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Vandals have finally broken three windows and opened the door without damage. Lets hope this will be all the damage they cause!
Sorry if the pics are sort of dim, we have an overcast sky here since the morning.
Not a comparison LOL, it's just coz I can't stop taking pics of her. Sorry!
4/365 Photo Manipulation Project
The oddest request the genie heard, she did not ask for money, or that her fiance arrived, instead she asked to dream forever.
Stock with thanks to:
Elandria - Model
UMbradenoapte Stock - Rocks and Forest
Neighya - Green Texture 30
Doloresdevelde - Lamp
I have been asked / told to show some pics of me in stockings so here they are. Apologies if there are too many
An early start for me this morning, popping into Hyde because my car needed two new front tyres fitting. So what better way to wait for the job's completion than to nab a few photos on the final day before Bee Network Tranche 3 kicks in tomorrow?
After I took this shot, the driver asked if I wouldn't mind posting the image on social media somewhere, to commemorate what will be his last day driving for Stagecoach's Ashton depot before Metroline Manchester take over on the 5th.
Of course, I'm more than happy to oblige. I don't have the driver's name, or indeed what platforms he follows, but I do hope he gets to see this, either through the miracle of Flickr, or on the Metasphere somewhere. All the best to you, sir.
Stagecoach Manchester 10586 (SN16 OUB). Hyde, Bus Station, taken and posted 04/01/2025.
Three anatomical drawings by Harriet Hosmer, 1850.
Questions? Ask a Schlesinger Librarian
My email inbox was, the other day, flooded with a request for me to post this image. I was caught red-handed by the driver while I was taking this photograph; he has specifically asked to see it, and I am very happy to oblige.
The object of the exercise was actually to try and include the inscription on the stucco above the Hing Hua (telephone orders welcome, free delivery) in the background. 'The Strand Bookshop', it says, in clean, clear letters. I have no idea when it last dispensed a book commercially. Unfortunately street furniture and parked vehicles seriously constrained the angle and I did not really succeed in that aim.
The road here is heaving itself up over the Merseyrail Chester and Ellesmere Port to Birkenhead lines at Rock Ferry Station.
Greeting and play bow. Does this look familiar to dog owners? This activity caught my eye as I was scanning the landscape for coyote activity. Again, this is one of those noisy shots I've been lamenting. The interaction is marvelous, though. Cropped as close as I dared, but wetland habitat is visible, so perhaps that's a plus.
The Luxury of being yourself
We have selected pictures on our website, but can always add more depending on the requests we do get and the current trend in the world of luxury fine art:
We do once in a while have discounted luxury fine art, please do keep checking:
Fine Art Photography Prints & Luxury Wall Art:
We do come up with merchandises over the years, but at the moment we have sold out and will bring them back depending on the demands of our past customers and those we do take on daily across the globe.
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We tend to celebrate light in our pictures. Understanding how light interacts with the camera is paramount to the work we do. The temperature, intensity and source of light can wield different photography effect on the same subject or scene; add ISO, aperture and speed, the camera, the lens type, focal length and filters…the combination is varied ad multi-layered and if you know how to use them all, you will come to appreciate that all lights are useful, even those surrounded by a lot of darkness.
We are guided by three passions, simple but overwhelmingly strong, our longing to capture in print, that which is beautiful, the constant search for the one picture, and constant barrage of new equipment and style of photography. These passions, like great winds, have blown us across the globe in search of the one and we do understand the one we do look for might be this picture right here for someone else out there.
“A concise poem about our work as stated elow
A place without being
a thought without thinking
creatively, two dimensions
suspended animation
possibly a perfect imitation
of what was then to see.
A frozen memory in synthetic colour
or black and white instead,
fantasy dreams in magazines
become imbedded inside my head.
Artistic views
surrealistic hues,
a photographer’s instinctive eye:
for he does as he pleases
up to that point he releases,
then develops a visual high.
- M R Abrahams
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Some of our latest work & more!
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All images on Flickr have been specifically published in a lower grade quality to amber our copyright being infringed. We have 4096x pixel full sized quality on all our photos and any of them could be ordered in high grade museum quality grade and a discount applied if the voucher WS-100 is used. Please contact us:
We do plan future trips and do catalogue our past ones, if you believe there is a beautiful place we have missed, and we are sure there must be many, please do let us know and we will investigate.
In our galleries you will find some amazing fine art photography for sale as limited edition and open edition, gallery quality prints. Only the finest materials and archival methods are used to produce these stunning photographic works of art.
We want to thank you for your interest in our work and thanks for visiting our work on Flickr, we do appreciate you and the contributions you make in furthering our interest in photography and on social media in general, we are mostly out in the field or at an event making people feel luxurious about themselves.
WS-251-361647630-201717389-2180158-892021203618
The client requested to have the colours of the middle and bottom tier to match her linen (blue & dark brown). I was worried at first but I think the end result is quite striking. The strong colours work quite well together :)
To see all our Giggle and Hoot (and Hootabelle too) collections, please click the link below
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Based in Roselands NSW 2196
- cupcakeholics@live.com.au -
..\description_code.txt
Description:
ITEM Identifier: 87-M130, 66o.
Architectural drawings. Walker Gordon laboratories: 4 negative photostats, 1929; Noyes houses, Holderness New Hampshire: negative and positive photostats, 1929; Mary Huntington Pew, Rockport,: pencil and blueprints, 1933; Conklin house: photostats, 1941; 305 Broadway, n.d.
Repository: Schlesinger Library on the History of Women in America.
Collection: Elisabeth Coit Papers
Call Number: 87-M130
Catalog Record: hollisarchives.lib.harvard.edu/repositories/8/resources/7565
Questions? Ask a Schlesinger Librarian
Just as - now Seigneur - Corentin Roseabeau is about to leave his offices, he is approached by his aide Frederick carrying a letter with an important looking seal on it...
Read more here:
www.eurobricks.com/forum/index.php?/forums/topic/155226-o...
A couple of guys in my dorm wanted official school notes sent to them for bogus classes at the school one evening. The purpose of the slips was so they could have sex with another inmate who also resided in the same dorm, actually only a few bunks from me. These two guys knew Big Al my brother from the street, actually both were old speed freak buddies with Al and we were therefore friendly towards each other. Having acquaintances in the joint is extremely potent and some potentially aggressive situations could be defused just by the mere fact a certain inmate had someone watching his back. Al Harington and Bob McKing were their names, they told me the passes would allow them to have some much needed privacy for sexual purposes and suggested, “why don’t you come along, it’s really great!” I took a pass, still hung up in a homophobic way. I wrote them their pass slips nonetheless for each night they requested. I took a good look at their date when they returned after their encounters. I don’t recall his name, he just looked like another guy to me, young, long blonde hair, blue eyes, nice ass. I remember him giving me the eye when he sat down on his bunk, I turned away feigning disgust my own homophobia preventing me from even thinking about sex with anything but a woman or my hand.
Other guys were openly bisexual, the toughest guy on the floor, Cliff he had a sweet kid, Cliff looked like he might chew your head off if you crossed him he lived to lift weights. He slept next door in the middle dorm along with this black dude named of Sonny. Sonny had an Afro and told everyone he was a tranny out on the street. He worked the strip around Yonge and Dundas, he did have a sort of shimmy as he walked about. Sonny never bothered anyone, never pushed his ideas on people and he was left alone. The outwardly gay people were quickly segregated and put into solitary or their assholes would have been ripped out in no time. It was a very masculine experience for the most part, even if many folk were wearing masks, in those days being in the closet was de rigour and few ventured out.
My card playing buddy Mike Cameo, he would often say in his French accent, “Chuck, we are buddies right? Well you should know Chuck, I go both ways, you know, girls and boys.” With this Cameo would flex his ample arms that he effectively enhanced by wearing his prison issue shirt sleeves rolled up past the elbows. He would look you in the eye to check out your reaction, then push his mop of golden hair that reached way down his back off of his forehead and continue to play the game. Cameo was from way up north, somewhere like Kapuskasing, where he got his bisexuality up there mystifies me, but that’s so much like stereotyping the way I had about Rouyn Noranda where I discovered that Toronto was not the centre of the Universe.
Mike and I became good friends, he never made any passes at me and we stayed friends after our sentences were over for a while until he insulted our friend Pee Wee at a house card game Julia and I were having at 2 Mahoney Ave one Sunday evening. I chose sides and I chose Pee Wee as Cameo was just pushing his way into friendships that had existed before the start of time, his youthfulness would have been no match for my longtime friends experience in fights, knives might have flashed, they would have torn the house apart. Mike left the game drove off pretty mad in a cherry red Datsun 280Z never to be heard from again.
He, like many other inmates was a bomb ready to explode. Twenty years later I ran into him at a highway diner on the 115/35 and gave him the dodge. He looked the same, hair hanging down his back like a lion, aggressively engaged in a conversation with another person not unlike himself, I thought perhaps they were club members. I was working a big gig and never mixed work with friends.
Sometime close to the three month date of my little ‘stretch’ the parole board called me in for a meeting to discuss the possibility of early parole being granted to me. A bright looking, intelligent University graduate, not much older than myself asked me a load of sensible questions, I think he had a ‘remorse’ detector hidden in his briefcase. One week later this carrot that had been dangled in front of my face was unceremoniously put to rest in the form of a short note from the Parole Board, ‘parole denied at this time’. For some reason the news hit me like a ton of bricks, you had to hold up though, crying was the natural response but there was no way you would cry, that would be a sign of weakness and loss of control, hold it in, take a deep breath, hold it in, I went back to the dorm, wrote home, gave them the news.
There was a program available at the time for prisoners called the Temporary Absence Program, T.A.P. for short. I applied for the program, filled out a long complicated application form. The purpose of my absence from prison was to attend classes at the University of Windsor which had accepted me in to the second year studies program, again. Copies of my marks were sent to both the school and the T.A.P. committee. Funding was arranged with the Ontario Student Awards Program. Accommodations were to be provided by the Windsor jail from which I was to be released from each morning to attend classes and return to in the evening after classes until the sentence had been served.
Mr. Ewing was both helpful and encouraging in this endeavor. The prison warden called me down to his office and gave me the good news, I had been accepted for the program and they wanted to schedule my transfer to the Windsor facility. Who was I kidding? If anyone was being fooled it was myself. Without a lot of emotion I made the decision to turn down the opportunity. Some of the guys thought I was nuts, crazy not to get out of the O.R., they didn’t know I was fairly comfortable in the joint, my status in the hierarchy was well established, I was after all a millionaire, had lots of new friends, found the system to my liking, I had a routine that suited me.
In truth I was quite anxious about my abilities to remain ‘clean and sober’ if released to a softer setting. I was also anxious about the ‘social’ necessities that would present themselves if I returned to Windsor where I was disgraced as a ‘drug dealer’. Perhaps if I had enrolled at a different school my decision may have differed, in retrospect I should have applied to a different school in a new town. If there was a field of study that I felt devoted to this would also have made a difference, as it was I was just ‘playing the system’, taking advantage of it, not being honest with myself and I had decided that this honesty with myself was important.
A dorm guard took offence to my gambling ways, I suppose an inmate whined about losing their canteen. This particular screw took a run at me, put me in a situation I couldn’t back down from. He asked me do a chore some new kid or an inmate with little status in the dorm was usually assigned to do, carry the laundry or garbage out, there was a pecking order. Screws were for the most part, factory workers who had their grade twelve education, not extremely bright for the most part. At times the term red neck could be used to describe them, hick was often bandied about. I refused to carry out the order and this annoyed the guard who had dark hair piercing eyes and a pencil moustache. To make matters worse I told him to go fuck himself when he repeated his request.
That got him going and he put me on charges which meant you were sent to solitary confinement for a while to cool your jets. I’m quite glad I didn’t take a punch at him as I have my temper and in different circumstances I would have let him have it. In solitary the inmate is brought to his senses quickly. The lack of creature comforts, the likes of books, writing materials, clean clothes, being served cold meals does not take long to affect ones behavior, the hole was not where I wanted to be. The inmate committee sent a representative in to see me and it was necessary for me to apologize to the screw in question after I had been in the hole for three days. This charge was a very minor one in the scope of prison offences and had little bearing on my future, although I did lose a day of my ‘good time’ due to it. The screw and self made a deal to stay out of each others hair.
At this time Big Al my brother Alex was driving by the gaol while on a gig with the Able the Movers crew from our neighbourhood of Mt.Dennis. Somehow he got in to see me, he was half drunk. His visit took place during non visiting hours using the excuse he had to tell me about a family death. I don’t recall which relation had passed, it could have been our Uncle Jim or even my old grandmother. The shame I had prevented me from keeping much contact with the familly relations and those relationships have never healed over to these days. Big Al, he was a case, he put some cash in my property, not much maybe twenty dollars, guess he was feeling guilty for selling my things. I gave him shit for giving my ‘treasures’ away, the wooden statue, the record player, the records, clothes, almost everything.
Another opportunity presented itself. ‘Camp’ was an expression some of the more seasoned veterans of the ‘joint’ would often mention. Actually camp was a small community of prisoners that were wards of the Ontario system who by good behavior lived together at a place called Camp Dufferin which was a little North of Guelph in an area called Mono Mills. I was grinding it out at Guelph, six months at that place wore on you, even with the cushy job at the school, my connections with various outlaws, the paisans I knew from the old St Clair days Pinky and Vinnie, the bikers from the street, many other dealers, the card playing friends, Cameo, McCann.
Cinnors and I were even playing tennis at lunch time, we had private access to the tennis court and would play in mid-afternoon when everyone else was grinding it out. Still I was bored, eventually the warden saw fit to give me the OK to go to camp. It almost never happened as on the day of my transfer the English trained warden called me without any notice down to the administration building. He told me to go and get my locker box which at the time was filled with 154 packs of cigarettes and lots of other goodies. While I was standing at the entrance to his office he walked by and surprised me by lifting the box, fortunately he never asked me to open it or I would have been going to solitary instead of Camp Dufferin. Gambling, though frowned on was a common occurrence.
Camp was like heaven in comparison to the ‘joint’. Cameo and little Ronnie McCann my card playing partners from the dorm were already at Camp Dufferin when I arrived. It must have been in late November as the first snow hadn’t yet fallen. The facility consisted of two modern barracks like dorms with a central area that the guards worked from, a kitchen and a store room. Outside of these prefabricated buildings there were two large barn size storage sheds where the camp vans would be parked along with some sports equipment, as well as the tractor. That tractor was used for hauling inmates on a flat bed trailer into the woods for their shift cutting firewood which the camp sold to other agencies. Each dorm housed about twenty inmates who through their good behavior had earned the right to be there.
On arrival at the camp the warden Mr Adamson, another Anglo Saxon import gave a stern chat to each new inmate, laying down the law about respecting the staff and each other. He pointed out the importance of not running away. There were no locks on the dorm doors, no barbed wire fences surrounding the large hundred acre property. The modern buildings were set in a few hundred yards from the main road. A prisoner with leaving in his mind had only to walk out the doors to freedom. Some did, every now and then, they were quickly found, hitchhiking nearby, or hiding in the forest where after a day of being cold or having the bugs dine on them they came back and were quickly segregated then returned to the O.R in Guelph with an additional six months tacked on to their sentences then a trip to the bad place, maximum security Millbrook.
It truly was wonderful to have a little breathing space. The dorms were modern, each inmate had his own full length locker, a bed and shelving for things as well as a partition between each bunk that provided the necessary privacy if one wanted to do private things. The floors were shiny vinyl tiles and the cleanliness resembled that of a hospital ward without the antiseptic smell. In each dorm there were three long tables where inmates could play cards, chess, checkers, or just chew the fat with the other guys. Between the two dorms there was a community TV room with easy chairs where we could watch TV in the evenings and all day long on weekends if we wished. Harold Ballard had done some prison time around then for embezzling the shareholders at Maple leaf Gardens, I sent him a letter at Maple Leaf Gardens and he quickly responded with a large Leafs calendar to hang in the TV room and a short note.
A fourty seat kitchen served up a much more enjoyable menu than Guelph had done. There were fewer inmates which made this possible. The chef was not a guard but a civilian employee with a big red nose. He was of Dutch decent, he had a good sense of humour his accent brought some relief to the ears. I remember he’d come into the dining area as we were eating enthusiastically and with a genuine grin say, “how’s the food?”
On Wednesday nights folk from the area would come in as volunteers and play euchre with us in the comfortable cafeteria that was more like a restaurant. There were newer round tables to sit at with a reasonable space between them. A shiny stainless steel serving area was spotlessly cleaned at all times. This mingling was part of our transition back into society, the volunteers would bring little cakes and cookies for us to munch on, it was all very formal, in a way, like being at home.
There were AA meetings every Tuesday night for those who thought they needed it, some inmates were obliged to attend as part of their sentence. Every Saturday night we watched a movie on a screen just like we did while in schools. I was the projectionist and McCann was my assistant. The films were B grade a couple of years old, westerns were mostly shown. This was before the advent of Video Rentals. For recreation we played many games, more so when winter set in. We cleared a big area besides the building, the size of a hockey rink, pushed the snow to the sides thereby forming banks and we were given brooms and a 6 inch diameter air filled ball that was easily propelled by hitting it with the broom. Teams consisted of six to a side. All the participants worked up a hell of a sweat chasing the ball around, scoring goals, smashing each other over the head with the brooms, it got quite vicious at times, games would start at 10 AM on Saturdays and Sundays, we’d break for lunch of fries and grilled cheeses and chocolate milk then we’d go out and kill each other some more.
I remember having these bloody warts on my feet, picked them up in Guelph. They are called planters warts. I remember my feet being very sore, nothing the doctors gave me would get rid of them, they were spreading. At camp I wore these cheap black running shoes while playing broom ball, never put socks on, just these cheap runners, within a week the warts were all gone! Where I don’t know I guess they didn’t like the rubber chemicals of the running shoes. Once when I was a young boy, maybe nine or ten, I had a couple of warts on my fingers and my dad gave me two pennies, and said, "those warts will be gone in a week” and they were, it was an Irish folk thing giving a penny on a Sunday to take away a wart.
Cameo, McCan and I worked on the wood cutting crew when we first arrived at the camp within a week of each other. Those two guys were almost my equal at Rummy 500, but I always managed to win. Plenty of other guys still wanted to lose and I took their bets and put them on the payment plan as well. Inmates would get visits and people would slip them dollars which they used to pay me with, this was better than canteen dollars as there was a small black market in this facility as there are in others. Twice weekly visits took place in the meeting room the same one they used for church service and also for AA meetings. It was quite casual, one time Boomer and Herbie dropped in and they left a ‘taste’ which they ‘dropped’ where I specified either in the washroom or on the grounds as I pretty much had the run of the place. By this time Rochdale had closed down and they were sharing a house in the Spadina Road and Eglinton area.
On the wood cutting crew Cameo and I were quickly made the deputies. We were in charge of the crew much like the biker guys Everest and Jingles were at Guelph on the S.W.P. In the forest that adjoined the property we would ride out on the back of a flatbed farm trailer pulled by a guard driving a blue Ford tractor. Another guard trailed behind looking for runaways and stragglers. A Canadian version of a chain gang. Those guards they had it made compared to the work days of the guards back at Guelph. Half of them were retired military guys who already had a nice pension but were to young to retire so they took this gig. They lived in the area which being fifty or sixty miles from T.O. meant house prices were much cheaper. If there was a downside to their gig it had to be the three shifts as we required supervision 24/7. These guards were easier to get close to, a couple of them like this one guy Sinclair you’d probably go have a beer with him at a Tavern. Sinclair used to take a couple of us to the dump on Saturdays in the Camp van and this was a real treat getting out into society, he kept a good eye on us but he never made you feel bad for your crimes. Never talked down to you.
Out in the woods there was a little shack big enough for the dozen or so inmates and guards to warm up in like the old Pearen Park ice rink shack. We used to have a tea at mid morning and mid afternoons in the shack. Cameo and I would manage the shack, start the fire going in the woodstove, get it real toasty, put a big grey steel pot of tea on the stove with sugar and milk that had already been added back in the kitchen and serve up the tea and cookies at break time. The guards they pretty much just kept their mouths quiet, we knew what we had to do. Cameo was an expert at the operation of a chainsaw, four and eight foot logs would be dropped off at the shack. That was the other guards job, along with his crew to cut the felled trees in the forest into manageable lengths. They used the tractor to haul the logs over to Mike and self. Other inmates never got near a chainsaw just Cameo and he taught me how to run one, a skill I still use from time to time.
My job was to split and stack the 16” inch pieces Mike was cutting up. There were no big trees so to speak, most of the wood was a foot in diameter, three whacks with the splitting maul and it was ready to be hauled away. We worked up a good sweat every shift but had plenty of time to horse around. I loved being in the thick forest when it snowed, the evergreens branches getting covered in thick heavy snow which we would pull when the flatbed drove by and cover the other inmates in white, nobody got pissed, it was a pretty mellow atmosphere.
Time was moving along pretty well, Santa Day came and went. The euchre people came and sung some Carols that day, gave us each a little goodie bag with a deck of cards and a chocolate bar inside, the chef served a nice turkey dinner with the trimmings, the guards lightened up a little, let you stay up an hour later, we played sports all day long there wasn’t much time left in the day to get mushy and sentimental about ones circumstances.
Around this time we started to go to the Mansfield Arena to play hockey on Wednesday mornings for an hour and a half. Two teams were picked, one from each dorm. Each side was competitive, for some odd reason I was the best player on the teams, and we all know my skating was never a strongpoint. I guess it was my turn to shine, I could in all honesty skate through the entire team and score at will. This pissed all the players on the other team off and they would chop at my head with their sticks almost beheading me.
One time I checked a rival player, he was a young healthy kid, a good hockey player and he took offence at the clean check, chased me all over the ice wanting to engage me in a fight. I didn't need the hassle from the guards for this and just kept skating around. Both benches poured on the ice it was definitely ‘mob mentality’. Our goalie, Vinnie from St Clair was hanging on to their goalie. Other players had paired off it was a little nutty. Had I dropped the gloves all hell could have broken out. I survived with no detentions or time in the hole, Mr. Adamson the camp commandant who was in the stands later took me aside and complimented me on my good judgment. You have to remember that a lot of these guys didn’t know any other way to solve problems, they’d gone through life fighting. I’d been lucky, had a bit of a taste of civility at catholic schools Our Lady of Victory and St Michaels.
There were inter prison games, the first one was with a team from the Brampton Institution at our arena. That team had a ‘ringer’ like myself and it was a real battle to out skate and out score the other player who was a very slick skater. I played on sheer adrenaline, everyone else pretty well just watched us, I recall it was a close game with no real problems.
The following week we went by bus to Guelph to play the team from the Guelph Reformatory. The game took place around noon at the big Guelph arena where the Junior As played. Each team filed onto the ice. I knew many of the Guelph players from time spent there hanging around with the staff from the phys-ed department which was staffed mostly by dealers. Zorky was on the team as was Bob Levin, big Toronto dealers. In a short time, less than five minutes I had turned my Whirling Dervish act into three quick goals, we were embarrassing the larger, better equipped Home team. I was nuts, insane, I flew from pass to puck, knocked people over, intimidated everyone, scored goals, we were hammering them. Sweat poured from my helmet in the form of steam. Then from nowhere I was blindsided, the Warden of our camp, Mr. Adamson sent word down to the coach to send me to the dressing room for being overly aggressive. The game then ended in a tie, I don’t think I have played a competitive game of hockey since.
Hey everyone! I'm making some Butterfly Cardigans for my dolls and to test the patterns to make sure I have the right pieces together. ^^;
Anyone have any colour suggestions/requests?
As some of you may know our Civil war group wil start TOMORROW! So please join we need as many members as possible.We only have 4 people whose attendance is certain.I have added all my contacts to the photo to see the group if they don't know about the group.
If you want to join our group let me know in the comments.Here is the link: www.flickr.com/groups/2368458@N22/
Note:You should make an application to get the part.
As requested by sosij ( www.flickr.com/photos/sharonkcooper/ ). I usually prefer "old" things in black and white but I originally posted this one in color. Sosij request / suggested posting it in black and white, so here it is again.
Met 3FM Serious Request 2015 zetten we ons dit jaar in voor kinderen en jongeren
in oorlogs- en conflictgebieden: deze generatie leeft onder de meest extreme omstandigheden en heeft daardoor weinig kans op scholing en ontwikkeling. Zij zijn de stille slachtoffers van de oorlog.
A friend ordered me to insert needles into my feet.
She ordered me to do the same to both feet, one after the other.
Unfortunately I wasn't able to continue with the right foot after I was done with the left one.
She wanted to give me new orders for my right foot or punish me in some way for not doing it as requested, but still hasn't done so.
Green: 0.3x15mm
Blue: 0.6x60mm
Red: 1.1x40mm
Yellow: 0.4x40mm