View allAll Photos Tagged perhaps
perhaps a place to sit at the end of the day
a glass of wine
a smoke perhaps
a view of the beautiful blue tiles
cladding your neighbours home
It used to be for hire until the boathouse had to close for essential, but unfunded, repairs. Now it sits out in all weathers living up to it's name more as every season goes by.
Perhaps my first observance of a 30 inch wheel on a vehicle. a fully custom auto, an unusual looking contraption, I counted 8 extra large speakers along with flat panel viewing screens, strange because both front and rear operated on either air of hydraulic fluid, with no visible sign of motor drive, like a mobile entertainment center. several see thru plexiglass with electronic PC boards, with variable adjustable resistors as well transformers. 751252R30 tire size.
On the 30th August 2016 the container ship "Frej" (1994, 4,470DWT) passes Vlissingen as lone bather returns from a very quick early morning dip.
I'm not a bug guy. This thing was practically transparent when I started tracking him flying by and he landed on this leaf. Focus!
perhaps we will find the tea house*
love to you, dear friends!!
joy to you, dear travelers!!
(photo taken in the cuyahoga valley national park, at spring creek on the way to blue hen falls.)
Perhaps one of Cossette’s classical outfits inspired by the slow arrival of spring, the music of Vivaldi, and the memories of Venice. Of course seeing the fabric in store was the spark that ignited everything, followed by an irresistible urge to create something that matches the delicacy of the fabric, its subtle colors and lightness. The pigs offer a cute contrast, weave in a secondary story which this time you yourself can imagine dear visitor.
When you drive into the Natural Park Uccellina, near Grosseto, Tuscany, you will find foxes at the sides of the road, getting so close to the cars. They'll look at you in your eyes, just as much as you'd look in theirs... And their expression is deeply sad
Gli occhi di una volpe triste
Guidando nel parco dell'Uccellina, sulla Maremma, si possono vedere molte volpi al lato della strada, avvicinandosi moltissimo alle macchine. Quelle volpi sosterranno il tuo sguardo più di quanto tu non possa immaginare. E la loro tristezza è pesante e profonda.
Hasta el dia de hoy, eh conocido a muchos chicos sabes.. pero ah muy pocos hombres.. , le he dicho te quiero a la misma persona que termine odiando.. y le he dicho te amo a la misma persona que estoy olvidando, y esque yo creo que no existe ese hombre para mi ,y pienso que aunque ahora mismo este el en algun lugar del mundo.. jamas lo encontrare, porque solo puedo verlo cuando cierro los ojos , tal vez no exista ese hombre con el que yo soñe ,no existe esa persona para compartir ,yo paso cada dia por el cielo con la excusa de buscarte y asi bajarte hasta aqui .. tal vez las cosas no funcionan como las pense ,nose si debo de cambiar.. porque sigo sin tener pista de ese hombre.. que quizas no existe ,miro hacia a mi alrededor y veo a millones de hombres que todos me dicen solo mentiras! ..no ven que para nada es lo que quiero.. y porsupuesto que prefiero soledad antes de estar con tipos malos ,puede ser que yo exija demaciado solo quiero la mitad de dolor de lo que he llorado .-
Not the view that everybody sees, you gotta do a little work to get this angle. In my opinion, perhaps one of the most scenic waterfalls in Washington State.
D17652. Does anyone recognise this attractive group of buildings?
They're in Miniland at Legoland, Windsor and the bridge in the right foreground has a Scot Rail liveried Class 156 running under it. Also, the grey building in the right background is Edinburgh Castle, so I am therefore wondering whether these buildings might also be in Edinburgh, or elsewhere in Scotland.
Saturday, 23rd September, 2017. Copyright © Ron Fisher.
DSCN2583, Image # I think. I lost it in the process of trying to fix this picture up. I am lost tonight, I guess. I wanted to crop it a tiny bit, which I did. I wanted to add a note on left side, that it is a Lightling that resembles a vertical Tuxedo Cat with a red backpack, On the lower right is a Lightling of only Santa Claus face, red & white Santa hat and big white beard, His right hand is in motion a bit with a red mitten on. His left hand doesn't show in this image, nor does his body.
I wanted to remove at least two tiny blemishes, maybe more, and could not figure out how to work my newest program.
I have some new programs and controls and I don't really know how to run/work them. I spent over an hour and 15 minutes on this, and almost gave up completely. I'm thinking perhaps I should have. Arrgh! Delina
▊靜待醃漬▊
Perhaps I am not ready to go
平面插畫 立體創作
關於醃漬:
就在那天道別的早晨過後，我在巷口那間老奶奶笑的很溫暖的雜貨店，買了一個容器，陶瓷製成，不大也不小足以把自己安放進去，手腳還能伸展的那種尺寸。接著安.安.靜.靜的等待發酵醃漬。
Before we move on,quietly I wait for the uncertainty to settle,in an enclosed space it cultures,until I am ready to go.
展期 2012 6/15-7/15
地點 尖蚪 寶藏巖藝術村 Taipei, Taiwan台北市汀州路三段230巷57號
畫畫捏東西的人:馬樂原 mAre
不知道從何開始,意識到自己是個容易想多想歪的情緒過敏兒,
很容易隨著腦子裡亂七八糟的路線,思緒就擅自搭上車,
到了一些陌生的地方 路過一些風景,只能靠著寫寫字、畫畫圖,
將這些零碎毫無秩序的片段收集起來,放在本子裡壓扁。
名字的涵義是在草原上快樂奔跑的馬
數字方面喜歡3號 不吵不鬧安靜的位子。
mare03@hotmail.com.tw
歡迎大家來玩 :D
Perhaps there may come a day for us all, when our possessions, the everyday things that make our life, are hauled to the curb, compacted and trundled under diesel power to a landfill, a different landfill. The point of focus is somewhat behind the subject here, perhaps a poignant error. That's art for you.
perhaps this isn't very good. but I honestly had nothing else to do this evening.
can you tell I've been listening to Dry The River all week.
Perhaps this is a mundane experience for many of you but excluding most major UK cities, the Thames Valley is one of the least likely areas to have snow.
If it has snowed over night, there's often subtle signs of the stuff such as the accompanying quietness or if one's curtains aren't fully drawn - more light than expected. This is the view around 7am this morning from my front bedroom window. By the evening, hardly any signs left.
Tone mapped from a single jpg
Perhaps, all three. This is the reworking of an image uploaded in 2010. The prior image is no longer available for public viewing. Panasonic TZ4, converted to b/w and tweaked some.
About me: Over 30 years ago, I emigrated to Israel with my family. This was by choice to live in the Holy Land. I did not burn any bridges, nor did I leave in anger. Today, I'm an American in Jerusalem.
At the RNC telecast last night, I was moved by Condoleeza Rice's personal story; the little black girl from Alabama went on to get a doctorate and become a US Secretary of State.
What she said in just a few words transcends party politics: Where we are going is far more important than where we came from.
Hmm, so another relatively large build just one week after a battleship. Must be a record for something......
Anyways, welcome to Okapanochie CS space OPS, which is a major CS operations and divisions center here on Earth. It was originally an American missile base in Missouri, but, of course, that was some time ago. It now is a major hub of for the logistics division for the CS fleet.
Yeah, so this has an interesting back story. I was designing a bomber aircraft, and the next thing I new, I happened to push together a few slope elements, and realized that it looked a bit like rock work. Yeah. I had always been inspired by LukeClarenceVan's Launch Facility, which is clearly was translated into this creation.
Julia wanted her steak medium-rare, but was a little overdone, but still moist, tenderm and full of beefy flavour. Sitting beneath it were the juiciest, tasties field mushrooms we had ever had. All this was flavoured with a sweetish merlot sauce and a confit of shallot that gave it an oniony zing.
---
All our expectations were met at Guillaume at Bennelong! All we needed was good food done well, and we got all that at Guillaume's.
If we ever get the chance, perhaps we should go back for the 8-course degustation!
Guillaume At Bennelong
Sydney Opera House Bennelong Point
(02) 9241 1999
Bennelong Pt
Sydney NSW 2000
www.guillaumeatbennelong.com.au/
Shiraz - 2005 Lloyd Brothers, McLaren Vale AUD17
Two-course Pre-Theatre Dinner AUD63
Entrees
- Atlantic Salmon twice cold smoked in house served with crème fraîche and toasted brioche
- Scallops gently sealed and served on a bed of Jerusalem artichoke, spinach and veal jus
Main
- Sealed Grain-fed Beef Tenderloin with a tombé of field mushrooms, baby spinach, confit of shallot and merlot sauce
- Confit of Duck Leg with baby brussel sprouts, speck and mustard cream
Paris Mash potatoes AUD14
Dessert AUD12 - Vanilla, Pistachio and Coffee Mini Crème Brulee with Lemon, Almond and Chocolate mini madeleines
Tea, Coffee including petit fours AUD8
Perhaps we do Wish For Happiness But we Also Crave to Keep The Pain Nearby
Description: Thank you so MUCH to Mário Net (www.facebook.com/mario.net.33?fref=gc&dti=38370354842...) and Gustavo de Mattos (www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100015771517800&fref=ufi) for the massive and indispensable help on this ID. All sources were provided by Mário. This ID is credited to him and to Gustavo, who gave extra help.
This butterfly was incredibly painful to identify. It's a butterfly in the family Riodinidae, subfamily Riodininae, tribe Mesosemiini and subtribe Napaeina. I've tried looking into every single specimen of other genera in this subtribe and none matched. Only 4 species of the genus Voltinia supposedly could be found in Brazil. At first, I thought the subject portrayed was a Voltinia umbra (see the link below), but it's not found in Brazil. The closest-looking one located in Southeastern Brazil is Voltinia agroeca but I don't think that's it. I've tried looking into other tribes and subtribes and nothing I found matched the specimen above besides the subtribe Napaeina and, specifically, the genus Voltinia. This butterfly is NOT an Euryba sp.; I've looked into that too as well as many, many others, there are no doubts about that. However, since the distribution status isn't failproof, the best match continues to be V. umbra.
This butterfly's wingspan was approximately 32mm. Caterpillars in the genus Voltinia feed on Bromeliaceae and orchids growing next to tree trunks. I'm unaware of the host plant(s) of the adults. A species of Voltinia, Voltinia drampa, has undergone extinction; fossils were found and these were dated many years ago.
Take a look at a summary of the research done:
Voltinia sanarita is completely different: www.butterfliesofamerica.com/L/t/Voltinia_sanarita_a.htm
Voltinia cebrenia is really dark and the picture does not help: www.butterfliesofamerica.com/L/t/Voltinia_cebrenia_a.htm
No matching patterns found in Voltinia phryxe: www.butterfliesofamerica.com/L/t/Voltinia_phryxe_a.htm
V. umbra looks identical to the subject portrayed, but is not supposedly present in Brazil: butterfliesofamerica.com/imagehtmls/Riodinidae/91-SRNP-9-...
V. agroeca looks the closest to the subject portrayed (although the exact physionomy of V. cebrenia is unknown to me) that can be found in the region, but I'm not sure if it is one: www.butterfliesofamerica.com/L/t/Voltinia_agroeca_a.htm
Feeding type: Larvae feed on Bromeliaceae and orchids growing next to tree trunks. I'm unaware on the feeding habits of the adults.
PROJECT NOAH (Português): www.projectnoah.org/spottings/939853149
Perhaps not the longest oil train that I have ever photographed, but worthy of capture none the less. It's 2.00pm as 47197 (D1847 marking on one side) arrives with a solitary 46 ton Bitumen tank (Number 54644 for those interested) for Total Oil, LOR, Immingham (Running as 6G42). The engine will later leave Leeds with 6D42 back to Immingham.
Nikon 801
28/80mm/F2.8
250/F16
Fuji Velvia
♥ whilst on the car ride to new york city i was realizing that i feel most at home when i am on a plane, or on the road. perhaps that is where i have misplaced my old self..
Johnburg.The Hundred of Oladdie was proclaimed in 1876 and wheat growers started to move into this semi desert area soon after. Three years later in 1879 the town of Johnburg was surveyed with 144 town blocks. What optimism! Few blocks were ever sold and even fewer were ever built upon but nevertheless a small town did develop. Another further 30 kilometres northwards another town developed named Belton so perhaps the Johnburg farmers were less marginal than some. But this was a long way beyond Goyder’s Line. According to Goyder, and the government ignored him on this, these areas were not suitable for farming only pastoralism. Higher than average rainfalls in the late 1870s would not continue and Goyder was correct. Drought returned in the early 1880s yet the town developed and farmers attempted to grow crops here for another 20 to 30 years in association with some sheep grazing as well. Today Johnburg is very much a ghost town with only a handful of permanent residents and a couple of occasional weekend residents.
Johnburg was a government town and it was named after Captain John Jervois the son of the South Australian Governor. Even before the first town blocks were sold in 1879 a general store had opened at this junction of five roads. The Wesleyan Methodists moved into the town early and services were held from 1882, probably in the hotel. Their first church was built in 1889. Also in that year the impressive stone Johnburg Hotel was built ready to cash in on the travellers going further out to Belton and Brendleby settlements. The nearest town to Johnburg was Carrieton across the Oladdie Ranges. A Post Office and blacksmith opened in the town to complement the general store. A saddler also opened for business. The settlers needed a school for their children and a weatherboard temporary school was erected in 1891 with a teacher. Just a few years later enrolment was high enough to warrant a fine Gothic style stone school with attached residence for the headmaster. It opened in 1897 with the highest enrolment recorded in 1899 when 85 children attended this school. Amazingly it remained open as a school until 1967. Today it is a quite well maintained private residence with a lush green lawn. The public hall, a galvanised iron structure is still standing at the crossroads in the town but looks little used, if at all. Until recent decades it was used for all state and federal elections as a polling place. Almost next to it is the former stone Methodist Church. The first Methodist church was demolished mainly by white ants and then it replaced by this stone building in 1924. A local farmer Carl Hombsch donated the land and so fittingly his name is on the foundation stone and he along with four other local men became the trustees of the land and church. With the formation of the Uniting Church in Australia in 1977 this church closed and was sold as a private weekender residence. The Methodist Church in Johnburg also had a manse and that stands behind the old store and post office. It was sold in 1924 to the storekeeper to raise funds for the stone church. In that same year the storekeeper Robert Gibb built a new stone store in front of the old Methodist manse. The Gibb family were farmers around Johnburg for around 100 years and one branch or other of the Gibb family ran the Post Office, telephone office and general store from 1900 until it closed in 1966. A sign outside the former store says population of Johnburg two. It is probably more like seven. It is not clear when the hotel closed but it was certainly closed by 1948. Only the ghosts remain in this sadly crumbling and vandalised ruin today.
Well, perhaps not the absolute newest Cicada, but apparently this guy had emerged from its exoskeleton earlier today... I'd never seen a fresh one before... so pink!
The nuraghe (Sardinian nuraghes) is the main type of ancient megalithic edifice found in Sardinia, Italy. Today it has come to be the symbol of Sardinia and its distinctive culture, the Nuragic civilization. According to the Oxford English Dictionary the etymology is "uncertain and disputed": "The word is perhaps related to the Sardinian place names Nurra, Nurri, Nurru, and to Sardinian nurra heap of stones, cavity in earth (although these senses are difficult to reconcile). A connection with the Semitic base of Arabic nūr light, fire ... is now generally rejected."The typical nuraghe is situated in a panoramic spot and has the shape of a truncated conical tower resembling a beehive. The structure has no foundations and stands only by virtue of the weight of its stones, which may weigh as much as several tons. Some nuraghes are more than 20 metres in height.
Today, there are more than 8,000 nuraghes still extant in Sardinia, although it has been estimated that they once numbered more than 30,000. Nuraghes are most prevalent in the northwest and south-central parts of the island.
There is a similar type of structure which has a corridor or a system of corridors. Some authors consider it inappropriate to call this type of structure a nuraghe and prefer the term "nuragic village".The nuraghes were built between the middle of the Bronze Age (18th-15th centuries BC) and the Late Bronze Age. Many were in continuous use from their erection until Rome entered Sardinia in the (2nd century BC), and perhaps later originated some of the current villages.According to Massimo Pallottino, a scholar of Sardinian prehistory and an Etruscologist, the architecture produced by the Nuragic civilization was the most advanced of any civilization in the western Mediterranean during this epoch, including those in the regions of Magna Graecia. Of the 8,000 extant nuraghes, only a few have been scientifically excavated.The use of the nuraghes has not been determined: they could have been religious temples, ordinary dwellings, rulers' residences, military strongholds, meeting halls, or a combination of the former. Some of the nuraghes are, however, located in strategic locations - such as hills - from which important passages could be easily controlled.Nuraghes could have been the "national" symbol of the Nuragic peoples. Small-scale models of nuraghe have often been excavated at religious sites (e.g. in the "maze" temple at the Su Romanzesu site near Bitti in central Sardinia). Nuraghes may have just connoted wealth or power, or they may have been an indication that a site was a town. Recent theories tend to suggest that Sardinian towns were independent entities (such as the city-states, although in a geographical sense they were not cities) that formed federations and that the building of these monuments might have depended on agreed-on distributions of territory among federated unities.
I nuraghes, o runaghes (in logudorese), nuracis o nuraxis in sardo campidanese, (nuraghi con plurale italianizzato) sono delle torri in pietra di forma tronco conica ampiamente diffusi in tutto il territorio della Sardegna e risalenti al II millennio a.C. circa. La datazione dei nuraghi è incerta e le attuali date vanno attribuite solamente ai manufatti trovati all'interno di ciascun edificio, come bronzi votivi o oggetti di terracotta. I nuraghi furono il centro della vita sociale degli antichi Sardi e diedero il nome alla loro civiltà, la civiltà nuragica. Unici nel loro genere, costituiscono i monumenti megalitici più grandi e meglio conservati che si possano trovare oggi in Europa e sono unanimemente considerati come il simbolo più noto della Sardegna. Ne rimangono in piedi circa 7.000 sparsi su tutta l'Isola, mediamente uno ogni 3 chilometri quadrati (secondo alcune fonti sono 8-9.000, e si ipotizza che in passato fossero oltre i 20.000). In alcuni luoghi le torri nuragiche sono distanti una dall'altra pochi chilometri, come nella piana di Cabu Abbas presso Bonorva, o come in Trexenta e in Marmilla.
Alcuni nuraghi sorgono isolati, altri sono invece circondati o collegati tra di loro da un sistema di muri di cinta che racchiudono i resti di capanne, tanto da assumere l'aspetto di un villaggio vero e proprio. Infatti le popolazioni nuragiche, oltre che negli stessi nuraghi, risiedevano in questi villaggi addossati al castello. Erano costituiti da capanne più o meno semplici e più o meno numerose, in alcuni ritrovamenti fino a qualche centinaio e la vita quotidiana si svolgeva dunque all'interno di modeste dimore di pietre, con tetto in genere realizzato con tronchi e rami, spesso intonacate all'interno con del fango o argilla, e talora isolate con sughero.
Font : Wikipedia
L'imponente Nuraghe Asoru (circa 1400 a.C., in parte ricostruito) aveva una volta interna alta 9 m e accoglie, in loc. San Priamo, il visitatore che giunge a San Vito dalla S.S. 125 o Orientale sarda, mitica strada che tra scorci incantevoli e molte curve risale tutta la costa est della Sardegna fino ad Olbia.Il vasto borgo è disteso in una vallata ricca di agrumeti e orti e cinta dai rocciosi rilievi dell'istituendo "Parco 7 Fratelli-Monte Genis", il boscoso e granitico cuore della costa orientale della Provincia di Cagliari mentre a pochi km dall'abitato si trovano le spiagge dei Comuni di Muravera e di Villaputzu.La valle che ospita San Vito è percorsa dal fiume Flumendosa, in inverno suggestivamente impetuoso; gli itinerari ambientali del montuoso comprensorio comunale s'inoltrano in un splendido e selvaggio territorio ricco di fauna (cervi, falchi, pernici) e percorso da numerosi torrenti che originano cristallini e balneabili laghetti tra i graniti e gli oleandri selvatici.
A 4 km dal paese è visitabile la miniera argentifera dismessa di Monte Narba, sita a quota 659 m e fulcro dell'economia locale fino ai primi del '900; le sue antiche strutture occupano solinghi valloni coperti di macchia e solcati dalle testimonianze dell'attività estrattiva (villaggio, laveria, gallerie, discariche di minerali). All'inizio della strada che conduce alla miniera è ammirabile un grappolo di tombe neolitiche a domus de Janas.Al centro dell'abitato la Parrocchiale di San Vito (1750 circa) custodisce una bella statua lignea del Patrono. All'interno della settecentesca chiesa campestre di San Priamo è invece visibile una domu de Janas coeva dell'esteso villaggio di cultura di Ozieri (3500 a.C.) affiorante in loc. Nuraxi; nella cavità della domu sgorga tuttora una piccola sorgente, oggetto di riti protosardi e nuragici legati al culto delle acque.Rovine cartaginesi e di un tempio romano si trovano in loc. Santa Maria mentre i bei monili risalenti a sepolcri del V-VI sec.d.C. (orecchini d'oro e d'argento, fibule bronzee con disegni zoomorfi) sono visibili al Museo Nazionale di Cagliari. A 8 km dal paese, lungo la S.S. 387 per Ballao, merita una visita l'isolato rilievo calcareo di Monte Lora, plasmato dall'erosione a foggia di profilo femminile.San Vito è patria di valenti suonatori di launeddas e del più fine virtuoso di questo antichissimo strumento musicale a fiato, il Maestro Luigi Lai. Già bronzetti nuragici del I millennio a.C. mostravano suonatori imbraccianti le launeddas.
St Peter, Theberton, Suffolk
Theberton is a sizeable village strung out along the main road to the north of the town of Leiston. The church has one of Suffolk's prettiest round towers, and loveliest thatched roofs. Gargoyles grin down from the late medieval south aisle, a 1483 bequest by Sir William Jenney, but substantially restored, perhaps even largely rebuilt, in the 1840s by Lewis Cottingham for Charles Doughty, who was not only the rector but also the wealthy owner of Theberton Hall. He intended it as a family aisle, in one of those 19th Century conceits which tried to imitate the pretensions of the medieval landed gentry, and the relatively early date of the restoration might explain its rather jolly pre-ecclesiological gothicky feel.
But Theberton is also home to a rather grimmer tale. On the night of 17th June 1917, on the edge of this village, German Zeppelin airship L48 was brought down, with the agonising death of 16 of its crew. Finding yourself on fire and falling through the air cannot fill you with much hope of your survival, but remarkably some of the crew did survive, to be rounded up by the local constable, who I like to imagine arriving on his bike. The dead were buried in the graveyard extension here, before being moved to a military cemetery 60 years later, but their memorial remains. In the porch there is part of the superstructure of the giant airship, incongruous in a glass case. The story below it makes fascinating if slightly harrowing reading. Within the time I've lived in Suffolk I've met locals who still talked about the Theberton airship crash, although of course they must all be dead by now, but many must be the households in the parish which still retain part of the skeleton of the ship.
The south porch was restored at the same time as the aisle, but the most memorable part of the 1840s restoration becomes evident as you step into the nave, for the south arcade has been painted with extravagant stencilling, as if it had been tattooed. We know that much wood and stonework was painted in medieval times with geometric designs, and some survives in Suffolk at Kedington and Westhorpe. It is interesting to see an early 19th century interpretation. It is said that Cottingham based the scheme on traces of paint found on the arcades. The work was carrie dout by Thomas Willement, better known for his glass, which is also here, depicting St Peter and St Paul flanked by the evangelistic symbols in the south windows of the aisle.
The arcade lends the interior a somewhat idiosyncratic feel, as you may imagine, but it does help distract from what is certainly not the best early 20th century glass in Suffolk. The Ward & Hughes memorial window to Charles Hotham Montagu Doughty, who was killed leading a charge in the Dardanelles in 1915, is particularly bad, depicting the portly, balding Doughty as St George, his slayed dragon beside him, kneeling at the foot of what appears to be a plywood cross as the sun comes out. Extraordinary to think that it is contemporary with the fabulous work of Ninian Comper and Christopher Whall elsewhere in Suffolk, both then at the height of their powers. Worth seeing, if only to see how bad the work of the Ward & Hughes workshop got as the 20th Century progressed. The east window, also by Ward & Hughes, is earlier and a bit livelier. It depicts the Resurrection, with Christ rising from the tomb above the sleeping soldiers, the angels looking on. Mortlock admired it for its colour and draughtsmanship, although it does unfortunately look as if Christ is knocking on the ceiling with his cross, perhaps shouting "Can you keep the noise down please? We're trying to sleep down here!"
As you might expect, the work of the highest quality here is in the south aisle. There is a spectacular memorial to Frederica Doughty, who died in 1843, on the west wall. The date seems incredibly early for such confident, vibrant High Victorian work. Beside it is a simple memorial to the explorer and poet Charles Doughty, author of the 1888 work Travels in Arabia Deserta. As Doughty's biographer on Wikipedia observes, it is written in an extravagant and mannered style, largely based on the King James Bible, but constantly surprising with verbal turns and odd inventiveness. This book was much admired by two remarkable writers, each very different from the other: TE Lawrence wrote a gushing introduction to the republication of 1922, and the author Henry Green wrote an essay about the influence of Doughty's work on him, most obviously in his novel Living. Their joint patronage has helped ensure that Doughty's work has gone in and out of print ever since.
Several display cases are devoted to this parish's links with the city of Adelaide in Australia. Colonel William Light, who came from Theberton, surveyed the site for the city, and one of its suburbs is called Thebarton. The vestry door is kept open so you can see the Norman north doorway, and the 15th Century font nearby is similar to those at several neighbouring parishes.
But my favourite thing of all is outside the south porch. It is a table tomb against the wall, and commemorates John Fenn, the Laudian Rector here in the early 17th century, who was hounded out as a scandalous minister (that is to say, a theological liberal) by the Puritans. He was lucky to escape with his life, for the Rector at Brandeston was found guilty of witchcraft, and hung.
Fenn survived the Commonwealth, and died here after the Restoration of the Church of England. The inscription reads: Here is a stone to sitt upon under which lies in hopes to rise to y day of blisse and happinesse honest John Fenn, the sonne of William Fenn, Clarke and late Rector of this parish. Being turned out of this living and sequestered for his loyalty to the late King Charles the First hee departed this life the 22 day of October anno domini 1678. This request for us to rest would have been profoundly disapproved of by his puritan persecutors. Rarely is it so easy to strike back at religious fundamentalism, but here one can do so simply by sitting down.
I have never been one of those mothering, nurturing, indulgent girlfriends but when my boyfriend had knee surgery and needed help at home I was hopeful that I could cope with a week of not calling him a c**t (out loud). Perhaps I could also manage to look after him.
To my delight, the first thing that I discovered as a carer was that it would be necessary to sleep in the spare room to allow the invalid to lie sprawled without risk of the operation site being kicked in the night. I didn’t even have to use any of my usual excuses for this special treat. This carer thing might not be so bad.’ I thought as I snuggled up in a nice, peaceful, empty bed, leaving him lying prone in the other room, unable to move.
“Just call me if you need anything at all darling.” I called to him across the landing. Then I put my earplugs in.
I had an excellent night’s sleep. I don’t know about him but when I went into his room he hadn’t moved and was still alive so success all round.
On the first day of being a carer I got up half an hour early to make him coffee and toast and a banana smoothie for elevenses. As I helped him out of bed my voice was singing with positivity and delight. I went down the stairs before him and braced myself to break his fall if he stumbled. I stood outside the shower in case he slipped; “Here’s the shampoooooo! And here is the conditionerrrrrrrr!” I poured out measured globs right into his very hands. “Now scrub your front botty and back botty!” I helped him put on his compression stocking. I was as gentle as a fairy. It took ages, gradually feeding the nylon millimetre by millimetre up his limb. The touch of my fingers was as soft as petals.
My enthusiasm soon began to wane though.
By the third day, his breakfast was some stale fruit loops. I stood impatiently outside the shower and kicked the shampoo bottle towards his feet. “That’s long enough now, you’re done. Don’t bother with conditioner no one is going to see you. No need to scrub down there, I’m not going near that end of you for at least a week anyway.” I bunched his stocking up into a two-inch wodge and figured that a bit of a run up would give it momentum up the leg. The seat he was on was pushed backwards with the force of my application; my knuckles were white with the pressure I was applying. When he mentioned that I was causing him tremendous pain by bending his knee I grabbed his ankle with one hand and held it steady while my other hand pushed ever harder. Once I had got it over the heel I stopped. “You can do the rest now.”
I was angry that the socks he wanted me to put on him every day were so tight. I told him he needed bigger, looser ones. I looked in his drawer for some whose elastic had perished. No luck.
On the fourth day when he wanted yet another shower I blurted out; “You don’t need a shower, you haven’t done anything.”
By the fifth day I still got up half an hour early, but now it was so that I could leave for work before he had managed to get out of bed and down the stairs.
On the first day I returned home from work, laden with delicious foods for the invalid. I came rushing into the living room to greet him and tend to his every need. By the fifth day when I came home I knew that he would be sat on the sofa and couldn’t have gone anywhere else so I didn’t go and greet him until I was two glasses of wine in.
On the first day I went out and bought him two pairs of lovely soft, comfy house trousers and I was thrilled when he wanted to put them straight on. By the third day he wanted to change into the clean pair. Thinking about how long it would take to help him out of his trousers and how I needed to leave for work I said; “For god’s sake you don’t need to change into fresh trousers already you can stay in those ones until I get home.” And I flung the other trousers out of his reach. The power was getting to me. Never before had I been able to stop him from changing his trousers, never before had I wanted to stop him, but now I felt like a god – ‘YOU SHALL NOT CHANGE YOUR TROUSERS UNTIL I DEEM IT SO.’
On the first day I was all official and bossy-nurse about his exercises; “Right, It’s E X E R C I S E time!” Are you ready? First one . . . .
“It’s too soon to do them. It’s only been a day.”
“But darling, it says here to start doing them straight away, come on let’s try this first one together and get your beautiful knee back to full strength.”
On the third day he questioned yet again every exercise he was supposed to do.
“Ok, so clench and release your buttocks ten times.”
“Well I don’t need to clench both do I, I only have one bad side.”
“If you can clench just one buttock, fine, but the blood clot may be hiding in the buttock that you don’t clench and you might die and you haven’t bothered to sort out your will yet have you?”
By the fifth day I flung the exercise instruction sheet at him and said, “Do them, don’t do them, I don’t care, but I imagine farting counts as exercise so I’m sure you’ll do much more than your required quota.”
At the end of the week it was necessary for me to rejoin him in the non-marital bed. For five days he had slept diagonally across a king size mattress with his leg propped up under ALL the pillows. I went to bed first. I don’t think that the carer is meant to go to bed before the caree, but I need to squirrel away some pillows. I lay worrying about the logistics. ‘So if he lies on the right hand side of me, his bad left knee is in the middle of the bed, closest to me. What if I roll over and clonk it?’ I could just imagine the yell that he would emit, or rather I could imagine a yelp and then absolute silence because it would be so incredibly painful that he couldn’t even articulate it audibly. I therefore slept like I was bivouacking, on the outer three inches of the bed crossing my arms and legs to stop them flailing dangerously in the night.
After a week I was about ready to kill us both. Not only had I lost all enthusiasm, so had he. The thankyous and grateful puppy eyes had stopped and now he just expected things done for him that he had always been perfectly able to do himself. And I was waiting for him to get better. What if I was caring for him and he was only going to deteriorate? I know now that I could never look after a partner in circumstances of illness, old age, or idleness. No matter how much I loved them at the start, at the end of just one week my barely concealed negative characteristics of intolerance, impatience, and grouchiness would rise to the top. I would be the wife that bailed out just before my husband could no longer put his socks on. But I wouldn’t want anyone else to have to look after me either. I couldn’t bear to see the love dribble away to be replaced by duty. I would want my loved one to remember me when I was able to leave the room in a huff under my own steam, without requiring help.
Loved ones and relatives should never be given the job of carer. You can only adequately ‘care’ for someone that you don’t officially care about. If you are being paid, you get on with the job and nothing is personal. If you are doing the caring for the love of the person, to show your dedication to them that love will rapidly drain away. My utterly insignificant experience of being a carer for a piddly week was enough to make me realise just how hard it would be to be a full time carer. There are too many conflicts, you try to be selfless in doing everything for him, but you, secretly, in return want him to be uber grateful to you. He can’t possibly say thank you endlessly, for every single thing, but deep down really you want him to. I started to become suspicious of him, After a week, when he was due to be mobile again I wondered whether he was using the ‘I’m not allowed to get up’ excuse long after it was no longer applicable. I started to get annoyed that once he started to get up and move about he was willing to do things only partially. He could take his dirty plate over to the dishwasher, but he wasn’t able to put it inside.
Five days after the op and I had started to shout at him to stop limping.
Operation number two (requiring a whole month of lolling on the sofa) is coming up. I can’t promise I won’t call him a c**t this time.
Perhaps my greatest surprise while wandering around New Orleans was stumbling upon the New Orleans Museum of Art (NOMA) and sculpture garden in City Park. Pictured here is the exterior facade of the museum, with one of the two grand terracotta urns that flank the entrance portico. NOMA, the city’s oldest fine arts institution, opened in 1911 with only nine works of art. Today, the museum hosts an impressive permanent collection of more than 40,000 objects, making NOMA one of the top art museums in the South.
Perhaps the best dessert ever, grilled pumpkin in its own syrup, with thick cream and crushed walnuts. A speciality from Afyon region. Yummy!
Princess Sophia of the United Kingdom (Sophia Matilda; 3 November 1777 – 27 May 1848) was the twelfth child and fifth daughter of King George III and Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz. Sophia is perhaps best known for the rumours surrounding a supposed illegitimate child to whom she gave birth as a young woman.
In her youth, Sophia was closest to her father, who preferred his daughters over his sons; however, she and her sisters lived in fear of their mother. The princesses were well-educated but raised in a rigidly strict household. Though he disliked the idea of matrimony for his daughters, King George had intended to find them suitable husbands when they came of age. However, the King's recurring bouts of madness, as well as the Queen's desire to have her daughters live their lives as her companions, stopped would-be suitors from offering for most of the princesses. As a result, Sophia and all but one of her sisters grew up in their mother's cloistered household, which they frequently referred to as a "Nunnery".
Though she never wed, rumours spread that Sophia became pregnant by Thomas Garth, an equerry of her father's, and gave birth to an illegitimate son in the summer of 1800. Other gossip declared the child was the product of rape by her elder brother the Duke of Cumberland, who was deeply unpopular. Historians are divided on the validity of these stories, as some believe she gave birth to Garth's child while others call them tales spread by the Royal Family's political enemies.
The efforts of the Prince Regent to gain his sisters increased independence were further hastened along with Queen Charlotte's death in 1818. In her last years, Sophia resided in the household of her niece Princess Victoria of Kent (the future Queen Victoria), at Kensington Palace. There, she fell under the sway of Victoria's comptroller, Sir John Conroy, who took advantage of her senility and blindness; rumours also circulated that Sophia was in awe of Conroy because of his ability to deal effectively with the "bullying importunities" of Sophia's supposed illegitimate son. Sophia frequently served as his spy on the Kensington household as well as on her two elder brothers, while Conroy squandered most of her money. The princess died on 27 May 1848 at her residence in Vicarage Place, Kensington Palace.
Kensal Green Cemetery, Harrow Road, Kensal Green, London W10 4RA