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Seemingly another Private Hire RF in the background. Not sure if the STL is still "Private Hire"? Well it is open top!
STL1765 / DGX 308 New 1/1937 AEC Regent diesel with preselector gearbox. Started life red. Became green in 1951. Lost roofbox and the rest of the roof around about 1954. Sold to Birds of Stratford-upon-Avon. Ian's Bus Stop Roof Box STLs.
RF 23 / LUC223 New 1951. Became Green Line 1956. Sold 1962. Ian's Bus Stop Private Hire RFs.
Phtographer D Battams.
FOR MORE PHOTOS PLEASE PEAK INTO THE ALBUM (VAMPYRE)
Caessandrea, the curse of a teenage vampyre
Like some vampyric treasure huntress, she fed on the thrills the pursuit offered. Seeking out and stalking her type of fertile prey helped to quench the seemingly overwhelming desires that would engulf her. The trophies she attained, even though they supported her family financially, where actually quite trivial, even anti-climactic, when viewed through Cassandreas’s cunning eyes.
Coming soon
The curious chain of events that led up to an Occurrence at the Moonstone Formal
Kate, who had a private room in a corner of her family’s right wing, entered it at around 3 am. Exhausted from the prom, she laid back for a few moments to reflect on the rather hectic, and somewhat confused, events of the evening.
It all had happened at the Moonstone formal, an annual event put on by the trustees of an exclusive school that once was for poor children, but now catered to the sons of the very wealthy. And here is where, on the cusp of falling into dream, Kate’s contemplations grew.
Slowly Kate drifts off into a deep slumber. At first her dreams are happy and sweet, but soon, like the events that had taken place at the formal, they take on a darker tone.
As she thrashes in bed, a shadow moves over her, a ringed hand goes to her shoulder and Kate is once again calm. Silently, softly the shadowy form pulls Kate’s silky long hair away from her throat….
*******************************************************************************
Flashback to the Moonstone Formal earlier in the evening.
A girl with long reddish hair wearing a glittering copper coloured gown is dancing in the arms of a young man wearing a shiny grey satin shirt, and black Dockers. He is a stranger amongst the crowd, but whose natural charm soon let him win over the girls present, if not so much their male counterparts.
As the man smiles into the girls slightly slanted eyes, he holds her attention, as slowly he moves a hand from around her waist. The hand is clasped, holding onto a diamond bracelet that he had only minutes before removed from the delicate wrist of his current partner. The girl smiles back, seemingly swept up in his charismatic magnetism. He slips the bracelet into his pocket just as the song ends. Must you go she asks. Yes he said, I have one more lady on my dance card, not nearly as pretty as you, but then I must go, curfew you know. The pretty girl in the shimmering copper gown smiles, she knows he is fibbing, but appears not to care. Skip her, she purrs, that will give you fifteen minutes more, I’ll meet you out in the back garden, and will make it worth more than a single dance with some overly made up tart….
He smiles, go on first, I’ll give her my regrets he lies. The reddish haired copper gowned girl leaves him, and heads out towards the door.
Caess, short for her given name of Caessandrea, did not leave. Darting into a dark side corridor in a flurry of flashy copper, she took up a concealed position to watch. Sur enough, the bastard had taken Kates hand and was leading her to the dance floor. Caess watched as the fluid satin of Kate’s gown poured and moved along her wiggling figure, happy that she had snared a dance with the dashing stranger with the heavy foreign accent.
You should have left Caess hissed through the pointed canine fangs that had grown in accordance with her seething feelings. Casessandrea would have let him go with her bracelet if he would just have taken the opening she had given him. But now she have to put a stop to his antics. Le bâtard devrait avoir laissé suffisamment bien seul, Caess thought seething, but now he was after Kate’s jewels, and that simply would not be tolerated.
And sure enough, once Kate’s eyes were locked into her charming partners, he let a hand work its way up her back side, and with a simple flick of his fingers flicked op the clasp of the ruby necklace, that Kate had borrowed from her wealthy Mother. Whisking it magically away from the unwary girl in his grasp.
As soon as Caess saw what was happening she took action, turning away and marching to a group of young men hovering around a nearby table, a group that played for the school’s rugby team.
************************************************************************************
End of Flashback, once again in Kate’s bedroom, where a shadow lurks.
The waning moon peeks from behind a heavy cloud, bathing the room in a misty bluish caste.
The waning moon peaks from a cloud, illuminated Kate’s Bedroom in a soft, misty blue light. The form hovering over her takes on colour. A copper coloured gown and long reddish hair outlines the young girl silently examining the now bare neckline of the soundly sleeping Kate.
Caessandrea, now in full vampyre mode, bends down, her long fangs hungrily sink themselves into the sweet, young flesh. It only lasts a minute, and replenished, Caess lifts up her head, looking around slowly, before bending down once again over Kate’s inert, still fancy dressed figure. .
The night stalker that now was Caess looked down upon her victim, the valuable ruby necklace, still draped around the sleeping girls throat. Its shiny redness almost matching the two bloody incisions just above the glittering rubies and diamonds of the expensive bauble Kate wore. Caess’s eyes sparkle as much as Kate’s jewels. The night is hers, and she is very much alive and in tune with all it’s secrets.
He should have left well enough alone, Caess again reflected, the arrogant rogue was given the opportunity to leave well enough alone, and escape with a profit, as it was….
The boys from the rugby team had caught up to him just as he was leaving. Unceremoniously emptying his pockets, and when the discovered what he had been doing, pretty much beat him to a pulpy mess.
The foreign accented strangers astounding haul was returned to their rightful owners, all women, consisting of a brace of bracelets, a pair of necklaces, and a large sparkly diamonded broach.
Not much time, the sun was just sending its awakening streaks into the horizon. Casessandrea lifted the clasp of the necklace Kate was wearing, and opening it, she slipped it off the dead to the world young lady. Then she took one of her twin bracelets. Giving attention to her open jewel chest, Cass selected three valuable pieces. Normally she would have only taken just the necklace, but the greedy rogue had opened a window of opportunity, and Cass was going to use every bit of it for her needs.
Caess left by the way she came, gliding noiselessly along the corridor and winding staircase. Out in the gardens she smiled wickedly to herself. The bastard had been so intent on lifting Casessandrea’s bracelet that he never felt Caesslift his wallet. She left it there, along the path, planting the evidence that pointed to him being the night burglar…..
*************************************************************************************
Casessandrea’s saga
Or
How she became a seventeen year old vampyre
Casessandrea had been born to thye manor. The first born of an old noble family, who occupying what was actually a medieval castle on a hill overlooking a small blue lake. When Caess was almost seventeen her father had been taken away from them at an all too young age, dying while fighting in the service of the king. Her family, forgotten by the courtiers had found themselves living a hardscrabble existence, barely maintaining ownership of their home.
Casessandrea’s family consisted of her dowager Grandmother, her frail Mother, younger siblings, a sister and twin boys who were not as yet of age. As the oldest, eleven though she was only just turning seventeen, Caess had felt obligated to find a way to support them, and keep the manor intact for the eldest of the twins. It was in search of fulfilling that obligation that Caess fell in with Brahme Davilen and his coven of vampires.
Caessandrea let Brahme turn her into a vampire when she realized her powers could be used to support her newly impoverished family, thus saving her family, along with their ancient castle. For her families honor and existence, she sacrificed a normal life for herself, keeping her sweet curse a secret, forever a teenager in appearance, but something much more in reality.
Caess still shivered deliciously as she remembered the hungering desire in Brahm’s red eyes as he bent down over her prostrate figure to make her one of his own. Sweeter than any lovers embrace, more tingling than ones first passion, Caess found herself on the cusp of almost all consuming ecstasy as his sharp fangs penetrated, and drank. Fire coursed through her veins as the metamorphosis consumed her, changing her into something that made Caess feel exhalted.
Caess now survives by befriending and feeding on the vibrant blood of teenage girls such as herself, picking nothing but the wealthy ones ;so she can steal some of their jewels which she successfully used to keep her family from ruin.
Le bâtard devrait avoir laissé suffisamment bien seu
(The bastard should have left well enough alone)
*************************************************************************************
Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives
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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.
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Seemingly still surviving at Battlefield, 37906 with a load of steel, Cheltenham Spa Station 19.10.92
View of Norio from the floor in my computer room, with network and computer cables seemingly strewn about.
18 Oct
I thought it was those loud music that made my heart
flutter when you came through the door.
I thought I heard angels weave yarns of medieval
legends when you breeze through the crowd.
I thought this was a dream for smokers to blossom
under the veil of sparkling glass flutes.
I thought I saw you standing solo, fingers engaged on
an empty mind clutching on technology, seemingly
obsolete right now.
I thought I saw this scene a million ways, detached on
a curious sensation watching on life, seemingly in
limbo for now.
I thought maybe this time the finale to the story
has a period to bid farewell to. And maybe
not.
yet.
xxx
sui
#365grateful
Seemingly very rare to come across these earlier ones now, were they plagued with that many gremlins? Late ones are still very numerous, this design is another BL great, even if a few people would be more than willing to disagree...
Seemingly anything went in this former Blackpool Bed and Breakfast:-
Footballers
Contractors
Stag-Dos
Hen Parties
Single Sex Parties
Families
..according to the sign near the doorway
Seemingly Poundland have realised their mistake at pricing their stocks of Matchbox at the ridiculously low price of 50p but not before I managed to grab a whole basket full! They are now back to 1.50 which is still very good value with batches 2021 E, and 2023 B and D being spotted.
50p gets me this very likeable 2018 Toyota 4Runner which is brand new for this year and already has a new recolour appearing imminently.
Mint and boxed.
With steam seemingly leaking from every possible gland, Mountain Ash shed's Robert Stephenson & Hawthorns 'Austerity' 0-6-0 saddle tank 'NCB No.8' (Works No.7139 built in 1944) struggles to keep its feet on the damp rails, its exhaust echoing around the Cynon Valley. This is the first load of the day from the Penrhiwceiber loading point for Aberaman Phurnacite Plant on a wet 7th September 1979. Penrikyber (sic) colliery was located on the other side of the valley, in Penrhiwceiber town, with its coal being carried across to the loader by means of an overhead conveyor.
© Gordon Edgar - All rights reserved. Please do not use my images without my explicit permission
Marple, Grantham. Seemingly asleep, the slightest noise and the eyes pop open. Cats hate to think they might be missing out on something! Especially a meal.
Grantham, Lincolnshire, East Midlands - Marple, RSPCA rescue pussy-cat
August 2020
OH, TANNEBAUM! OH, TANNEBAUM! ( OR ALTERNATIVELY THE 99 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS!) . . . Don't let the above title fool you. Despite living near the epicenter of the coronavirus pandemic for most of April until the past week, Joni has been seemingly safe and unaffected. While it is possible that I am an asymptomatic carrier, until testing becomes widespread, there is no way for me to be absolutely sure of my actual status.
In any event, I haven't posted any new photos of myself in nearly four weeks and my comments on the photos of others have at times been irregular. There are some reasons for that, but none relate to my health. . . In previous posts, I mentioned that Christmas 2019 was somewhat sad for me because for the first time in my life, I didn't wake up on Christmas morning in my own home because two of my kids who live down South had jointly agreed that they didn't want to take the road trip back to New Jersey because they wanted their own toddlers to wake up on Christmas morning in their own homes and open their presents from Santa from under their own Christmas trees. I understood and totally concurred. So it was necessary for my wife and I to travel South to see my kids and grandkids on Christmas Day. Unfortunately, there was no room in the inn, so to speak, as my son's home was already booked to capacity, so we had to stay in a nearby hotel. Hotels are a lousy place for waking up on Christmas morning.
Knowing that Christmas 2019 was going to be very different from all my previous Christmases, I had a difficult time getting motivated to put up the usual Christmas decorations and my wife even seriously suggested that we skip putting up our Christmas tree entirely since we wouldn't be home. Well, I wouldn't have any of that! So up went the same artificial tree that has decorated our home for the 19th consecutive year. I did so knowing that number 19 would be last year for that tree, which has been dying a slow death for several years now as more and more of the original pre-lit 600 bulbs have shorted or burned out, which required me to add additional lights in recent years to maintain its festive appearance. Indeed, time had taken its toll on its fake branches and pine needles as well. As a matter of record the old tree went up for the last time on December 23, 2019. . . and it stayed up into early January . . . and despite my wife's protestations, it stayed up all the way through January. . . and all the way through February too!
My lack of motivation to set up and decorate the tree before Christmas was nothing compared to my post Yuletide reluctance about taking it down. I have often procrastinated about things, but I was taking it to a whole new level with this Christmas tree. I was always able to find something else to do, regardless of how frivolous or unnecessary it might be relative to the urgency of taking the tree down and removing it to the curb. In truth, taking down the tree entailed a lot more than simply removing the decorations and hauling it to the curb. I had to decide the fate of a lot of our tree decorations. Specifically, which ones we would keep and pack for the trip South with us to our new home in South Carolina, where it is anticipated our future trees will be much smaller, and which ones we would give to each of our three kids, and sadly, which ones would join the tree at curbside. And believe me, that was a difficult job! I had to wade through a lot of sentiment. Predictably, I wound up holding onto more of the decorations than I probably should have, but each of my kids will eventually receive a shoebox full of tree decorations which I felt had some relevance to them, or at least more relevant to them than me. Besides, I can bestow additional decorations upon them in future years as circumstances dictate. . . . Yes! Just another example of procrastination on my part. Why do something this year that I can do next year, or the year after that?
Then in early March, the realities of the coronavirus reared its ugly head and things just haven't been the same since. Suddenly, that old artificial tree took on a completely different meaning. It represented not only so many good memories of Christmases past, but the previously unappreciated normalcy of life. Those memories go a long way toward sustaining me during these otherwise bleak times. So taking down the tree lost a lot of its urgency, . . . for me at least, but not necessarily for my wife, who just isn't as sentimental about these things as as I am. Finally, she sarcastically wondered if the tree was still going to be standing on Easter and I admitted that the very thought had actually crossed my mind. At that point, my wife rolled out her nuclear option - No more sex until the tree was gone! The choice was simple, she said. "Who do you love more, the tree or me?. . . . And I don't want to see that Joni Bitch around here either!" Well, clearly my wife wasn't fighting fair! To offer me this type of ultimatum in the middle of a pandemic quarantine was cruel and unusual. What was particularly nasty about her threat was that I had also successfully given up masturbation for Lent, as I have tried to do for many years now, and she knew that. . . . I was stuck between the proverbial rock and a hard place. . . Joni too!
Well, as you can see, I no longer had any choice. I was able to negotiate a "compromise solution", of sorts. I promised that I would take the tree down ''by April". She in turn said fine. She agreed to continue to cook my meals and wash my clothes, and would be available for sexual activity when the tree was gone. As far as my Lenten abstinence from masturbation, she was indifferent. "That" she said, "was in your own hands". Once I had committed to an April 1st deadline, I naturally contemplated if I could somehow incorporate the tree's take down into some kind of April Fool's Joke, but I quickly nixed that idea because I didn't see any humor in such a thing because I had become very fond of the tree and all that it represented. I then did some quick arithmetic and realized that March 31 was exactly 100 days since December 23, when the tree first went up. I liked that idea. 100 Days was a nice round number. and it would take me right up to the brink of my April 1st deadline, and allow me to claim some defiant measure of victory in my dispute with my wife. It might have even been worthy of an entry into the Guinness Book of Records, not that I would seek such notoriety. I would much prefer a Guinness Beer because "It's good for you!", as they say. So it was decided that I would take down the tree on March 31. . . . but then I checked the calendar and realized that garbage collections of large items, like old Christmas trees in my town would be on the early morning of March 31. So I decided to take it down on March 30 and finally remove it from my wife's sight once and for all, one day short of the century mark, rather than have my wife continue to bitch for several more days about having the tree hanging around on the side of the house. Besides there was that little thing about withholding sex that needed to be resolved. I didn't want to provide her with an opportunity to seize upon the tree's continuing presence and use it as a technicality to justify her continuing to boycott sex with me (or Joni!).
As for the actual photo, I am posting it to prove I am still alive and it allows me to tell my tale of the "99 Days of Christmas".
Frankly. I miss the tree, especially during this awful pandemic and home quarantines and the like. The photo was actually taken in late January before the tree became an inspiration for me and the coronavirus was nothing more than a Chinese problem. It seems so long ago! Beyond that, I liked the slinky look I was sporting at the time as I was in the process of trying to shed some of the excess weight I gained during the Holidays, although I regret that my face is a little blurred. Forgive me.
After seemingly our whole month of January being without snow, we have had a moderate amount of new snowfall starting at the end of the day on January 28. I captured this wintry scene at Ypsilanti, Michigan on the afternoon of January 31, 2017 as some of the new snow was falling.
View my collections on flickr here: Collections
Press "L" for a larger image on black.
A tiny bird seemingly overflowing with energy, the Ruby-crowned Kinglet forages almost frantically through lower branches of shrubs and trees. Its habit of constantly flicking its wings is a key identification clue. Smaller than a warbler or chickadee, this plain green-gray bird has a white eyering and a white bar on the wing. Alas, the male’s brilliant ruby crown patch usually stays hidden—your best chance to see it is to find an excited male singing in spring or summer.
Seemingly I still can't say no to this latest release as I consider it to be almost perfect for a modern Matchbox casting. With Case C now surely imminent at Tesco I suspect there wont be many more left to grab. Mint and boxed.
SOOC.
Golden hour.
Seemingly dead flower.
Nuff' said. (:
I'm graduating in three weeks. Then. I'm free. :D
So much has happened. I never have time for anything!
I cannot wait for summer.
Seemingly bought in 2008 and then kept off the road until 2015, I can understand how it was a new spot for me in a nearby town.
109k in 2015, with two fails for poor headlight alignment after its 6 years off the road.
A seemingly simple shot of me on a white background, white shirt, shot through colored pencils. It wasn't as simple as it looks. :-)
-----
"The most evident utensil
Is none other than a pencil
Writer tell me what you want from me
Before my paper is through
How hard must I try
For you"
-----
Evident Utensil - Chairlift
AX seemingly now scrapped, this was a nice opportunity to get two similarly aged superminis together. The Metro is actually quite interesting, due to it being a 'Manhattan' special edition. Just one of 12 on the roads, so worth looking out for these!
Registration number: L351 YDD
✔ Taxed
Expires: 01 February 2015
✔ MOT
Expires: 20 September 2015
In English artist William Hogarth's painting, 'Before', he wittily captures a young gentleman making a seemingly polite declaration of love. His intentions, however, are called into question by the bold penetration of his left leg into the folds of the maiden's skirt, which causes apples to spill from her apron.
William Hogarth (1697-1764) was often typecast as a satirist because of his mass-market, often satirical paintings and engravings. A natural with oils, he reached the height of his reputation as a painter before the decade's end. His early works displayed French Rococo influence, then Hogarth hit on a new, more chauvinistic idea: "painting and engraving modern moral subjects. . . . to treat my subjects as a dramatic writer; my picture is my stage." Earlier artists had depicted ordinary life, but Hogarth's moralizing was revolutionary. Hogarth was the first British artist to be widely admired abroad, both for his paintings and for his 1753 treatise, The Analysis of Beauty.
This Hogarth original was seen and photographed at San Francisco's Palace of The Legion of Honor. It was included in the exhibit entitled 'Casanova: The Seduction of Europe'.
Painting Outside the Box' by Ilan Vizgan
The flute raises it's voice / what is it's story? / is it bad news or good ones or what? / It's about everything and all
A poem by
Nathan Alterman/ summer celebration
Mirit Ben-Nun’s paintings escape common description. An objective observation might describe it as contemporary art, though created by an upbeat young female artist, it is far from contemporary. This art possesses no “present day” defining elements.
Mirit's paintings speak in a distant dialect seemingly of another era and location. By trying to pinpoint this time and place, we find ourselves wandering about without a solid grasping point.
Her paintings are laced with a fire-like sensuality and striking colors. The naive and archetypal characteristics remind us of folk art. Reality is lost within the ‘erroneous’ size ratio of the numerous imagery, similarly to tribal and native art in Africa, Oceania and Australia.
The surface is laboriously worked and replicated similarly to rug weaving techniques. Motifs of Western Pop can be found in many of the paintings. This combination of Primeval motifs and Western Modern Art creates cultural and historical tensions between here and there, then and now. Formatively speaking the paintings are schematically divided into colorful segments with no intermediate transitions. Strong and clear boundaries outline the different areas, each is populated with a happening, opposing or complementing the one next to it. In this fashion, for example, round shapes are confronted with geometric ones or human images with those of animals and plants. Often the paintings are outlined with a ‘frame' thereby uniting the parts and creating an enclosure, like a window within a window. As a result, unconventional compositions are created and shatter the conventional formula of the "Uniformity of subject, shape & color". The rule breaking strengthens the untamed quality of these ‘uncivilized’ paintings.
In the center of Ben-Nun's paintings stands the image of the woman and the relationship between the sexes. Women are displayed as curvaceous, seductive images often in dancing poses. The dance is used as a metaphor for courting and seduction; the thick red lips, at times heart- shaped, symbolize passion and love. When it seems that the implicit allure isn't sufficient, the female image is portrayed in a frontal wide stance, in a composition that reminds us of the letter W. But when the two images meet, the feminine and the masculine, the unification is complete; melding into each other, the images' side view completely overlaps. When in a seated position the whole shape converts into the letter M emphasizing the complimenting opposites.
The protagonists - women and men - are accompanied by secondary characters; symbolic images of especially fish, hands (the Hamsa) and eyes. Those are prevalent in Middle East cultures and represent fertility, luck and protection from the evil eye. Their presence in the paintings, alongside the lovers, implies that the matter at hand is not barren erotica and carnal passion, but genuine love that yearns for a home, family and the raising of offsprings.
Beyond that, those images provide the observer that needed grasping point, for they corral this artistic creation, that seemed at first glance to fluctuate between other cultures and histories, to bring it back into this place, our own place, the here and now.
Mirit Ben-Nun is a wild plant who doesn't grow in the main avenue of the Israeli art but off the main road. She has her own path from which she defies the established Israeli art world. Like a Cupid, she sends her love arrows with a mischievous smile; when they hit a passerby the falling in love is instantaneous. Her paintings are filled with magic and humor. The unfamiliarity characterising them has an inexplicable attraction, similarly to the spell the wild has over the Westerner. In a sea of sounds that wraps around us, more pleasing or less, Ben-Nun‘s pure voice is echoed from the depths riddle- filled and unique, yearning for its own place in the world!
"This is Ground Control to Major Tom, Can You Hear Me, Major Tom?"
The star-like Iris blossom viewed from above seemed to me to resemble some of the fantastic images of Deep Space.
The classic lines from David Bowie's early masterpiece leapt into my mind after I had processed this particular image.
Song: Space Oddity - David Bowie 1969.
A seemingly silver atmosphere seems to have taken over Birmingham Snow Hill aided by the prescence of 68015 on the 13.12 to London Marylebone.Rumours abound of a redevelopment of this cold austere station. Another Moor Street? Pie in the Sky!
This week we're joined by the seemingly innocent Ade from the Sunny 16 Podcast. As a self admitted lens newbie, Ade grills Karl, Johnny and Simon about classic lenses and raises tensions at the same time!
Classic Lenses Podcast on Podmio
podcastplayer.io/podcast/Simon%20Forster/4x
iTunes
itunes.apple.com/gb/podcast/classic-lenses-podcast/id1333...
We can be found using Google's podcast app
Classic Lenses Podcast on Stitcher:
www.stitcher.com/podcast/simon-forster/the-classic-lenses...
Links arising from the discussions;
Sunny 16 Podcast
Sunny 16 Podcast on Facebook
www.facebook.com/sunny16podcast/?ref=br_rs
Sunny 16 Podcast on Instagram
www.instagram.com/sunny16podcast/
Ade on Twitter
@Ade968
The Future Of Photography Podcast
thefutureofphotography.com/thefutureofphotography/show
Canon LTM Lenses
camerapedia.wikia.com/wiki/Canon_39mm_screw_lenses
MIR-24H
lensbeam.com/obektivy/mir-24h-2-35-obzor
Jupiter-12
phillipreeve.net/blog/review-jupiter-12-35mm-2-8/
Carl Zeiss Jena Flektogon 35mm f/2.4
vintage-camera-lenses.com/carl-zeiss-jena-flektogon-35mm-...
Photography with Classic Lenses Facebook Group:
www.facebook.com/groups/classiclenses/
Classic Lenses Podcast discussion on MFLenses.com:
forum.mflenses.com/the-classic-lenses-podcast-t78576.html
Photography with Classic Lenses Instagram:
www.instagram.com/classic.lenses/
Tag your photos with #classiclenses to be featured
Include camera and lens used in caption
Photography with Classic Lenses Flickr:
www.flickr.com/groups/2959630@N20/
Classic Lenses Podcast email address:
classiclensespodcast@gmail.com
Octoblues Royalty Free Music by Kevin Macleod
incompetech.com/music/royalty-free/
Karl Havens
www.flickr.com/photos/142719425@N05
www.instagram.com/karl_havens/
Johnny Sisson
www.instagram.com/sissonphotography/
Central Camera Company in Chicago
Simon Forster
www.simonforsterphotographic.co.uk
stores.ebay.co.uk/itsfozzyphotography
www.flickr.com/photos/125323761@N07/
www.facebook.com/SimonForsterPhotographic/
www.instagram.com/simonforsterphotographic/
Logo by Johnny Sisson
Seemingly a little battle bruised at the front, 1975 is an ADL E40D/Alexander Enviro400 MMC, usually to be found on the 254/5, but here on the 229 as the 15:41 ex Heckmondwike, on a Sunday outing to Huddersfield.
Some City churches seem to be open, if not all the time, then frequently. But others rarely seem to open their doors to visitors. Then there are those who seemingly don't want anyone to see inside their wonderful buildings. Which is more than a shame, really. These houses of God should be for everyone, not just the custodians.
Saying that, I must take another opportunity to thank The Friends of the City churches, and the time given by their volunteers who give up their time to ensure that these are open at least one day a week.
So, in the past two years, I think I have visited all of the churches that they are keyholders for, and so without this fine organisation, I would not have seen inside many of them.
St Benet's is open between 11:00 and 15:00 on Thursdays, and despite wondering whether it would be open as advertised, the greeters assured me it is open each and every Thursday.
St Benet's is unique in that I think I am right in saying that it is the only City Wren church that survived the Blitz undamaged. In which case, Wren would reconise this church, over all others he helped rebuild after the great fire in 1666.
It is now situated tucked in the corner of an off ramp of Queen Victoria Street, and the pedestrian has to walk through an unwelcoming subway to get to the door, which on this occasion was open.
I was greeted warmly, and given a tour of the history of the church, plus tips on visiting other churches. A wonderful visit and a fine church.
----------------------------------------------------
The Church of St Benet Paul's Wharf is a Welsh Anglican church in the City of London. Since 1556, it has also been the official church of the College of Arms in which many officers of arms have been buried. In 1666 it was destroyed in the Great Fire of London, after which it was rebuilt and merged with nearby St Peter's. The current church was designed by Sir Christopher Wren.[1] It is one of only four churches in the City of London to escape damage during World War II.
St. Benet's traces its history back to the year 1111, when a church was built on the site and dedicated to St Benedict. Over time the name was abbreviated to St. Benet. To the west of the site was the watergate of Baynard's Castle, which is referenced in the biographies of Queen Anne Boleyn and Lady Jane Grey. Both the church and the castle were destroyed in the Great Fire of 1666. It was rebuilt by the architect Christopher Wren, and reopened in 1683.
St Benet Paul's Wharf, London, taken from the top of nearby St Paul's Cathedral. Visible behind the church is the City of London School.
On 2 March 1706, Henrietta Hobart married Charles Howard, 9th Earl of Suffolk, a captain in the 6th (Inniskilling) Dragoons there. (Henrietta Howard subsequently became mistress to the future King George II.)[2]
The church was narrowly saved from destruction in the late 19th century, when its parish was merged with that of St Nicholas Cole Abbey. After an energetic campaign by its supporters, it was preserved and reconsecrated in 1879 as the London Church of the Church in Wales.[3] It is now the City's Welsh church, with services conducted in Welsh.[4]
In 2008 the church was closed for a few months due to a "dwindling congregation"[5] but reopened in time for the carol service in December that year. Welsh services are held weekly on Sundays at 11 a.m and 3.30 p.m and the church can be toured on Thursdays between 11 a.m and 3 p.m.
The church is of dark red brick, with alternate courses of Portland stone at the corners. The tower is situated to the north-west of the nave and is capped by a small lead dome, lantern and simple short spire.
The interior is almost a square. Unusually for a Wren church, the ceiling is flat rather than domed or curved. The north gallery was formerly used by the Doctors' Commons, and is now used by the College of Arms. Most of the original 17th century furnishings are still intact, including the magnificent altar table, reredos and pulpit, designed by Grinling Gibbons. The lectern and baptismal font are also original.[7]
The galleries are supported by Corinthian columns. There is a memorial to Inigo Jones, who was buried in the previous church, and a medallion bust of Sir Robert Wyseman, a benefactor of St Benet's who died in 1684.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St_Benet%27s,_Paul%27s_Wharf
A church has been on this site since 1111. Destroyed in the Great Fire, the present church was built by Wren and Hooke (possibly owing more to the latter) between 1677 and 1683. It was one of only four Wren churches to escape damage in the Second Word War but was vandalised in 1971: repaired and reopened in 1973. It has a long-standing connection with the College of Arms across the road. Also since 1879 the church has accommodated the Welsh Episcopalian congregation in London. It is therefore sometimes known as “the Welsh church”, though that is a misnomer. Paul’s Wharf was the wharf on the Thames from which stone and other building materials were conveyed for the Wren reconstruction of St Paul’s cathedral.
www.london-city-churches.org.uk/Churches/StBenetPaulsWhar...
There has been a church on this site, dedicated to St Benet (or Benedict), since the Twelfth Century.
Shakespeare refers to it in Twelfth Night: Feste, the Clown asking Duke Orsino to add a third to the two coins he is offering reminds him: “...the bells of St Bennet, sir, may put you in mind -– one, two, three.”
In the Sixteenth Century, because the watergate of Baynard’s Castle was close by, both Anne Boleyn and Lady Jane Grey may have received the last rites at St Benet on their way to execution at the Tower. The River Thames was, of course, an important thoroughfare at the time and the unlucky women could have completed their journey by boat.
St Benet is the only unaltered Wren church in the City. All but four were damaged in the Second World War and the other three either suffered the effects of an IRA bomb or have been restored.
The royal connection continued with Charles II having a special door at the side of the building and a private room from which he could take part in services. The Stuart arms can be seen above the west door marking the vantage point from which the king observed proceedings below.
Until 1867 St Benet was the parish church of Doctors Commons, a legal institution which, among its other activities, could provide facilities for hasty marriages. There is a record, for instance, of some 1300 weddings taking place in one year alone in the Eighteenth Century.
In 1747, Henry Fielding, the author of Tom Jones, Joseph Andrews and Shamela, married his second wife here.
In 1879 Queen Victoria removes St Benet from the list of churches to be demolished and grants the use of the church to the Welsh Anglicans for services.
The Officers of the College of Arms still have their own seats in St Benet’s and their personal banners hang from the gallery together with that of the Duke of Norfolk. At least 25 Officers are buried here.
In the 1870s the church was regarded as redundant and scheduled for demolition. Eminent Welsh Anglicans petitioned Queen Victoria to be allowed to use the building for services in Welsh. In 1879, Her Majesty granted the right to hold Welsh services here in perpetuity and this has continued ever since, with a service each Sunday morning.
In 1954, in the reorganisation of the City churches and parishes, St Benet became one of the City Guild churches as well as the Metropolitan Welsh Church.
The eminent composer Meirion Williams was the church organist in the 1960s and 1970s. As well as a Mass, Missa Cambrensis, he wrote a number of other works, including songs which are particular favourites of contemporary Welsh opera singers.
In 1971 a fire started by a vagrant damaged the north side of the church. During the repair work, necessitated mainly by smoke and heat damage, the Nineteenth Century organ was moved and rebuilt in its present (and original) position in the west gallery. When the church was reopened in May 1973, the congregation received a message from the Prince of Wales and trumpeters from the Royal Welsh Regiment blew a fanfare in celebration.
Today, the growing congregation at St Benet's remains committed to making known the good news of Jesus afresh to the current generation of the Welsh in London.
Caught you staring again, didn't I? Do you think I have the seams of my silky, fully fashioned stockings straight?
Oops! I do so like to get them perfectly straight, but its not that easy, is it? Otherwise, how do you like the view?
This is another pic for all my stocking & garter loving admirers! I hope you like this sight of my Secrets In Lace Stockings!
This wonderfully tight and shiny minidress is from greatglam.com. I've matched it up with my fully fashioned nylons from secretsinlace.com and my open 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/
DSC_7655-21
From seemingly nowhere the tunnelway out is suddenly seething with a mix of cultists, both alive and undead... but all as bloodthirsty as one another!
Seemingly seeking refuge from the sale of Chester to Stagecoach are these two Optare Solos that appeared at OM depot over the weekend.
From the archives from a trip I took with JF earlier this year. This must be one of the most beautiful destinations seemingly lost in a time warp with the ambience of a more leisurely simple beach experience of another era
Located 446 km north of Sydney and 19 km south-east of Kempsey, Crescent Head is one of the best kept secrets on the northern New South Wales coast. A delightful sleepy little coastal village it is characterised by beautiful beaches and a headland which features one of the most spectacular cliffs on the eastern coast of Australia. It is also a well-respected surfing destination which offers good fishing both from the beach and the rocks. The tiny township is well-protected environmentally with the Goolawah Reserve and Limeburners Creek Nature Reserve edging it to the north and the south.
Although the district around Crescent Head had been thoroughly explored by the 1830s no settlement was established in the immediate vicinity. It is only in recent times that this quiet stretch of coastline has been recognised as an ideal and quiet holiday destination. A town eventually emerged and it is presently characterised by 1950s style accommodation with many fibro holiday homes.
The peacefulness of the town is largely a result of its unusual location. Travellers have to make a conscious decision at Kempsey to depart from the main Pacific Highway and head in a southerly direction. As most travellers are heading north they are unwilling to go backwards down the coast. This circumstance seems designed to ensure that Crescent Head will never be inundated by large numbers of tourists.
Of some historic interest is the fact that the S.S. Wollongbar was torpedoed by the Japanese off Crescent Head on 29 April, 1943 with a loss of 32 lives.
Today Crescent Head is noted as one of the finest surfing locations on the New South Wales coast. The headland has helped to produce almost unique surfing conditions which have attracted such greats as Midge Farrelly and Nat Young.
This was another of my seemingly-unlikely subway encounters. I was going downtown for class when I saw her stand up in preparation for departing. I noticed her striking features which were topped off with a stylish black hat. I was torn. I was a couple of stops short of my destination, but I hate missing the chance to meet an interesting person.
Decision made, I tapped her on the shoulder and she removed her earphone. I asked if she was getting off at the next stop and she was. I introduced myself and said how much I would like to photograph her for my project, pointing to my camera. “If you have five minutes, I could get off at your stop, do the photos upstairs in daylight, and continue on my way. She smiled and agreed. Meet Aisha.
I took advantage of the next minute or two to give her my contact card and explain the project. She was interested. I mentioned that my sons used to attend the high school at this stop. She said she knows people who go there to attend the arts-based program. Aisha, in fact, is an artist herself but attended a different school of the arts. We got off the train and went up the escalator and since she was transferring to a bus and I was going to continue downtown, I scouted out two locations within the turnstiles and I took several photos at each location. The first was rather awkward, at the top of the escalator where there was natural light. The second was on the bus platform which, though busy, was more suitable. She allowed me to tip her hat back slightly so that her eyes would show and the photos were made.
Aisha was born and raised in Toronto. Her parents are Guyanese. She is 29 and her art is performance art, visual art, and healing art. “You mean like the artist’s version of music therapy?” I asked. “Yes, like that” she replied. I barely had time to thank her and ask her for a message to the project. She said “Trust yourself” just as her bus arrived.
I experienced Aisha as a gentle and friendly person who was quite open to the experience and happy to help a fellow artist with a project. (Artists are almost always very willing to participate in my project.) Looking up the name Aisha when I got home I learned that it is a Muslim name meaning Life, Vivaciousness, and Prosperity. It was the name of the Prophet Mohammad’s third (and favorite) wife.
When I started this project a few years ago, I never would have imagined myself tapping a stranger on the shoulder in the subway and asking if I could make a “street portrait.” Not in a million years. I also couldn’t have imagined that so many kind and fascinating people would agree to be part of my project. Not all of life’s surprises are nice ones, but this one has been super-nice.
Thanks Aisha, for your trust and for the few minutes to meet. It was fun meeting you and I hope you like the photos.
This is my 474th submission to The Human Family Group on Flickr.
You can view more street portraits and stories by visiting The Human Family.
A seemingly innocuous image of a crane, that does actually feature personnel from V Corps about to board, at the time of their re-deployment from Northern Ireland.
Photographed quayside in Larne during November 1942, the men from the 56th Signal Battalion were boarding the ferry to Stranraer.
Larne was a significant port for cross-channel military movements too and from Northern Ireland, with a staging camp in the town for any vehicles that may be involved.
The 4-ton dockside crane being employed was manufactured by Babcock & Wilcox Ltd (London & Renfrew).
This seemingly scary-looking sculpture named Melmoth was created by Reinout d'Haese in the 1960's and can be found in the Open Air Museum which is free for anyone to walk through the gardens and enjoy.
More information and details at www.eutouring.com/images_musee_de_la_sculpture_en_plein_a...
Seemingly at a bit of a loose end, I saw this pass the exit of Broadmarsh whilst I was walking through, and had to catch up with it somewhere different....
384 descends the old railway bridge on Clifton Road unusually with a 3 to Nottingham via Ruddington, Wilford Green and Trent Bridge.
A seemingly endless pier pierces through Alcúdia Bay. The Robinson Catamaran docks at the end picking up tourists hungry for an idyllic sightseeing trip along the Mallorquin coast.
Bonhams : the Zoute Sale
Estimated : € 100.000 - 150.000
Zoute Grand Prix 2018
Knokke - Zoute
België - Belgium
October 2018
The first of countless upgrades to Porsches seemingly immortal 911 came in 1966, two years after production had commenced, with the introduction of the 911S, which featured stylish Fuchs five-spoked alloy wheels and a heavily revised and more powerful engine. Improved handling courtesy of a lengthened wheelbase arrived in 1969 and then in 1970 the 911's air-cooled, flat six engine underwent the first of many enlargements - to 2.2 litres. By this time the models on offer had stabilised at three: the entry-level 911T, middle-ranking 911E and top-of-the-range 911S, all of which were available as either a closed coupé or Targa convertible. With the 2.2-litre engine's arrival, a common type of cylinder head was adopted, the differing power outputs being determined principally by valve timing rather than valve sizes as had been the case hitherto. In 1972 all 911 variants received the 2,341cc (nominally 2.4-litre) unit, which in 'E' specification produced a maximum of 165bhp.
This Porsche 911E was built for the German market and sold new to an American pilot in Munich by Mahag who used it in Germany until his return to the USA, a common enough occurrence at that time.
Delivered in the very attractive colour scheme of blue metallic it retains today, the car is believed to be one of the very last 2.4-Litres built and therefore one of the very last examples of the F-model that by then had been in production for nearly 10 years, since the start of the 911 range. This Targa moved with the first owner to South Carolina where it is believed to have stayed for most of its life before moving to its second owner in Texas. It was in Texas that the current Swedish owner was able to buy the car in 2012. He is only the third owner.
By then the Porsche was in need of restoration, so the current owner commissioned a 'last nut and bolt' rebuild to the highest standards in 2013, which was carried out in Europe. The car was completely disassembled and gone through, the body returned to factory-fresh condition. A lot of attention was paid to panel alignment and welding to maintain absolutely correct specifications. The repaint was meticulous and the car's shut lines are said to be excellent – truly something to admire. Factory procedures were followed in the paint shop so the work would compliment that done at the works 40-plus years ago. In addition, extensive corrosion protection was applied to ensure the body remains in good shape for years.
Mechanical components were restored wherever possible, and any worn parts replaced with new ones. Attention to detail was maintained at all times, and all components and systems work and perform as they should. Overall it took 3,000-plus man-hours to restore the car to the quality it deserves.
Since completion, it has only done some 400 shakedown kilometres. This 2.4 E Targa has been displayed at a couple of events where it has won several concours prizes.. Accompanying documentation consists of a Porsche Certificate of Authenticity confirming the car's original specification (which it still retains today); old US title dated 2002; EU customs document confirming taxes paid; owner's manual; tool kit; and invoices and photographs relating to the recent meticulous restoration. Ready for any concours event, this stunning 911E Targa is worthy of a place in any important Porsche collection
Heading out on a seemingly unlikely mission today, I returned with a couple of images and sightings of one interesting bird. Not too bad for a cold, windy and heavily overcast day!
I headed out west, driving up the Brindabella Ranges before being stopped by a locked gate in my attempt to get down to Warks Road. I very much doubt that snow and ice were the cause of the lockage! (as it said on the sign). The road itself was quite a nice walk down, even though I didn't get to my destination and had to leave the car at the gate. A couple of parties of Flame Robins made the walk worthwhile.
Later, trying to access Warks Road from the other side (and met with a similar gate but a storm-damage sign) I managed to find a pair of Red-browed Treecreepers feeding high up in the trees near the gate. Not bad, the first time I have seen these in a couple of years at least!
A seemingly new addition to the Inglebys fleet is Volvo B12B VanHool T9 Alizée 743 XUG which is seen here on the Fulford yard before ever entering service here. Previously this was CX05 AFJ which was new to Caelloi of Pwllheli (Wales) in a distinctive livery complete with roof horns.
The only reason I noticed this as being different when I went past was the orange card in the windscreen which drew my eye, then I notied the reg. Normally if there's a new bus to a fleet and has just been painted into fleet livery it will stand out due to being more shiny than the others - yet this isn't possible with Ingleby's as the fleet presentation is immaculate across the board.