View allAll Photos Tagged lithics
The National Company of State Railways (ENFE), had in the course of time "a golden age", where in its route by branches that, between the eastern and western network, covered nothing more and nothing less than three thousand five hundred kilometers of distance from population to population between cities and provinces. Thus, it was the medium most required by the population as a whole, which apart from serving as cargo transport, machinery and minerals, offered pleasant trips to its passengers, whose journeys with paradisiacal landscapes, adventure, rejoicing to enigmatic mountains rocky and lithic figures; chromatic hills, plains and valleys. It was a dream, of those who enjoyed the comfort of the dining cars, or of the luxurious cars with pullman seats, or finally of the cars with bedrooms called "cabins".
Photograph that accompanies 17 other images that is exhibited in the Lúmina Gallery of the city of La Paz - Bolivia until July 14, 2018
La Empresa Nacional de Ferrocarriles del Estado (ENFE), tuvo en el transcurso del tiempo "una época de oro", donde en su recorrido por ramales que, entre la red oriental y la occidental, abarcaba nada más y nada menos que tres mil quinientos kilómetros de distancia de población a población entre ciudades y provincias. Así, era el medio más requerido por la población en su conjunto, que al margen de servir como transporte de carga, maquinaria y minerales, ofrecía placenteros viajes a sus pasajeros, cuyos periplos con paisajes paradisiacos, de aventura, de regocijo hasta enigmáticos de montañas rocosas y figuras líticas; cromáticos cerros, llanuras y valles. Era todo un ensueño, de quienes disfrutábamos la comodidad de los coches comedor, o de los lujosos coches con asientos pullman, o finalmente de los coches con dormitorios denominados "camarotes".
Fotografia que acompaña a otras 17 imagenes que se expone en la Galeria Lúmina de la ciudad de La Paz - Bolivia hasta el dia 14 de julio 2018
LITHIC PATH
It is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light.
Hoping for a smooth-sailing 2015 but I am ready for another bumpy ride.
Vintage postcard. Photo: Metro Goldwyn Mayer. Collection: Carla Bosch.
Ann Miller (1923-2004) was an American dancer, singer and actress. She was famed for her speed in tap dancing and her style of glamour: massive black bouffant hair, heavy makeup with a splash of crimson lipstick, and fashions that emphasized her lithe figure and long dancer's legs. Miller is best remembered for her work in the classic Hollywood musicals Easter Parade (1948), On the Town (1949) and Kiss Me Kate (1953).
Ann Miller was born Johnnie Lucille Ann Collier in 1923 on her grandparents' ranch in Chireno, Texas. Her father wanted a boy, so Ann was named Johnnie, and she later went by Lucille. Her father was a well-known criminal lawyer who had defended famous gangsters Bonnie and Clyde and Baby Face Nelson. Mrs. Collier enrolled her three-year-old little girl in dancing lessons to help strengthen her legs, which had become weakened from a case of rickets. When Miller was ten she met Bill 'Bojangles' Robinson at a local theatre and he gave her a quick tap-dancing lesson. She liked that style of dance very much and decided to concentrate on it with further lessons. After her parents divorced, she went with her mother to Hollywood, determined to get into show business. The eleven-year-old brunette, pretending to be of legal age, was soon hired to dance for $25 a week at the Sunset Club, a small lounge where gambling went on upstairs. Using the stage name of Ann Miller, she practiced her machine-gun tapping for the thrilled patrons. She also danced at the seedy Black Cat Club, where she scooped up the coins customers threw into her skirt to help pay the bills. Before long, Ann was netting unbilled extra roles in the films Anne of Green Gables (1934) and The Good Fairy (1935), and she got to dance in Devil On Horseback (1936). The next year the thirteen-year-old was dancing for a four-month run in a show at the popular Bal Tabarin nightclub in San Francisco. There, she was discovered by comedian Benny Rubin and future comedian, actress Lucille Ball. Ball introduced Miller to executives at RKO Studios. Pretending she was eighteen with the help of a fake birth certificate supplied by her father, Ann landed a seven-year contract and a role in the film New Faces of 1937 (1937).
Ann Miller's first great part was in Stage Door (1937), in which she danced with Ginger Rogers and acted with Lucille Ball, Katharine Hepburn, and Eve Arden. Other films in which Ann appeared include Radio City Revels (1937), the Oscar winner You Can't Take It With You (1938) with Jean Arthur and James Stewart, and Room Service (1938) with the Marx Brothers. Miller introduced Lucille Ball to Desi Arnaz, and, some years later, the famous couple bought RKO and re-named it DesiLu. Ann's last film at the studio was Too Many Girls (1940), in which she co-starred with friends Lucy and Desi. She then appeared on Broadway in George White's Scandals in 1939 and 1940, for which she won rave reviews. In 1940 Miller moved to Republic Pictures, where she enlivened Melody Ranch (1940) with Gene Autrey in his first musical film, and Hit Parade of 1941 (1941). Other films followed, many aimed at promoting the war effort, which includes True To The Army (1942), Priorities On Parade (1942), Reveille With Beverly (1943), What's Buzzin' Cousin? (1943), Hey Rookie (1944), and Jam Session (1944). In 1945, Ann briefly dated powerful MGM boss Louis B. Mayer. When the much older mogul asked Ann to marry him, she turned him down. Moaning and groaning to her on the phone, the dramatic Mayer swallowed sleeping pills and immediately sent his chauffeur to summon Ann to his death bed. An ambulance arrived first and he recovered. Later, Ann married Reese Milner, a rich steel heir, and they lived on the biggest ranch in California where they raised prized Hereford cattle. The marriage ended quickly after Reese threw Ann down the stairs of their home. Pregnant Miller filed for divorce from her hospital bed, with her broken back in a steel harness. Her baby, Mary, died a few hours after birth. Later, painfully returning to Mayer for a job, he told her, "If you'd married me, none of this would have happened."
Ann Miller was still in a back brace when she danced to Shakin' The Blues Away in Easter Parade (1948), co-starring Fred Astaire and Judy Garland. She received fantastic reviews, and MGM gave Ann a seven-year contract. Ann then proceeded to make her most spectacular Technicolor musicals that include On The Town (1949), Small Town Girl (1952), Kiss Me Kate (1953) which was extravagantly filmed in 3-D, and Hit The Deck (1955). Her last musical was a remake of the 1939 film The Women, named The Opposite Sex (1956). The glamorous, outgoing and articulate Ann was also hired as MGM's Good Will Ambassador. She travelled the world in gorgeous designer ensembles while representing her studio with personal appearances and speaking engagements. When she flew to Morocco in July of 1957 to appear with Bob Hope on the Timex TV Hour, she entertained five thousand troops in 120-degree weather as she sang Too Darn Hot, and soon set a record for the world's fastest tap-dancing at 500 taps a minute. In 1958, Miller married her second millionaire, Texas oilman Bill Moss who, she quipped, "...looked exactly like my first husband. Three months later, he broke my arm." A third marriage to another oilman, Arthur Cameron, was annulled within a year, though they remained friends. From 1966-1970, Ann became a hit on Broadway in Mame. In 1970 she turned to television and starred in a commercial for Heinz's Great American Soups, in which Miller tap-danced on an eight-foot can of soup surrounded by dozens of high-kicking chorus girls, 20-foot fountains, and a 24- piece orchestra. Then, tapping her way back into her kitchen, her husband cried, "Why must you make such a big production out of everything?" The song she sang was written by humorist Stan Freberg and choreographed by Danny Daniels. In 1972, in St. Louis, on the opening night of the musical show Anything Goes, Ann was knocked in the head by the steel beam of a fire curtain. Although as a consequence she was unable to walk for two years and suffered permanent vertigo, her life actually had been saved by her well-known, stiff, enormous, lacquered black wig. In 1979, she made a comeback and a fortune in Sugar Babies with former teenage Hollywood acting schoolmate Mickey Rooney. The popular show ran for two years on Broadway and seven more years on the road. In 1998 she appeared in a successful revival of Stephen Sondheim's Follies at the Paper Mill Playhouse in New Jersey. In 1972, Miller published her autobiography, Miller's High Life, and more memoirs in 1981 with Tops In Taps. Her last screen appearance was playing Coco in director David Lynch's critically acclaimed Mulholland Drive (2001). Ann Miller died of lung cancer in Los Angeles, California in 2004. She was buried next to her miscarried daughter, which reads "Beloved Baby Daughter Mary Milner November 12, 1946". The Smithsonian Institution displays her favorite pair of tap shoes, which she playfully nicknamed "Moe and Joe"
Sources: Steve Starr (The Entertainment Magazine), Wikipedia and IMDb.
And, please check out our blog European Film Star Postcards.
All in Green Went My Love Riding
on a great horse of gold
into the silver dawn.
four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
the merry deer ran before.
Fleeter be they than dappled dreams
the swift sweet deer
the red rare deer.
Four red roebuck at a white water
the cruel bugle sang before.
Horn at hip went my love riding
riding the echo down
into the silver dawn.
four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
the level meadows ran before.
Softer be they than slippered sleep
the lean lithe deer
the fleet flown deer.
Four fleet does at a gold valley
the famished arrow sang before.
Bow at belt went my love riding
riding the mountain down
into the silver dawn.
four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
the sheer peaks ran before.
Paler be they than daunting death
the sleek slim deer
the tall tense deer.
Four tell stags at a green mountain
the lucky hunter sang before.
All in green went my love riding
on a great horse of gold
into the silver dawn.
four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
my heart fell dead before.
the cat's meat man
Photogravure by Donald Macleish from Wonderful London by St John Adcock, 1927.
Slinking with lithe bodies amid the thickets of iron palings, or seated regardant upon the hillsides of front door steps, or prowling the deep ravines of basements, from tree-tops, from behind dustbins and out of first floor windows, the London cats come trotting after the cat's meat man. The pleased anticipation of milk or fish is as nothing to the ecstasy of craving for apiece of this "not of the newest" horse flesh. Mucid, and of horrid hues, in dull reds and yellows, the meat is put up in little steaks upon a skewer.
More at www.wonderfullondon.tumblr.com/
Sometimes I just have to show off the extensive length of these lithe legs of mine! They are quite shapely, aren't they?
I also think this clingy copper minidress looks particularly lovely in the way that it shows off my curves!
This shiny metallic copper wet look lycra spandex minidress came from greatglam.com. I've matched it up with my super shiny Platino Cleancut Caresse 15 denier pantyhose from shapings.com over Hanes Alive Barely There support hose from onehanesplace.com and my 5" black patent peep toe platform pumps from flirtcatalog.com.
To see more pix of me in other tight, sexy and revealing outfits click this link:www.flickr.com/photos/kaceycdpix/sets/72157623668202157/
To see more pix of me in other outfits from Great Glam click this link: www.flickr.com/photos/kaceycdpix/sets/72157621973539909/
To see more pix of me showing off my legs click this link: www.flickr.com/photos/kaceycdpix/sets/72157623668202157/
To see more pix of me in shiny, wet look lycra spandex outfits click this link: www.flickr.com/photos/kaceycdpix/sets/72157625106117954/ minidress!
DSC_2507-49
Britain loses its cool in the summer. Not for us lithe women in thongs and tanned men in trunks as tight as their abs. i'd like to say it charming, but it isn't - we are rubbish at the beach. i guess like christmas it's really for the kids.
OM-1, EBXpro
Armoured Leafeon Pokemon
Leafeon is a mammal whose most distinguishing features are its lithe body structure and vegetation protruding from its body. Its tail and ears are stylized to resemble torn and tattered leaves.
It has the body structure which incorporates traits of a fox, but shares many cat like qualities, as well as plant-like characteristics
.
Behavior
Leafeon is mainly a pacifist and does not like to fight.
Feel free to visit me on FB, too:
www.facebook.com/DP.Photography.Images
Reykjavik Area, Iceland, 30.04.12
A troll turns into stone at the first light of the day ;-)
I hope you enjoy it :-)
Kamera/Camera: Canon Eos 5 D Mark II
Objektiv/Lens: Canon EF 17-40mm/ 4/ L USM
Filters: Lee Filters
If you are interested in Workshops and Tours please check out
Scanned lith print.
Mamiya 645 ProTL w/ M-S 120 mm/f4 macro. Nov 2021.
Fomapan 100 in Rodinal 1+100, semistand 1 h.
Lith printed on Fomatone MG 133 and developed in 2 baths:
1. Moersch Easy Lith (15A+20B+100OB+ H2Oqs800).
2. Moersch Lith Omega 1+100, 2 min.
Toned in Se 1+9, 2 min.
July 2024.
PS borders.
R.I.P. my last lithable Fomatone MG 133's...
Only a selection of images from each photo-shoot are posted here. If you'd like to see additional images from certain models you'll need to subscribe to my Patreon account where I will be publishing content I don't post here. You'll also have the option to make fan requests for more photos, or new photo-shoots, with your favourite models. My subscription rates are very low , staring from only $1/month, so check it out as I could really do with your support. - www.patreon.com/realitydysfunction
Instagram: @realitydysfunction www.instagram.com/realitydysfunction
Belgian collectors card by Kwatta, no. C. 306. Photo: MGM. Ann Miller in On the Town (Stanley Donen, Gene Kelly, 1949).
Ann Miller (1923-2004) was an American dancer, singer and actress. She was famed for her speed in tap dancing and her style of glamour: massive black bouffant hair, heavy makeup with a splash of crimson lipstick, and fashions that emphasized her lithe figure and long dancer's legs. Miller is best remembered for her work in the classic Hollywood musicals Easter Parade (1948), On the Town (1949) and Kiss Me Kate (1953).
Ann Miller was born Johnnie Lucille Ann Collier in 1923 on her grandparents' ranch in Chireno, Texas. Her father wanted a boy, so Ann was named Johnnie, and she later went by Lucille. Her father was a well-known criminal lawyer who had defended famous gangsters Bonnie and Clyde and Baby Face Nelson. Mrs. Collier enrolled her three-year-old little girl in dancing lessons to help strengthen her legs, which had become weakened from a case of rickets. When Miller was ten she met Bill 'Bojangles' Robinson at a local theatre and he gave her a quick tap-dancing lesson. She liked that style of dance very much and decided to concentrate on it with further lessons. After her parents divorced, she went with her mother to Hollywood, determined to get into show business. The eleven-year-old brunette, pretending to be of legal age, was soon hired to dance for $25 a week at the Sunset Club, a small lounge where gambling went on upstairs. Using the stage name of Ann Miller, she practiced her machine-gun tapping for the thrilled patrons. She also danced at the seedy Black Cat Club, where she scooped up the coins customers threw into her skirt to help pay the bills. Before long, Ann was netting unbilled extra roles in the films Anne of Green Gables (1934) and The Good Fairy (1935), and she got to dance in Devil On Horseback (1936). The next year the thirteen-year-old was dancing for a four-month run in a show at the popular Bal Tabarin nightclub in San Francisco. There, she was discovered by comedian Benny Rubin and future comedian, actress Lucille Ball. Ball introduced Miller to executives at RKO Studios. Pretending she was eighteen with the help of a fake birth certificate supplied by her father, Ann landed a seven-year contract and a role in the film New Faces of 1937 (1937).
Ann Miller's first great part was in Stage Door (1937), in which she danced with Ginger Rogers and acted with Lucille Ball, Katharine Hepburn, and Eve Arden. Other films in which Ann appeared include Radio City Revels (1937), the Oscar winner You Can't Take It With You (1938) with Jean Arthur and James Stewart, and Room Service (1938) with the Marx Brothers. Miller introduced Lucille Ball to Desi Arnaz, and, some years later, the famous couple bought RKO and re-named it DesiLu. Ann's last film at the studio was Too Many Girls (1940), in which she co-starred with friends Lucy and Desi. She then appeared on Broadway in George White's Scandals in 1939 and 1940, for which she won rave reviews. In 1940 Miller moved to Republic Pictures, where she enlivened Melody Ranch (1940) with Gene Autrey in his first musical film, and Hit Parade of 1941 (1941). Other films followed, many aimed at promoting the war effort, which include True To The Army (1942), Priorities On Parade (1942), Reveille With Beverly (1943), What's Buzzin' Cousin? (1943), Hey Rookie (1944), and Jam Session (1944). In 1945, Ann briefly dated powerful MGM boss Louis B. Mayer. When the much older mogul asked Ann to marry him, she turned him down. Moaning and groaning to her on the phone, the dramatic Mayer swallowed sleeping pills and immediately sent his chauffeur to summon Ann to his death bed. An ambulance arrived first and he recovered. Later, Ann married Reese Milner, a rich steel heir, and they lived on the biggest ranch in California where they raised prized Hereford cattle. The marriage ended quickly after Reese threw Ann down the stairs of their home. Pregnant Miller filed for divorce from her hospital bed, with her broken back in a steel harness. Her baby, Mary, died a few hours after birth. Later, painfully returning to Mayer for a job, he told her, "If you'd married me, none of this would have happened."
Ann Miller was still in a back brace when she danced to Shakin' The Blues Away in Easter Parade (1948), co-starring Fred Astaire and Judy Garland. She received fantastic reviews, and MGM gave Ann a seven-year contract. Ann then proceeded to make her most spectacular Technicolor musicals that include On The Town (1949), Small Town Girl (1952), Kiss Me Kate (1953) which was extravagantly filmed in 3-D, and Hit The Deck (1955). Her last musical was a remake of the 1939 film The Women, named The Opposite Sex (1956). The glamorous, outgoing and articulate Ann was also hired as MGM's Good Will Ambassador. She travelled the world in gorgeous designer ensembles while representing her studio with personal appearances and speaking engagements. When she flew to Morocco in July of 1957 to appear with Bob Hope on the Timex TV Hour, she entertained five thousand troops in 120-degree weather as she sang Too Darn Hot, and soon set a record for the world's fastest tap-dancing at 500 taps a minute. In 1958, Miller married her second millionaire, Texas oilman Bill Moss who, she quipped, "...looked exactly like my first husband. Three months later, he broke my arm." A third marriage to another oilman, Arthur Cameron, was annulled within a year, though they remained friends. From 1966-1970, Ann became a hit on Broadway in Mame. In 1970 she turned to television and starred in a commercial for Heinz's Great American Soups, in which Miller tap-danced on an eight-foot can of soup surrounded by dozens of high-kicking chorus girls, 20-foot fountains, and a 24- piece orchestra. Then, tapping her way back into her kitchen, her husband cried, "Why must you make such a big production out of everything?" The song she sang was written by humorist Stan Freberg and choreographed by Danny Daniels. In 1972, in St. Louis, on the opening night of the musical show Anything Goes, Ann was knocked in the head by the steel beam of a fire curtain. Although as a consequence she was unable to walk for two years and suffered permanent vertigo, her life actually had been saved by her well-known, stiff, enormous, lacquered black wig. In 1979, she made a comeback and a fortune in Sugar Babies with former teenage Hollywood acting schoolmate Mickey Rooney. The popular show ran for two years on Broadway and seven more years on the road. In 1998 she appeared in a successful revival of Stephen Sondheim's Follies at the Paper Mill Playhouse in New Jersey. In 1972, Miller published her autobiography, Miller's High Life, and more memoirs in 1981 with Tops In Taps. Her last screen appearance was playing Coco in director David Lynch's critically acclaimed Mulholland Drive (2001). Ann Miller died of lung cancer in Los Angeles, California in 2004. She was buried next to her miscarried daughter, which reads "Beloved Baby Daughter Mary Milner November 12, 1946". The Smithsonian Institution displays her favorite pair of tap shoes, which she playfully nicknamed "Moe and Joe"
Sources: Steve Starr (The Entertainment Magazine), Wikipedia and IMDb.
And, please check out our blog European Film Star Postcards.
The Baker Chickadee began life as a Motorama show car designed to showcase Baker's innovative glass canopy design. Featuring whitewall tires, lithe styling, and bright colors, the Chickadee went on to become a popular production sports coupé with strong collector value.
©2018 Chris Elliott, All Rights Reserved.
Find me also on:
My curves are quite evident! ...And the fact that I can cross my lithe legs like this... well that's really twisty!
Here's another pic from my 2010 archives!
My ensemble for this picture set consists of my curve hugging red shirred ¾ sleeve lycra spandex minidress from greatglam.com, Osé Angel Noisette 20 denier seamless pantyhose and my Pleaser's black open toe ankle strap sandals from electriqueboutique.com.
To see more pix of me in other tight, sexy and revealing outfits click this link:www.flickr.com/photos/kaceycdpix/sets/72157623668202157/
To see more pix of me in other outfits from Great Glam click this link: www.flickr.com/photos/kaceycdpix/sets/72157621973539909/
To see more pix of me wearing red dresses & ensembles click this link: www.flickr.com/photos/kaceycdpix/sets/72157649834758794
To see more pix of me showing off my legs click this link: www.flickr.com/photos/kaceycdpix/sets/72157623668202157/
Remote00254-53
Spanish postcard, no. 2872.
Ann Miller (1923-2004) was an American dancer, singer and actress. She was famed for her speed in tap dancing and her style of glamour: massive black bouffant hair, heavy makeup with a splash of crimson lipstick, and fashions that emphasized her lithe figure and long dancer's legs. Miller is best remembered for her work in the classic Hollywood musicals Easter Parade (1948), On the Town (1949) and Kiss Me Kate (1953).
Ann Miller was born Johnnie Lucille Ann Collier in 1923 on her grandparent's ranch in Chireno, Texas. Her father wanted a boy, so Ann was named Johnnie, and she later went by Lucille. Her father was a well-known criminal lawyer who had defended famous gangsters Bonnie and Clyde and Baby Face Nelson. Mrs. Collier enrolled her three-year-old little girl in dancing lessons to help strengthen her legs, which had become weakened from a case of rickets. When Miller was ten she met Bill 'Bojangles' Robinson at a local theatre and he gave her a quick tap-dancing lesson. She liked that style of dance very much and decided to concentrate on it with further lessons. After her parents divorced, she went with her mother to Hollywood, determined to get into show business. The eleven-year-old brunette, pretending to be of legal age, was soon hired to dance for $25 a week at the Sunset Club, a small lounge where gambling went on upstairs. Using the stage name of Ann Miller, she practiced her machine-gun tapping for the thrilled patrons. She also danced at the seedy Black Cat Club, where she scooped up the coins customers threw into her skirt to help pay the bills. Before long, Ann was netting unbilled extra roles in the films Anne of Green Gables (1934) and The Good Fairy (1935), and she got to dance in Devil On Horseback (1936). The next year the thirteen-year-old was dancing for a four-month run in a show at the popular Bal Tabarin nightclub in San Francisco. There, she was discovered by comedian Benny Rubin and future comedian, actress Lucille Ball. Ball introduced Miller to executives at RKO Studios. Pretending she was eighteen with the help of a fake birth certificate supplied by her father, Ann landed a seven-year contract and a role in the film New Faces of 1937 (1937).
Ann Miller's first great part was in Stage Door (1937), in which she danced with Ginger Rogers and acted with Lucille Ball, Katharine Hepburn, and Eve Arden. Other films in which Ann appeared include Radio City Revels (1937), the Oscar winner You Can't Take It With You (1938) with Jean Arthur and James Stewart, and Room Service (1938) with the Marx Brothers. Miller introduced Lucille Ball to Desi Arnaz, and, some years later, the famous couple bought RKO and re-named it DesiLu. Ann's last film at the studio was Too Many Girls (1940), in which she co-starred with friends Lucy and Desi. She then appeared on Broadway in George White's Scandals in 1939 and 1940, for which she won rave reviews. In 1940 Miller moved to Republic Pictures, where she enlivened Melody Ranch (1940) with Gene Autrey in his first musical film, and Hit Parade of 1941 (1941). Other films followed, many aimed at promoting the war effort, which includes True To The Army (1942), Priorities On Parade (1942), Reveille With Beverly (1943), What's Buzzin' Cousin? (1943), Hey Rookie (1944), and Jam Session (1944). In 1945, Ann briefly dated powerful MGM boss Louis B. Mayer. When the much older mogul asked Ann to marry him, she turned him down. Moaning and groaning to her on the phone, the dramatic Mayer swallowed sleeping pills and immediately sent his chauffeur to summon Ann to his death bed. An ambulance arrived first and he recovered. Later, Ann married Reese Milner, a rich steel heir, and they lived on the biggest ranch in California where they raised prized Hereford cattle. The marriage ended quickly after Reese threw Ann down the stairs of their home. Pregnant Miller filed for divorce from her hospital bed, with her broken back in a steel harness. Her baby, Mary, died a few hours after birth. Later, painfully returning to Mayer for a job, he told her, "If you'd married me, none of this would have happened."
Ann Miller was still in a back brace when she danced to Shakin' The Blues Away in Easter Parade (1948), co-starring Fred Astaire and Judy Garland. She received fantastic reviews, and MGM gave Ann a seven-year contract. Ann then proceeded to make her most spectacular Technicolor musicals including On The Town (1949), Small Town Girl (1952), Kiss Me Kate (1953) which was extravagantly filmed in 3-D, and Hit The Deck (1955). Her last musical was a remake of the 1939 film The Women, named The Opposite Sex (1956). The glamorous, outgoing, and articulate Ann was also hired as MGM's Good Will Ambassador. She travelled the world in gorgeous designer ensembles while representing her studio with personal appearances and speaking engagements. When she flew to Morocco in July of 1957 to appear with Bob Hope on the Timex TV Hour, she entertained five thousand troops in 120-degree weather as she sang 'Too Darn Hot', and soon set a record for the world's fastest tap-dancing at 500 taps a minute. In 1958, Miller married her second millionaire, Texas oilman Bill Moss who, she quipped, "...looked exactly like my first husband. Three months later, he broke my arm." A third marriage to another oilman, Arthur Cameron, was annulled within a year, though they remained friends. From 1966-1970, Ann became a hit on Broadway in 'Mame'. In 1970 she turned to television and starred in a commercial for Heinz's Great American Soups, in which Miller tap-danced on an eight-foot can of soup surrounded by dozens of high-kicking chorus girls, 20-foot fountains, and a 24- piece orchestra. Then, tapping her way back into her kitchen, her husband cried, "Why must you make such a big production out of everything?" The song she sang was written by humorist Stan Freberg and choreographed by Danny Daniels. In 1972, in St. Louis, on the opening night of the musical show 'Anything Goes', Ann was knocked in the head by the steel beam of a fire curtain. Although as a consequence she was unable to walk for two years and suffered permanant vertigo, her life actually had been saved by her well-known, stiff, enormous, lacquered black wig. In 1979, she made a comeback and a fortune in 'Sugar Babies' with former teenage Hollywood acting schoolmate Mickey Rooney. The popular show ran for two years on Broadway and seven more years on the road. In 1998 she appeared in a successful revival of Stephen Sondheim's 'Follies' at the Paper Mill Playhouse in New Jersey. In 1972, Miller published her autobiography, 'Miller's High Life', and more memoirs in 1981 with 'Tops In Taps'. Her last screen appearance was playing Coco in director David Lynch's critically acclaimed Mulholland Drive (2001). Ann Miller died of lung cancer in Los Angeles, California in 2004. She was buried next to her miscarried daughter, which reads "Beloved Baby Daughter Mary Milner November 12, 1946". The Smithsonian Institution displays her favourite pair of tap shoes, which she playfully nicknamed "Moe and Joe".
Sources: Steve Starr (The Entertainment Magazine), Wikipedia, and IMDb.
And, please check out our blog European Film Star Postcards.
Moving a Sheena headsculpt to a Phicen muscular body and getting her dressed up for a few shots. I like a Sheena with some muscle tone and with feet that work, but I also think she's way too buxom to make a good Sheena. In my mind, Sheena (and, for that matter, Tarzan) are much more lithe than big and muscular. More like pole vaulters than body-builders. Maybe the new slim build bodies (or, if I can dream, the body Phicen or anyone else makes when they realize Jessie Graff is awesome).
Lunch locked in lethal talons. 2:59 PM (3165)
The osprey – a.k.a. the sea hawk, fish hawk, and river hawk – is an aerial angler that glides high over shallow waters targeting unsuspecting fish. This lean, rapacious raptor hunts . . . prowling . . . circling . . . a bandit’s dark mask stretched around golden eyes staring down from 30 to 130 feet above the water searching for prey. Ospreys have extraordinary vision seeing through reflection and glare on the water’s surface to zero-in on a fish below. Their wide wingspan can extend to six feet, wings offering a fine display of feathers and finishing at the tips with four long, lithe feathers, widely splayed and finger-like, moving through air with grace and flair. The osprey flies with power and ease, maneuvering with an artistry of rhythm, a geometry reborn.
As the osprey soars and scans, it may pause, hover, flapping its wings as if treading air, making sure, waiting for the right moment to dive bold and hard, head first, wings adjusting, plummeting at speeds clocked at 50 mph. At the last moment, just before striking, the osprey extends its long legs and fierce talons, either skimming the water to scoop or plunging hard to grasp its slippery prey. The osprey is equipped with lethal feet, barbed and biting - the inside of each covered with tiny needle-like spicules; and the four long and scaly toes terminating in talons long and dark, curved and sharp. A reversible outer toe that swivels to the rear gives each claw two grasping talons in front and two behind - the perfect tools to clamp a lethal lock onto a slippery fish.
When the osprey hits the water and the grab is made, it’s time to become airborne again. The osprey is light – on average only 3 to 4.5 pounds - and he or she may seize a sizable fish, wriggling, trying to head down and deep to get away. Tremendous strength and exertion are often needed to get up and away with the prize. The oily coating on its wings makes shedding water easier, and the osprey’s powerful wings will arch or kink to form an M, allowing a technique for lifting itself and its captive from immersion.
Once the osprey clears the water, it carries its catch – fish head facing forward - back to its nest or perch. The osprey’s beak is hooked and sharp, appropriately bladelike for slicing or ripping into fish. Usually the osprey will eat the head of the fish first. At the nest, osprey parents will eat and tear the fish into small pieces for their chicks to eat – such feeding will continue until the young are able to hunt and survive on their own.
But the osprey’s hunt for fish is a battle not always won. Sometimes an eagle will play the pirate, bullying or attacking an osprey, forcing it to drop its catch. A clever eagle may even snag the dropped booty in mid-air. An osprey may also release a fish if it is too heavy or aggressive for the osprey to become airborne. Sometimes, an osprey’s talons will hook and get stuck in its victim, and if the fish is strong and heavy, if the osprey becomes fatigued and is unable to release its catch, predator and prey may sink – a fatal encounter for both.
The osprey is joy to watch - its hunter’s instincts and tactics, aerial acrobatics, and ability to plunge into the sea and then elevate with a struggling captive. I have seen an osprey dive into a frenzy of fish and rise out of the melee with a fish in each claw. I wondered how the osprey might feel at such moment - if beneath the fierce look in his golden eye, he might feel a special thrill – the way a golfer does in hitting a hole-in-one or the way a kid might feel standing with an ice cream cone in each hand.
"Some of my kin look just like trees now, and need something great to rouse them; and they speak only in whispers. But some of my trees are limb-lithe, and many can talk to me."
— J.R.R. Tolkien
Treebeard among plants from around the world... in the Majorelle Gardens, Marrakesh ツ ツ ツ
* Samsung NX300 and Samsung 18-55mm OIS Lens
The photo above has been shot with the Samsung NX300, which has been provided by Samsung Electronics. Co., Ltd.
My work is for sale via Getty Images and at Redbubble and 500px
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
© All rights reserved. Use without permission is illegal
©Todos los derechos reservados. El uso sin permiso es ilegal - ©Alle Rechte vorbehalten. Die Verwendung ohne Genehmigung ist illegal - جميع الحقوق محفوظة. استخدم من دون إذن هو غير قانوني© - ©保留所有权利。未经批准的使用是非法的 - ©Tous droits réservés. L'utilisation sans permission est illégal - © Όλα τα δικαιώματα διατηρούνται. Χρησιμοποιήστε χωρίς άδεια είναι παράνομη - ©Tutti i diritti riservati. Usare senza autorizzazione è illegale - ©すべての権利を保有。許可なしに使用することは違法です - ©Todos os direitos reservados. Use sem autorização é ilegal - ©Toate drepturile rezervate. Folosirea fără permisiunea este ilegală - ©Все права защищены. Использование без разрешения является незаконным - ©Tüm hakları saklıdır. İzinsiz kullanın yasadışı
©2013- Tom Raven - Toute reproduction, même partielle INTERDITE
It’s funny to think about tourism in ancient days, but Sigiriya Rock has been a big draw for travelers since at least the 8th century. Although we couldn’t make anything out, the Mirror Wall is apparently full of timeworn poems lauding the damsels’ beauty, etched into the stone by early admirers. Others would visit, though, with less noble intentions. Conservative monks outraged by the nudity removed everything they could reach, and vandals destroyed a big section of the mural in 1967.
That these maidens might inspire poems to their beauty comes as no surprise. With lithe bodies, warm, smiling faces and large, supple breasts, the damsels represent idealized versions of a variety of ethnicities. The guy working was more than happy to point out “China Lady”, “Africa Lady” and “Sri Lanka Lady”. And one of the nymphs should be well-known to anyone who’s visited Sri Lanka, whether or not they’ve toured Sigiriya. She appears on the country’s 2000 rupee banknote.
The damsels were initially thought to depict King Kassapa’s consorts, there to accompany him during the long ascent to his castle. However, historians now agree that they are more likely celestial nymphs. The women are only painted from the waist up, torsos emerging god-like from clouds. Some of them sport three arms or three breasts (though, these might have simply been mistakes during the painting).
Goddesses, consorts, or whatever the women in the paintings are meant to represent, they’re among the most amazing works of ancient art we’ve seen, and almost by themselves worth the trip to Sigiriya.
© Suna Cho
Purple as tulips in May, mauve
into lush velvet, purple
as the stain blackberries leave
on the lips, on the hands,
the purple of ripe grapes
sunlit and warm as flesh.
Every day I will give you a color,
like a new flower in a bud vase
on your desk. Every day
I will paint you, as women
color each other with henna
on hands and on feet.
Red as henna, as cinnamon,
as coals after the fire is banked,
the cardinal in the feeder,
the roses tumbling on the arbor
their weight bending the wood
the red of the syrup I make from petals.
Orange as the perfumed fruit
hanging their globes on the glossy tree,
orange as pumpkins in the field,
orange as butterflyweed and the monarchs
who come to eat it, orange as my
cat running lithe through the high grass.
Yellow as a goat’s wise and wicked eyes,
yellow as a hill of daffodils,
yellow as dandelions by the highway,
yellow as butter and egg yolks,
yellow as a school bus stopping you,
yellow as a slicker in a downpour.
Here is my bouquet, here is a sing
song of all the things you make
me think of, here is oblique
praise for the height and depth
of you and the width too.
Here is my box of new crayons at your feet.
Green as mint jelly, green
as a frog on a lily pad twanging,
the green of cos lettuce upright
about to bolt into opulent towers,
green as Grand Chartreuse in a clear
glass, green as wine bottles.
Blue as cornflowers, delphiniums,
bachelors’ buttons. Blue as Roquefort,
blue as Saga. Blue as still water.
Blue as the eyes of a Siamese cat.
Blue as shadows on new snow, as a spring
azure sipping from a puddle on the blacktop.
Cobalt as the midnight sky
when day has gone without a trace
and we lie in each other’s arms
eyes shut and fingers open
and all the colors of the world
pass through our bodies like strings of fire.
Marge Piercy, “Colors passing through us” from Colors Passing Through Us (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2003)
Hill of Tara, archaeological complex that runs between Navan and Dunshaughlin in County Meath, Leinster, Ireland .The pre-christian or a 'pagan' symbol has been returned? to this, now nearby church, site. It is not likely the original standing stone - located on the King's Seat or Forrad since 1824, it has been moved from its original position.
According to legend, it served as the coronation stone for the high kings.
Made of granite is the Lia Fáil, which is Irish, for Stone of Destiny.
An "extremely important" monument the stone was associated with the inauguration rites for the Kings of Tara and featured extensively in ancient texts.The stone was moved to its present location in Tara, Co Meath, in the early 19th century.
Located about 50km northwest of Dublin, Tara was the focus of political and religious life in pagan Ireland but the site was largely abandoned by the sixth century AD.
Mythology gives Tara (from the Gaelic "Teamhair", or lofty place) an exalted status as the top royal site in Ireland and there are many national monuments in the area.
The Irish, like their Celtic neighbours, venerated their lithic temples. They not only anointed them, as may be still seen done to the sacred cone in India, but, down to a late period, they poured water on their sacred surface that the draught might cure their diseases. Molly Grime, a rude stone figure, kept in Glentham church, was annually washed with water from Newell well; so was the wooden image of St. Fumac washed in water from a holy well near Keith. Babies were sprinkled at cairns in Western or South Scotland down to the seventeenth century. Some stones were kissed by the faithful, like the Druid's Stone in front of Chartres Cathedral, once carefully kept in the crypt.
This magic phallic stone .....( they are common in ancient neolithic to celtic Ireland )
another example :
www.flickr.com/photos/kplawver/3956016/
www.flickr.com/photos/67165210@N00/1179998637/
...is a monument stone that legend says 'called out' to choose the new High King ( Ri in old Ireland, its stands approximately four feet high the English word 'rich' may derive from this) ; Goth. reiks, believed to represent an early Teutonic adoption of Celtic rix = L. rex king.
The Lia Fáil (Irish Gaelic for Stone of Destiny) is a standing stone on the Hill of Tara (Teamhair na Rí - Tara of the Kings ) which served as the coronation stone for the High Kings of Ireland. In the centre of the Royal Seat stands a pillar stone which is believed to be the Lia Fail (stone of Destiny) or Coronation Stone. The , a prehistoric solar or phallic? symbol, originally stood in the Northern part of the enclosure near the 4,000 year old neolithic passage tomb known as the Mound of the Hostages. According to legend, this stone was brought to Ireland by the Tuatha De Danaan (before the last invasion of Milesian Celts* ).
In legend, all of the kings of Ireland were crowned on the stone up to Muirchertach mac Ercae AD 500. This is the famous Stone of Destiny , brought to Ireland? It's said to have emitted a roar when the rightful heir to the throne touched it.
Perhaps a piece of the "Stone of Destiny" was later the Coronation Stone of the Kings of Scotland and, before that, the Kings of Dalriada. It was brought from Ireland as a portable altar. In AD 574, the Scots 'Stone of Scone' was used as a coronation chair for Aedan, King of Dalriada - stretching from Ulster in Ireland across to Argyll in Scotland the word 'Scot' was initially associated with the royal or deity name 'Scota' * then transposed to Ireland-
Scotia/Hibernia (Latin). The Scottish Scone alter- stone used for all Scotland after the union with the Picts / Pictland, however, it ('Stane o Scuin' in Scots Gaelic) was eventually taken back to Scotland from where it had been removed by the English Edward I in 1296 as a spoil of war.(Two copies?)
Two main stories of the origin of the Scone stone or Coronation stone taken by the English from Scotia minor /Scotland : (i) One story concerns Fergus, son of Erc, the first King of the Scots in Scotland, whose transport of the Stone from Ireland to Argyll, where he was crowned in it, was recorded. (ii) Some versions identify the stone brought by Fergus with the Lia Fáil used at Tara for the High King of Ireland. Other traditions contend the Lia Fáil remains at Tara. (Inis Fáil, The Island of Destiny, is one of the traditional names of Ireland.)
www.libraryireland.com/Wonders/Lia-Fail-1.php
The 'Scoti' were Irish, Niall of the Nine Hostages was the first to call Alba, Scotia minor, now modern Scotland that received its own Gaelic language from the Irish Gaels. From Scotia major or Ireland the Gaels or 'Scoti' arrived in Argyle and set up the Dál Riata.Scotland takes its name from 'Scotus' which in Latin translates into Irishman.
Dunadd, in Argyle, is linked to the crowning of the Scots kings of Dál Riata.*( NB note its slightly later and different !)
www.flickr.com/photos/megalithicmatt/177265223/
In Ireland the Fianna were a mercenary army at the service of the Ard-Ri, or High King, circa 400 BC. They were Scoti, as were all of Erin , until the (term) 'Irish' was invented in medieval times. The Romans called the Hibernians 'Scoti' though it could have had associations with piracy or plunder then of their colonized Britain as the ones who abducted St Patrick in to slavery or servitude, like later Vikings.
An Old Irish 'Life of Columcille' reports that every funeral procession "halted at a mound called Eala, whereupon the corpse was laid, and the mourners marched thrice solemnly round the spot."
Only a selection of images from each photo-shoot are posted here. If you'd like to see additional images from certain models you'll need to subscribe to my Patreon account where I will be publishing content I don't post here. You'll also have the option to make fan requests for more photos, or new photo-shoots, with your favourite models. My subscription rates are very low , staring from only $1/month, so check it out as I could really do with your support. - www.patreon.com/realitydysfunction
Instagram: @realitydysfunction www.instagram.com/realitydysfunction
Despite being fairly plentiful, the very lithe Lesser Yellowlegs is a medium sized sandpiper which may be the least studied shorebird in the world. It’s propensity for finding insect laden habitats to frequent is noteworthy. They breed in the northern reaches of North America, in areas known as muskegs. These are bogs or swamps made up of a mixture of salt and fresh water ponds with ample living and dead, decaying vegetation, and covered by sphagnum moss. Habitats like these are frequently avoided by humans for obvious reasons. Even when breeding season is over and the migration south has ensued, stopovers at similar areas are common. These birds are no strangers to the salt marshes of the New Jersey, a stronghold of biting flies and mosquitoes. A little preparation beforehand will make a visit to see these birds a little less treacherous. #LesserYellowlegs
Fresh off the plane from Germany, international glamourkitten Anne V has arrived!! Her long lithe legs, her chic boobs-out pose and immaculate face made her the perfect girl to greet customers as they enter the wig salon!
Thanks Alvaro, she is pristine and glowing!!
We brought her home from the shelter 14 years ago and she was so lithe and little. But look at her now!
Osprey targeting unsuspecting fish. 07/11/23 (3955)
The osprey – a.k.a. the sea hawk, fish hawk, and river hawk – is an aerial angler that glides high over shallow waters targeting unsuspecting fish. This lean, rapacious raptor hunts . . . prowling . . . circling . . . a bandit’s dark mask stretched around golden eyes staring down from 30 to 130 feet above the water searching for prey. Ospreys have extraordinary vision seeing through reflection and glare on the water’s surface to zero-in on a fish below. Their wide wingspan can extend to six feet, wings offering a fine display of feathers and finishing at the tips with four long, lithe feathers, widely splayed and finger-like, moving through air with grace and flair. The osprey flies with power and ease, maneuvering with an artistry of rhythm, a geometry reborn.
As the osprey soars and scans, it may pause, hover, flapping its wings as if treading air, making sure, waiting for the right moment to dive bold and hard, head first, wings adjusting, plummeting at speeds clocked at 50 mph. At the last moment, just before striking, the osprey extends its long legs and fierce talons, either skimming the water to scoop or plunging hard to grasp its slippery prey. The osprey is equipped with lethal feet, barbed and biting - the inside of each covered with tiny needle-like spicules; and the four long and scaly toes terminating in talons long and dark, curved and sharp. A reversible outer toe that swivels to the rear gives each claw two grasping talons in front and two behind - the perfect tools to clamp a lethal lock onto a slippery fish.
When the osprey hits the water and the grab is made, it’s time to become airborne again. The osprey is light – on average only 3 to 4.5 pounds - and he or she may seize a sizable fish, wriggling, trying to head down and deep to get away. Tremendous strength and exertion are often needed to get up and away with the prize. The oily coating on its wings makes shedding water easier, and the osprey’s powerful wings will arch or kink to form an M, allowing a technique for lifting itself and its captive from immersion.
Once the osprey clears the water, it carries its catch – fish head facing forward - back to its nest or perch. The osprey’s beak is hooked and sharp, appropriately bladelike for slicing or ripping into fish. Usually the osprey will eat the head of the fish first. At the nest, osprey parents will eat and tear the fish into small pieces for their chicks to eat – such feeding will continue until the young are able to hunt and survive on their own.
But the osprey’s hunt for fish is a battle not always won. Sometimes an eagle will play the pirate, bullying or attacking an osprey, forcing it to drop its catch. A clever eagle may even snag the dropped booty in mid-air. An osprey may also release a fish if it is too heavy or aggressive for the osprey to become airborne. Sometimes, an osprey’s talons will hook and get stuck in its victim, and if the fish is strong and heavy, if the osprey becomes fatigued and is unable to release its catch, predator and prey may sink – a fatal encounter for both.
The osprey is joy to watch - its hunter’s instincts and tactics, aerial acrobatics, and ability to plunge into the sea and then elevate with a struggling captive. I have seen an osprey dive into a frenzy of fish and rise out of the melee with a fish in each claw. I wondered how the osprey might feel at such moment - if beneath the fierce look in his golden eye, he might feel a special thrill – the way a golfer does in hitting a hole-in-one or the way a kid might feel standing with an ice cream cone in each hand.
Die Bronzefigur eines Löwen im Kolonnadenhof der Berliner Museumsinsel trägt schon deutliche Merkmale der Moderne.
From seeing the bars, his seeing is so exhausted
That it no longer holds anything anymore.
To him the world is bars, a hundred thousand
Bars, and behind the bars, nothing.
The lithe swinging of that rhythmical easy stride
Which circles down to the tiniest hub
Is like a dance of energy around a point
In which a great will stands stunned and numb.
Only at times the curtains of the pupil rise
Without a sound…then a shape enters,
Slips through the tightened silence of the shoulders,
Reaches the heart, and dies.
(Rainer Maria Rilke 1903)
Sein Blick ist vom Vorübergehn der Stäbe
so müd geworden, daß er nichts mehr hält.
Ihm ist, als ob es tausend Stäbe gäbe
und hinter tausend Stäben keine Welt.
Der weiche Gang geschmeidig starker Schritte,
der sich im allerkleinsten Kreise dreht,
ist wie ein Tanz von Kraft um eine Mitte,
in der betäubt ein großer Wille steht.
Nur manchmal schiebt der Vorhang der Pupille
sich lautlos auf --. Dann geht ein Bild hinein,
geht durch der Glieder angespannte Stille --
und hört im Herzen auf zu sein.
(Rainer Maria Rilke 1903)
Whoever thought that name up must really have put some effort into it...
The Scotland’s First Settlers project (SFS) investigated the relationship of early inhabitants within the western seaboard chose this area along with other known sites at An Corran in Staffin, Skye, and at Redpoint and Shieldaig in Torridon.
Their surveys in 1999 and 2000 found 104 previously unknown sites, mostly caves and rock shelters with 21 "lithic scatters" and 9 open shell middens.
A proportion of these sites will be more recent, but test pits at 4 sites found Loch a Sguirr on Raasay and Sand in Applecross to be Mesolithic. The indication is that there are many more surviving sites than had been expected.
I am very happy to introduce you my new line BiDoll Lithe. The dolls in this line possess a different type of sexuality, they look tall and skinny. The name BiDoll consists of two parts. Bi translated from Latin means “two” or “double”. When I worked on Lithe characters the double meaning inspired me. I wanted to create two dolls that are different and the same at once. The unicorn, the legendary and magical creature, also inspired me. MonokeRos is one of the names for unicorn that people used from ancient times. It sounded to me that the name consists of two - Monoke and Ros, and I decided to give these names to my new dolls. At the very beginning my goal was to create a complex costumed doll using different techniques such as jewelry making, embroidery, etc. I believe that my goal is accomplished. The costume is very complicated and the embroidery was done over the tiny mesh fabric. Over 100 hours of work was spent on embroidery only. The corset, shoes and the crown are made from metal and gold plated with 18K gold. BiDoll Lithe MonokeRos is a piece of art that made in porcelain, painted with China paints, it comprises the jewelry making and fashion design techniques. MonokeRos is a synthesis of many arts and designs in one object. I am very happy that I could use all my skills in one work and show many sides in the art of making a doll. Please enjoy, one of the dolls of your choice can be yours.
Diverse elements of human habitation are found at Cueva del Milodón including fire-fractured rock, lithic tools and human remains. Human habitation at Cueva del Milodón is dated as early as 6000 BC.
9.4.09
The flight arrived on time; and the twelve hours while on board passed quickly and without incident. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary once again.
Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The décor comes straight out of the sterile 80's and is less an eyesore than an insipid background to the rhythm of human activity, such hustle and bustle, at the fore. There certainly are faces from all races present, creating a rich mosaic of humanity which is refreshing if not completely revitalizing after swimming for so long in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong.
Internet access is sealed in England, it seems. Nothing is free; everything is egregiously monetized from the wireless hotspots down to the desktop terminals. I guess Hong Kong has spoiled me with its abundant, free access to the information superhighway.
11.4.09
Despite staying in a room with five other backpackers, I have been sleeping well. The mattress and pillow are firm; my earplugs keep the noise out; and the sleeping quarters are as dark as a cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as, perhaps, a dreary rainy day when on. All in all, St. Paul's is a excellent place to stay for the gregarious, adventurous, and penurious city explorer - couchsurfing may be a tenable alternative; I'll test for next time.
Yesterday Connie and I gorged ourselves at the borough market where there were all sorts of delectable, savory victuals. There was definitely a European flavor to the food fair: simmering sausages were to be found everywhere; and much as the meat was plentiful, and genuine, so were the dairy delicacies, in the form of myriad rounds of cheese, stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed these tasty morsels down with copious amounts of alcohol that flowed from cups as though amber waterfalls. For the first time I tried mulled wine, which tasted like warm, rancid fruit punch - the ideal tonic for a drizzling London day, I suppose. We later killed the afternoon at the pub, shooting the breeze while imbibing several diminutive half-pints in the process. Getting smashed at four in the afternoon doesn't seem like such a bad thing anymore, especially when you are having fun in the company of friends; I can more appreciate why the English do it so much!
Earlier in the day, we visited the Tate Modern. Its turbine room lived up to its prominent billing what with a giant spider, complete with bulbous egg sac, anchoring the retrospective exhibit. The permanent galleries, too, were a delight upon which to feast one's eyes. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock ruled the chambers of the upper floors with the products of their lithe wrists; and I ended up becoming a huge fan of cubism, while developing a disdain for abstract art and its vacuous images, which, I feel, are devoid of both motivation and emotion.
My first trip yesterday morning was to Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. It towers imperiously over the surrounding neighborhood; yet for all its majesty, the place sure was quiet! Business did pick up later, however, once the armory shop opened, and dozens of fans descended on it like bees to a hive. I, too, swooped in on a gift-buying mission, and wound up purchasing a book for Godfrey, a scarf for a student, and a jersey - on sale, of course - for good measure.
I'm sitting in the Westminster Abbey Museum now, resting my weary legs and burdened back. So far, I've been verily impressed with what I've seen, such a confluence of splendor and history before me that it would require days to absorb it all, when regretfully I can spare only a few hours. My favorite part of the abbey is the poets corner where no less a literary luminary than Samuel Johnson rests in peace - his bust confirms his homely presence, which was so vividly captured in his biography.
For lunch I had a steak and ale pie, served with mash, taken alongside a Guinness, extra cold - 2 degrees centigrade colder, the bartender explained. It went down well, like all the other delicious meals I've had in England; and no doubt by now I have grown accustomed to inebriation at half past two. Besides, Liverpool were playing inspired football against Blackburn; and my lunch was complete.
Having had my fill of football, I decided to skip my ticket scalping endeavor at Stamford Bridge and instead wandered over to the British Museum to inspect their extensive collections. Along the way, my eye caught a theater, its doors wide open and admitting customers. With much rapidity, I subsequently checked the show times, saw that a performance was set to begin, and at last rushed to the box office to purchase a discounted ticket - if you call a 40 pound ticket a deal, that is. That's how I grabbed a seat to watch Hairspray in the West End.
The show was worth forty pounds. The music was addictive; and the stage design and effects were not so much kitschy as delightfully stimulating - the pulsating background lights were at once scintillating and penetrating. The actors as well were vivacious, oozing charisma while they danced and delivered lines dripping in humor. Hairspray is a quality production and most definitely recommended.
12.4.09
At breakfast I sat across from a man who asked me to which country Hong Kong had been returned - China or Japan. That was pretty funny. Then he started spitting on my food as he spoke, completely oblivious to my breakfast becoming the receptacle in which the fruit of his inner churl was being placed. I guess I understand the convention nowadays of covering one's mouth whilst speaking and masticating at the same time!
We actually conversed on London life in general, and I praised London for its racial integration, the act of which is a prodigious leap of faith for any society, trying to be inclusive, accepting all sorts of people. It wasn't as though the Brits were trying in vain to be all things to all men, using Spanish with the visitors from Spain, German with the Germans and, even, Hindi with the Indians, regardless of whether or not Hindi was their native language; not even considering the absurd idea of encouraging the international adoption of their language; thereby completely keeping English in English hands and allowing its proud polyglots to "practice" their languages. Indeed, the attempt of the Londoners to avail themselves of the rich mosaic of ethnic knowledge, and to seek a common understanding with a ubiquitous English accent is an exemplar, and the bedrock for any world city.
I celebrated Jesus' resurrection at the St. Andrew's Street Church in Cambridge. The parishioners of this Baptist church were warm and affable, and I met several of them, including one visiting (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan university in Guangzhou, who in fact had visited my tiny City University of Hong Kong in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and the believers fewer in number than the "progressive" services at any of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK; yet that's what makes this part of the body of Christ unique; besides, the message was as brief as a powerpoint slide, and informative no less; the power word which spoke into my life being a question from John 21:22 - what is that to you?
Big trees; exquisite lawns; and old, pointy colleges; that's Cambridge in a nutshell. Sitting here, sipping on a half-pint of Woodforde's Wherry, I've had a leisurely, if not languorous, day so far; my sole duty consisting of walking around while absorbing the verdant environment as though a sponge, camera in tow.
I am back at the sublime beer, savoring a pint of Sharp's DoomBar before my fish and chips arrive; the drinking age is 18, but anyone whose visage even hints of youthful brilliance is likely to get carded these days, the bartender told me. The youth drinking culture here is almost as twisted as the university drinking culture in America.
My stay in Cambridge, relaxing and desultory as it may be, is about to end after this late lunch. I an not sure if there is anything left to see, save for the American graveyard which rests an impossible two miles away. I have had a wonderful time in this town; and am thankful for the access into its living history - the residents here must demonstrate remarkable patience and tolerance what with so many tourists ambling on the streets, peering - and photographing - into every nook and cranny.
13.4.09
There are no rubbish bins, yet I've seen on the streets many mixed race couples in which the men tend to be white - the women also belonging to a light colored ethnicity, usually some sort of Asian; as well saw some black dudes and Indian dudes with white chicks.
People here hold doors, even at the entrance to the toilet. Sometimes it appears as though they are going out on a limb, just waiting for the one who will take the responsibility for the door from them, at which point I rush out to relieve them of such a fortuitous burden.
I visited the British Museum this morning. The two hours I spent there did neither myself nor the exhibits any justice because there really is too much to survey, enough captivating stuff to last an entire day, I think. The bottomless well of artifacts from antiquity, drawing from sources as diverse as Korea, and Mesopotamia, is a credit to the British empire, without whose looting most of this amazing booty would be unavailable for our purview; better, I think, for these priceless treasures to be open to all in the grandest supermarket of history than away from human eyes, and worst yet, in the hands of unscrupulous collectors or in the rubbish bin, possibly.
Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The building is a plush marvel, and a testament to this city's love for the arts. The ballet itself was satisfying, the first half being superior to the second, in which the nimble dancers demonstrated their phenomenal dexterity in, of all places, a graveyard covered in a cloak of smoke and darkness. I admit, their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy necropolis, did strike me as, strange.
Two amicable ladies from Kent convinced me to visit their hometown tomorrow, where, they told me, the authentic, "working" Leeds Castle and the mighty interesting home of Charles Darwin await.
I'm nursing a pint of Green King Ruddles and wondering about the profusion of British ales and lagers; the British have done a great deed for the world by creating an interminable line of low-alcohol session beers that can be enjoyed at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; and their disservice is this: besides this inexhaustible supply of cheap beer ensnaring my inner alcoholic, I feel myself putting on my freshman fifteen, almost ten years after the fact; I am going to have to run a bit harder back in Hong Kong if I want to burn all this malty fuel off.
Irene suggested I stop by the National Art Gallery since we were in the area; and it was an hour well spent. The gallery currently presents a special exhibit on Picasso, the non-ticketed section of which features several seductive renderings, including David spying on Bathsheba - repeated in clever variants - and parodies of other masters' works. Furthermore, the main gallery houses two fabulous portraits by Joshua Reynolds, who happens to be favorite of mine, he in life being a close friend of Samuel Johnson - I passed by Boswells, where its namesake first met Johnson, on my way to the opera house.
14.4.09
I prayed last night, and went through my list, lifting everyone on it up to the Lord. That felt good; that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and in the lives of my brothers and sisters.
Doubtless, then, I have felt quite wistful, as though a specter in the land of the living, being in a place where religious fervor, it seems, is a thing of the past, a trifling for many, to be hidden away in the opaque corners of centuries-old cathedrals that are more expensive tourist destinations than liberating homes of worship these days. Indeed, I have yet to see anyone pray, outside of the Easter service which I attended in Cambridge - for such an ecstatic moment in verily a grand church, would you believe that it was only attended by at most three dozen spirited ones. The people of England, and Europe in general, have, it is my hope, only locked away the Word, relegating it to the quiet vault of their hearts. May it be taken out in the sudden pause before mealtimes and in the still crisp mornings and cool, silent nights. There is still hope for a revival in this place, for faith to rise like that splendid sun every morning. God would love to rescue them, to deliver them in this day, it is certain.
I wonder what Londoners think, if anything at all, about their police state which, like a vine in the shadows, has taken root in all corners of daily life, from the terrorist notifications in the underground, which implore Londoners to report all things suspicious, to the pair of dogs which eagerly stroll through Euston. What makes this all the more incredible is the fact that even the United States, the indomitable nemesis of the fledgling, rebel order, doesn't dare bombard its citizens with such fear mongering these days, especially with Obama in office; maybe we've grown wise in these past few years to the dubious returns of surrendering civil liberties to the state, of having our bags checked everywhere - London Eye; Hairspray; and The Royal Opera House check bags in London while the museums do not; somehow, that doesn't add up for me.
I'm in a majestic bookshop on New Street in Birmingham, and certainly to confirm my suspicions, there are just as many books on the death of Christianity in Britain as there are books which attempt to murder Christianity everywhere. I did find, however, a nice biography on John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I may pick up the former.
Lunch with Sally was pleasant and mirthful. We dined at a French restaurant nearby New Street - yes, Birmingham is a cultural capitol! Sally and I both tried their omelette, while her boyfriend had the fish, without chips. Conversation was light, the levity was there and so was our reminiscing about those fleeting moments during our first year in Hong Kong; it is amazing how friendships can resume so suddenly with a smile. On their recommendation, I am on my way to Warwick Castle - they also suggested that I visit Cadbury World, but they cannot take on additional visitors at the moment, the tourist office staff informed me, much to my disappointment!
Visiting Warwick Castle really made for a great day out. The castle, parts of which were established by William the Conquerer in 1068, is as much a kitschy tourist trap as a meticulous preservation of history, at times a sillier version of Ocean Park while at others a dignified dedication to a most glorious, inexorably English past. The castle caters to all visitors; and not surprisingly, that which delighted all audiences was a giant trebuchet siege engine, which for the five p.m. performance hurled a fireball high and far into the air - fantastic! Taliban beware!
15.4.09
I'm leaving on a jet plane this evening; don't know when I'll be back in England again. I'll miss this quirky, yet endearing place; and that I shall miss Irene and Tom who so generously welcomed me into their home, fed me, and suffered my use of their toilet and shower goes without saying. I'm grateful for God's many blessings on this trip.
On the itinerary today is a trip to John Wesley's home, followed by a visit to the Imperial War Museum. Already this morning I picked up a tube of Oilatum, a week late perhaps, which Teri recommended I use to treat this obstinate, dermal weakness of mine - I'm happy to report that my skin has stopped crying.
John Wesley's home is alive and well. Services are still held in the chapel everyday; and its crypt, so far from being a cellar for the dead, is a bright, spacious museum in which all things Wesley are on display - I never realized how much of an iconic figure he became in England; at the height of this idol frenzy, ironic in itself, he must have been as popular as the Beatles were at their apex. The house itself is a multi-story edifice with narrow, precipitous staircases and spacious rooms decorated in an 18th century fashion.
I found Samuel Johnson's house within a maze of red brick hidden alongside Fleet Street. To be in the home of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and whose indefatigable love for obscure words became the inspiration for my own lexical obsession, this, by far, is the climax of my visit to England! The best certainly has been saved for last.
There are a multitude of portraits hanging around the house like ornaments on a tree. Every likeness has its own story, meticulously retold on the crib sheets in each room. Celebrities abound, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted several of the finer images in the house. I have developed a particular affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Boswell writes, "His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. It appears as though I, too, could use a more flattering description of myself!
I regretfully couldn't stop to try the curry in England; I guess the CityU canteen's take on the dish will have to do. I did, however, have the opportune task of flirting with the cute Cathay Pacific counter staff who checked me in. She was gorgeous in red, light powder on her cheeks, with real diamond earrings, she said; and her small, delicate face, commanded by a posh British accent rendered her positively irresistible, electrifying. Not only did she grant me an aisle seat but she had the gumption to return my fawning with zest; she must be a pro at this by now.
I saw her again as she was pulling double-duty, collecting tickets prior to boarding. She remembered my quest for curry; and in the fog of infatuation, where nary a man has been made, I fumbled my words like the sloppy kid who has had too much punch. I am just an amateur, alas, an "Oliver Goldsmith" with the ladies - I got no game - booyah!
Some final, consequential bits: because of the chavs, Burberry no longer sells those fashionable baseball caps; because of the IRA, rubbish bins are no longer a commodity on the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and the Underground of the city are a soiled mess; and because of other terrorists from distant, more arid lands, going through a Western airport has taken on the tedium of perfunctory procedure that doesn't make me feel any safer from my invisible enemies.
At last, I saw so many Indians working at Heathrow that I could have easily mistaken the place for Mumbai. Their presence surprised me because their portion of the general population surely must be less than their portion of Heathrow staff, indicating some mysterious hiring bias. Regardless, they do a superb job with cursory airport checks, and in general are absurdly funny and witty when not tactless.
That's all for England!
We appreciate the courtesy of Chatwick University Archives for letting us use the journals in our research, and for permission to use parts for the genesis of “Dare’s Game”.
Dare’s Game
Beth, eagerly looking for Dare, walked straight into Seth’s cunning snare…..
Suffix, circa 1910?. It was during this time a fanciful young lady, whom we will call Beth, started a journal which she would faithfully keep over the course of almost 50 years. She led quite an adventuresome life for a lady of that time, and her journals were filled with many tales and observations of her exploits. The following story is derived from events that she penned down in the early years in her journal.
******************************************************************************
Beth had known Dare since their childhood. Dare was a handsome free spirited youth only two years her senior, who lived for the games his life had to offer. As his cherished nickname inferred, Dare was always trying to find the thrill out of anything he could think up, relishing to go beyond the pale in anything he attempted. Dare always a little different, harboring feelings and ideas way beyond his years, almost as if he had lived a previous life and retained something from it in his being.
Beth would remember times playing dress up with Dare’s sister Diana in some old gowns of their mothers. It was always then that Dare and his friends seemed to appear and talk them into playing hide n seek, tag or cops n robbers. Dare seemed to take pleasure in cajoling the girls into playing with them in this manner. Eyeing them as they played with a far off look that suggested the game they were playing had more meaning to him than he could ever venture to say. It was hard for Beth to explain it, but she did find it pleasurable (almost erotic using a word whose term she would learn much later) to be observed by him in this way.
One warm fall day Diana and Beth headed down to an old shack located near some railroad tracks at the back of a cornfield. Diana was dressed in a long satin play gown with her mother’s jewelry, which Dare had called rhinestones. Beth, herself dressed in a long flowing dress, loved the way Diana’s jewels twinkled and sparkled as she walked. They were going to pretend the shack was a ballroom and they were one their way to a fancy dance, like Beth’s and Diana’s parents had recently attended. Diana wasn’t supposed to be wearing her mother’s jewelry outside the house, but as a result of Dare’s teasing, had done so anyway.
They had reached the shack, an old white brick building with a wooden roof half fallen in, when a man’s voice suddenly said behind them, what are you two ladies up to? Turning they were confronted by a happily sneering drifter. The grubby man looked around, alone is we, and advanced towards them. The two girls stood petrified, he reached out and probed Diana along her side, pretty dress missy, he said, sparsely toothed mouth grinning like a pumpkin. He suddenly reached up and tore the necklace away from Diana’s throat, sending her falling backwards. Beth screamed bloody murder, as the vagrant turned heel, running off towards the tracks. Suddenly Dare appeared, and Beth, meaning to yell for help, exclaimed instead “help honey” to Dare. Dares eyes took on a very different look, almost of a burning yearning. Beth told him what had happened and he took off down towards the tracks in hot pursuit. For Beth, the look he had given her and the way he had dashed off excited her beyond measure. Even for someone that young, Beth now knew what Dare meant to her. From then on, playing games with Dare took on a heightened meaning for Beth.
But, nothing really changed in their relationship until Beth’s sophomore year of high school. Beth was sixteen at the time, a whimsical being, passionate, innocent, not particularly attractive, but radiating with a love of life. A living free spirit, developing into a very sexual being by the time her and Diana decided to attend their schools prom in their sophomore year. Beth dressed in a fuchsia coloured satin dress with dangling rhinestone earrings that had been” borrowed” from Diana’s Mother, the same ones Diana had been wearing when they had run into the drifter at the shack. Diana slipped into the slinky blue spaghetti strap gown and matching cover-all that she had worn as her cousin’s bridesmaid. She was wearing sapphire costume jewels patterned after the hope diamond. Their parents had given them a hard time when they saw their made up girls in their gowns and finery , admonishing them for looking way too mature. They smiled, consoling their parents fears, and went off on their adventure.
Their eyes were dazzled by the display of lights, the cheerfully student filled room, the band. They had stopped and were letting it all sink in, when Beth felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned and came face to face with Dare, who once again had the same yearning fire in his eyes as on that fateful day at the old shack. A veil was lifted from between the two, and Beth spent the whole evening encompassed in Dare’s arms. Soon after that the two had begun seeing much more of one another. Their relationship was still going strong eight years later.
*****************************
8 Years Later
*****************************
Come on Dare, let’s go to the Riverside, it will be fun she urged. She had been trying to get her fiancé’ to take her to the exclusive five star resorts for some time. And now she had a free overnight room card she had won at work! Dare looked into Beth’s wide, hope filled eyes, knowing her passion for attending these types of affairs. Ever hopeful she would see someone rich. Dare knew how to use this to his advantage. Finally he buckled, all right, only if we play the game afterwards he bargained. She squirmed inwardly with passion, nodding her agreement. Beth found the game exciting, though she would never let on to Dare. And, you must wear the gold bridesmaid gown and jewels you wore to your friend’s wedding last week , he added, a wistful smile lighting up his thin face.. Okay she agreed, trying to sound reluctant, but truthfully feeling multiple tingles of delight.
Dare was handsome, in a scrawny, thin bearded, sort of way ( From an old photo that survives he resembled a young Johnny Depp… the eds), with a witty writers imagination and a playful disposition. He could always make Beth laugh, feeling his excitement as he drew her into his stories and games. She would never admit to it, but found the game delightfully erogenous. She smiled to herself, so Dare had liked the satin gown after all, he had not shown any interest in her wearing it since the wedding. And the jewelry, the small rhinestone pendent and earrings had been pretty, but Beth soon came up with another idea. She would knock his socks off by wearing the glittering diamonds and emeralds that had been inherited from her grandmother. The set had laid collecting dust in a safety deposit box all these years, unworn. She had never told Dare about them, waiting for the perfect occasion. She could just imagine the look in his eyes when he saw her wearing them. Okay then, game on, Beth thought, wickedly sending shivers up and down her spine.
Dare’s Game was based on role playing:
Dare would give Beth money to purchase a new outfit, something rich and shiny, like silk or satin. With the new outfit, Beth would wear the good gold jewelry she had received from Dare on her birthdays. The idea was to acting like a bored rich girl out for a good time, alone and vulnerable.
Dare would be at the hotel bar, waiting for Beth to make her entrance, then make her acquaintance , playing a debonair, suited gentleman with a mysterious past and a hidden agenda. They would make a date later, usually to dance and have drinks.
Then that evening, she would go down to the bar. Dressed in one of the long gowns Dare favored, fitting in with the usual spillover from a wedding reception that had been held in one of the Ballrooms. Sometimes she would wear the rhinestone jewelry they had purchased together at various antique stores. Then Beth would wait for Dare to make his entrance, signaling the time for Dare’s game. He would assume one of several roles, or possibly a new one that Beth had never seen. In the past Dare had played:
A spy who would dance with Beth, then disappear. Sending a note to Beth via a third person that would have her meet him clandestinely in a remote location…
A highwayman who would come across Beth on the castle grounds , usually the resorts empty gardens at night….
A rich millionaire looking for romance…
A kidnapper hired by an evil uncle, who after tying up Beth and removing her valuables would have a change of heart….
A Jewel thief who would be cunningly after her valuables…
A handsome prince rescuing Beth’s damsel in distress ….
Or Dare’s favorite, centered on their old childhood game of cops and robbers. Dare would play the thief, and steal something from Beth, usually while dancing. He would then leave preset clues around the grounds that she would have to follow to catch him.
All of the games usually led to some playful groping and then escalating into the upper echelons of erotic pleasure. Sometimes they never made out of the woods, or barely out of the ballroom. Beth shivered at these thoughts, wishing she didn’t have to wait….
**********************************************************************
Three weeks later at the Riverside Resort.
**********************************************************************
In the Bar:
At the bar, Dare smiled to himself, pleased. He had dropped Beth off to check in by herself. She would change into her new outfit and wear it down to the bar for lunch. She would come in acting like a complete stranger to the area. Dare would make her acquaintance, invite her to lunch, and make plans to see her that evening at the resorts dance room. There were two wedding receptions going on, and that dance room should be filled with well-dressed patrons. Beth would fit right in; clad that pretty gown she had promised to wear.
Dare had been sitting at the bar, thinking about ways to play out the game that evening, when the answer came to him, in the form of a stranger who had come with his drink and sat next to him. The stranger introduced himself as Seth, and shaking Dare’s hand sat on the stool next to him. After they had had couple of drinks, they had become quite chummy. Seth explaining he had come up for one of the weddings, and assumed Dare was doing the same. Seth did not fail to observe Dare’s secretive smile, but did not question it. Their conversation was distracted only when a newcomer appeared at the entrance. Beth walked in, a long flowing silky skirt swishing down to her leather sandals. A shiny, long sleeved satin top fitting tightly along her perky figure, with bright gold jewelry complementing the ensemble. Real gold, Seth observed silently to himself.
Beth went to a table, both men going silent as they watched her move through the room. Good-looking one, that, Seth commented, looking at Dare who was deep in thought as his eyes were fixed on the sexy newcomer. Seth teasingly offered Dare a penny for his thoughts. Dare smiled mischievously, letting lose his plans. Seth listened to the young man, smiling as a light went on in his steal grey eyes. When Dare finished he offered up a suggestion as to how Dare could make it really interesting for Beth. The two co-conspirators worked it out: Seth told Dare about a stone hut and wall that was located on the back nine of the resorts golf course. He suggested that he, Seth, would meet Beth that evening and pass a note onto her from Dare saying that he was in trouble and needed her help, with directions to the spot. Dare liked the idea, and wrote the note on a cocktail napkin, cementing the plan by handing it to Seth.
Off you go old chap, let Uncle Seth take care of his end, he said grinning, giving Dare a sporting clap on the back. With a wink, Dare left his fellow collaborator, and went over to Beth, who had since been seated by a male waiter, now standing drooling over her shoulder as she looked at the menu.
Later that same evening, inside the crowded club:
Seth had stopped by the bar for a last drink. His business venture had been concluded earlier than he had expected. With the change in his plans, he had checked out early, his kit packed, boot loaded and the car ready. He now sat at the bar Causley watching young lass of about seventeen who had literally ran into him at one of the receptions. He watched her flirting about the club, weaving in and out of the guests. With a long swishing gown flowing provocatively along her lithe figure, abundant, solid white gold chains swinging out in an alluringly eye catching manner as she scurried about. A diminutive gold ring its half caret diamond flickered playfully from the petite pinky it loosely surrounded once again welcomed his contemplation. The lass presented quite an intriguing gold feathered fledgling, just begging to be plucked. He looked around, spying her parents on the dance floor. The father/husband, despite being an excellent dancer, gave him no interest. It was his partner, the wife/ mother, decked out in a iridescent suit and long swishing satin skirt upon which he now was reexamining. He again studied under the bright dance floor lights her fine pearls dangling from her ears, throat, and wrists. But it was the Ladies’ two rings that stole the show for him; an engagement ring with a rock of at least 2 carets surrounded by numerous shimmering half caret stones and a pinky ring similar to her daughters, that proudly displayed a single white solitaire diamond of at least one caret that had garnered his consideration. He also reconsidered the facts that he had been able to garnish about the lady who wore them, and her husband. The wife/mother was a heavy drinker who would not be expected to make any kind of appearance before noon. Hubby was a golfer, who would be out for breakfast at five am before being on the links at 6 am the next morning . At 5 :15 Seth was planning to pay a visit to his suite, and relieve his two ladies of their expensive trinkets. It should be an easy straight forward caper, that had Seth bristling with anticipation at the prospect.
As he was tossing down the last of his drink he remembered about Dare and the note he still had in his pocket. Setting down the empty glass, he pulled the note out and looked at it, kids he smirked, and was preparing to crinkle toss it on the bar and leave, when his eyes caught sight of Beth. He had felt his breath taken away when he saw her. Not at all what he had expected, he would say to Beth much later in the evening. He looked over the note, stirrings of a plan began formulating. All thoughts of the dancing couple and his plans fled his mind, as He rose, throwing a fiver on the bar and went off to intercept Beth.
Seth held Beth in his arms, she was a vivacious little thing he thought, while smiling charmingly into her eyes. She seemed a little apprehensive at first, but had settled right in when he had told her this had been set up by Dare, remember me at the bar with him this afternoon he had consoled her, she had smile brightly into his eyes in answer. He relished in the feel of her warm satin gown, and allowed himself to be mesmerized by the shimmer of her diamonds.
It reminded him of the diamonds that had been worn by one of his dance partners earlier that evening at a reception. He had forgotten her name, but not her diamonds, one of which now resided in a hidden compartment of his roadsters boot, along with the diamond pin he had slipped off the satin cape he had cordially help a well-dressed lady put on. He had also shelved his plans for his 5:15 am “meeting” at the golf playing husbands hotel room, Beth’s jewels were a much more lucrative prospect.
When the dance had ended he took her to the bar and sat her down, ordering her a drink. She seemed a little perplexed, Seth kissed her gloved hand; wait for it he told her mysteriously, winking into her eyes. Beth had winked back, the fire in her heart reflecting deep in her eyes. Seth left, smiling cleverly to himself as he took in his surroundings. He looked around as he walked away, now where had the little imp gotten off too?
He had decided that the seventeen year old in the long flirting gown would play a very different role in his plans. He approached her, with Dares note and a twenty. Thought for a moment about the pair of thick platinum gold chains dangling from her throat down the open neckline of the girl’s glossy gown, then banished the though, he had bigger fish to filet. The twenty caught her attention and she eagerly listened as he explained to her what to do, pointing out Beth sitting, waiting in earnest at the bar. Wait until she finishes her drink, Seth told her as she listened eagerly. She took the twenty into her hand, the half caret diamond on her pinky ring flashing, and her gold chain bracelets jangled as she grasped it. Seth left, figuring he had about twenty minutes to stop at his car, get a few items from the boot, and put his plan in motion.
Beth had curiously received the note from the attractively shy young lady, clad a slinky gown that made her appear years older. Reading it she folded it and was just getting up when a man wearing a suit came up to her and offered to let her dance with him. It took her some time, before she was finally able to ward him off and leave the brilliantly lit clubroom for the dark, forbidding grounds outside.
Now, a thoroughly excited Beth walked up the hill. Her senses becoming more prickling alert with each step. Innocently unaware that she was no longer playing a role in Dare’s game!
************************************************************************************
Epilogue:
As Seth walked away admiring the shimmery necklace, his thoughts travelled back to the gold burdened impish youngster in the swirling gown, and her pearl and diamond laden mother. Revisiting his original plans he decided that he liked the odds, especially since they would be against him. With the father leaving early to meet his cronies for breakfast the Mother should be still sleeping off her drink induced stupor, the hyperactive girl should still be out cold, but presented no risk if she awoke, he had more rope. The ladies jewels should be lying about in the apartment, or handedly on their persons( the pairs of diamond pinky rings, as well as the multi-diamond engagement ring flashed once again across his memory with all their brilliant glory),as he caught fire with the vision. There could be a safe he reasoned, but with a tied up daughter and a knife in his hand, the mother should have no issue opening it for him, or disclosing anywhere else her jewels may have been hidden . But if there was no safe, and the rings, pearls and solid white gold chains were somewhere in the room, he knew he would be able to noiselessly break in, find and slip the jewels from wherever they were perched, and be safely on his way without even causing the slightest stir from the sleeping woman and her daughter. It was a road Seth had travelled down many times. He prickled at the thought, as he foresightedly tallied up the potential haul while making his way to the car. The Mother/wife’s diamond rings, would easily fetch him at least three grand, probably close five with her pearls and the whelp’s jewelry added in. About a quarter of what he probably would get for the jewels now in his procession, so he mused inquisitively to himself, so ,was it worth the risk of his 20,000 bird in hand? Yes he answered himself, as all too familiar and welcome tingling sensation overwhelmed Seths muscular body. Like Dare, Seth like to play risky games, especially those which promised to be somewhat profitable. It would be a tantalizingly chancy gamble of his own; to wait a safe distance away while things cooled down and then return to break into the un protected sleeping ladies chamber.. He knew just the place to hide , and it would be a perfect spot to watch events unfold around Beth and Dare, while making his plans! It also afforded a nicely secret hiding nook for the ill-gotten gains collected so far that evening in case something went wrong, which it wouldn’t..
Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
DISCLAIMER
All rights and copyrights observed by Chatwick University, Its contributors, associates and Agents
The purpose of these chronological photos and accompanying stories, articles is to educate, teach, instruct, and generally increase the awareness level of the general public as to the nature and intent of the underlying criminal elements that have historically plagued humankind.
No Part of this can reprinted, duplicated, or copied be without the express written permission and approval of Chatwick University.
These photos and stories are works of fiction. Any resemblance to people, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.
As with any work of fiction or fantasy the purpose is for entertainment and/or educational purposes only, and should never be attempted in real life.
We accept no responsibility for any events occurring outside this website.
*********************************************************************************************************************************************************************
Classical version print devlopped in Ilford multigrade ( have a look on the "lithed" version of this print)
9.4.09
The flight arrived on time; and the twelve hours while on board passed quickly and without incident. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary once again.
Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The décor comes straight out of the sterile 80's and is less an eyesore than an insipid background to the rhythm of human activity, such hustle and bustle, at the fore. There certainly are faces from all races present, creating a rich mosaic of humanity which is refreshing if not completely revitalizing after swimming for so long in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong.
Internet access is sealed in England, it seems. Nothing is free; everything is egregiously monetized from the wireless hotspots down to the desktop terminals. I guess Hong Kong has spoiled me with its abundant, free access to the information superhighway.
11.4.09
Despite staying in a room with five other backpackers, I have been sleeping well. The mattress and pillow are firm; my earplugs keep the noise out; and the sleeping quarters are as dark as a cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as, perhaps, a dreary rainy day when on. All in all, St. Paul's is a excellent place to stay for the gregarious, adventurous, and penurious city explorer - couchsurfing may be a tenable alternative; I'll test for next time.
Yesterday Connie and I gorged ourselves at the borough market where there were all sorts of delectable, savory victuals. There was definitely a European flavor to the food fair: simmering sausages were to be found everywhere; and much as the meat was plentiful, and genuine, so were the dairy delicacies, in the form of myriad rounds of cheese, stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed these tasty morsels down with copious amounts of alcohol that flowed from cups as though amber waterfalls. For the first time I tried mulled wine, which tasted like warm, rancid fruit punch - the ideal tonic for a drizzling London day, I suppose. We later killed the afternoon at the pub, shooting the breeze while imbibing several diminutive half-pints in the process. Getting smashed at four in the afternoon doesn't seem like such a bad thing anymore, especially when you are having fun in the company of friends; I can more appreciate why the English do it so much!
Earlier in the day, we visited the Tate Modern. Its turbine room lived up to its prominent billing what with a giant spider, complete with bulbous egg sac, anchoring the retrospective exhibit. The permanent galleries, too, were a delight upon which to feast one's eyes. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock ruled the chambers of the upper floors with the products of their lithe wrists; and I ended up becoming a huge fan of cubism, while developing a disdain for abstract art and its vacuous images, which, I feel, are devoid of both motivation and emotion.
My first trip yesterday morning was to Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. It towers imperiously over the surrounding neighborhood; yet for all its majesty, the place sure was quiet! Business did pick up later, however, once the armory shop opened, and dozens of fans descended on it like bees to a hive. I, too, swooped in on a gift-buying mission, and wound up purchasing a book for Godfrey, a scarf for a student, and a jersey - on sale, of course - for good measure.
I'm sitting in the Westminster Abbey Museum now, resting my weary legs and burdened back. So far, I've been verily impressed with what I've seen, such a confluence of splendor and history before me that it would require days to absorb it all, when regretfully I can spare only a few hours. My favorite part of the abbey is the poets corner where no less a literary luminary than Samuel Johnson rests in peace - his bust confirms his homely presence, which was so vividly captured in his biography.
For lunch I had a steak and ale pie, served with mash, taken alongside a Guinness, extra cold - 2 degrees centigrade colder, the bartender explained. It went down well, like all the other delicious meals I've had in England; and no doubt by now I have grown accustomed to inebriation at half past two. Besides, Liverpool were playing inspired football against Blackburn; and my lunch was complete.
Having had my fill of football, I decided to skip my ticket scalping endeavor at Stamford Bridge and instead wandered over to the British Museum to inspect their extensive collections. Along the way, my eye caught a theater, its doors wide open and admitting customers. With much rapidity, I subsequently checked the show times, saw that a performance was set to begin, and at last rushed to the box office to purchase a discounted ticket - if you call a 40 pound ticket a deal, that is. That's how I grabbed a seat to watch Hairspray in the West End.
The show was worth forty pounds. The music was addictive; and the stage design and effects were not so much kitschy as delightfully stimulating - the pulsating background lights were at once scintillating and penetrating. The actors as well were vivacious, oozing charisma while they danced and delivered lines dripping in humor. Hairspray is a quality production and most definitely recommended.
12.4.09
At breakfast I sat across from a man who asked me to which country Hong Kong had been returned - China or Japan. That was pretty funny. Then he started spitting on my food as he spoke, completely oblivious to my breakfast becoming the receptacle in which the fruit of his inner churl was being placed. I guess I understand the convention nowadays of covering one's mouth whilst speaking and masticating at the same time!
We actually conversed on London life in general, and I praised London for its racial integration, the act of which is a prodigious leap of faith for any society, trying to be inclusive, accepting all sorts of people. It wasn't as though the Brits were trying in vain to be all things to all men, using Spanish with the visitors from Spain, German with the Germans and, even, Hindi with the Indians, regardless of whether or not Hindi was their native language; not even considering the absurd idea of encouraging the international adoption of their language; thereby completely keeping English in English hands and allowing its proud polyglots to "practice" their languages. Indeed, the attempt of the Londoners to avail themselves of the rich mosaic of ethnic knowledge, and to seek a common understanding with a ubiquitous English accent is an exemplar, and the bedrock for any world city.
I celebrated Jesus' resurrection at the St. Andrew's Street Church in Cambridge. The parishioners of this Baptist church were warm and affable, and I met several of them, including one visiting (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan university in Guangzhou, who in fact had visited my tiny City University of Hong Kong in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and the believers fewer in number than the "progressive" services at any of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK; yet that's what makes this part of the body of Christ unique; besides, the message was as brief as a powerpoint slide, and informative no less; the power word which spoke into my life being a question from John 21:22 - what is that to you?
Big trees; exquisite lawns; and old, pointy colleges; that's Cambridge in a nutshell. Sitting here, sipping on a half-pint of Woodforde's Wherry, I've had a leisurely, if not languorous, day so far; my sole duty consisting of walking around while absorbing the verdant environment as though a sponge, camera in tow.
I am back at the sublime beer, savoring a pint of Sharp's DoomBar before my fish and chips arrive; the drinking age is 18, but anyone whose visage even hints of youthful brilliance is likely to get carded these days, the bartender told me. The youth drinking culture here is almost as twisted as the university drinking culture in America.
My stay in Cambridge, relaxing and desultory as it may be, is about to end after this late lunch. I an not sure if there is anything left to see, save for the American graveyard which rests an impossible two miles away. I have had a wonderful time in this town; and am thankful for the access into its living history - the residents here must demonstrate remarkable patience and tolerance what with so many tourists ambling on the streets, peering - and photographing - into every nook and cranny.
13.4.09
There are no rubbish bins, yet I've seen on the streets many mixed race couples in which the men tend to be white - the women also belonging to a light colored ethnicity, usually some sort of Asian; as well saw some black dudes and Indian dudes with white chicks.
People here hold doors, even at the entrance to the toilet. Sometimes it appears as though they are going out on a limb, just waiting for the one who will take the responsibility for the door from them, at which point I rush out to relieve them of such a fortuitous burden.
I visited the British Museum this morning. The two hours I spent there did neither myself nor the exhibits any justice because there really is too much to survey, enough captivating stuff to last an entire day, I think. The bottomless well of artifacts from antiquity, drawing from sources as diverse as Korea, and Mesopotamia, is a credit to the British empire, without whose looting most of this amazing booty would be unavailable for our purview; better, I think, for these priceless treasures to be open to all in the grandest supermarket of history than away from human eyes, and worst yet, in the hands of unscrupulous collectors or in the rubbish bin, possibly.
Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The building is a plush marvel, and a testament to this city's love for the arts. The ballet itself was satisfying, the first half being superior to the second, in which the nimble dancers demonstrated their phenomenal dexterity in, of all places, a graveyard covered in a cloak of smoke and darkness. I admit, their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy necropolis, did strike me as, strange.
Two amicable ladies from Kent convinced me to visit their hometown tomorrow, where, they told me, the authentic, "working" Leeds Castle and the mighty interesting home of Charles Darwin await.
I'm nursing a pint of Green King Ruddles and wondering about the profusion of British ales and lagers; the British have done a great deed for the world by creating an interminable line of low-alcohol session beers that can be enjoyed at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; and their disservice is this: besides this inexhaustible supply of cheap beer ensnaring my inner alcoholic, I feel myself putting on my freshman fifteen, almost ten years after the fact; I am going to have to run a bit harder back in Hong Kong if I want to burn all this malty fuel off.
Irene suggested I stop by the National Art Gallery since we were in the area; and it was an hour well spent. The gallery currently presents a special exhibit on Picasso, the non-ticketed section of which features several seductive renderings, including David spying on Bathsheba - repeated in clever variants - and parodies of other masters' works. Furthermore, the main gallery houses two fabulous portraits by Joshua Reynolds, who happens to be favorite of mine, he in life being a close friend of Samuel Johnson - I passed by Boswells, where its namesake first met Johnson, on my way to the opera house.
14.4.09
I prayed last night, and went through my list, lifting everyone on it up to the Lord. That felt good; that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and in the lives of my brothers and sisters.
Doubtless, then, I have felt quite wistful, as though a specter in the land of the living, being in a place where religious fervor, it seems, is a thing of the past, a trifling for many, to be hidden away in the opaque corners of centuries-old cathedrals that are more expensive tourist destinations than liberating homes of worship these days. Indeed, I have yet to see anyone pray, outside of the Easter service which I attended in Cambridge - for such an ecstatic moment in verily a grand church, would you believe that it was only attended by at most three dozen spirited ones. The people of England, and Europe in general, have, it is my hope, only locked away the Word, relegating it to the quiet vault of their hearts. May it be taken out in the sudden pause before mealtimes and in the still crisp mornings and cool, silent nights. There is still hope for a revival in this place, for faith to rise like that splendid sun every morning. God would love to rescue them, to deliver them in this day, it is certain.
I wonder what Londoners think, if anything at all, about their police state which, like a vine in the shadows, has taken root in all corners of daily life, from the terrorist notifications in the underground, which implore Londoners to report all things suspicious, to the pair of dogs which eagerly stroll through Euston. What makes this all the more incredible is the fact that even the United States, the indomitable nemesis of the fledgling, rebel order, doesn't dare bombard its citizens with such fear mongering these days, especially with Obama in office; maybe we've grown wise in these past few years to the dubious returns of surrendering civil liberties to the state, of having our bags checked everywhere - London Eye; Hairspray; and The Royal Opera House check bags in London while the museums do not; somehow, that doesn't add up for me.
I'm in a majestic bookshop on New Street in Birmingham, and certainly to confirm my suspicions, there are just as many books on the death of Christianity in Britain as there are books which attempt to murder Christianity everywhere. I did find, however, a nice biography on John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I may pick up the former.
Lunch with Sally was pleasant and mirthful. We dined at a French restaurant nearby New Street - yes, Birmingham is a cultural capitol! Sally and I both tried their omelette, while her boyfriend had the fish, without chips. Conversation was light, the levity was there and so was our reminiscing about those fleeting moments during our first year in Hong Kong; it is amazing how friendships can resume so suddenly with a smile. On their recommendation, I am on my way to Warwick Castle - they also suggested that I visit Cadbury World, but they cannot take on additional visitors at the moment, the tourist office staff informed me, much to my disappointment!
Visiting Warwick Castle really made for a great day out. The castle, parts of which were established by William the Conquerer in 1068, is as much a kitschy tourist trap as a meticulous preservation of history, at times a sillier version of Ocean Park while at others a dignified dedication to a most glorious, inexorably English past. The castle caters to all visitors; and not surprisingly, that which delighted all audiences was a giant trebuchet siege engine, which for the five p.m. performance hurled a fireball high and far into the air - fantastic! Taliban beware!
15.4.09
I'm leaving on a jet plane this evening; don't know when I'll be back in England again. I'll miss this quirky, yet endearing place; and that I shall miss Irene and Tom who so generously welcomed me into their home, fed me, and suffered my use of their toilet and shower goes without saying. I'm grateful for God's many blessings on this trip.
On the itinerary today is a trip to John Wesley's home, followed by a visit to the Imperial War Museum. Already this morning I picked up a tube of Oilatum, a week late perhaps, which Teri recommended I use to treat this obstinate, dermal weakness of mine - I'm happy to report that my skin has stopped crying.
John Wesley's home is alive and well. Services are still held in the chapel everyday; and its crypt, so far from being a cellar for the dead, is a bright, spacious museum in which all things Wesley are on display - I never realized how much of an iconic figure he became in England; at the height of this idol frenzy, ironic in itself, he must have been as popular as the Beatles were at their apex. The house itself is a multi-story edifice with narrow, precipitous staircases and spacious rooms decorated in an 18th century fashion.
I found Samuel Johnson's house within a maze of red brick hidden alongside Fleet Street. To be in the home of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and whose indefatigable love for obscure words became the inspiration for my own lexical obsession, this, by far, is the climax of my visit to England! The best certainly has been saved for last.
There are a multitude of portraits hanging around the house like ornaments on a tree. Every likeness has its own story, meticulously retold on the crib sheets in each room. Celebrities abound, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted several of the finer images in the house. I have developed a particular affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Boswell writes, "His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. It appears as though I, too, could use a more flattering description of myself!
I regretfully couldn't stop to try the curry in England; I guess the CityU canteen's take on the dish will have to do. I did, however, have the opportune task of flirting with the cute Cathay Pacific counter staff who checked me in. She was gorgeous in red, light powder on her cheeks, with real diamond earrings, she said; and her small, delicate face, commanded by a posh British accent rendered her positively irresistible, electrifying. Not only did she grant me an aisle seat but she had the gumption to return my fawning with zest; she must be a pro at this by now.
I saw her again as she was pulling double-duty, collecting tickets prior to boarding. She remembered my quest for curry; and in the fog of infatuation, where nary a man has been made, I fumbled my words like the sloppy kid who has had too much punch. I am just an amateur, alas, an "Oliver Goldsmith" with the ladies - I got no game - booyah!
Some final, consequential bits: because of the chavs, Burberry no longer sells those fashionable baseball caps; because of the IRA, rubbish bins are no longer a commodity on the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and the Underground of the city are a soiled mess; and because of other terrorists from distant, more arid lands, going through a Western airport has taken on the tedium of perfunctory procedure that doesn't make me feel any safer from my invisible enemies.
At last, I saw so many Indians working at Heathrow that I could have easily mistaken the place for Mumbai. Their presence surprised me because their portion of the general population surely must be less than their portion of Heathrow staff, indicating some mysterious hiring bias. Regardless, they do a superb job with cursory airport checks, and in general are absurdly funny and witty when not tactless.
That's all for England!