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The Las Vegas Strip is a stretch of South Las Vegas Boulevard in Clark County, Nevada that is known for its concentration of resort hotels and casinos. The Strip is approximately 4.2 miles (6.8 km) in length, located immediately south of the Las Vegas city limits in the unincorporated towns of Paradise and Winchester. However, the Strip is often referred to as being in Las Vegas.
Many of the largest hotel, casino, and resort properties in the world are located on the Las Vegas Strip. The road's cityscape is highlighted by its use of contemporary architecture, lights and wide variety of attractions. Its hotels, casinos, restaurants, residential high-rises, entertainment offerings, and skyline have established the Las Vegas Strip as one of the most popular and iconic tourist destinations in the United States and the world. Most of the Strip has also been designated as an All-American Road and is considered a scenic route at night
this was so easy, seriously. if you can cut and sew in a straight line, you can make this quilt. thank you julie for the inspiration!
a bit of an outtake.. but for me it has a certain charm.
Kiev 60
Zeiss Jena Biometar 80/2.8
Kodak Portra 400UC (expired 2004)
Epson V700
Paint contractor Ryan Fleagle is pulling the vinyl off the side of what will become the Conrail Museum. Rudy Garbely did outstanding work creating the files used to create stencils for all the lettering on the car. Fleagle then painted inside those stencils, leaving us with an all paint exterior, down to the smallest details. This was the same method used on the other boxcar-turned-museum on the Cumberland Valley Rail Trail and it still looks fresh seven years later.
My first studio shot using profoto gear(octo + strip boxes) and also my last shot with the Nikon D90 (bye bye 😭)
Made little step up and upgraded to a D7000
Faversham /ˈfævərʃəm/ is a market town and civil parish in the Swale district of Kent, England. The town is 48 miles from London and 10 miles from Canterbury and lies next to the Swale, a strip of sea separating mainland Kent from the Isle of Sheppey in the Thames Estuary. It is close to the A2, which follows an ancient British trackway which was used by the Romans and the Anglo-Saxons, and known as Watling Street. The Faversham name is of Latinvia Old English origin, meaning "the metal-worker's village".
There has been a settlement at Faversham since pre-Roman times, next to the ancient sea port on Faversham Creek, and archaeological evidence has shown a Roman theatre was based in the town. It was inhabited by the Saxons and mentioned in the Domesday bookas Favreshant. The town was favoured by King Stephen who established Faversham Abbey, which survived until the Dissolution of the Monasteries in 1538. Subsequently, the town became an important seaport and established itself as a centre for brewing, and the Shepherd Neame Brewery, founded in 1698, remains a significant major employer.
The town was also the centre of the explosives industry between the 17th and early 20th century, before a decline following an explosion in 1916 which killed over 100 workers. This coincided with a revival of the shipping industry in the town. Faversham has a number of landmarks, with several historic churches including St Mary of Charity, Faversham Parish Church, the Maison Dieu and Faversham Recreation Ground. Faversham Market has been established for over 900 years and is still based in the town centre. There are good road and rail links, including a Southeastern service to the High Speed 1 line at Ebbsfleet International and London.
History
Faversham was established as a settlement before the Roman conquest. The Romans established several towns in Kent including Faversham, with traffic through the Saxon Shore ports of Reculver, Richborough, Doverand Lympne converging on Canterbury before heading up Watling Street to London. The town was less than 10 miles from Canterbury, and consequently Faversham had become established on this road network by 50 AD following the initial conquest by Claudius in 43 AD. Numerous remains of Roman buildings have been discovered in and around Faversham, including under St Mary of Charity Church where coins and urns were discovered during reconstruction of the western tower in 1794. In 2013, the remains of a 2,000-year-old Roman theatre, able to accommodate some 12,000 people, were discovered at a hillside near the town. The cockpit-style outdoor auditorium, the first of its kind found in Britain, was a style the Romans used elsewhere in their empire on the Continent.
There is archaeological evidence to suggest that Faversham was a summer capital for the Saxon kings of Kent. It was held in royaldemesne in 811, and is further cited in a charter granted by Coenwulf, the King of Mercia. Coenwulf described the town as the King's little town of Fefresham, while it was recorded in the Domesday Book as Favreshant. The name has been documented as meaning "the metal-worker's village", which may derive from the Old English fæfere, which in turn comes from the Latin "faber" meaning "craftsman" or "forger". The town had established itself as a seaport by the Middle Ages, and became part of the Confederation of the Cinque Ports in the 13th century, providing a vessel to Dover. The Gough Map of Britain, printed in 1360, shows the Swale as an important shipping channel for trade.
The manor was recorded as Terra Regis, meaning it was part of the ancient royal estates. King Stephen gave it to his chief lieutenant, William of Ypres, but soon made him swap it with Lillechurch (now Higham) so that the manor of Faversham could form part of the endowment of Faversham Abbey. Stephen established the abbey in 1148, and is buried there with his consort Matilda of Boulogne, and his son, Eustace, the Earl of Boulogne. Stephen favoured the town because of the abbey, and so it was historically important during his reign. King John tried to give the church to Simon of Wells in 1201, but it was owned by the monks of St Augustine's Abbeyat Canterbury, who appealed to Rome and denied the request. Abbey Street was constructed around this time in order to provide an appropriate approach to the abbey from the town. It still houses timber framed buildings and has been described as "the finest medieval street in southeast England".
Sir Thomas Culpeper was granted Faversham Abbey by Henry VIII during the Dissolution of the Monasteries in 1538. Most of the abbey was demolished, and the remains of Stephen were rumoured to have been thrown into Faversham Creek. An excavation of the abbey in 1964 uncovered the empty graves. The entrance gates survived the demolition and lasted until the mid-18th century, but otherwise only a small section of outer wall survived. The abbey's masonry was taken to Calais to reinforce defence of the town, then in British possession, against the French army. In 1539, the ground upon which the abbey had stood, along with nearby land, passed to Sir Thomas Cheney, Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports.
Among the few surviving buildings of Faversham Abbey are the two barns at Abbey Farm. Minor Barn was built around 1425; Major Barn, the larger of the two, dates from 1476. Next to the barns is the Abbey Farmhouse, part of which dates from the 14th century. The Abbey Guest house, on the east side of the Abbey's Outer Gateway, has survived as Arden's House. This house, now a private residence in Abbey Street, was the location of the murder of Thomas Arden in 1551. The Faversham Almshouses were founded and endowed by Thomas Manfield in 1614, with additional houses being built by Henry Wright in 1823.
Due to the poor quality of roads in the middle ages, travel by sea was an important transport corridor. Richard Tylman (or Tillman), mayor in 1581, expanded the port at Faversham, building two wharfs. He became a key figure in exporting corn, wheat and malt to London from the town.
Several notable people in the middle ages had origins in Faversham. Haymo of Faversham was born in Faversham and later moved to Paris to join the Franciscans, becoming the "Aristotelian of Aristotelians".[27] Simon of Faversham was born in the town around the middle of the 13th century and later became Chancellor of the University of Oxford in 1304. The notorious pirate Jack Ward is believed to have been born in Faversham around 1553. John Wilson, lutenist and teacher was born in Faversham in 1595 who was the principal composer for the King's Men and a professor of music at Oxford. There is now a plaque at the site of the house in Abbey Street where he was born.
A gunpowder plant had been established around 1573 in Faversham. The town had a stream which could be dammed at intervals to provide power for watermills. It became known as the Home Works in the 18th century and was nationalised in 1759. By the 19th century, the site stretched for around a mile along the waterfront. A second explosive works was established at Oare to the northwest of town in the late 17th century, with the Marsh Works following in 1786. Towards the end of the 19th century, two new factories were built alongside the Swale to manage production of TNT and cordite. Faversham developed six explosive factories, and from 1874 to 1919, the town was the centre of the explosives industry in the UK.
The first production of guncotton took place in the Marsh Works in 1847. Due to a lack of experience with production methods, an explosion took place soon after work started, with several fatalities. On Sunday 2 April 1916, an explosion occurred at one of the Swale factories in Uplees after sparks from a chimney ignited the works containing around 150 tonnes of high explosives. The incident killed over 100 people, which led to decline of the explosives industry in the town. Later accounts suggested that had the incident not happened on a Sunday, there would have been many more casualties.
All three gunpowder factories closed in 1934 due to the impending threat of World War II. Production was moved to Ardeer in Ayrshire, Scotland, and the munition industry around Faversham is now extinct. The town is now a harbour and market community; old sail-powered Thames barges are repaired, rebuilt and moored along the creekside.
Kent is the centre of hop-growing in England, being centred on nearby Canterbury and Faversham has been the home of several breweries. The Shepherd Neame Brewery was officially founded in 1698, though brewing activities in Faversham pre-date this. The brewery claims to be the oldest in Britain and continues to be family-owned. The Rigden brewery was founded in the early 18th century by Edward Rigden. It subsequently merged with the Canterbury based George Beer in 1922 to become George Beer & Rigden before being purchased by the Maidstone based Fremlins. Whitbread bought out Fremlins in 1967, and closed the Faversham brewery in 1990. The site is now a Tesco superstore. Shepherd Neame remains a significant regional brewer despite a decline in consumption of traditional bitter beer, producing around 230,000 barrels a year. It now also makes India Pale Ale under licence.
A shipyard was established in Faversham by James Pollock & Sons (Shipbuilders) in 1916 at the request of Lord Fisher, the First Lord of The Admiralty, for manufacturing barges for landing craft. Faversham already had a tradition of shipbuilding, and it soon became a major contributor to markets throughout the world, producing vessels such as the Molliette and the Violette, both constructed of concrete. Over 1200 ships were built and launched from Faversham between 1916 and 1969.
Faversham Market is still held in the town centre. It is now the oldest street market in Kent, dating back over 900 years. Monthly markets are also held in Preston Street and Court Street.
Having been an important thoroughfare since the 12th century, Abbey Street went into decline around the start of the 20th. Some buildings on the street adjoining Quay Lane were demolished in 1892 and much of the entire street was intended for demolition as recently as the 1950s, until intervention from the Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings. Local people began a determined fight to restore and preserve the area. Faversham has a highly active archaeological society and a series of community archaeologyprojects are run every year. In 2009, evidence of the town's medieval tannery was unearthed in back gardens of one street, and evidence from the Saxon period was uncovered during the Hunt the Saxons project between 2005 and 2007.
finally done!
made from paper strips: 7 types with different length
- 2 types of black and 2 types of yellow strips, all of them go through the whole length of torus (yellow: 2 x 212 squares, 1 x 212 squares, black: 2 x 302 squares, 1 x 632 squares - but it's impossible to make a torus with such long strips, they must be divided to shorter strips)
- 1 type of orange strips, go through app. 3/5 of torus (5 x 170 squares)
- 2 types of brown strips, they are shortest (10 x 26 squares long, 5 x 56 squares long)
thanks to syngola and Daniel Kwan for very inspirative discussion :)
in the Capital city the filthy rich lives in Stratos-scrapers and levitating palaces, at ground level those with regular employment and some status lives...
Then at what is known to most as The cellar levels the poor and factory workers live in just above starvation and misery, if you travel even deeper to the grotto parts of the undercity hoards of savage mutants and outcast aliens and renegade droids live most people who doesn´t have to travel down here with out a platoon of bodyguard federations soldiers and 2-3 defense Bots and a dozen of pathfinders...
This is of cause not even the deepest levels, there are all sorts of rumors of different deep-city Abyssal levels...
since the contact between the different levels in the city, few above cellar-level knows anything about the deeper levels, some say there is huge mutated Dinos running around eating everything, some say a huge biological fleshy mutated mass spread it´s tentacles through the deepest levers incorporating all organic and some inorganic matter in to it´s huge swelling bloated mutant body... but the deepest levels are yet unexplored by "Civilized surface dwellers"
This picture depicts a common trap made by mutants and deep-level scum, the lure-trap goes like this, a mutant with special radio-active attributes such as tapping in to radio-messages or someone who has accidentally swallow a piece of communication tech and gotten this trait in that manner...
...anyway one of these gangers homes in on the radio of a random spacecraft and does his best to convince the victim pilot that they are ground control, then slowly lures the pilot down towards the landing strip which in reality is one of the vents leading deep in to the planet core...
before this the whole pack of underhivling scums have constructed a fake landing coarse and when the pilot lands they wait until the engines are turned off, then they all strike at once, coming from all corners with chains, hooks, chainsaws, pipes, magnets, tentacles and so on...
the pilot then usually tries to start his ship again, but since most spacecraft especially small fighter are lightweight because of economic reasons the pure mutant-body-weight is enough to pull it down, at the same time as they cling to the ship all starts bashing and hacking it, tearing it apart piece by piece in hope to maim it enough to prohibit flight, then at most time there will be fighting among the Hive-scum on which parts they are "the rightful" owners of, many are starving carnivores who see the pilot as a juicy pice of meat behind the thin crystal canopy...
Some pilots choose to eject themselves, with is an almost certain death at this cluttered level of the city, with metal and pipes sticking out everywhere and concrete wall, still the choose certain death rather than being ripped apart by brawling aliens and mutants fighting over dinner...
All Saints, Ramsholt, Suffolk
A new entry on the Suffolk Churches site: www.suffolkchurches.co.uk/ramsholt.htm
riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay. Ours was the marsh country, and from the strand I climb to the marsh gate, and there across the wide marshes stands All Saints. Here, thousands every year see Ramsholt church for the first time, and every time is like the first time. Now, I step out across the marshes, and in my mind I am Dickens's Pip, I am Joyce's Dedalus; signatures of all things am I here to read.
A bright, freezing day in January 2017, and a perfect day for cycling out to Ramsholt church. I caught the Lowestoft-bound train to Melton, and then cycled out along the long, busy peninsula road, the traffic quietening as it peeled off to bigger, less remote places. The fields flattened out, punctuated by wind-swept pines. The lanes narrowed, zig-zagging down the sides and along the ends of pre-enclosure strips. A sea of mud and ice caked the road surface, and soon almost every trace of human habitation had disappeared. Curlews and oyster-catchers huddled miserably in the open fields as I reached the end of the long lane which leads up to Ramsholt church.
Hardly anyone lives in this parish, but it still maintains several services a month as a result of the Anglican diocese's benefice system. Although this church is just about accessible by car, most people who visit here will come on foot. This is because, just beyond the lane that leads to the church, another lane leads down to the pub on the quayside, the Ramsholt Arms.
Today, this pub is one of the busiest in Suffolk. It hasn't always been so; When I moved to Suffolk thirty years ago you could come here on a sunny day and enjoy the silence of the shoreline as you sat behind your pint of Adnams. It was considered by those who knew of it one of the best kept secrets in the county. A peaceful, laid-back pub overlooking the wide river - what more could you want? The food was superb, and you could be assured of the friendliest of welcomes.
And then came the 1990s, and Suffolk was 'discovered'. It is hard to remember now just how unfashionable it had been before. As recently as 1986, Michael Palin could make a comedy film, East of Ipswich, about going on holiday with his parents in the years after the War to Southwold. Southwold! How absurd! Who would ever want to visit such a backwater, let alone go on holiday there!
Nowadays, it is hard to pick up a colour supplement without finding an article about some actor, or designer, or investment banker who has a holiday cottage near the mouth of the Deben or the Blyth. Foodie articles focus on Suffolk produce and Suffolk restaurants. House prices have rocketed; it simply isn't possible for young locals to live here any more. A beach hut recently exchanged hands in Southwold for about the same as my house in the middle of Ipswich is worth.
And places like Ramsholt are becoming overwhelmed. From being a quiet haven where you took your mum for lunch when she visited, the Ramsholt Arms has become a tourist pub, its large garden full on a summer's afternoon with yachting types up from London for the weekend. Does this sound snobbish? I'm sorry. But you might as well be in Southwold or Aldeburgh. I am seeing my lovely Suffolk destroyed, and it seriously pisses me off.
A large field has been converted to a tourist car park about half a mile before you reach the pub. You walk down onto the strand; although we are a good three miles from the sea, the beach is sandy, and children dig holes and build castles. The lazy river is shallow and slow, if a touch muddy, and paddling is certainly safer than it would be a couple of miles downstream at Bawdsey. The tide is very dramatic; at the turn, it retreats a hundred yards out in less than twenty minutes, leaving a vast expanse of shiny mudflats, an aerodrome for the seagulls.
You wander along the strand upstream,, taking care not to step on the samphire that grows there - I'll be along in the spring to harvest some of it, and I don't want it all trampled, thank you very much. You step up onto the level above, and through a gate onto the bridleway through the marshes. And you see the church for the first time.
From across the reeds, it rises dramatically above you. The round tower appears square at this distance, but as you come closer it begins to look oval, an illusion caused by the buttressing. A similar illusion occurs at Beyton, Suffolk's other buttressed round tower.
The bridleway winds leisurely across the flat marsh. But it is best to keep to it; deep channels snake among the reeds and gorse, and only the brown cattle that somehow find something to graze here seem sure of not falling into them.
If you have come here in spring, you are in for an absolute delight when you pass through the gate on the far side of the marsh. Here, a sunken lane winds up to the church. Until fifty or so years ago, these were so common, but most were either turned into roads, or allowed to return to nature. This one is lined by high banks, six feet or more, and they are a riot in spring of wild flowers and grasses. Poppies spangle them into the distance.
The lane climbs, and suddenly you reach the churchyard. It is about eight feet above you, and you can either continue up to the field and around to the north east, or there is a little stairway cut in the bank of the sunken lane. This takes you up into the graveyard itself.
It would be silly to call this a lonely place, because it has thousands of visitors every year, and unless you come in deepest winter as I did, you cannot be here for long without someone else turning up. But it is lonely in the sense that it is virtually all there is under the sky, apart from an impossibly pretty thatched farmhouse down in the dip beneath the church. The river stretches beyond the marshes (you can just make out the spire of Felixstowe St John on the horizon, some six miles away) and the air is empty except for plaintive bird cries and the wind in the reeds. On a hot, still day, even these are silenced, and you'll swear you can hear the distant clink of boat masts in the river, half a mile off.
This is an ancient place. There was a church here a thousand years ago, and perhaps the base of the tower survives from that time. The church is broadly Norman; the later medieval windows can't disguise this. North and south are strange sets of dumpy lancets, which could date from any time, I suppose. They allow you to see how thick the walls are.
However ancient All Saints is, the strongest resonances here are of the 18th century. This seems to be the last time the Parish was populated to any extent, and there are some superb 18th century headstones set in the wild grasses, including one with a sexton's tools. My four favourites are in a line, to the Waller family. The Wallers can still be found locally; they owned the living at nearby Waldringfield and presented their sons to the living. The last Waller rector of Waldringfield died in harness as recently as 2013. The location and pre-Tractarian character of the graveyard and church meant it provided a perfect setting for a recent BBC adaptation of Charles Dickens's Great Expectations (although the book is actually set in the north Kent marshes, of course).
Curiously, there are hardly any stones to the north of the church. This may be used as evidence for the myth that people are never buried on the north side of churches (in practice, they are - take a look at a few churchyards!) but I think it is simply that people here have chosen to be buried looking over the river - well, you would, wouldn't you.
As you step through the 19th century porch (the frontage is most unusual; bricks lining unknapped flintwork, like a seaside cottage) and into the open church (it is always open) you might be forgiven for thinking that the interior is also an 18th century survival. There are simple wooden box pews, a brick floor, a two-decker pulpit rising on the south side. It is all just about perfect.
In fact, all of this is the result of a restoration of the 1850s. In the first half of the 19th century, Ramsholt church was derelict; unused and unloved. The nave was open to the sky; the walls were 'green with damp'. It seems extraordinary that a church would be furnished in the prayerbook fashion at such a late date, although it probably reflects the predilections, and memories, of elderly churchwardens. Ramsholt is such a backwater that this was still thought to be the proper manner of furnishing a church. As you walk up to the altar, you'll notice that the seats face west, towards the pulpit, rather than east, towards the altar, a reminder that for 300 years it was the Word that was the focus of Anglican worship, not the Sacrament.
There's a nice late medieval font, which seems rather out of place here; you feel that a chunky Norman font, or one of those 18th century bird baths as at neighbouring Bawdsey, would be more appropriate. The simple Norman doorway into the tower seems to call out for the former. If you look through the cracks in the door, you'll see that the base of the tower has been furnished as a vestry.
The damp of the estuary inevitably creeps into this building still, but that is part of its charm. On a summer's day it is cooler inside than out, as if the church were holding on to the grip of winter. On a winter's day the church becomes a sanctuary, but in all seasons a serious house on serious earth... the ghostly silt not yet dispersed. There is something organic about this great oatmeal tower, and the way it and the sandy bluff merge into the reeds and pines above the Deben estuary, at one with its setting, its parish and its long generations.
And that is all there is to Ramsholt now. The pub, a farmhouse and the church, each about half a mile apart. And the marshes, and the water, and the wide Suffolk sky.
View On Black Nothing artistic, just a pic
I am perplexed...:-), first to see such a diverse array of facilities in one establishment, and second, which service would actually bring you here. Oh, and if this were one of those little IQ tests "one door doesn't belong"
Taken in Grand Forks ND,... ok my American friends explain away....:-)))
Today stripped 751 of useful parts, it only did three weeks back on the road since being stored over winter. It will depart for scrap later this week. A once strong fleet of four Alexander PS's now consists of just one (K779 DAO which by the way is the best one).
Central Florida has a large area where strip mining takes place. phosphate ore lies under the topsoil which is removed) then the ore (or matrix) is removed and begins a treating process.
Historic junkyards are scattered randomly all over my homeland. Often just a half-dozen vehicles like this, rolled down an embankment to rust in peace. These days, when your car dies, you'll more likely call up a local wrecker for the couple hundred bucks they offer. It's better than nothing. But back in the day, getting stripped for parts and pushed to the back of your property was a more likely scenario. On my hikes, out of the hundreds of wrecked cars I've encountered, fewer than five percent date from the past forty years. I discover them all over. Along fieldlines, in stream hollows, behind old barns and homesteads. I've come across a lot of school buses used as makeshift shelters while a cabin or cottage was being built. Often, they'll linger long after those structures have rotted. It may be the ugliest of all beauty, but an abandoned vehicle always marks me on the outskirts of adventure.
March 25, 2026
East Tremont, Nova Scotia
Year 19, Day 6709 of my daily journal.
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While it was against protocal, the Officer thought a back alley strip search was in order. And yet, Diego was more than willing to comply with an order.
72-21301(MSN 41967, OH-58C) to Kansas Highway Patrol as N970HP Oct 17, 1996. Stripped hulk for sale by GSA
Auctions at Lafayette, AL Jul24, for scrap only.
Where: Corner of West 56th Street and 8th Avenue in Manhattan, New York, USA.
When: Mid-September 2011.
What: A young couple crossing the street.
Central Florida has a large area where strip mining takes place. Phosphate ore lies under the topsoil which is removed, then the ore (or matrix) is removed and begins a treating process.