Girls with Big Cameras
View allAll Photos Tagged euphemism
If you need to ask what relevance the title has to the image, you've probably landed on this stream by mistake. 😯
This is another of the delightful bucks that I had the privilege of photographing this autumn season. They were all in places safe from blood "sport" enthusiasts (euphemism), so other wildlife fans should be able to enjoy them like I did.
“The text also just grows increasingly garbled. For instance, here it says that our new subway system will streamline the rush-hour commute, but about halfway down, it's a series of nearly indecipherable glyphs our experts insist hint at "non-Euclidian emotions" and "appeasement" (though we think this may be a euphemism for "fares").”
― Joseph Fink, The Great Glowing Coils of the Universe
From the Waterfront Mall looking across to Table Mountain with the "Table Cloth" covering the top. Euphemism for howling South Easterly wind that comes tearing through the city. Best time to visit Cape Town, March or April, the locals are back at school, the edge is off the heat and the winds have died down. If you do wind related sports, January and February are the perfect times to be blown away.
Virga are trails of precipitation that fall from the underside of a cloud but evaporate or sublime before it can reach the earth's surface. This happens when falling rain or ice passes through an area of dry or warm air.
The Spanish verga comes from the Latin virga, meaning “rod” or “staff.” Before the word even evolved into Spanish, Latin authors as early as the sixth century were using virga as a euphemism for penis. Rod, penis ….
No crop.
Here's a close-up of the (Banded) Grass Snake I found on a local reservoir last week. I first saw him swimming across the reservoir (and I can tell it's a male by the slender head). Then he messed around in the water close to the bank before submerging and hiding among vegetation. But after a few minutes he popped his head up and just sat motionless for at least half an hour. He was still sat there when I left. I managed to capture this close-up of his head protruding from the water surface using a 700mm lens (hand held). Something about the eye detail reminded me of a total eclipse. This is the first Grass Snake I have seen in my local area despite having visited this reservoir hundreds of times over the last thirty years. And I would not have seen this one had I not spotted him swimming across the smooth water.
Genetic research has shown that British Grass Snakes, plus those in western Europe differ from those in Eastern Europe. We used to classify ours as subspecies helvetica of Natrix natrix, but they have now been split as a full species (Natrix helvetica) that is called Barred Grass Snake. Linnaeus described "Eastern" Grass Snake from Sweden, so that species retains the name Natrix natrix.
And one final thing; Did you know that Snake Eyes is a euphemism for the worst possible outcome? The expression comes from America where in Dice (or Craps as they call it) a double one, the worst possible throw, is known as Snake Eyes.
Virga are trails of precipitation that fall from the underside of a cloud but evaporate or sublime before it can reach the earth's surface. This happens when falling rain or ice passes through an area of dry or warm air.
The Spanish verga comes from the Latin virga, meaning “rod” or “staff.” Before the word even evolved into Spanish, Latin authors as early as the sixth century were using virga as a euphemism for penis. Rod, penis ….
No crop.
HMMM! youtu.be/PjFoQxjgbrs
East Beckwith Mountain (el. 12,432 ft) is in the Wilderness of theWest Elk Mountains in Colorado. Its flanks are densely packed with clones of quaking aspen, Populous tremuloides, which can be identified by differences in bark color (white, green, tan) or leaf color in fall, as here.
The foreground is a talus slope, a steep slope or ravine covered with fractured rock. Although it looks barren, a patient and immobile observer will be rewarded with the appearance of pikas, small mammals related to hares and rabbits. After taking this shot, I stood still for a few minutes and several pika appeared and began to forage. One came up on the path that I had been walking on and began to feed on road apples, a euphemism for horse manure. The horses feed the pikas regularly.
Amgueddfa Wlân Genedlaethol Cymru/ Welsh National Wool Museum - Tre-fach Felindre, Sir Gaerfyrddin/ Carmarthenshire ▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️"Pan fo Moslemiaid yn cael eu lladd mewn drwy hil-laddiad, rhyfel yw e yn hytrach na glanhau ethnig.
Pan fo Moslemiaid yn cael eu bomio, diogelwch yw e yn hytrach na llofruddio plant.
Pan fo Moslemiaid yn cael eu goresgyn, ardal ddiogel yw hi yn hytrach na meddiannu.
Pan fo Moslemiaid yn gwrthsefyll, brawychaeth yw hi yn hytrach na hunanamddiffyn.
Defnyddia'r cyfryngau eiriau teg i reoli'r naratif. Mae'r cyfryngau'n rhan o'r cydgynllwynio." ---- Mohamad safa ▪️"When Muslims are being genocided, it is a war and not ethnic cleansing.
When Muslims are being bombed, it is security and not murdering children.
When Muslims are being invaded, it is safe zone and not occupation.
When Muslims resist, it is terrosim and not self-defense.
The media uses euphemisms to control the narrative. The media is complicit." - Mohamad safa
Tursiops truncatus,
Off the Cayucos Pier,
Cayucos, San Luis Obispo Co., California
After many foggy mornings recently, when the sun came out this morning I was hoping to see something picturesque from the Cayucos Pier. But I had no idea there would be dolphins cavorting (that's a euphemism for “eating lots of fish”). Several small groups that probably totaled nearly 20 went about it for well over an hour.
'Feeding Seagulls' is now a euphemism for the act of ridding oneself of semi-digested food via the oral cavity.
Of course there's a story behind it. It involves Saltburn, our eldest, fish & chips and Jeremy Corben. Oh, and seagulls.
Those poor, poor seagulls.
Incidentally, this is the middle child.
Portrait of an artist in Hertfordshire. Still painting, still teaching others how to paint. It would be a euphemism to say that she is young at heart. She is young at heart. And curious. It is not the mind that makes her feel tired. It is the body that is letting her down. It is what it is.
The first time I heard this phrase was many years ago when I attended a seminar at Keele University and another one of the delegates was "carried out" feeling a "little tired and emotional" at the farewell dinner. Naively, I thought something had happened to upset her. It wasn't until the next morning that someone explained to me that it was a euphemism for being drunk - lol
I could sleep again,
I hadn't to stay up during the night but I went to bed a little later.
A night without interruption, without going down to the bathroom,
without another big portion of magnesium and L-Tryptophan is a good night.
The cold weather helps.
No wake up in a sea of sweat,
no feeling to find myself in a desert storm.
Normally I leave the surface between 21 and 22 pm. I need more consistency in my routines.
There was nothing Sweet Fanny Adams could do other than just suck it up.
She just hoped her cordless vacuum cleaner's battery would last.
Afternoon at the Abattoir
Abattoir is a more formal name for buildings where large-scale, mechanized, regulated and inspected killing of animals is carried out. In other words, a nice euphemism for slaughterhouse. Although this is the rather unpleasant part of our foodchain, it is the culinary gateway to the market. So, please do care what kind of meat you buy and where it comes from. I wanted to experience the actual status of the meat packing industry, and it was disgusting. Btw, no animal got harmed for this shot.
"Away The Crow Road" (apparently a Scots' euphemism for being dead)
Drawing the curtains Friday evening and preparing for an early night I couldn't help but notice the foggy halo round the street lights out the back and the dark sky up above the fog pricked with crisp stars. I grabbed my gear and headed for The Crow Road over the Campsie Fells. Once there I shot a few car-trails then headed a short way up the hill to shoot star-trails. I lay on the cold hillside for an hour and a half while the camera recorded. The mist writhed along the flats lit from within by house & street lights. Planes wheeled and approached Glasgow airport and here and there cars negotiated the icy roads. It was very cold.
video here youtu.be/8vxcWStHiyI
A fishmonger (historically fishwife for female practitioners) is someone who sells raw fish and seafood. Fishmongers can be wholesalers or retailers, and are trained at selecting and purchasing, handling, gutting, boning, filleting, displaying, merchandising and selling their product. In some countries modern supermarkets are replacing fishmongers who operate in shops or fish markets.
The fishmongers guild, one of the earliest guilds, was established in the City of London by a Royal Charter granted by Edward I shortly after he became king in 1272. Partnership with foreigners was forbidden and the sale of fish was tightly controlled to ensure freshness and restrain profit, which was limited to one penny in the shilling. Nevertheless, the guild grew rich and, after Edward's victory over the Scots, was able to make a great show, including one thousand mounted knights.
During the reign of Edward II, the political power of the fishmongers waned and Parliament decreed that no fishmonger could become mayor of the city. This was soon rescinded and their wealth increased further so that, during the reign of Edward III, the guild could provide £40 to the war against the French, this being a great sum at that time.
The guild was then reformed by Great Charter as the Mystery of the Fishmongers of London. They were given a monopoly over the crying and selling of fish and they regulated the catching of fish in the Thames which teemed with fish such as salmon at that time. The guild still continues today as one of the Great Twelve City Livery Companies.
In many countries, the fishwife was proverbial for her sharp tongue and outspoken speech. In Medieval France, the ones in Paris were known for their special privilege of being able to speak frankly to the King himself, when he ventured into the marketplace, and voice criticism without fear of punishment.
Molly Malone is a character from a popular Irish song about a young fishwife who tragically dies at a young age.
Charles Fort in his book Lo! compiles the story of the Mad Fishmonger or "St. Fishmonger", which later may or may not appear in the Schrödinger's Cat Trilogy by Robert Anton Wilson. St. Fishmonger allegedly caused crabs and periwinkles to fall from the sky.
In the English translation of the Asterix series, the village fishmonger is called Unhygienix. In the film The Beach, the Island's chef has only fish as a source of meat, and is named Unhygienix in reference to the Asterix character.
In Shakespeare's Hamlet, some contend that the word fishmonger was a euphemism for a "fleshmonger" or pimp. Source Wikipedia.
TD : Agfapan 100 Professional 35mm film, developed in D-76 1+1 for 7 minutes. Exposure ISO 100 @35mm lens, natural daylight. Scanned with Alpha 6000 edited in ACR, inverted in CS6.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
For nearly a year Lettice had been patiently awaiting the return of her then beau, Selwyn Spencely, son of the Duke of Walmsford, after being sent to Durban by his mother, Lady Zinnia in an effort to destroy their relationship which she wanted to end so that she could marry Selwyn off to his cousin, Pamela Fox-Chavers. Having been made aware by Lady Zinnia in October last year that during the course of the year, whilst Lettice had been biding her time, waiting for Selwyn’s eventual return, he had become engaged to the daughter of a Kenyan diamond mine owner whilst in Durban. Fleeing Lady Zinnia’s Park Lane mansion, Lettice returned to Cavendish Mews and milled over her options over a week as she reeled from the news. Then, after that week, she knew exactly what to do to resolve the unpleasant issues raised by Lady Zinnia’s unwelcome news about her son. Taking extra care in her dress, she took herself off to the neighbouring upper-class London suburb of Belgravia and paid a call upon Sir John Nettleford-Hughes.
As an eligible man in a aftermath of the Great War when such men are a rare commodity, with a vast family estate in Bedfordshire, houses in Mayfair, Belgravia and Pimlico and Fontengil Park in Wiltshire, quite close to the Glynes estate belonging to her parents, Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, invited Sir John as a potential suitor to her 1922 Hunt Ball, which she used as a marriage market for Lettice. Although she did not become engaged to him then, Lettice did reacquaint herself with Sir John at an amusing Friday to Monday long weekend party held by mutual friends Sir John and Lady Gladys Caxton at their Scottish country estate in 1924. To her surprise, Lettice found Sir John’s company rather enjoyable. She then ran into him again later that year at the Portland Gallery’s autumn show in Soho, where she found him yet again to be a pleasant and attentive companion for much of the evening. Sir John also made a proposition to her that night: he offered her his hand in marriage should she ever need it. More like a business arrangement than a marriage proposal, Sir John offered Lettice the opportunity to enjoy the benefits of his large fortune, be chatelain of all his estates and continue to have her interior design business, under the conditions that she agree to provide him with an heir, and that he be allowed to discreetly carry on his affairs in spite of their marriage vows. He even suggested that Lettice might be afforded the opportunity to have her own extra marital liaisons if she were discreet about them. When Lettice’s understanding with Selwyn Spencely, son of the Duke of Walmsford, fell apart, Lettice agreed to Sir John’s proposal. Then, during the General Strike* that almost brought the nation to a standstill, Selwyn and Lettice were reintroduced, and she found out that Selwyn wasn’t engaged to another woman at all, as she was led to believe by Lady Zinnia, and it had all been a fabrication, leaving her in a quandary over what to do: break her engagement with Sir John and marry the man she truly loves and has never stopped loving, or remain engaged to Sir John, preserving his honour and the good name of her own family. Eventually, with some careful persuasion from friends, Lettice made the decision to end her engagement.
Thus, today we find ourselves at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie and his wife Arabella. Lettice is visiting her family home after breaking her engagement to wealthy Sir John Nettleford-Hughes, hoping to lay low and keep out of London whilst the sensation of her broken engagement becomes the talk over every breakfast table, ladies luncheon at Gunter’s** and society dinner at the Savoy***. Old enough to be Lettice’s father, Sir John was, until their ill-fated engagement, still a bachelor, and according to London society gossip intended to remain so, so that he might continue to enjoy his dalliances with a string of pretty chorus girls of Lettice’s age and younger. For the sake of her family’s reputation and her own, she hopes that confining herself to Glynes for the duration will allow her to avoid any gossip or speculation as to why she ceased her engagement to Sir John.
Lettice’s oldest and closest childhood chum and family neighbour, Gerald Bruton, brought Lettice down from London in his Morris Cowley four-seat tourer****, staying at his own home Bruton Hall with his parents Lord and Lady Bruton and his elder brother Roland, remaining close at hand to Lettice, should she fee that she needs him. And it is Gerald’s motor we now see speeding up the gravel driveway towards Glynes before drawing to a halt outside the front steps. Gerald is answering a summons from Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, to call on her for morning tea. Although a mother asking for her daughter’s closest friend to pay a call is nothing unusual, Lady Sadie has barely spoken a word to Gerald in four years, ever since he upset her at the Hunt Ball of 1922 by speaking some unwelcome home truths that she didn’t want to hear. Thus it is with a mixture of interest and dread that Gerald accepts her invitation.
As Gerald steps out of the Morris, he sighs with trepidation, looking up at the classical columned façade of Lettice’s beloved childhood home, a second home to him as a child and often a happier one for him than Bruton Hall was. He removes his motoring goggles**** and tosses them onto the russet coloured leather of the front passenger seat. Its elegant proportions bask in the autumnal morning sunshine. “And what does Sadie want with me, I wonder?” Gerald asks aloud nervously, receiving only the pretty twittering of the birds playing in the immediate surrounding grounds of the property.
The double doors to the Georgian mansion open and Bramley, the Chetwynd’s butler, walks out onto the front steps. Gerald slams the driver’s side door of his Morris, walks around the car and ascends the sweeping steps.
“Good morning, Mr. Bruton.” Bramley says warmly with a deferential nod of his head towards the young man.
“Hullo Bruton old bean!” Gerald replies with a bright joviality that he hopes doesn’t betray the sense of dread he feels. “Is Lettice at home.”
“Miss Lettice has gone down to the Dower House to visit Mrs. Chetwynd.” Bramley replies, referring to Arabella, who along with Leslie, call the Dower House their home whilst the Viscount is still master of Glynes. “And Her Ladyship is expecting you in the morning room.” he adds with gravitas.
“Ahh.” Gerald gulps. “Yes… well…” Suddenly any false bravado falls away. “It… it is her summons to which I’m responding.”
“I am aware of that, Mr. Bruton.” Bramley replies with a polite and benevolent smile.
“And…” the younger man begins, taking a sharp intake of breath. “And how does Her Ladyship seem today, Bramley?”
“I really couldn’t say, Mr. Bruton.” Bramley replies with unflappable reservation.
“Your stoicism gives me no solace, old bean.”
“Then perhaps if I tell you that Mrs. Casterton has made one of her chocolate cream sponges at Her Ladyship’s request, might that assuage your concerns, sir?”
Gerald releases a pent-up breath from his chest. “Perhaps, Bruton old bean. Perhaps.”
Gerald walks past the butler and into the lofty hall of Glynes where Moira, one of the more senior Glynes maids stands ready to accept his leather gauntlet gloves***** and his cream leather motoring coat****** as he shirks it from his shoulders, revealing his country tweeds******* – a Norfolk Jacket******* and plus-fours*********.
“Still can’t get a replacement for Marsden, eh Bramley?” Gerald asks with levity as he glances at Bramley over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming cheekily as he refers to the Chetwynd’s first footman who, with his height and smouldering good looks**********, left the household staff to become a moving picture actor after falling in love with the American actress Wanetta Ward, one of Lettice’s former interior design customers, who joined Islington Studios*********** before being coaxed back across the Atlantic to America and the bright lights of Hollywood.
“First Footmen are a rare commodity in these parts these days,” Bramley bristles. “As I’m sure you are aware, Mr. Bruton.”
“Good god man! We haven’t been grand enough at Bruton Hall to have a footman for years now. Surely you know that.” He hands his tweed flat cap*********** to Moira. “I’m only grateful we have enough pretence of gentility to still have a decrepit old butler and a cook whose rock cakes are even harder than real rocks.”
Even the unflappable Bramley cannot help but smirk, almost imperceptibly at Gerald’s comical remarks about his financially precarious parent’s staff.
“Well,” Gerald sighs. “I suppose I had best get on with it then, hadn’t I?” he asks rhetorically.
“I’ll show you in, Sir.” Bramley says, leading Gerald just down the passageway to the double doors to the morning room.
“Mr. Bruton, Your Ladyship.” Bruton announces loudly as he opens the doors and stands to one side, allowing Gerald to step into the morning room.
The Glynes morning room is very much Lady Sadie’s preserve, and the original classical Eighteenth Century design has been overlayed with the comfortable Edwardian clutter of continual and conspicuous acquisition that is the hallmark of a lady of her age and social standing. China cabinets of beautiful porcelain line the walls. Clusters of mismatched chairs unholstered in cream fabric, tables and a floral chaise lounge, all from different eras, fill the room: set up to allow for the convivial conversation of the great and good of the county after church on a Sunday. The hand painted Georgian wallpaper can barely be seen for paintings and photographs in ornate gilded frames. The marble mantelpiece is covered by Royal Doulton figurines and more photos in silver frames. Several vases of flowers stand on occasional tables, but even their fragrance cannot smother Lady Sadie’s Yardley Lily of the Valley************ scent.
And there Lady Sadie sits dressed in a tweed skirt and powder blue cardigan with her double strand of pearls at her throat, in her favourite cream coloured satin Chippendale armchair drawn up to the crackling fireplace, contentedly reading one of her periodicals. “Ahh! Gerald!” she says with a brittle smile, closing the magazine on fashion she holds. Her eyes dart to a small, gilded mantle clock sitting on a side table. “And right on time.” Her gaze returns to Gerald. “Please, do come in.” With a sweeping gesture, she indicates to the smaller, low backed and rather eccentrically styled salon chair she reserves for guests. Between the two seats, tea things for two, and Mrs. Casterton the cook’s dark chocolate double decker sponge with cream oozing from between the layers, stand on a low occasional table. “Thank you, Bramley,” she says loftily to her faithful family retainer. “That will be all.”
“Very good, Your Ladyship.” he replies with a deep bow, gently closing the doors behind him.
Gerald wends his way around Lady Sadie’s collection of clustered occasional furniture until he arrives at her side.
“Good morning, Lady Sadie.” he says a little awkwardly.
“Please, do sit, Gerald.” Lady Sadie says again, indicating as before to the seat opposite her.
Gerald sits, albeit uncomfortably, perched on the chair’s white figured satin upholstered seat.
“Do you still take your tea with two sugars, Gerald?” his hostess asks as she takes up one of her rose decorated Royal Doulton floral teacups in one hand, and a sugar lump************* between the teeth of her sugar tongs************** in the other of her bejewelled hands.
“I do, Lady Sadie!” he replies in surprise. “How kind of you to remember.”
“I have a very good memory for such things, Gerald.” she replies with a proud air as she pours tea from her bulbous silver teapot into his cup over two sugar cubes. She then adds a splash of milk from the silver jug which matches the teapot before handing it to her guest.
“Thank you, Lady Sadie.” Gerald says, accepting the tea from his hostess. “I… err…”
“Cake, Gerald?” Lady Sadie interrupts him, her voice cutting his off. “It’s Mrs. Casterston’s best chocolate sponge, light and fluffy.”
“Err… thank you.” Gerald replies a little warily.
He watches as Lady Sadie expertly slices two pieces of cake, the first of which she hands to him.
As Gerald accepts it, he cannot hold back any longer, stating awkwardly, “You will forgive me, Lady Sadie, but I must confess that I was more than a little surprised to receive your invitation to tea.” He looks at the cake on the plate sitting on the edge of the table next to his as of yet untouched tea, from which curlicues of steam arise. “And now Mrs. Casterton’s best chocolate sponge?”
“Yes,” Lady Sadie answers sinking back into the upholstered comfort of her wingback chair, taking up her cup. “I imagine you would have found my invitation a little odd.”
“Especially since we have barely exchanged a word in well over three years.”
“I’m a proud woman, Gerald.” Lady Sadie begins.
“You have much to be proud of, Lady Sadie,” Gerald says. “You have a beautiful home and a happy marriage. You are an upstanding member of county society.” he adds to flatter her, even though he knows that the pride she is referring to is that as a flaw in her character. “And children to be proud of.”
“Well three at any rate.” the older woman corrects him with a chuckle of embarrassment and a self-conscious pat of her grey marcelled waves*************** framing her thin aging face.
Gerald doesn’t say anything about Lady Sadie’s selfish and cruel errant second son, Lionel, banished to a farm in the Aberdare Range**************** in British East Africa***************** after putting one too many of the Chetwynd maids in the family way amongst a litany of misdemeanours.
“Thank you, but you know I am talking of my own pride, Gerald.” Lady Sadie says with a rueful smile. “It can sometimes lead me to making some foolish and rash mistakes.” She pauses for a moment before continuing. “And it makes it difficult for me to admit to the fact that sometimes I am wrong, and,” She sighs heavily. “To apologise and make amends.”
“Is that what this is about?” Gerald asks, indicating to the tea and cake laid out before them. “Making amends?”
Lady Sadie nods shallowly with embarrassment, reaching up and clasping the two strands of creamy pearls at her throat. “I wanted to apologise for the way I treated you, after the Hunt Ball. I misjudged you for what you said.”
“Well, I probably said quite a great deal that night, Lady Sadie.” Gerald murmurs. “I had indulged somewhat on the Viscount’s largess that evening, and I was rather tight******************. I’m not quite sure what I said to offend you, but I’m sure you have nothing to apologise for, Lady Sadie.” He blushes as he picks up his tea and raises the cup to his lips. “It probably goes the other way, entirely.”
“Oh, on the contrary, Gerald.” Lady Sadie insists. “It is true that you had imbibed rather that night, and perhaps your delivery left a little something to be desired, but what you said was true enough.”
“What did I say, Lady Sadie?”
“You tried to warn me.”
“Warn you?”
“About Lady Zinnia, and the fact that she wouldn’t just let Selwyn marry Lettice if he fell in love with her – as I now know, is what came to fruition.”
“Ahh…” Gerald murmurs knowingly after taking a sip of tea. “So, Lettice has told you about Lady Zinnia’s duplicitous skullduggery, then.”
“Indeed she has!” the older woman replies loftily, depositing her cup of tea next to her slice of cake on the table beside her. “And to stoop to such low tactics and deep seeded scheming in order to come between Selwyn and Lettice, well it’s… it’s,” She cannot quite think of the words. “Well, it’s quite reprehensible!”
“I agree.”
“And you see, in my foolish pride, I misjudged you and what you said. You said it as a warning to me: a warning that I didn’t heed.”
“I’ll have to take your words for that, Lady Sadie.” Gerald admits, feeling the heat of the flush in his cheeks as he blushes deeply. “As I can’t honestly remember saying any such thing to you, well meaning or otherwise.”
“I thought you were jealous of Lettice and Selwyn’s attraction.”
“Jealous?” Gerald’s eyes widen in surprise.
“Yes.” Lady Sadie admits. “I always thought you wanted to marry her, you see?”
Gerald nearly chokes on his mouthful of tea, and struggles not to splatter it out over his hostess and the tea things. Gulping it down he coughs heavily a few times before asking, “Me? Marry Lettice?”
“My husband always tried to disabuse me of the idea, but I was convinced that because you and Lettice grew up together, and that you get along as well as you do, that you just naturally assumed that you’d marry her. You are an eligible bachelor after all.”
“I can assure you, Lady Sadie,” Gerald replies, depositing his cup back onto the table and raising his hands in defence. “That I have never had any designs on Lettice.” He shakes his head. “She has only ever been, and only ever will be my friend.”
“Yes, I know that now, Gerald.” Lady Sadie replies. “But I didn’t at the time. However, now that revelations about you have been made clear to me.” She takes a sip of her tea and smiles at Gerald. “I can see far more clearly what you are.”
“And… err… what revelations might those be, Lady Sadie?” Gerald asks gingerly, the tightness he had felt in his stomach when he arrived at Glynes returning. Did Lady Sadie know he was a homosexual*******************? Surely Lettice would never have betrayed him like that!
“That you have been such a good friend to Lettice of course, Gerald!” Lady Sadie chuckles in reply. “A man determined to marry Lettice would not have gone out of his way to reintroduce her to the man with whom she had an understanding – a man whom she thought she had lost to another.”
“Oh!” Gerald sighs and for the first time settles back a little more comfortably in his seat. “Whatever Lady Zinnia may yet try to stop the union between my daughter and her son, it is you I have to thank for putting the wheels in motion to rekindle their acquaintance, and help her come to her senses and break from that awful Sir John Nettleford-Hughes.”
Gerald knows that Sir John and Lettice’s friend, world famous British concert pianist, Sylvia Fordyce, is really the one responsible for swaying Lettice into breaking her engagement to Sir John, but right now, Gerald isn’t going to argue anything that Lady Sadie says to the contrary that will restore him to her good graces.
“I always thought you liked, Sir John, Lady Sadie. After all, you were the one who invited him to your Hunt Ball as a potential match for Lettice, back in 22.”
“Well, that was an error of judgement on my side.” Lady Sadie says dourly. “I know some things about Sir John too,” She clears her throat awkwardly. “Things I’d prefer not to speak of, if you don’t mind, which make him a most unsuitable match for Lettice.”
“As you wish, Lady Sadie.” Gerald acquiesces.
“Anyway, I don’t wish to speak of Sir John.” Lady Sadie continues with a dismissive wave. “I believe it is also you I have to thank for putting in motion the discovery of Lady Zinnia’s underhanded scheming.”
“Well, I only suggested that we hire a Pinkerton******************** because I thought the situation warranted it”
“It is very good of you to risk your own reputation by hiring a Private Inquiry Agent********************* under your name rather than Lettice’s, Gerald.” Lady Sadie goes on. “Truly, I’m most grateful.”
Gerald leans forward in his seat. “Your daughter is my oldest and best childhood chum, Lady Sadie. I’d do anything for her.”
Lady Sadie smiles gratefully, reaches out and pats Gerald’s left hand resting on his knee with her right hand.
“I know you would, Gerald, and that’s why I’m trying to make amends, and to seek your forgiveness. I judged you incorrectly, and I mistreated you as a result. I froze you out of Glynes, which was always your second home when growing up. I hope you now know that you are very welcome here.”
Gerald doesn’t answer straight away, but when he does, it is with a broad smile. “I do now, Lady Sadie. And I know Mummy will be pleased to hear it, too. She always worried about the schism that had formed between our two families.”
“Well, Gwenyth doesn’t have to worry any longer, does she?”
“No, Lady Sadie.” Gerald replies. “And I shall have the greatest of pleasure going home to Bruton Hall after this, and telling her so.”
Lady Sadie smiles happily too. “Oh, and I meant to say that no matter what may or many not happen between Selwyn and Lettice, Lettice has been insistent that you make her wedding frock, and I’d be delighted if you would consent. Who better qualified is there to make her the perfect outfit, but her best and oldest friend?”
“Thank you, Lady Sadie.” Gerald beams. “I’d be very honoured, and only too glad to so.”
“Good! That’s settled then!” the older woman says, nestling comfortably into her seat.
“Although we have a while yet before that happens,” Gerald cautions as he picks up his plate of cake and drives his fork through the cake’s apex. “Certainly if Lady Zinnia has anything to do with it.”
“Then lady Zinnia has a great deal to learn about the Chetwynd women then, doesn’t she?” Lady Sadie remarks with a defiant air.
Cluttered with paintings, photographs and furnishings, Lady Sadie’s morning room with its Georgian and Victorian furnishings is different from what you might think, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my collection including pieces from my own childhood.
*The 1926 General Strike was a nine-day nationwide stoppage in the United Kingdom between the third and twelfth of May. It was called by the Trades Union Congress (TUC) to support over a million coal miners facing wage cuts and longer hours. Following "Black Friday" in 1921, miners faced a lockout after refusing "not a penny off the pay, not an hour on the day" wage reductions and longer hours. About one point seven million workers paralysed transport, printing, and heavy industries temporarily. Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin's Conservative government declared a state of emergency, using volunteers and the military to maintain essential supplies and transport. The government produced the British Gazette to counter the strikers' message. The TUC ended the strike on May the twelfth, 1926, fearing it was moving toward a revolutionary, anti-democratic action. The miners remained locked out until the autumn, eventually accepting lower pay and longer hours, without securing any concessions.
**Gunter’s (officially Gunter’s Tea Shop) was London’s most famous and exclusive confectionery, catering, and high-society eatery. The business was founded in 1757 at numbers 7 to 8 Berkeley Square, in Mayfair, by an Italian pastry chef named Domenico Negri. He originally named it The Pot and Pineapple. The pineapple was chosen because it was the ultimate Georgian symbol of wealth, luxury, and exotic indulgence. In 1777, an Englishman named James Gunter entered into a partnership with Negri. By 1799, Gunter became the sole proprietor and rebranded the establishment under his own name. In the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries, freezing technology was rare and expensive. Gunter’s became globally renowned for its exotic "ices," sorbets, and ice creams. They served dramatic flavours like pine, bergamot, maple, jasmine, and even Parmesan, often frozen into intricate pewter moulds shaped like fruits or meats. Gunter’s was famous for a unique social phenomenon. Because the shop itself was small, wealthy patrons would park their open-topped horse carriages under the plane trees of Berkeley Square. Waiters would dodge traffic to sprint across the road, bringing rapidly melting ice cream right to the carriages. Gunter's wasn't just a cafe; they were massive high-end event caterers. They provided the food, multi-tiered "bride cakes," and sugar architecture for royal balls and elite weddings, including making the wedding cake for Queen Victoria’s granddaughter in 1889.
***The Savoy Hotel is a luxury hotel located in the Strand in the City of Westminster in central London. Built by the impresario Richard D'Oyly Carte with profits from his Gilbert and Sullivan opera productions, it opened on 6 August 1889. It was the first in the Savoy group of hotels and restaurants owned by Carte's family for over a century. The Savoy was the first hotel in Britain to introduce electric lights throughout the building, electric lifts, bathrooms in most of the lavishly furnished rooms, constant hot and cold running water and many other innovations. Carte hired César Ritz as manager and Auguste Escoffier as chef de cuisine; they established an unprecedented standard of quality in hotel service, entertainment and elegant dining, attracting royalty and other rich and powerful guests and diners. The hotel became Carte's most successful venture. Its bands, Savoy Orpheans and the Savoy Havana Band, became famous. Winston Churchill often took his cabinet to lunch at the hotel. The hotel is now managed by Fairmont Hotels and Resorts. It has been called "London's most famous hotel". It has two hundred and sixty seven guest rooms and panoramic views of the River Thames across Savoy Place and the Thames Embankment. The hotel is a Grade II listed building.
****Morris Motors Limited was a privately owned British motor vehicle manufacturing company established in 1919. With a reputation for producing high-quality cars and a policy of cutting prices, Morris's business continued to grow and increase its share of the British market. By 1926 its production represented forty-two per cent of British car manufacturing. Amongst their more popular range was the Morris Cowley which included a four-seat tourer which was first released in 1920.
*****Motoring goggles were essential in open cars such as a Morris Cowley, which was open at the sides and had a retractable fold-down top. Goggles protected against dust, insects, and flying grit. Celluloid lenses were typical of motoring goggles in the 1920s.
*****Gauntlet gloves were long leather gloves extending past the wrist. Made of hard-wearing leather, and softly lined, the provided grip on the wooden steering wheels of the 1920s and protection from cold.
*******Even though motorcar technology and comfort had been improving for at least a decade since the early days of popular motoring, motoring clothes were still essential for a driver, and often passengers, offering practical protection from the cold and dirt of the roads, yet doing so in a stylish and very specific way. A must have for any driver was a motoring coat, usually made from leather or tweed, they were heavy, long, often double breasted and lined with sheepskin or fur for warmth.
********In 1920s England, a gentleman in the country dressed very differently from his city self. The look was practical, tweedy, layered, and built for shooting, riding, rambling, and estate life — not for London formality.
*********A Norfolk Jacket is the classic country coat, with belt and pleats for ease of movement, and large pockets designed for cartridges and field gear. Usually made of brown, green, or herringbone tweed, they are durable and are weather resistant. The Norfolk jacket is still a staple of country wear today, and is one of the most iconic pieces of traditional British country clothing.
**********Plus-fours are loose-fitting breeches or trousers that extend four inches below the knee, popular for sports like golf and shooting, especially in the 1920s. They were designed for comfort, allowing for unrestricted movement during activities like walking, hiking, or swinging a golf club. They are named for the extra four inches of material that hang over the knee band, which is more than the two inches found on "plus twos". They offered more freedom of movement than traditional shorter knickerbockers. Introduced around the 1920s, they were heavily popularised by the Prince of Wales (later Edward VIII), and became a staple of sporting fashion for men and sometimes women. These are typically worn with knee-high stockings and often paired with brogue shoes, knee-high socks, and braces. Plus-fours provided comfort and warmth when motoring in open cars.
**********Footmen were historically chosen for their height (typically over six feet) primarily as a display of wealth, acting as a luxury status symbol, similar to a "matched team of horses" for wealthy households. Tall, strong, and handsome footmen in elaborate livery served to impress visitors, while also providing practical utility as bodyguards, messengers, and coach attendants.
***********Islington Studios, often known as Gainsborough Studios, were a British film studio located on the south bank of the Regent's Canal, in Poole Street, Hoxton in Shoreditch, London which began operation in 1919. By 1920 they had a two stage studio. It is here that Alfred Hitchcock made his entrée into films.
***********A tweed flat cap extremely common for country driving amongst the upper-classes, even though flat caps were traditionally known as a working man’s cap.
************Yardley’s Lily of the Valley is one of the longest lived and most iconic English floral fragrances — a true heritage scent with more than a century of history behind it. Yardley began producing single note floral fragrances in the late Victorian era, building on its reputation for lavender. Lily of the Valley appears in Yardley catalogues by the early 1900s, initially as soap and talcum powder, not yet as a standalone perfume. By the 1920s, Yardley had formalised Lily of the Valley as one of its core floral lines. Products included, perfumed soap, talcum powder and scented sachets. The fragrance was marketed as “the pure English woodland flower”, emphasising Yardley’s identity as a quintessentially British perfumer.
*************In British upper-class social etiquette, the rule is clear: sugar first, then tea, and lastly milk. This comes from formal English tea service customs that developed in the 18th–20th centuries, and it remained the standard through the 1920s, and well beyond, and was a sign of your class. If you opted to add milk before the sugar into tea, you betrayed your working class origins. This was because cheap, lower quality porcelain cups in the Eighteenth and early Nineteenth centuries would crack, when hot tea was poured, thus making milk essential to cool the bowl. By the 1920s, good china was standard, and milk last was firmly established in etiquette books and household manuals, yet in working class homes it was still usual for milk to be poured in first. In aristocratic homes, middle class households, and formal tea rooms, sugar was applied first, as it allowed the host or guest to judge sweetness properly once the tea was poured. In formal service, the footman or hostess would ask: “Sugar?” before pouring the tea. This was part of the ritual of polite hosting. The tea was poured over the sugar, helping it dissolve. The strength and colour of the tea also helped the hostess to determine how much milk would be needed to meet her guest’s taste. Adding milk last allowed the drinker to judge the colour and strength of the tea, and also prevented over milking by the hostess, which was considered a social faux pas.
**************Sugar tongs are a small, elegant serving tool used to pick up individual lumps of sugar during tea service. They replaced sugar nips once sugar began to be sold in refined cubes rather than hard sugarloaves.
***************Marcelling is a hair styling technique in which hot curling tongs are used to induce a curl into the hair. Its appearance was similar to that of a finger wave but it is created using a different method. Marcelled hair was a popular style for women's hair in the 1920s, often in conjunction with a bob cut. For those women who had longer hair, it was common to tie the hair at the nape of the neck and pin it above the ear with a stylish hair pin or flower. One famous wearer was American entertainer, Josephine Baker.
****************The Aberdare Range (formerly the Sattima Range) is a one hundred mile long mountain range of upland, north of Kenya's capital Nairobi with an average elevation of thirteen thousand one hundred and thirty feet. It straddles across the counties of Nyandarua, Nyeri, Muranga, Kiambu and Laikipia.
*****************The Colony and Protectorate of Kenya, commonly known as British Kenya or British East Africa, was part of the British Empire in Africa. It was established when the former East Africa Protectorate was transformed into a British Crown colony in 1920. Technically, the "Colony of Kenya" referred to the interior lands, with a ten mile coastal strip, nominally on lease from the Sultan of Zanzibar, was the "Protectorate of Kenya", but the two were controlled as a single administrative unit. The colony came to an end in 1963 when an ethnic Kenyan majority government was elected for the first time and eventually declared independence as the Republic of Kenya.
******************“Tight” is an old fashioned upper-class euphemism for drunk.
*******************Prior to 1967 with the introduction of the Sexual Offences Act which decriminalised private homosexual acts between men aged over twenty-one, homosexuality in England was illegal, and in the 1920s when this story is set, carried heavy penalties including prison sentences with hard labour. The law was not changed for Scotland until 1980, or for Northern Ireland until 1982.
********************A “Pinkerton” is a private detective, and refers to the Pinkerton Detective Agency, founded by Allan Pinkerton, known for its historical role in labour disputes and spying. For decades after Allan Pinkerton's death, his name became a slang term for any private investigator, regardless of whether they worked for the Pinkerton Agency or not. Today, the agency (now simply called Pinkerton) focuses on risk management, intelligence, and security services.
*********************In 1920s England, private investigators were most commonly referred to as Inquiry Agents or Private Inquiry Agents. They were frequently engaged for matters involving surveillance and divorce, with other common terms including private detectives, commercial agents, and private investigators used.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The silver tea set and silver galleried tray on the central table has been made with great attention to detail, and comes from Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The gilt edged floral teacups, saucers and plates come from a miniatures specialist stockist on E-Bay. The wonderfully realistic chocolate cake was made by Polly’s Pantry in America, and came with two slices already cut from it.
The Elite Styles and Delineator magazines from 1926 sitting on the floral pouffe were made by hand by Petite Gite Miniatures in the United States.
Lady Sadie’s morning room is furnished mostly with pieces from high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq. Lady Sadie’s cream wingback armchair is a Chippendale piece, whilst the gilt decorated mahogany tables are Regency style, and the ornate mahogany corner chair is high Victorian in style. The bonheur de jour and its matching chair is a Salon Reine design, hand painted and copied from an Eighteenth Century design. All the drawers open and it has a lidded rack at either end. The cream coloured footstool with gold tasselling came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.
The golden yellow roses and their real spun glass vase are handmade miniatures that come from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.
The plaster fireplace comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom, and the fire screen and fire pokers come from a high street stockist who specialised in dolls houses and doll house miniatures. I have had these pieces since I was a teenager. The Royal Doulton style figurines on top the fireplace, are from Warwick Miniatures in Ireland and have been hand painted by me. The figurines are identifiable as particular Royal Doulton figurines from the 1920s and 1930s. The vase of primroses in the middle of the fireplace is a delicate 1:12 artisan porcelain miniature made and painted by hand by Ann Dalton.
The Chetwynd’s family photos seen on Lady Sadie’s desk, the mantlepiece and hanging on the walls are all real photos, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frames are almost all from Melody Jane’s Dollhouse Suppliers in the United Kingdom and are made of metal with glass in each. The largest frame on the right-hand side of the desk is actually a sterling silver miniature frame. It was made in Birmingham in 1908 and is hallmarked on the back of the frame. It has a red leather backing.
The seed catalogue on Lady Sadie’s desk is a 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. What might amaze you is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make this a miniature artisan piece. He also made the envelopes sitting in the rack to the left of the desk. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.
The painting of the Georgian family above the fireplace comes from Amber’s Miniatures in the United States, whilst the two silhouette portraits come from Lady Mile Miniatures in the United Kingdom.
The Persian rugs on the floor has been woven by Pike, Pike and Company in the United Kingdom.
Tiger Warbler! The Quebec and Latin names nail it, at least for the spring breeding plumage male.
The English name is terrible, tagging the place (Cape May, New Jersey) where early ornithologist Alexander Wilson first "described" the bird, which is a euphemism for "shot it".
After a string of busy images, this was certainly a change. Golden hour light, one thin branch, blurry background - conventional but still pleasing to me.
This was shot with an iPhone at great magnification hence the "soft" (euphemism ?) image! I still like it!
The Northern Club in Launceston was a "gentlemen's club" (before that term became a euphemism for a strip joint) that was founded in 1894. It was essentially a network for civic leaders and businessmen to expand their opportunities. It also provided recreational activities in conjunction with reciprocal memberships around the country. It was the newer rival to the Launceston Club (1882) which still has its salubrious clubrooms in Tamar Street to this day. Unfortunately, the Northern Club ceased to exist in 1996. A bar and bistro continued at this location until the Covid lockdowns which effectively ended its ability to run profitably.
www.utas.edu.au/library/companion_to_tasmanian_history/N/...
My son thinks it bizarre that the town makes old folks carry their trash and recycling to the dump---Ahem! The Transfer Station---and drop it in bins and dumpsters themselves. Having lived my entire life until a few years ago in cities and towns that performed curbside trash pickup, I agree that this is a quaint custom, to say the least. But it does provide some unusual photo opportunites, such as this storage arrangement, and the photo below.
So, what, exactly, is a Transfer Station? A euphemism, clearly, a classy name for a dump.
Have a Moody Monochrome Monday. (Every Day is Stairs Day!)
A misty morning in the Peak District today. This is Winnats Pass, which the schoolboy in me always thinks sounds like a Viz-style euphemism...
....and that's not a euphemism!!
A great spotted woodpecker...a fairly regular visitor to our garden recently...rather partial to the fatty, seedy contents of the coconut feeder!
textures thankls to Tòta.
Font : Tekton pro.
Last year, about 41,000 people died in traffic crashes, according to preliminary data from the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration.
That's the size of the population of a small town. All dead because people drive too damn fast. Or drive vehicles that make it impossible for them to see what's directly in front of their bumpers.
Let's NEVER call them accidents. That's a euphemism. Let's call them what they are. Involuntary manslaughter.
This fox kit is nearly full grown but still listens to mom. I had a minute or two to shoot, in the last light of the setting sun, before the parent fox - concealed in tall grass nearby - gave a sharp warning and the kit abruptly dived into its den and safety. Two ears poked up from concealment, then two eyes and part of a face: a beautiful blonde variant! But I couldn't convince her to come out and pose for me, and a few moments later I lost the light.
We come now to one of my longstanding gripes. I try not to use Flickr as a forum for complaining, because nature and wildlife photographers already know these things and are here to share positive experiences and great photos. But. Just. Once. A moment ago, checking online to make sure the Red Fox is still taxonomically Vulpes vulpes, I came across this in Wikipedia: "the red fox is one of the most important furbearing animals harvested for the fur trade."
Wrong. You do not "harvest" an animal. You kill it. This euphemism is intended to soften the blow, cushion delicate souls from reality, minimize the suffering, deny the truth. We hear politicians use such odious language all the time. The governments of Washington and British Columbia are currently "harvesting" wolves; a certain percentage of moose may be "harvested" each fall - as if they were as insensitive as rows of corn or wheat in a field. No images of blood and death, please; it's too offensive to contemplate. It's so widespread, this spinning of truth into some sort of palatable fantasy that may ease the conscience a little - so that people slide into apathy and allow barbaric practices to continue. So that people who wear fox coats or hats can think of bloodless rows of corn, if they think at all. So that the politicians can appease as many voters as possible and get re-elected. So that we never have to admit what we really do.
Okay, enough. End of rant. I realize that it's unrealistic to expect honest words from elected officials and other authority figures. But I really am tired of the bs.
Photographed near Val Marie, Saskatchewan (Canada). Don't use this image on websites, blogs, or other media without explicit permission © 2019 James R. Page - all rights reserved.
day 35 out of 365.
wicked hangover. had to fuel myself with three cups of joe (black, because I'm badass like that), OJ and two english muffins. I'm one step away from doing the Cool Hand Luke: scarfing down forty or so eggs to start my morning ... that is, the morning after doing too many whiskey shots during a serious dart competition in Lower Westchester.
the reflection in the stainless steel countertop is pretty cool, and I was feeling too shy for the camera ('shy' being a euphemism for narsty).
I am so behind on comments. forgive me! I am busy wrapping up the twenty-third year of my life ;-)
Here is another shot of the male Black Redstart in the sunlit site that my friend Adrian Dancy took me to, so no high ISO and noise reducing software needed here. I have managed to take a number of rather distant shots of Black Redstarts previously, but I had never managed a decent shot of an adult male with a black face and breast. But on this day Adrian managed to get me photographic views of two different males in the centre of Manchester. On this bird you can just about see the red tail that gave rise to the name Redstart. The name Redstart is of very ancient origin and similar names for this bird are found across most European languages. Start (originally steort) was a name given to the posterior extremity of any animal, but was a euphemism for the backside (which is itself a euphemism). The term stark naked was originally steort naked, meaning naked, even to the tail. The scientific name Phoenicurus is of similar origin. The Greek word phoenix was used for various shades of red and ouros means tailed, and comes from the same origins as the now vulgar term arse. Its specific scientific name ochruros is similar and translates as pale yellow arsed.
The weathered, crumbling arrow sign of Azar's, a former liquor/wine/beer 'package store.'
Atlanta (Summerhill), Georgia, USA.
21 October 2023.
***************
▶ Why were/are some liquor/wine/beer stores called 'package stores'? A euphemism for a brown paper bag? Perhaps. But there could be a historical reason. Read: here.
***************
▶ Photo by YFGF.
▶ For a larger image, type 'L' (without the quotation marks).
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▶ Camera: Olympus OM-D E-M10 II.
— Lens: Olympus M.14-42mm F3.5-5.6 II R.
— Settings: 29 mm | 1/800 sec | ƒ/5.6 | ISO 200.
— Edit: Photoshop Elements 15, Nik Collection (2016).
▶ Commercial use requires explicit permission, as per Creative Commons.
Windows 11 is designed to spy on you. Don't take my word for it. Look it up online. I have been a Mac user, but I realize it's only a matter of time before Apple falls in line. If you value your privacy (remember "AI personal assistant" is a euphemism for spy) you have to switch to some other OS--some Linux distribution. There are many to choose from, but I'd recommend either Mint or Zorin. Here's a hint to make the transition easier: after the inital install find or create a cool desktop wallpaper image. Most Linux distros, to be honest, come with wallpaper selections that are not inspirational.
My idea was to create a manly wallpaper. Something that might grace the pages of GQ. Zorin is a product of Ireland, so I went with a tooled leather look using Celtic designs.
If you're using Zorin, feel free to download this and use it for your desktop. Not for resale, of course. If there is interest I may design something for the ladies using the Linux OS of their choice.
Revised as of June 3, 2026 (removed buckle)
Thanks to Reiner "Reiny" ReRod my german Best Friend :D
(Explored #345 21 march 2009 - Thank you!)
Ipod Tagging Game (Here we 'd say "Un'altra catenadisantantonio... :D")
1. Put your iTunes/ ipod on shuffle.
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS!
4. Tag 10 or more friends who might enjoy doing this as well as the person you got it from.
Here we go...
1) WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
"Daniele Groff - If you don't like it"
Ahahaha It's perfect...I am As I am :D
2) WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY?
"SOAD - Lonely Day"
Interesting interpretation ;)
3) WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE?
"Porcupine Tree - Hatesong"
BUahuahuahauhauh surely my present purpose :D
4) WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
"Dream Theater - Learning to live"
Yes indeed!
5) WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
"Iron Maiden - Bring your daughter to the slaughter"
:D:D:D They are afraid of she could be like her mother! :D
6) WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT OFTEN?
"Keane - The Frog Prince"
More true than you think! ;)
7) WHAT IS 2+2?
"Infadels - Make Mistakes"
I'm not good with math ;)
8) WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
"Jack's Mannequin - BloodShot"
Ihihihihihih
9) WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
"New Radicals - Jehovah Made This Whole Joint For You"
^_^
10) WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
"Green day - She's a rebel"
Unbelievable! 100% me!
11) WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
"Counting crows - Einstein on the beach"
ROTFL :D:D:D
12) WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
"U2 - Dancing Barefoot"
Totally possible! :D
13) WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
"Pearl Jam - Man Of the hour"
(is this an euphemism to say 'crazy'???)
14) WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
"Green Day - Extraordinary girl"
WedWhat? What does mean wedding? ;)
15) WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
"U2 - One"
I love song verse "Have you come to raise the dead" :D:D:D
16) WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
"The Offsprings - Come out and play"
TOTALLY TRUE! :D
17) WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
"Pearl Jam - State of love and trust"
I love my friends!
18) WHAT'S THE WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN?
"Bruce Springsteen - Last to die"
(to Work in my company :D)
19) HOW WILL YOU DIE?
"Goo goo dolls - Without you here"
(Grrrrr..... obviously alone! Damned game! ;D)
20) WHAT IS THE ONE THING YOU REGRET?
"Soad - Soldier Side"
Indeed :|
21) WHAT MAKES YOU LAUGH?
"Dream Theater - Metropolis Part I. The Miracle and the sleeper
Oh yes...it's plausible when I listen Labrie! He's TOO MUCH dramatic when he's singing :D Anyway I can't stop listening to their music!
22) WHAT MAKES YOU CRY?
"Dream Theater - Caught in a new millennium"
mmmmm
23) WILL YOU EVER GET MARRIED?
"U2 - Even better than the real thing"
I'm married with myself :) I already have problems! :D:D:D
24) WHAT SCARES YOU THE MOST?
"ACDC - Thunderstruck"
Nanananananana-na-na Thun-der!
25) DOES ANYONE LIKE YOU?
"The darkness - Seemed like a good idea at time"
Ihihihihihih uhuhuhuuh ahahah I hope not so...for him!
26) IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN TIME, WHAT WOULD YOU CHANGE?
"Maximo Park - Russian Literature"
Dostojevski's "Crime and punishment" is too short ;) -BTW I really liked it! And "Anna Karenina" too!!-
27) WHAT HURTS RIGHT NOW?
"U2 - Original of the species"
My song!
28) WHAT DO YOU LIKE MOST?
"Pearl Jam - Last kiss"
Ahahahahahah and the first one too...and others in between!
29) NOW, TELL US A LITTLE SECRET.
"Dream Theater - Strange Deja Vu"
Shhhhhhhh
30) FINALLY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING RIGHT NOW?
"Coldplay - What if"
:D
I tag:
All my Cazzujan Friends , I miss you!!!!
~ Tom Tiddler's Ground ~ is used in modern English as a euphemism for having an uncertain status, for example, "The prime minister was asked "what happens next?" and I could tell he was on Tom Tiddler's Ground".
Whatever does happen next, I wonder what we will take from this lockdown ........
a euphemism for a bit grubby.
i have given up on cleaning until the builders have left.
I have prettied this up a little
for WAH who are visiting hearts today
We're going back about 18 months in this shot to a township that has basically ceased to exist. The 200+ kilometres between Charleville and Quilpie in Outback Queensland can be regarded today as a laid back drive passing mainly bush and scrub and cattle and sheep grazing land and a kangaroo or twenty.
The railway that more or less paralleled the road was an important freight and passenger line with a twice weekly sub-service off the Westlander from Charleville known locally as The Flying Flea! This service ended in 1994 and around that time, even freight was decimated by road transport. In the end, the only traffic was cattle and even that ended in the late '90's when a new loading point was constructed east of Charleville at Morven which continues today.
As per common practice, the line was then mothballed (euphemism for not closed, just given anaesthetic!) and the infrastructure still rests in the hot sun and Mitchell grass today! There were basically only two small railway towns along the line, mainly for crossing and watering purposes, the easternmost being Cooladdi which still exists today as a roadhouse and Cheepie which today is a small ramshackle group of old buildings and caravans, mostly abandoned with an alleged population of 2. Well, I do note a vehicle in the garage of the old structure, subject of this image so that may be right! I guess the Census people still have to call.
The idea here (no euphemisms intended) is to keep posting.
I've been very out of it with regards to taking photographs and I'm hoping that more frequent uploads on my behalf will help me see the light.
(ok, that one was intended)
;)
The name is mostly a euphemism to make its strange pyromania more palatable.
More photos: www.instagram.com/p/COYj71yJDLn/
As a child I remember people using the expression "Shanks's Pony" as a euphemism for walking. Shanks is an old term for legs but now only really survives in the names of birds like Redshank and Greenshank. In America Yellowshank was the old name for Lesser Yellowlegs, and in the Outlaw Josey Wales, Captain Terrill was known as Captain Redshanks because he wore reddish trousers. The name Redshank was first used for this bird around 1525, and in the first bird book in English (1678), John Ray called it "Redshank, or Pool-Snipe". So when its legs are clearly orange why wasn't it called Orangeshank? Because although the fruit was called Orange from the fourteenth century it was another 200 years before the word was used as a colour and by then most of our familiar birds had been named. Prior to that red was used for anything in that part of the spectrum. (It was the late Seventeenth Century when Isaac Newton split light into its component colours, and by then orange was in use). That is why our orange coloured birds tend to have the name red incorporated. Other examples are Red Kite, Redstart, Redbreast (earlier name for Robin). Red was also used for browns with a hint of rufous in names like Red Grouse, Red-backed Shrike and Red-breasted Merganser.
This was taken on the windward side of Covenham Reservoir but I liked the background of crashing waves.
Perches on this post above the entry to the Municipal Dump (official euphemism "Transfer Station"). This wild Bald Eagle started guarding the dump last fall and continued this spring despite traffic right below.
Shot of “Old Mikro Chōrio” in Evrytania, Greece in late August 2022. The number of buildings is remarkably small; it is so small that it reminds of a settlement rather than a complete village: Indeed, the “Old” word is a euphemism for what has remained out of the former Mikro Chōrio after the notorious disaster struck on January 13, 1963: Then, a whole mountainside of Mt. Chelidona slid along with a large part of the village!
The church discerned in the shot is dedicated to the Transfiguration of the Savior. The church literally saved the lives of all the members of the congregation who were there for that Sunday's Divine Liturgy! Thirteen persons perished in 1963.
A lesser landslide event or landslip occurred again recently: on December 14–15, 2021, at night, with no casualties.
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Canon EOS R5
Canon RF24-105mm F4 L IS USM @ 35 mm
ISO 100 – f/11 – [ 1/50 & 1/20 sec ] HDR
Kidnapped by specialised pimps (zeigen) or sold by starving families, thousands of poor rural Japanese girls were forced into prostitution. Called "karayuki" (outward-bound), many were shipped out to brothels dotted about Japanese treaty-ports in China and East Asia.The practice, conducted with full government endorsement, continued until the end of the Pacific war. Later, the karayuki were joined by women from Korea and Japanese-occupied territories and all became collectively known by the euphemism "comfort women."
This karayuki looks a force to be reckoned with. The French term "horizontale" applied to the upper ranks of the profession (e.g. La Belle Otero, Cora Pearl, et al) and, whatever this one was, she was obviously no wallflower!
Location: Singapore
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