As I celebrate launch of my first LEGO Ideas set, 21340 Tales of the Space Age, I'd like to share with you three more pictures in the series I've built. They are closer in style to my original submission, but uses a dedicated hanger on the same height as pictures in the final set. I hope you enjoy these models as well as the previous ones.

Instructions available on my Rebrickable page (warning: all three models use some illigal techniques). rebrickable.com/users/john.carter/mocs/

another one from te crazy hangbridge in Garzweiler.

I had to climb a little illigal bit to make this one.

blandford fourum 2 week before christmass. Te pcso wa in whsmiths buying a paper.

Munich, Germany

After 8 years I can tell how I got in:

It was the night from saturday to sunday, I was young and I had some beer.

I went home and came beside the construction site for a new underground stop (about half a year before opening).

I went down some stairs and found a wooden door. There was only one screw and it was loose, so I easy could take it out.

I opened the door and went in. It was fascinating.

So I went home, took my camera and came back.

The underground-station was full with garbage, dust, rubbish. It was quiet, nobody inside but full lighted.

After maybe 15 minutes a stand beside the rails and listened into the tube for a longer time and asked myself if I should step down.

And than I did that step, took some pictures and quit the rails really fast.

Thats it.

For this illigal act of entering a building one can be punished up to one year in jail. But only the next three years after commiting the act of crime.

Now 8 years have passed by...

It's illigal to fly a drone over a theme park, this was taken from a farmers fiend next to the park and ever once entered airspace over the park, please always fly legally.

As I celebrate launch of my first LEGO Ideas set, 21340 Tales of the Space Age, I'd like to share with you three more pictures in the series I've built. They are closer in style to my original submission, but uses a dedicated hanger on the same height as pictures in the final set. I hope you enjoy these models as well as the previous ones.

Instructions available on my Rebrickable page (warning: all three models use some illigal techniques). rebrickable.com/users/john.carter/mocs/

Looks like it's part of the wall.... one of my all time fave's!

As I celebrate launch of my first LEGO Ideas set, 21340 Tales of the Space Age, I'd like to share with you three more pictures in the series I've built. They are closer in style to my original submission, but uses a dedicated hanger on the same height as pictures in the final set. I hope you enjoy these models as well as the previous ones.

Instructions available on my Rebrickable page (warning: all three models use some illigal techniques). rebrickable.com/users/john.carter/mocs/

As I celebrate launch of my first LEGO Ideas set, 21340 Tales of the Space Age, I'd like to share with you three more pictures in the series I've built. They are closer in style to my original submission, but uses a dedicated hanger on the same height as pictures in the final set. I hope you enjoy these models as well as the previous ones.

Instructions available on my Rebrickable page (warning: all three models use some illigal techniques). rebrickable.com/users/john.carter/mocs/

Shot during the Covid_19 Shut down, this stunning 4k aerial of Ewood Park, shows a new angle on the home of Blackburn Rovers Football Club.,

*now the boring bit, I flew over a field and trees, it's illigal to fly OVER a football ground more so if if there is a match in, ALWAYS PLEASE FLY LEGALLY AND RESPONSIBILITY and don't ruin it for everyone's enjoyment "

Picture is taken around 15-20km from the closest cottage. The land belong to the Sami people which makes it illigal, without special permissions, to catch the jumping trouts in this small mountain river. Fortunately, snapping pictures is allowed!

Rödfjället - Härjedalen - Sweden

Shot over the sea using a commercial license in busy air space, do not fly OVER theme parks it's illigal

Processed by: mavenimagery Labs Inc. Los Angeles, California.

HDR PROCESSED with IRET (Iris Range Enhancement Technology)

IRET (Iris Range Enhancement Technology and MavenFilters are products of mavenimagery Labs Innovation)

Copyright 2012 by mavenimagery Labs Inc. All rights reserved.

This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed. For private, editorial or commercial use contact mavenimagery

. Maven's note: The building in the image is not the actual "Hold Up House' in the story. This image is only to dramatize the story. The real Hold Up House has been demolished by the EU's Human Rights and Life Standards Treaty and Romanian Authority.

missed part I?

Click here: www.flickr.com/photos/maven_imagery/5814633295/

www.flickr.com/photos/maven_imagery/5807780562/

Scar Face reaches down behind the desk and raises his both hands in the air, two plastic cups in one hand a bottle in the other hand as if holding trophies of some kind of championship. Carefully, he places one of the cups in front of me. "Care for a Russian?" he says, still that sinister glint in his eyes.

"No, I'm fine." I decline.

"I insist," insists Scar Face. "It's Russia's best...well, beside Komunizm."

I look at the bottle of Putinka Vodka, then, lock eyes with Scar Face."Communism is as dead as a door nail," I say, and suddenly, regretting it for not being more original.As dead as a door nail? Good one, Maven! Then, for damage control, as if this soulles son of whore cares much or less about metapfors, I add quickly,"So will you before your time. Here is Some Statistics: A glass of alcohol kills about 1000-2000 brain cells, which we know will not be regenerated--"

"No craazy science pleaze," Interrupts Scar Face, raising a hand."For relaxing..and good for fatigue, no?". He pours into boths cups, takes his and holds it in the air, waiting for me to pick up mine.

I do.Why not? A cup won't...

Some minutes, hours or 'who cares?' time later:

"Come," I only hear a voice. "I will show you something," I follow the voice, entering the doorless door I saw earlier. The Putinka is kicking in and the twilight filtering in through gaps in the walls and the battered wall paints which looks like Rorschach pale ink blotches. The furious spring wind is hurling itself against the Hold Up House, howling and whisling, causing the roof tiles to push against one another with a repetative,bang!bang!bang! On the gritty floor, among the feathers, dust and grit a threadbare army-surplus blanket speckled with mold lies crumpled against the wall catches my eye; the litter of empty beer cans, half-smoked cigars, rotten cabbage or lettuce, crushed tomotoes under the appalling counter do not explain the strong stench that shoots up through my nostrils and into the nether unknown regions of my brains, but tells me it's quite nearer than before. I can see some ferocious activity has disturbed the an inch thick dust and grit. And that something that is not an old army blanket, though I wish it was, lies disarrayed, half in, half out of a dark, irregular pool of tacky liquid. As delirious flies hover and settle upon the dark pool, I feel the acrid taste of the Vodka coming back from my stomach as I watch the copper color mongrel, much like the one I saw and almost ran over earlier today (or yesterday),gets his teeth into the knuckle of meat and bone protroding from a white dirty sneaker, which is a Nike or Adidas, holds between its front paws.

"That a leg?" I ask as I follow the voice.

Scar Face stops and shoots a glance and says off handedly. "Yez, it iz." And all I'm thinking is this: Wouldna be awesome if I'd taken a shot of this wild moment?

"Her name is Galina," went on Scar Face. "Or at least, that is what she said her name was. No papers, no passport. Was caught in the streets of Budapest. Illigal immigrant from Russia.Charged with prostutition and drug possession,"

"She dead?" I ask stupidly, drunkenly.

Scar Face waves a hand in the air as if to say D'ugh! Guaranteed one hundred per cent: Dead as door nail. But instead he says,"AIDS, TB...STD, who knows?"

The Vodka and whatever I took with it now kicks in mercilessly. I feel weightless. I want to float through the weak, miserable roof and disappear into the thin air. Forget that I ever witnessed, seen a place like this or been to one. But I can't. My feet feels heavy as if embedded into the cement. I'm walking over slippery and gooey grounds. I must witness. All of it. The scrawnugly dog is the same three-legged dog that welcomed me at the curve; that sealed the moment where I would lose my soul to the Devil, if there was such a thing; where I become someone else: indifferent, selfish and, yes, soulless. But the damn mongrel was not three-legged. One of his rear legs was broken and in time has gotten so thin, the damn mongrel has no choice but to tug it underneath its torso when walked. The scrawnugly mongrel is chewing on Galina's foot while making every effort to extract the foot from the Nike or Adidas sneaker to a more private nook so that would be no disturbance as it feasts on the precious find.

This visual feast of this beast; abundance, profusion: an unprecedented feast of corruption, gargantuan in scale that cannot be measured.

The naked ancient bulbs flicker and a thunder clamour stomps on the roof and as we turned, facing a four hundred feet corridor, the bulbs were off and on like every second or so.

Will continue...

Words, slangs and 'coined words' Definitions:

scrawnugly:scraw·ny + Ugly= scrawnugly (origin: maven)

scrawny; exceptionally thin and slight or meager in body or size

This place was actually great. Too bad I got kicked out for taking photos

MORE IN COMMENTS!!

Here are some more photos from out little adventure the other week. I'm so excited to show them since i finally got around to editing them :D They all came out so gooood, and Anna and Lexi are perfect models everytime.

Brooklyn

bringin back t.t

Ya so like.... this is pretty good!!!

Audi R8 Spotted

after a hard days work in a wheelbarrow is so relaxing.

Too bad I shot this without looking at the result, as it was kind of illigal here ;) Her face almost vanishes in the sky

Volvo 240GL (1974-93) Engine 2184cc S4 Turbo

Race Historic Touring Car Challenge (HTCC)

Livery Bastos

Race Number 27 John Young + Phil Perryman

VOLVO (CARS) SET

www.flickr.com/photos/45676495@N05/sets/72157623738795351...

Designed by Jan Wilsgaard the Volvo 240 and 260 series were introduced in the autumn of 1974, The 240 Series was available in sedan (with two or four doors) or station wagon, however, the 260 Series was available as a coupé (262C Bertone), four-door sedan, or station wagon.

In 1983 Volvo produced 505 evolution version of the 240 Turbo with a larger turbocharger and other performance modifications according to FIA regulation, however those regulations stated the need to build them they did not state the requirement to actually sell them and the cars were subsequently stripped and re-equiped as standard road going Turbo, which caused a mighty controversy among competitors when the race car actually started winning.

Although the racing 242 Turbo looks more like a house brick than a racing car, it was in fact highly successful. in 1984 won the Zolder round of the European Touring Car Championship. In Group A racing form, the 240T weighed 1,065 kg (2,348 lb), and its turbocharged 2.1 litre engine produced approximately 350 bhp. Although it was a big car and lacked the agility of some of its competitors, and despite its boxy, un-aerodynamic appearance, it was fast in a straight line (approximately 260 km/h (162 mph) on faster circuits such as Monza, Hockenheim and Bathurst) and proved to be reliable. Volvo Motor Sport, VMS, did not run the cars directly, instead contracting the services of established teams to prepare and manage them, with technical assistance from VMS. The Eggenberger Motorsport team was the most successful of these. Late in the 1984 European Touring Car Championship, Swedish team Sportpromotion won the EG Trophy race at Zolder circuit and followed that with second in the 500 km del Mugello. In 1985, Volvo signed Swiss engine guru Ruedi Eggenberger to run its works team. Eggenberger Motorsport, with team drivers Gianfranco Brancatelli and Thomas Lindström, won the 1985 ETCC outright, in 1986 and Volvo contracted Belgian based team RAS Sport to be its factory "works" team in the ETCC, with defending champion Lindström being joined by ex-Formula One and Grand Prix motorcycle racer Johnny Cecotto, as well as Ulf Granberg and Anders Olofsson in the second car. The team was competitive in 1986, taking wins at Hockenheim, Anderstorp, Brno, Österreichring and Zolder but with subsequent disqualifications from the Anderstorp and Österreichring rounds for use of illigal fuel the team and driver failed to defend their titles. Around the world, other teams were also running the Volvo 240T with fair degrees of success. New Zealand business man and racer Mark Petch had purchased an ex GTM Team car directly from VMS 240T and with drivers Robbie Francevic and Michel Delcourt won the Wellington 500 street race in New Zealand in January 1985 after starting from the rear of the grid due to the car not arriving in time to qualify. MPM, Mark Petch Motorsport took the car to Australia with financial assistance from Volvo Australia. Francevic then went on to finish 5th in the 1985 Australian Touring Car Championship (the first ATCC to be run under Group A rules), winning two of the rounds. Francevic won the 1986 Australian Touring Car Championship the first and only time that the title had been won by a Volvo. Volvo also won the in 1985 and 86 in Macau. The Volvo 240 Turbo also won the 24 Hours of Zolder in 1987 and 1990.

Diolch am olygfa anhygoel, 64,971,949

oblogaeth y Lloegr honno dros y Mynyddoedd

Thanks for a stonking 64,971,949 views

Shot 05.05.2018 at Donington Historic Festival, Donington Park, Leic Ref 133-382

This week I've been *#@$&ed by Mme Lauvergeon, General Manager of Areva, the French nuclear energy company.

2 level one nuclear accidents in plant her company manages in France within 2 weeks, there are evidences that this is due to bad security management, and what does she reply ?

"Statistics, it's only a question of statistics. We have 7 level one accident per year in France and this is only 2. The 2 weeks time separation is only a question of statistics".

So I'm *#@$&ed off. I usually am in favor of nuclear energy, but how to trust her when in front of real problems (illigal storages, use of fragile plastic pipes...) she doesn't admit and announce corrective actions, audits, ...

So these are 2 photos of the nuclear facility of GOLFECH I took 2 month ago while passing by from the highway.

I liked the atomic mushroom shape the condensation cloud was making ... (the cloud itself is not atomic... Just the result of water condensation out of the cooling chimneys of the nuclear power plant)

Snowy winters day at Bearwood.

my car is illigally parked in the picture as i saw her waiting at the lights on Bearwood Road heading towards Quinton, so i ran by the Bus Station to get this shot, perfect timing.....

Photographed at Galiff street kolkata.A place where all legal as well as some illigal pet selling take place..

Manzanar was the largest United States internment camp though there were over 20 others durning WW2. This camp was primarily for Japanese American citizens. Thousands of men, women, elderly, teens and chiildren lived in wooden bunk houses for serveral years. No airconditioning on the edge of Death Valley and most of their property and business were confiscated and sold off illigally. Many had sons serving in the army and navy service while they stayed locked behind gates. A good film on this event is called Welcome to the Paradise. That is Mt. Witney in the far background. There is an Excellent history center in this park just off the highway on the way to Bishop and Mammoth Lakes. The graveyard is simple, spare and heartfelt. People were born here and died here as well. About a dozen or so graves remain and have interesting decoration with photos and broken trinkets that are telling of the love of family.

SAVE LIVES - DONATE BLOOD - IT' FUN AND EASY, REALLY.

PS: Tell Spotify, Alexa and Siri to play music by

JOHN WILLIAM HAMMOND (use all 3 names) - Enjoy!

flic.kr/p/2mMT8Yj

Sugar Building - 1906.

Saint Martin's Island, Bangladesh, 2011.

Those were hidden, underneath the blue, bolstering the island silently.

Those were torn apart, exposed and taken to you.

So that you can buy them, bring them back in town and can decorate your house.

So that you can destroy an island,and can build your dream elsewhere.

Captured from Saint Martin's Island. Saint Martin's is the only coral Island of Bangladesh situated at the southern end, amid vast blue of Bay of Bengal. It's a big tourist attraction, and authentically so. Saint Martin's is a dreamland, a place where you'll feel that you are in somewhere else other than this world. However, the people here are not angels, they are like us, entangled in greed, poverty and ignorance. The children collect these living corals from near the shore where the live coral colonies are found and try to sell them to the tourists as decorative pieces. What they don't understand is that they are sharing an inevitable destiny with the island, which is ultimate destruction.

Although the title Compound Eyes doesn't properly fit this image, I could not help naming it so because of an interesting coincidence and contrast with the pair of human eyes already present in this shot. Please check out more about Compound Eyes, if you don't already know about it.

stevehaining.com

Professional lighting or use of stands in Times Square is illigal without going to the city and acquiring a permit. Because we didnt have the time or the budget for a permit on this particular shoot we used a loop hole in the system.

My main light was camera left it was a white lightning x1600 with a 4ft octabank. we didnt use a stand because that would result in a fine instead I had one of my assistants hold the light up over his head by hand with the vagabond in his backpack.

My second light came from camera right almost behind the subject and was just an ex2 battery flash also held by an assistant.

We paid the cab driver $20 to illegally stop in the bus zone for 5 minutes to get the shot.

Old guy taking rubbish to an illigal dump in his beatup Renault 4GTL

Manhattan

Photo by Marc Vandenhaute

Brooklyn

Manhattan

A bicycle, strangely parked outside provided me with a "window" to shoot.

Photo is a bit cropped with a cross processed finish.

Shot with the Nikkor 85mm F1.8

Image is supporting material for the story : www.flickr.com/photos/maven_imagery/5814633295/

FROM THE "ROAD NOTES OF MAVEN": WELCOME TO TRANSILvania! The Hold Up House

Acknowledgment

Thanks to Mr King (not Larry, Stephen, the horror novelist) for a very useful tips. But, this is not a horror or vampire fiction. Hate to disappoint you...again!

missed part one?

www.flickr.com/photos/maven_imagery/5811554298/

The Hold Up House

Storybook Trasnsilvania. Land of Dracula, I think to myself.

On either side, the trees slump; beneath their twisted boughs, the irregular adobe-like white houses with red tiled roofs grow smaller and uglier. The rain-abraded and snaking semi-asphalt road gets narrower and as I slow down to grab the now almost forty-five degree curve, I almost run over a three-legged, scrawny dog which painfully squirms through a hedge and, despite the strong morning sunlight, I spy policeman leaning over the driver window of black BMW just five hundreds yards ahead. The black shiny Beemer has a Vanity German plate DER FÜHRER(see image: www.flickr.com/photos/maven_imagery/5814787359/), and as I start to make meaning out of it, the cop who is six-foot tall, in a dark Politia uniform, waves at me to pull over.

Damn! I curse under my breath. What is now, scared your mutilated, miserable dog? If you greet in German or say ‘my friend’ only ones, I’ll fucking drive you over till hell freezes!

I exhale a seething breath through my gritted teeth. I drive to the right gravel shoulder and wrench the gearshift into park, and I bark in English, “Yes? The problem is?”

“You did not slow,” he says in a thick accent but otherwise okay English. I notice a zigzag lightning-bolt scar on his left side of his face, then, my eyes travel over a 9mm pistol in Sam Browne holster and wide belt strapped to his hip.

“For what?”

“There is a SLOW sign at the turn,” Scar Face says

“Where?” I hiss through my teeth.

“There,” he gestures with his hand at the forty-five degree turn. I look at his scar, suddenly, wondering if he has fang vampire teeth, but I leave the notion in flash, I turn my head and look at the turn, but I see no sign.

“I don’t see a sign there,” I say.

“Driver License, pleaz,” asks Scar Face.

I reach at the holster and take out my almost passport size special issue Driver License and hand it to Scar Face. He takes it and without looking at it he says, “Come with me,”. He strides across toward a stone building the size of a two story house. I roll up the window and squeeze myself out of the seat. I stand behind him while he is unlocking a padlock with a rusty chain dangling down.

A padlock? What’s this, the house with thousands windows and one iron door where they filmed The Shawshank Redemption?

In tandem, we enter an empty room except for an old desk and two chairs on both sides. The stench. What is it, is unbearable? Dead rodent? No. Human decay? Being familiar with the smell I decide on decomposition. Scar Face walks behind the desk, pulls the chair, sits down and takes a dog-eared citing ticket stub from his uniform’s chest pocket where his rank reads ‘COMISAR’

“According to Romanian law violating traffic signs is 260 euros,” Scar Face says, raises his wire-brush eye brows as he starts jotting down.

“What is this place?” I ask.

“It’s a hold up station for criminals,” answers Scar Face proudly.

Criminals? What sort of crime can be possibly committed here? Robb a gas station that doesn’t exist? Haven’t seen even a store or a kiosk since…I don’t remember when. In Hungary?

“According to Romanian Law—“

“I don’t carry cash,” I cut him off. “All I have is twenty,” I reach into my pocket, take the twenty euro bill and place it on the desk. The son of bitch has my Driver License, he holds the power.

“According to Romanian Law your Driver License will be send to the Embassy. You pick it from there.”

The son of bitch Scar Face will never send my Driver License anywhere. It will end up in a trash bin and I’ll never see it again and I can’t drive across Europe without a Driver License and the Embassy is in Budapest which is too fucking far…and…and this fucking smell!

“What’s this smell?” I ask

Scar Face stands up from the chair, his hand on the holster and says in stern tone, “Please sit down!”

“I’m fine,” I say in an equally firm tone. “Been sitting in the car far too long.”

“I insist,” insists Scar Face.

I see the signs of a carnage.

I sit. So does Scar Face.

“According to Romanian law—”

I push the Stoic Button “Stop!” I cry. “I see what you’re doing here. It’s your set-up. You call the shots,” I take another twenty euro bill and lay on top of the other one.

“According to Romanian law the vio—“

“I see carnage,” I change my voice into deep a trembling lunatic man’s. “I see blood. An abattoir. I see dead people. They’re close. They’re… in here!” I stand up and walk toward the doorless entrance in the back…time spent in theatre plays paying off now...not in Hollywood but here. In Transylvania. Performing ‘man gone crazy’ in front of Scar Face. To beat him in his own madness I have to be him. I have to be Scar-Face…Because that’s what he is and that’s what this place is: Loony bin…

I hear the cocking-click of the 9mm.

“Anatomy of a Revolver,” I say with my normal voice and turn around. “How were you in the Academy? Good shot? Bad shot?”

“I was good shot,” says Scar Face, still the gun points at me. “Want a demonstration, my friend?”

“What’dija just call me, ugly face?” I snap. “This your friend talking: yezz, maybe zome oder time, my frenz. Ah, zee yu hef a beeyoodiful beeyoodiful grib on de gunz, yezz? Diz iz mozt-mozt impordand, my frenz…it iz. This is me talking; not your friend: why don’t take a second look at the Driver License? And don’t ever call me ‘my friend’.”

The hold up house is pretty bad; infect, aside from the stench and hundreds of mixture of aroma, it is terrible…but this is going to get worse…

Scar Face reaches down behind the desk and raises his both hands in the air, two plastic cups in one hand a bottle in the hand as if holding trophies of some kind of championship. He places one of the cups in front of me. "Care for a Russian?" he says, still that sinister glint in his eyes.

"Care not,' I say.

"I insist," insists Scar Face. "It's Russia's best...well, beside Komunizm.

I look at the bottle of Putinka Vodka, then, lock eyes with Scar Face."Communism is as dead as a door nail," I say, suddenly, regretting it for not being more original. As dead as a door nail? Then, for damage control, as if this soulles son of whore cares much or less about metapfor, I add quickly,"So will you before your time. Here is

Some Statistics: A glass of alcohol kills about 1000-2000 brain cells, which we know will not be regenerated--"

"No craazy science please," Interrupts Scar Face."For relaxing..and good for fatigue, no?". He pours into boths cups, takes his and holds it in the air, waiting to pick up mine. I do. Why not? A cup won't...

Some minutes, hours or 'who cares?' time later:

"Come," I only hear a voice. I will show you something. I follow the voice, entering the doorless door I saw earlier. The twilight filtering in through gaps in the walls and the battered wall paints which looks like Rorschach pale ink blotches. On the gritty floor, among the feathers, dust a threadbare army-surplus blanket speckled with mold lies crumpled against the wallcatches my eye; the litter of empty beer cans, half-smoked cigars, rotten cabbage or lettuce, crushed tomotoes under the appalling counter do not explain the strong stench that shoots up through my nostrils and into the nether unknown regions of my brains, but tells me it's quite nearer than before. I can see some ferocious activity has disturbed the an inch thick dust and grit. And that something that is not an old army blanket, though I wish it was, lies disarrayed, half in, half out of a dark, irregular pool of tacky liquid. As delirious flies hover and settle upon the dark pool, I feel the acrid taste of the Vodka coming back from my stomach as I watch the copper color mongrel, much like the one I saw and almost ran over earlier today (or yesterday), gets his teeth into the knuckle of meat and bone protroding from a white dirty sneaker, which is a Nike or Adidas, holds between its front paws.

"That a leg?" I ask as I follow the voice.

Scar Face stops and shoots a and says off handedly. "Yez, it iz." And all I'm thinking is this: Wouldna be awesome if I'd taken a shot of this wild moment?

"Her name is Galina," went on Scar Face. "Or at least, that is what she said her name was. No papers, passport. Was caught in the streets of Budapest. Illigal immigrant from Russia.Charged with prostutition and drug possession,"

"She dead?" I ask stupidly, drunkenly.

Scar Face vawes a hand in the air as if to say D'ugh! Guaranteed one hundred per cent, but instead, Dead as door nail. HVI, TB...who knows?"

The Vodka and whatever I took with it now kicks in mercilessly. I feel weightless. I want to float through the weak, miserable roof and disappear into the thin air. Forget that I ever witnessed, seen a place like this or been to one. But I can't. My feet feels heavy as if embeded into the cement. I'm walking over slippery and guey grounds. I must witness. All of it. The srawungly dog is the same three-legged dog that welcomed me at the curve; that sealed the moment where I would lose my soul to the Devil, if there was such a thing; where I become someone else: indifferent, selfish and, yes, soulless. But the damn mongrel was not three-legged. One of his rear legs was broken and in time has gotten so thin, the damn mongrel has no choice but to tug it underneath its torso when walked. The scrawnugly mongrel is chewing on Galina's foot while making every effort to extract the foot from the Nike or Adidas sneaker to a more private nook so that would be no disturbance as it feasts on the precious find.

Manhattan

Jaguar XJ 220 LM (1992-94) Engine 3500cc V6 Turbo

JAGUAR SET

www.flickr.com/photos/45676495@N05/sets/72157623671588245...

A racing version of the XJ220 was introduced at the 1993 Autosport International motor show, with the code name XJ220 C, and was built to compete in FISA GT racing. The XJ220-C driven by Win Percy won its first race, a round of the BRDC National Sports GT Challenge at Silverstone.

Three XJ220 Cs (modified for 24 hour racing) were entered in the 1993 Le Mans 24 hour race, in the newly created Grand Touring Class. Two of the cars failed to finish but the remaining car, driven by John Nielsen, David Brabham and David Coulthard won the GT class, beating Porsche by two laps. However that win was overturned after a post race disqualification, by senior steward Alain Bertaut. The Jaguars had passed scrutiny and completed the first day of qualifying when senior steward Alain Bertaut complained that Jaguar were not running catalytic converters, the cars were allowed to tun but after winning the class Bertaut claimed the cars were entered under the IMSA GT category and needed to run with catalytic converters, and the cars had been allowed to run. in the race under appeal. International Motor Sports Association (IMSA) officials wrote to the Automobile Club de l'Ouest (ACO) organisers of the 24 Hours of Le Mans, confirming that the XJ220s had complied with IMSA rules. Jaguar won their appeal (supported by the FIA) but were nevertheless disqualified, as the ACO confirmed that the appeal had not been lodged in time

IE You are legal, you might be legal so you can race, oh dear you won so you are illigal but we will chsck, so you were legal after all, but you are still disqualified.

Now who wants to negotiate a fair BREXIT .deal

Many Thanks for a fan'dabi'dozi 28,519,300 views

Shot 28:07:2014 at Silverstone Historic Festival REF: 103-774