunny Adé · KiNK · Kornél Kovács · Mac DeMarco · The Magnetic Fields · The Make-Up · Màquina Total · Marie Davidson · Melange · Michael Mayer · Mitski · Noga Erez · Operators · Phurpa · Polar Inertia · Priests · Rebuig · Run The Jewels · Sampha · Shelby Grey · Shellac · Sinkane · Sleaford Mods · Slim Cessna’s Auto Club · Swans · Talaboman · Tuff City Kids · Vaadat Charigim · Wand · William Tyler · Whitney · The xx
Saturday 3rd June: !!! (Chk Chk Chk) · Against Me! · Agorazein · Alex Cameron · Angel Olsen · Arcade Fire · CLUBZ · Dj Coco · Dave P. · Don´t Dj · Dj Dustin · El Petit De Cal Eril · Ferenc · Gas · Grace Jones · Hamilton Leithauser · Her Little Donkey · Huerco S. · Japandroids · Jardín de la Croix · JMII · Joey Purp · John Talabot Disco Set · Julie Doiron · Junun featuring Shye Ben Tzur & The Rajasthan Express · Kelly Lee Owens · Khidja · King Krule · Lady Wray · Lauer · Lvl Up · Les Cruet · The Magnetic Fields · Mannequin Pussy · Metronomy · Museless · Pedro Vian · Playback Maracas · Pond · Preoccupations · Recondite · Rosalía & Raül Refree “Los Ángeles” · Royal Trux · Salfumán · Sau Poler · Seu Jorge plays The Life Aquatic. A Tribute to David Bowie · Skepta · Sleep · Sorry Kate · Swet Shop Boys · Teenage Fanclub · Van Morrison · Vladimir Ivkovic · Weval · Weyes Blood · The Wheels · Wild Beasts · Young Marco
Sunday 4th June: !!! (Chk Chk Chk) · Alien Tango · Barbott · Dave P. · Japandroids · Julie Doiron · Lvl Up · The Make-Up · Mannequin Pussy · Maresme · Marta Delmont · Medalla · Muñeco · Murdoc · The Mystery Lights · Ocellot · Odina · PAVVLA · Shellac · Sleaford Mods · The Waterparties
La entrada Primavera Sound by bike: a different way to enjoy the Festival aparece primero en RideOrDie.
Et plus particulièrement la renoncule âcre (Ranunculus acris L.) de la famille des Renonculacées.
Il y a de nombreuses espèces de renoncules en France, et rien que sur cette pelouse, 3 espèces différentes de renoncules ! La plupart sont jaunes, mais certaines sont blanches, comme la renoncule à feuilles capillaires (aquatique) ou la renoncule des rivières qui lui ressemble. Pour les néophytes, d'autres plantes peuvent ressembler aux boutons d'or mais appartiennent à d'autres familles : les hélianthèmes (Cistacées) et les potentilles (Rosacées).
L'observation du calice permet cependant de les distinguer :
- les renoncules ont un calice à 5 sépales égaux ;
- les hélianthèmes ont un calice particulier, inégal, avec trois gros sépales et 2 petits, comme d'autres plantes de la même famille ;
- le calice des potentilles est doublé d'un calicule, c'est-à-dire qu'il y a 2 verticilles de 5 sépales, soit 10 en tous, comme chez d'autres Rosaceae.