Many people know of the racing stones of Death Valley. Fewer though know of the racing balls of Nehalem Bay. On any average day at Nehalem Bay the winds are strong enough that any round, lightweight object is blown across the beach, leaving a furrow in the sand behind it. Only a select few hundreds of thousands are lucky enough to be at the beach during these conditions (windy days like this happen only about 364.5 days of the year along the Oregon coast).

 

My musical selection for today is also something a bit different.

♫

I visited Hopetoun House during the warm spell at Easter 2019. Just got round to processing the photos! Here are a select few.

Anxiety has kicked in!! Besides feeling a bit under the weather, I'm a teeny bit excited to see what's in store for us again when IT unveils the next portion of their 2013 collection. I have a hopeful feeling that it will be FRs and Nuface this time around.

 

What are all of you looking forward to this year?

 

I'm curious to see how the collection will look this year since the convention collection will be more glam (assumingly since it's Hollywood themed), will the FR set be more relaxed? Perhaps fall-winter as opposed to last year's spring influenced Style Directive collection?

 

Anywho, I'm just rambling. It's the anticipation along with the medication and it's early. It's going to be a busy day and I pray I will be able to narrow my list down to just a select few as I promised myself that I won't be preordering like cray-cray (like I have in the past years).

Anyways, that's all for now. List-of-Death coming Monday.

XXXO

Well this was a lovely find to say the least, I actually ran down the road to catch it stopped at the traffic lights just in time. Wearing perhaps the most suitable plate for a Monza, this is my first spotted in this country outside a show. I always find it interesting how a select few Opels were sold in the UK without the Vauxhall badge. This one is one of the last of the line, top spec model, with the GSE spec and the three litre engine. When first made, it was the fastest ever Opel.

 

I love the look and shape of this- it was just fantastic to see on a cold and rainy winter day, clearly loved and cherished. It also looks remarkably original, keeping original graphics and wheels.

 

Looking at the MOT history, it's passed all but one, with no advisories! So in fantastic working condition, sitting on 80,000 miles in June 2015. It appears to have been sitting still for a fair while, at least between 2005 and 2009 when just a few miles were recorded. The original plate was C134 URP.

 

Registration number: MON 2A

✔ Taxed

Tax due: 01 April 2016

✔ MOT

Expires: 12 June 2016

Name's gonna need some work, but the build itself is fine. So I've actually had a TIE fighter knocking around for a while now, it's just been a pain to render decently cos...well TIE fighters don't look all too good in renders, way too tall, hard to see everything clearly. The cockpit itself is nicked from....Inthert. Took a while to reverse engineer it, but I did it, but regardless, all credit for the cockpit goes to him.

 

So, from this TIE, I had a cockpit, which was also knocking around, until this afternoon I had a wave of inspiration, and before I knew it, I had a Tie Pursuer. I'd say this was a special forces type TIE, maybe only a select few pilots get to fly it, it's very odd looking, so it'd be incredibly rare.

 

Now onto the bit I'm not so sure about. Can it still be called a TIE fighter if the engines are on the wings? Yeah, the bulky bits on the wings are the engines themselves, just to add a bit of variety to it. So, what does it have feature-wise?

 

- Quad cannons at the front

- Missiles located between the panels

- Hyperdrive

- Room for 1 pilot

 

And that's about it really. At some point I'll upload a picture of the rear, where you can see a bit more of the engines, and the back of the main body. As always, please lemme know what you think, and if you'd like to see more TIE variants from me in the future :D

Not my first glimpse of the Eiffel Tower but one of my favorites. This is seen from the top of the Montparnasse Tower, which is the second tallest building in Paris, just a hair shorter than the Eiffel Tower.

 

One must buy tickets to go up Montparnasse, which we did ahead of time on-line (much cheaper by the way). There is a cafe/gift shop/historical center that most people hang out in that has floor to ceiling windows that offer impressive views of the city. Then you can climb a couple flights of stairs to the very tip top of the tower where there is an open-air observation area. This is where most people congregate for sunset, and it can get quite crowded. Photographers take note: the observation platform is walled in by thick, clear glass that has been smudged and abraded by countless hands and faces pressed up against it. There are a select few narrow openings in the glass that are ideal for sticking a camera lens through but space is limited and the photographers cram into these areas like pigs to a trough. So if you go, you should get up there early with your tripod (at least an hour before sunset) and stake out your spot, otherwise you are going to have to be leaning on someone, or photographing under their arm or standing on someone's back just to get a clear angle for your camera.

 

Of course, with that many photographers in one small area the absurdity of the situation was not lost on me that all these photographers were using the same equipment at the same time to rapidly fire away making the same photos as each other. At one point I glanced over my shoulder and noticed that the entire center of the platform was completely empty with the exception of some photographer's non-photographic-significant other taking a short nap while they waited for their spouse to do his/her thing. So I peeled away from the windows and stepped back myself and looked to make some images not just of Eiffel, but the interaction that occurred up there. I definitely got some pretty photos from the window, but this one is my favorite from up there, I think.

The Vegetarian Festival is on again; here another image from a previous occasion.

 

Every year in the 9th lunar month the descendants of Chinese immigrants throughout SE Asia celebrate the festival in honour of the 9 emperor gods. Over a period of 10-20 days the participants purify body and mind through strict diet and abstinence from impure or intoxicating acts and sex, as well as feats of endurance and suffering.

 

Shrines and god figurines are carried through town in daily street processions and purified in a hailstorm of firecrackers. Select few operate as mediums called ม้าทรง (lit. 'horse officially enrolled for duty'). Through them the gods accept offerings and make blessings along the road, face to face with participants or on altars lining the streets.

 

Some endure the (sometimes extreme) piercings and long processions seemingly clear and in control, some conscious of the representation and show effect; others are in trance and in different spheres altogether.

 

For me this image conveys how surreal and mad this spectacle can get at times. Tons of firecrackers exploding all around, people moving in all directions, some full of cheer, others in deep prayer and others just taking it all in somehow.

 

*Earplugs and sturdy glasses highly recommended.

 

© All rights reserved. Please do not use my images and text without prior written permission.

I have the most amazing group of friends...not many (like the 1,286 “friends” one has on facecrack) but rather a select few who make a difference. Whether it’s an email that exudes love and encouragement, and brings me to tears, or a kind gesture like a ride to a recording studio, or a phone call from far away that makes me laugh (when I wanted to cry that day), or feeling like you belong to a family (kids included!), or being invited into someone’s life to watch her grow into a creative genius, or having someone cradle you and comfort you when you cannot cry anymore, or this...a beautiful piece of art made to uplift me every time I look at it, and remind me not only of where I want to go, but more importantly what I have. Thank you...

35/365

 

"A selected few get the honor to travel the island. These few are the messengers. Young guys and girls that have the ability to create portals through the realm in order to get anywhere and deliver important messages and packages. Achieved with just a set of mystical keys."

 

Model: Manuel Hernandez

 

Facebook

Instagram

Website

I’ve been wanting to do this type of shot for a while.

I grouped a number of leaves and the thought came to me to do a ‘life cycle’.

I deliberately chose 7 leaves as I’m curious about the ‘rule of odds’ I’ve just studied. Apparently the human brain likes an odd number more than even.

Some of the leaves have a number of blemishes. It occurred to me that you don’t get to 50+ in years without having some form of blemish.

I love this type of art, and will try and do more . I realise it’s vey subjective and only a select few want to study it. So if that’s you I appreciate your viewing!

Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.

 

Today we are in the very modern and up-to-date 1920s kitchen of Lettice’s flat: Edith her maid’s preserve. It is early morning, which is always Edith’s favourite time of day, for before Lettice arises, she can get a lot of her household chores done without interruption and without interrupting her mistress. With the airing, dusting and straightening of the flat’s main rooms done, as the clock nears eight, Edith can focus on preparing Lettice’s breakfast.

 

If Lettice were at her family home in Wiltshire, as an unmarried lady she would not be permitted to have breakfast in bed, that luxury reserved for married women like her mother only. However, in London, and under her own roof, no such stricture applies, so Edith sets about preparing her mistress’ breakfast tray. Sighing with satisfaction as she takes in a breath of cool morning air through the open window, the young maid stands at the deal pine kitchen table and places a pretty floral edged plate, and egg cup onto the dark wooden tray where they join a sliver salt shaker and pepper pot. She listens to the chirp of birds as she turns around and goes to the kitchen’s cutlery drawer and withdraws two spoons and a knife which she adds to the tray. Morning is the only time she really hears the birds, as within an hour, the streets around Cavendish Mews will be busy with the splutter of motor cars and the chug of buses and their noise will drown out the pretty songs of the birds who make their homes between the chimney pots and in the gardens of the surrounding Mayfair houses.

 

The sound of the brass kettle boiling on the stove breaks into her consciousness, and Edith turns and takes it off the hob. She picks up a small brass pan and adds water from the kettle and covers it with a lid and places it over an unlit burner.

 

Going to the meat safe near the back door Edith withdraws one of the bottles of milk left at the back door of the flat by the milkman even before she was out of bed, and a white carboard box with blue writing on it that proudly advertises eggs from Alexander Auld, by appointment to His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales. “Why on earth the Prince of Wales needs eggs from Aberdeen in Scotland is beyond me.” she mutters to herself as she lifts the lid and takes out a pristine white egg from the box. “Eggs are eggs. They all taste the same, no matter where they come from.” Her beau Frank Leadbetter, who is the delivery boy for Mr. Willison the local grocers, told her that if the Prince of Wales wanted Scottish eggs, who were they to question it, and always adds that she should feel lucky to eat eggs from the same farm that the Prince’s eggs come from. She shakes her head as she takes the egg over to the stove and puts it into the pot of freshly boiled water.

 

Returning to the table she pours creamy white milk into a jug that matches the egg cup and plate and places it on the tray. She picks up the jar of Golden Shred Orange Marmalade* and scoops orange jewel like gelatinous preserve from the jar and deposits it into a silver preserve pot. “Blast!” Edith mutters as a stray drop falls from her spoon and lands on the left cuff of her blue and white striped morning uniform where it seeps and bleeds into the fabric. Scraping what hasn’t been absorbed into the pot, she goes to the sink, runs the cold water tap and soaks a cleaning cloth under the clear stream before sponging the mark before it sets. Returning to the table, shaking her left arm half in irritation and half in a pointless effort to dry her now damp cuff, she puts the lid on the preserve pot.

 

She returns to the stove and takes up the kettle and pours hot water over the scoops of Lyon’s** tealeaves in the bottom of the floral patterned teapot that matches the rest of the crockery on the tray. With a satisfying clink, she drops the lid into the hole in the top.

 

“Oh my giddy aunt! The post!” Edith gasps, putting both her hands to her head. “I’d forget my head sometimes if it weren’t screwed on.”

 

Snatching up the slice of white bread she has freshly cut from the loaf on the table, she puts it in the gleaming silver toaster and takes up the letters and the magazine that have been delivered with the first post of the day.*** Edith goes through what is there.

 

“Looks like a formal invitation to something.” she murmurs as she holds up to the light one larger envelope of a higher quality than two others, which from the addresses she notes are from tradesmen, and tries to peer through the thick creamy white envelope. “I wonder if it’s an invitation to a ball, now that the Season has started up. Whose I wonder?”

 

Putting it down she then notices that the magazine that has been delivered is Country Life**** which Lettice does not subscribe to. “That’s odd.” She screws up her face and ponders the magazine featuring the grand colonnaded Georgian façade of a country house with its mistress descending its stairs on the cover. Then gasping with excitement, Edith remembers overhearing her mistress saying something about an interior she completed recently. Friends of Lettice, Margot and Dickie Channon, were gifted a Recency country “cottage residence” called ‘Chi an Treth’ (Cornish for ‘beach house’) in Penzance as a wedding gift by the groom’s father, the Marquess of Taunton when the pair were married in October 1921. Margot in her desire to turn ‘Chi an Treth’ from a dark Regency house to a more modern country house flooded with light, commissioned Lettice to help redecorate some of the principal rooms in a lighter and more contemporary style, befitting a modern couple like the Channons. Lettice decamped to Penzance for a week where she oversaw the painting and papering of ‘Chi an Treth’s’ drawing room, dining room and main reception room, before fitting the rooms out with a lorryload of new and repurposed furnishings, artwork and objets d’arte that she had sent down weeks prior to her arrival from her London warehouse. With the rooms redecorated under Lettice’s adept hands where once there was dark red paint, modern white geometric wallpaper hangs, and where formal, uncomfortable and old fashioned furnishings sat, more modern pieces dispersed by a select few original items give the rooms a lighter, more relaxed and more contemporary 1920s country house feel. The redecoration came to the attention of Dickie’s friend Henry Tipping***** who as well as being Dickie’s chum is also the Architectural Editor of Country Life, and after viewing it, he arranged for it to be featured in the magazine.

 

Opening the magazine, Edith flits through the different editorials before coming across the one about ‘Chi an Treth’ towards the middle. As she reads and looks at the many photographs of her mistress’ beautiful interior, her neutral face comes to life and she smiles as her eyes glisten. “Oh-ho!” she chortles, her cheeks reddening. “This will be thumb in the eye****** for Miss Lettice’s mother. She won’t be able to be dismissive of her decorating now.”

 

It is only as she is drinking in the beauty of Mr. and Mrs. Channon’s fashionable looking drawing rom that Edith realises that she has been so absorbed in reading the article that she didn’t hear the toast pop. Turning her head, she sees the slice poking its golden brown top out of the gleaming silvered toaster. Reluctantly putting the copy of Country Life down, she goes and picks up the toast with her right thumb and forefinger and brings it back to Lettice’s breakfast tray where she puts it on the plate. Adding a teacup and saucer in a matching pattern to the plate, egg cup and jug, she returns to the stove and removes the perfectly four minute boiled egg from the pot with a slotted spoon, and deposits it in the egg cup.

 

Placing the teapot onto the tray, she slips the letters into the pocket on the front of her apron, puts the copy of Country Life under her left arm and picks up the breakfast tray.

 

“Today is the day.” Edith says aloud with a smile as she pushes at the bottom of the door leading from the kitchen into the flat’s hallway with the toe of her shoe. “The day that Miss Lettice’s work is properly recognised is here. She is going to be so pleased.”

 

*Golden Shred orange marmalade still exists today and is a common household brand both in Britain and Australia. They are produced by Robertson’s. Robertson's Golden Shred recipe perfected since 1874 is a clear and tangy orange marmalade, which according to their modern day jars is “perfect for Paddington’s marmalade sandwiches”. Robertson's marmalade dates back to 1874 when Mrs. Robertson started making marmalade in the family grocery shop in Paisley, Scotland.

 

**Unlike today where mail is delivered on a daily or even sometimes only every few days basis, there were several deliveries done a day when this story is set. At the height of the postcard mania in 1903, London residents could have as many as twelve separate visits from the mailman. By 1923 it had been scaled back somewhat, but in London it would not be unusual to receive post three or four times a day.

 

*** Lyons Tea was first produced by J. Lyons and Co., a catering empire created and built by the Salmons and Glucksteins, a German-Jewish immigrant family based in London. Starting in 1904, J Lyons began selling packaged tea through its network of teashops. Soon after, they began selling their own brand Lyons Tea through retailers in the UK, Ireland and around the world. In 1918, Lyons purchased Hornimans and in 1921 they moved their tea factory to J. Lyons and Co., Greenford at that time, the largest tea factory in Europe. In 1962, J Lyons and Company (Ireland) became Lyons Irish Holdings. After a merger with Allied Breweries in 1978, Lyons Irish Holdings became part of Allied Lyons (later Allied Domecq) who then sold the company to Unilever in 1996. Today, Lyons Tea is produced in England. Lyons Tea was a major advertiser in the early decades of RTÉ Television, featuring the "Lyons minstrels" and coupon-based prize competitions.

 

****Country Life is a British weekly perfect-bound glossy magazine that is a quintessential English magazine founded in 1897, providing readers with a weekly dose of architecture, gardens and interiors. It was based in London at 110 Southwark Street until March 2016, when it became based in Farnborough, Hampshire. The frontispiece of each issue usually features a portrait photograph of a young woman of society, or, on occasion, a man of society.

 

*****Henry Tipping (1855 – 1933) was a French-born British writer on country houses and gardens, garden designer in his own right, and Architectural Editor of the British periodical Country Life for seventeen years between 1907 and 1910 and 1916 and 1933. After his appointment to that position in 1907, he became recognised as one of the leading authorities on the history, architecture, furnishings and gardens of country houses in Britain. In 1927, he became a member of the first committee of the Gardens of England and Wales Scheme, later known as the National Gardens Scheme.

 

******I am unsure of the origins of the saying “to shove a thumb in one’s eye”, but its meaning is to open someone’s eyes to the obvious, but not necessarily in a welcome way.

 

This domestic scene may not be all that it appears, for it is made up completely of items from my 1:12 miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The copy of Country Life sitting on the table that is the lynchpin of this chapter was made by me to scale using the cover of a real 1923 edition of Country Life.

 

The panoply of things required by Edith to make Lettice’s breakfast that cover her deal kitchen table come from various different suppliers. The lacquered wooden breakfast tray and the pretty breakfast crockery came from specialist stockist of miniatures on E-Bay. The box of eggs in the background comes from Shepherds Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The slice of toast on the plate comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House in the United Kingdom. The bottle of milk in the background comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering, as do the pieces of cutlery. The jar of Golden Shred marmalade in the foreground comes Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire as does the box of Lyon’s Tea in the background. The sliced load of bread comes from Polly’s Pantry Miniatures. The lidded silver preserve pot comes from Smallskale Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The silver salt and pepper shakers are part of a larger cruet set made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality of the detail in their pieces.

 

Edith’s Windsor chair in the background is a hand-turned 1:12 artisan miniature which came from America. Unfortunately, the artist did not carve their name under the seat, but it is definitely an unmarked artisan piece.

 

To the left of the sink is the food safe with a mop leaning against it. In the days before refrigeration, or when refrigeration was expensive, perishable foods such as meat, butter, milk and eggs were kept in a food safe. Winter was easier than summer to keep food fresh and butter coolers and shallow bowls of cold water were early ways to keep things like milk and butter cool. A food safe was a wooden cupboard with doors and sides open to the air apart from a covering of fine galvinised wire mesh. This allowed the air to circulate while keeping insects out. There was usually an upper and a lower compartment, normally lined with what was known as American cloth, a fabric with a glazed or varnished wipe-clean surface. Refrigerators, like washing machines were American inventions and were not commonplace in even wealthy upper-class households until well after the Second World War.

Alexander Dennis presents the brand new 100-seat Enviro400XLB three-axle double decker, developed in close collaboration with Lothian Buses and chassis manufacturer Volvo. 42 of these high-capacity buses will enter service in Edinburgh from January onwards. They are manufactured in Falkirk, securing jobs and adding value to the Scottish economy directly and via the extensive local supply chain.

 

With Lothian’s services in the Scottish capital seeing consistent patronage growth, the operator collaborated with Alexander Dennis to develop the 13.4m Enviro400XLB. Offering 100 seats and able to carry up to 131 passengers in total, it delivers unrivalled capacity for busy routes in the capital, while its front and middle doors will speed-up dwell times at bus stops. It has been built to even higher standards than bus users in Edinburgh are familiar with, with comfortable high-backed seating, wifi, USB charging, mood lighting and audio-visual stop announcements.

 

Alexander Dennis’s Enviro400XLB is the first bus for the United Kingdom to be mounted on Volvo’s recently launched three-axle B8L chassis, powered by the efficient 350hp Euro 6 D8K engine.

 

Today a select few from Lothian Buses and enthusiasts were specially invited by MD Richard Hall to pay a visit to the Alexander Dennis factory in Falkirk. More photos will be uploaded next week. Keep watching!!! For now here is a super close up of what to expect.

For a few, a very select few, being called "Bird Brained" is not an insult. It's a compliment.

Daffodils of all shapes and sizes here, but I focused just on a select few.

Theme: Egyptian Cyberpunk Ambiance | Nebulous Illumine - The Enigma TNG

 

It's hard to believe it all started here.

 

In Egypt, it made sense. At least, it did back when Earth still had atmosphere, and until the great oil disaster in the late 21st century. Most of Egypt was habitable then, and could even be farmed and formed into a garden oasis. After the disaster, along with the wars that ensued by declining, once great nations who sought what power they could grab, were eventually bought up by the global corporations that decided it was time to take out the middle man and claim themselves the rightful world powers - not by any claim to divine or sovereign rule, but by the might of consumer influence and what power money could buy. It was easy to gain control in this manner, considering how the governments spent well beyond the means of their national treasuries and, in turn, spread the addiction to debt money onto their people, leading to even greater debt that became its own form of slavery. The global corporations, albeit, being a major part of the problem, offered people solutions, and a way out of debt. Contracts were signed among the people with these corporations, which ultimately undid the ties of national social contracts. This led to open borders, of sorts, as long as you had the money, influence, and clearance identification that allowed one to pass from one sector of the world to another. Those without such passports had to remain where they were and wait for the opportunity to be granted such an ID. However, such identification was purposefully made difficult to acquire. As the global society progressed, security tightened, making it near impossible to attain passports due to various concerns, including criminal and political activities that undermined the agenda of the global society, along with claimed safety and bio hazard issues that grew from industrial pollution and sketchy, potentially illegal scientific experiments that led to human mutations that had to be contained, or potentially terminated depending on perceived danger of the hybrids created by the mutations.

 

By the middle of the 3rd millennium of the common era, during two global wars between the corporate superpowers, the hybrids had worked underground on their contingency plan for leaving the earth. Having been considered little more than experiments and pets by the humans that created them, they eventually formed their own society and global network in the open cities, defending their autonomy from the global corporations. They allied with many diverse sorts of humans that were displaced by the global society, and thus disassociated themselves from the mainstream society. While the globalists kept fighting over what land was left that had not been scourged by the wars and turned toxic by industries and unethical experimentation by human scientists - during this time the hybrids and human allies worked on creating spacecrafts and planned their celestial escape and vision to start over anew on Mars.

 

While the red planet had been considered dead and hostile to humanoid life, there were rumors that it could be possible to revive the planet and make it habitable. For about 500 years, on until the turn of the 4th millennium of the common era, many vessels were sent up into space with mixed results. Some blew up, either by missiles launched by the global society, or by internal failures in the crafts. Others made it out into space, but eventually the communication was lost, and the ship and its crew were never to be seen or heard from again. Things continued in this manner until one day a text message found its way back from Mars, which stated, "We did it!"

 

Towards 3121 C.E., the hybrids and their human allies were finally able to escape to the stars, leaving behind the dying planet Earth. Many were eager to make a new beginning on Mars. Some stayed behind, still holding out hope for change on Earth. They kept communication with the soon to be Martians, believing that what could be learned about terraforming the red planet might help to revitalize Earth back to its beautiful blue skies once more.

 

Ioh was on one of the first ships that sought to start colonies on Mars. However, his purpose was different from those of the hybrids. Only a select few knew what his mission of sorts was, and he aimed to keep it that way until he was certain that ancient artifacts of his Martian ancestors from time immemorial were secured and likely to not be used and abused by the new breed of Martians. A new society on his ancestral planet was exciting, but it also posed problems that neither he, nor the new breed could possibly imagine. Even so, as the last of his kind still alive, as far as he knew, he wasn't about to let such ancient technology find its way into the wrong hands, and potentially lead to the first known galactic war of the common era. Wars in the heavens were of Biblical and mythical stories of ancient times long before the common era. Ioh aimed to keep them so for as long as he breathed.

 

***

 

This pic was taken in Haven Your World at my home sim Ioh Haven. The sim is still under construction, but you can check out the (very slow) development here:

 

hyw/region/Ioh%20Haven/105/91/29

Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.

 

Today however we are at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie. Lettice is visiting her family home for Christmas and has stayed on to celebrate New Year’s Eve with them as well. She motored down to Wiltshire with her old childhood chum, Gerald, also a member of the aristocracy who has tried to gain some independence from his family by designing gowns from a shop in Grosvenor Street. His family, the Brutons, are neighbours to the Cheywynds with their properties sharing boundaries. That is how Gerald and Lettice came to be such good friends. However, whilst both families are landed gentry with lineage going back centuries, unlike Lettice’s family, Gerald’s live in a much smaller baronial manor house and are in much more straitened circumstances.

 

Christmas has been and gone, and with it, Lettice’s elder sister Lalage (known to everyone in the family by the diminutive Lally), her husband Charles and their children and Lettice’s Aunt Eglantine, leaving the house emptier and significantly quieter, especially in the absence of the children. It is New Year’s Eve 1921, and nearly midnight as we find ourselves in the very grand and elegant drawing room of Glynes with its gilt Louis and Palladian style furnishings where Lettice has gathered with her father, mother, Leslie, Gerald and his parents Lord and Lady Bruton. Bramley, the Chetwynd’s butler has just delivered two bottles of champagne from the Glynes’ well stocked cellar which now chill in silver coolers and champagne glasses for everyone on a silver tray.

 

“Thank you Bramley,” the Viscount acknowledges his faithful retainer. “Will you stay and have a glass of champagne with us?”

 

“Thank you, My Lord.” he replies. “That’s most generous of you. However, we are having a small celebration of our own below stairs.”

 

“Well, I hope you’ve chosen a good vintage for everyone to enjoy, Bramley.”

 

“Very good of you, My Lord. There seemed to be a surplus of Deutz and Geldermann 1902 according to my records.”

 

“Very good Bramley.” the Viscount beams. “Well, happy New Year to you and all the staff.”

 

“Thank you My Lord.” replies the butler. Turning to the wider room where Lady Sadie and Lady Gwyneth are settled on the Louis style settee, Lord Bruton on the embroidered salon chair by the fire and Lettice and Gerald standing by the fireplace he announced in his deep burbling voice, “Happy New Year my lords, ladies and gentlemen.”

 

“Oh, happy new year, Bramley,” Lady Sadie replies, giving him one of her crisp, yet not ungenuine smiles. “Please pass our very best new year wishes to all the staff, won’t you?”

 

“I will My Lady,” Bramley replies as he retreats through the double doors of the salon, leaving the family and their select few guests to enjoy their celebrations in private.

 

“Not long to go now, everyone!” Lord Wrexham announces excitedly, spying the face of the Rococo clock on the mantelpiece between Lettice and Gerald’s conspiring figures as they lean against the mantle languidly. “Just another few minutes until it is nineteen twenty-two!”

 

“Shall we gather then, Chetwynd?” mutters Lord Bruton as he struggles to raise himself from the elegantly petit-point covered gilt salon chair, groaning as his wiry frame returns to an upright position. “Come on old gal!” he calls good naturedly to his wife as he reaches out a hand to help her rise.

 

“A little less of the old if you don’t mind!” Lady Gwyneth chides her husband, yet with a playful smile, as she takes his hand firmly. She releases a rather wheezing cough as she struggles to get to her feet.

 

Lettice looks over at her friend’s mother as she wobbles a little as she tries to regain her balance. Lady Gwenyth’s health has been in gradual decline over the last year, but the winter of 1921 in particular has taken the glow from her apple half cheeks, and as she wraps her elegant, if somewhat old fashioned Edwardian beaded evening gown around her, Lettice observes for the first time how much weight she has lost. With a full bosom and curvaceous hips, Lady Gwyneth was the height of femininity before the war, yet now that soft, doughy roundness that Lettice found so comforting as a child when enveloped in one of her all embracing cuddles, has been replaced by a somewhat sharper, more angular figure, that even the flowing lines of a Lucile* gown cannot completely smother in romantic swathes of satin and tulle.

 

“Are you alright, Lady Gwyneth?” Lettice asks in concern.

 

“Just the remnants of that chest cold I had last month, my dear. And what is this ‘Lady Gwyneth’ business, Lettice?” the older matron asks, giving Lettice a rather surprised look. “Since when have you become so grown up that I am no longer Aunt Gwen?”

 

Lettice feels a flush of embarrassment rise up her neck and fill her cheeks as she chuckles awkwardly.

 

“Mamma,” Leslie reaches down and offers his mother his hand to help her rise from the settee.

 

“Children are always so anxious to grow up,” Lady Sadie replies and looking over to her daughter and friend’s son. “And make their own decisions.”

 

“Well, a bit of independence living up in London hasn’t done Gerald any harm.” Lord Bruton blusters, turning and giving his son a slap on the back that makes the slender young man buckle forward and elicit a cough of his own.

 

“Yes, well,” Lady Sadie replies noncommittally, giving her daughter an appraising stare through narrowed, scrutinising eyes, which suggests that she does not feel the same about Lettice’s own levels of independence. She turns back to her eldest son and pats his hand kindly. “Thank you my dear. You are a good boy.” Then returning her gaze to her daughter, she continues, “The ability to self-govern and make decisions is far more attractive in a gentleman than a lady.” She emphasises the last word, her eyes growing almost imperceptibly wider, before turning to her husband.

 

“Oh I don’t know, Sadie,” her husband counters. “I rather like a bit of pluck in a girl.” He looks at his youngest daughter and gives her a beatific smile. “Why just look at Eglantine.”

 

“Yes let’s,” mutters Sadie disapprovingly as she fusses with the long rope of pearls about her neck. “She’s an unmarried artist in her fifties who lives in Maida Vale.”

 

“Little Venice**, Sadie,” the Viscount protests. He gives his wife a wounded glance. “Be kind.”

 

“And Aunt Eggy is an exhibited artist.” Leslie adds proudly. “At the Royal Academy*** no less.”

 

“Yes, well,” mutters Lady Sadie again.

 

Not wishing to engage in her mother’s conversation, Lettice turns to Gerald purposefully and asks, “So where is Rowland tonight, since he deigned to turn down Pater’s invitation this evening? It must be something special for him not to eat someone else’s good food and drink their quality champagne.”

 

Gerald glances anxiously across at his parents as they gather with Lettice’s parents and Leslie as they mill around the gilded tea table where the Viscount pops a bottle of champagne to a smattering of laughter and applause. Lowering his voice and sinking it closer to his friend Gerald says, “You have my big brother pegged well, darling. However, it’s not so much something, as someone.”

 

Lettice’s eyes grow wide. “Who Gerald? I didn’t think he liked any of the Huntington girls.”

 

“I think you need to lower your expectations, Lettuce Leaf.” Gerald replies.

 

"Don't call me that Gerald. You know I hate it." She slaps him playfully on the forearm for using her much hated childhood nickname.

 

"I know darling, but you are so easily baited."

 

“Whatever do you mean, ‘lower my expectations’, Gerald?”

 

“Well, let’s just say that he is down at The George tonight.” Gerald elucidates.

 

“Not Mr. Partridge’s daughter, Becky?” Lettice’s eyes grow round in shock. “But she’s the…”

 

“The barmaid,” Gerald finishes her sentence for her. “Yes, I know. But Mater and Pater don’t, so please don’t say anything.”

 

“As if I would, Gerald!” Lettice replies, raising a hand to her throat as she feels the warmth of a fresh flush again. “Mind you, Glynes is only a small village. News is bound to reach your parents if he is being so indiscreet.”

 

“I know. I know.” Gerald flaps his hands distractedly. “I’ve told him that he’s playing with fire. Mater and Pater think he’s at a New Year’s Eve party at the Fenton’s.”

 

“Well at least he is smart enough there. The Fentons are far enough away that Aunt Gwen is unlikely to make enquiries. But Becky works in her father’s pub, and The George is the heart of the village, and he’ll be the subject of gossip in no time.”

 

Gerald raises his hands in defence. “I can’t do any more than I already have. You know how Roland’s head is turned by a pretty face.”

 

“Yes,” Lettice muses. “Like Lionel. Let’s hope that Rowland doesn’t get Becky in the family way like Lionel did our first parlour maid. I don’t think your parents can afford to pack Rowland off to Kenya, like my parents did Lionel, nor bribe the mother-to-be with hush money.”

 

“Good heavens no. They can’t afford to patch the roof of Bruton Hall, never mind buy Rowland a farm outside of Nairobi.” Gerald agrees. “Besides, unlike Lionel, Rowland is the heir. What would have your parents done if it had been Leslie?”

 

Lettice looks over at her eldest brother, who catches her eye with an imploring look as he is accosted by their mother and Lady Gwyneth. “Luckily, we don’t need to find out. Leslie is taking his duties as the heir to Glynes very seriously, and his character is beyond reproach.”

 

“What are you two whispering about over there?” the Viscount calls over to Gerald and Lettice.

 

“Plotting the downfall of the establishment, piece by piece,” Leslie suggests playfully, gratefully breaking away from the two matrons to join his father’s conversation.

 

“We are doing no such thing, Leslie!” Lettice laughs.

 

“Well, whatever it is, stop being rude and come over here and whisper your intrigues to all of us,” Viscount Wrexham replies. “It’s nearly midnight.”

 

Lettice and Gerald walk across the old carpet and join the others, accepting a flute of sparking champagne from Viscount Wrexham as they gather about the gilded tea table with the others.

 

“Now,” Lord Wrexham begins in a commanding tone. “What are your New Year wishes, everyone?” He looks about the faces of the company gathered together. “Bruton? What’s yours?”

 

Lord Bruton looks up at his neighbour. “Well, it’s frightfully dull and practical, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I wanted the roof of Brunton Hall mended.”

 

“Capital idea!” the Viscount replies, raising his glass cheerfully. “Nothing wrong with a practical wish. Gwyneth?”

 

“Oh I think I want what most mothers want for their children, Cosmo,” She looks firstly at Leslie, then Lettice and finally her younger son Gerald with a warm, if slightly tired smile. “Their happiness.”

 

“Well, I will concur with that,” adds Lady Sadie animatedly. “I wish for a successful Hunt Ball this year.” She glares at Lettice, who quickly disengages from her mother’s gaze and glances at the rich patterning of the carpet.

 

“Well, we are all looking forward to that Sadie,” Gwyneth enthuses. “It will be the event of the county calendar I’m sure.”

 

“Leslie?” the Viscount asks.

 

“A successful cattle sale with record prices, Father.” Leslie replies, raising his own glass.

 

“Well, I’ll second that, my boy!” Viscount Wrexham replies, raising his glass once again.

 

“I’m hoping for further success as a result of Margot’s wedding dress,” Gerald pipes up, glancing quickly at his father, who gives him somewhat of a hostile look which causes him to turn promptly to his mother, who smiles proudly at him. “I’ve already got three new clients as a result of the photos in Vogue.”

 

“See?” Lady Gwyneth says, opening her arms expansively as she looks around at the others. “What did I tell you? Happiness, that’s what we wish for.”

 

“Happiness and success,” Lettice adds. Looking across at her mother she expands with a steely determination in her voice. “Success in whatever form it comes.”

 

“Very good, my girl!” the Viscount raises his glass again. “Now, it’s midnight. Raise your glasses!”

 

The clock on the mantle chimes midnight prettily, in the distance somewhere, a church bell rings out across the quiet night and the muffled sound of cheers drift up from the servant’s quarters.

 

“Happy New Year!” Viscount Wrexham cheers. “Happy nineteen twenty-two!”

 

“Happy nineteen twenty-two!” everyone echoes as they raise their glasses and clink them together happily.

 

*Lucile – Lucy, Lady Duff Gordon was a leading British fashion designer in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries who use the professional name Lucile. She was the originator of the “mannequin parade”, a pre-cursor to the modern fashion parade, and is reported to have been the person to first use the word “chic” which she then popularised. Lucile is also infamous for escaping the Titanic in a lifeboat designed for forty occupants with her husband and secretary and only nine other people aboard, seven being crew members.

 

**Little Venice is a district in West London, England, around the junction of the Paddington Arm of the Grand Union Canal, the Regent's Canal, and the entrance to Paddington Basin. The junction forms a triangular shape basin. Many of the buildings in the vicinity are Regency white painted stucco terraced town houses and taller blocks (mansions) in the same style.

 

***The Royal Academy of Arts (RA) is an art institution based in Burlington House on Piccadilly in London. Founded in 1768, it has a unique position as an independent, privately funded institution led by eminent artists and architects. Its purpose is to promote the creation, enjoyment and appreciation of the visual arts through exhibitions, education and debate.

 

This festive upper-class scene is not all that it may appear to be, for it is made up entirely of pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The champagne glasses are 1:12 artisan miniatures. Made of glass, they have been blown individually by hand by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering and are so fragile and delicate that even I with my dainty fingers have broken the stem of one. They stand on an ornate Eighteenth Century style silver tray made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The two wine coolers are also made by Warwick Miniatures. The Deutz and Geldermann champagne bottles are also an artisan miniature and made of glass with a miniature copy of a real Deutz and Geldermann label and some real foil wrapped around their necks. It was made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. Even the ice blocks in the coolers are made to scale and also came from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The gilt tea table in the foreground of the photo on which they all stand is made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq.

 

The Chetwynd Christmas tree, beautifully decorated by Lettice, Harold and Arabella with garlands, tinsel, bows golden baubles and topped by a sparking gold star is a 1:12 artisan piece. It was hand made by husband and wife artistic team Margie and Mike Balough who own Serendipity Miniatures in Newcomerstown, Ohio.

 

The Palladian console table behind the Christmas tree, with its two golden caryatids and marble top, is one of a pair that were commissioned by me from American miniature artisan Peter Cluff. Peter specialises in making authentic and very realistic high quality 1:12 miniatures that reflect his interest in Georgian interior design. His work is highly sought after by miniature collectors worldwide. This pair of tables are one-of-a-kind and very special to me.

 

The gilt chair to the right of the photo is made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq, but what is particularly special about it is that it has been covered in antique Austrian floral micro petite point by V.H. Miniatures in the United Kingdom, which also makes this a one-of-a-kind piece. The artisan who made this says that as one of her hobbies, she enjoys visiting old National Trust Houses in the hope of getting some inspiration to help her create new and exciting miniatures. She saw some beautiful petit point chairs a few years ago in one of the big houses in Derbyshire and then found exquisitely detailed petit point that was fine enough for 1:12 scale projects.

 

The elegant ornaments that decorate the surfaces of the Chetwynd’s palatial drawing room very much reflect the Eighteenth Century spirit of the room.

 

On the console table made by Peter Cluff stands a porcelain pot of yellow and lilac petunias which has been hand made and painted by 1:12 miniature ceramicist Ann Dalton. It is flanked by two mid Victorian (circa 1850) hand painted child’s tea set pieces. The sugar bowl and milk jug have been painted to imitate Sèvres porcelain.

 

On the bombe chest behind the Louis settee stand a selection of 1950s Limoges miniature tea set pieces which I have had since I was a teenager. Each piece is individually stamped on its base with a green Limoges stamp. In the centre of these pieces stands a sterling silver three prong candelabra made by an unknown artisan. They have actually fashioned a putti (cherub) holding the stem of the candelabra. The candles that came with it are also 1:12 artisan pieces and are actually made of wax.

 

The sette, which is part of a three piece Louis XV suite of the settee and two armchairs was made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, JBM.

 

The Hepplewhite chair with the lemon satin upholstery you can just see behind the Christmas tree was made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq.

 

All the paintings around the Glynes drawing room in their gilded frames are 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States and V.H. Miniatures in the United Kingdom, and the wallpaper is an authentic copy of hand-painted Georgian wallpaper of Chinese lanterns from the 1770s.

 

The Persian rug on the floor has been woven by Pike, Pike and Company in the United Kingdom.

The beautiful Adèle came over to visit our studio all the way from Paris! We were keen to transform her as she showed up for her session.

 

After hundreds of photos taken and trying on 6 different looks her makeover was complete.

 

Here are a selected few for you.

 

Boys Will Be Girls, London's Luxurious Dressing Service

 

www.boyswillbegirls.com

 

Follow us on Social Media:

 

Facebook - www.facebook.com/boyswillbegirls

Twitter - www.twitter.com/bwbgofficial

Instagram - www.instagram.com/bwbgofficial

Youtube - www.youtube.com/c/boyswillbegirls

Just recently I was showing my images of grain elevators to someone. Sadly, that individual did not know what a grain elevator is. I proceeded to provide a quick explanation and explained to that person the difference between the older, original wooden grain elevator, and the modern concrete silos.

 

Then I began to think, this person is one of many Canadians who aren’t even aware of the existence of these pieces of our history, heritage, and western culture.

 

And here I, and many others across the country, are driving around, taking photos of them, posting them to social media, websites etc., and only a select few Canadians actually know what a grain elevator is. And my guess is that a good majority of those people are from rural areas, who grew up in Small Town Wherever, Alberta, or maybe on a farm, way out in the middle of nowhere. They know because they grew up around a grain elevator in some way, but do city folks know what a grain elevator is? And for that matter, what its purpose is? How does a grain elevator work you might be asked? Plenty of questions.

 

So, I thought maybe I’d try to enlighten those who would like to know what a grain elevator is, and why I, like many others, take photographs of them.

Grain elevators, which have been variously referred to as prairie icons, prairie cathedrals or prairie sentinels, are a visual symbol of western Canada. Numbering as many as 5,758 in 1933, elevators have dominated the prairie landscape for more than a century with every hamlet, village and town boasting its row of them, a declaration of a community's economic viability and a region's agricultural strength. The story continues here at the Canadian Encyclopedia article on Grain Elevators.

www.thecanadianencyclopedia.ca/en/article/grain-elevators

 

Why do I take photographs of Grain Elevators? Well, I grew up on the Canadian Prairies in southwestern Manitoba, and grain elevators were part of the landscape. They towered over the small towns and acted like a lighthouse, or beacon to the locals, providing them a focal point on where their home was. It was also a social gathering point for the farmers and townsfolk, a place to share a cup of coffee, catch up on some gossip, or maybe play a game or two of Cribbage.

 

Today, there are barely 700 plus left all across the prairie provinces. I hope to document those that remain for future generations to see long after they are gone.

With a little over a week till opening, Mischief Managed is opening it's doors early for a select few. Will you be one?

 

Mischief Managed is having a Photo Competition that is open not just for MM Roleplayers. We want to see your best photos of why you love Wizarding Faire, your favorite items, and everything that the Magical World means for you.

 

Rules :

- Photo must be added to Mischief Managed Flickr & Wizarding Faire Flickr

- Photo must be tagged #WF23PhotoCompetition

- One Photo Entry for Each Person

- Stated in your Description, why you love Wizarding Faire

- You do not need to be a member of Mischief Managed.

- OOC Staff is allowed to apply.

- Winner will be randomly selected.

 

Winners will win early access to the event 12 hours prior to opening, with a plus one.

Three winners will be selected, two MM Members and one Non-MM Member.

 

Good Luck to everyone! Competition closes 11:59PM SLT on July 27th.

  

_______________

 

Mischief Managed welcomes you to the 2023 Wizarding Faire! To celebrate everything magical, designers from all across the grid come together for a whole two weeks from July 29th to August 12th bringing you the finest wizarding wares and fabulous special items that envelope you into our world. Hosted on the Mischief Managed sim, a delightful Harry Potter Roleplay bringing the magic of Wizardry to SL’s lands.

 

Come and explore our world as we once again open our doors for this years Wizarding Faire as we guide you through an enriching experience and offer a fun, festive event to tickle your witchery.

 

L'ELEGANZA OSTENTATA

  

Durante i giorni di Carnevale, Venezia è un fiorire di iniziative e di spettacoli, da quelli improvvisati sulla pubblica via dai numerosi artisti di strada, a quelli pianificati dagli organizzatori. Ogni anno viene individuato un tema centrale che funge da filo conduttore e viene sviluppato secondo vari punti di vista, da quello più propriamente culturale a quello prettamente spettacolare.

Così nei campi vengono organizzati cortei storici, concerti, spettacoli vari e fuochi d'artificio; in molti locali c’è la musica dal vivo; nei teatri vengono allestite commedie e balletti e nei sontuosi palazzi patrizi si preparano feste per pochi eletti. Ovunque Venezia pullula di turisti e di visitatori.

 

Note tratte dal sito:

www.caorle.com/it/venezia/carnevale-di-venezia.html

----------------------------------------------------------

  

EXAGGERATED ELEGANCE

  

During the days of Carnival, Venice is a flourishing of initiatives and shows, from those improvised on the public street by the numerous street artists, to those planned by the organisers. Every year a central theme is identified which acts as a common thread and is developed according to various points of view, from the more strictly cultural to the purely spectacular.

Thus historical processions, concerts, various shows and fireworks are organized in the fields; in many places there is live music; comedies and ballets are staged in the theaters and parties are prepared for a select few in the sumptuous patrician palaces. Everywhere Venice is full of tourists and visitors.

  

In EXPLORE il 15/02/2024 al n. 47

  

CANON EOS 6D Mark II con ob. CANON EF 24-85 f./3,5-4,5 USM

  

"Everyone needs community, Rose. Especially those who claim they do not."

 

________________________________

  

In only the second comic book he's written in over a decade, veteran writer Christopher Priest creatively deconstructs and humanizes the story of Deathstroke by confronting the mercenary's addiction to violence with his need for emotional intimacy. Known as the Terminator to all but Slade Wilson to the select few, Deathstroke turns out to be far more complex character than he's ever been written as before, thanks to an intentional focus on his failure to maintain healthy relationships with his family members and loved ones. Political subterfuge and old school badassery undercut this central theme, while a vibrant cast of supporting and guest characters provide a believable human context in which Deathstroke can inevitably wreak psychological and physical havoc. Add in the fact that the artwork is consistently excellent, and there's no question that Christopher Priest's Deathstroke is decidedly one of the best titles DC has put out in years.

 

The only reason I ever took a look at this run was because it was constantly being recommended on Reddit. And I'm so happy that I did - just behind Superman, Deathstroke is my favorite Rebirth title. As a comic book character, Deathstroke is so mythically badass. He has an eyepatch, Minnesota high school hockey hair, and one of the most aesthetically pleasing costumes ever created. But despite these characteristics, he's never been written as a particularly deep character; he barely got any solo attention before the Flashpoint, and in the early New 52, Deathstroke was nothing but a musclebound, Liefeld-esque bruiser. But with a writing veteran such as Priest at the reins, Deathstroke has finally received the nuanced characterization and solo attention that he's deserved since his creation. If you haven't read this yet, you NEED to!

 

_________________________________

  

This shot features main and supporting characters in the run, along with several guest stars that only appeared in single issues (Clock King, Superman, Batman & Robin, The Creeper). For those who haven't read any Deathstroke yet, here are a few quick summaries of characters that might not be immediately recognizable. Fig formulas are at the very bottom!

 

Joseph Wilson: Deathstroke's younger son, depicted in the final version of the Ikon Suit, created by David Isherwood. Joseph is more popularly known as Jericho in traditional DC continuity.

 

Clock King: Appeared in DEATHSTROKE #0s and #1 as a one-off villain. And yes, he appeared in classic Silver Age garb. :)

 

Adeline Kane: Deathstroke's ex-wife. Hates Slade for ruining their marriage and for indirectly causing the death of Grant and the mutilation of Joseph. Doesn't like Rose.

 

Ja Zaki: Real name Matthew Bland - an African dictator/supervillain who is a straight-up parody of Marvel's Black Panther. Is a recurring ally/rival to Slade throughout the run.

 

Grant Wilson: Deathstroke's older son, deceased from the combined effects of the H.I.V.E. super-serum and the stress from his long-ago battle with the Teen Titans. Slade's guilt over Grant's death principally drives the events of the Lazarus Contract.

 

Wintergreen: Slade’s oldest and (arguably) only real friend. I’ll save the details of his background for you to find out. :)

 

NOTABLE OMISSIONS:

 

Dr. Villain, David Isherwood, Power Girl, Roscoe, Raptor

 

________________________________

  

Fig formulas:

 

Deathstroke: greyed Luke Skywalker hair, Airen Cracken head, erased General Cryptor Ninjago armor, LBM Batman torso, Simpsons S2 Marge left arm, cut Scu-Batsuit utility belt

 

Rose Wilson: Storm hair, SW Rebels Sabine Wren head, Hobgoblin torso, dark azure arms, S4 Musketeer CMF legs

 

Joseph Wilson: Captain Marvel hair, White Tiger head, Cosmic Boy torso, Batgirl utility belt, First Order AT-DP pilot legs

 

William Randolph Wintergreen: Count Dooku hair, J. Jonah Jameson head, Superboy arms, S12 Gamer CMF hips, sand blue legs, walkie-talkie

 

Adeline Kane: Narcissa Malfoy hair, Padme Naberrie head, BvS Lois Lane base

 

Hosun: N52 Robin hair, Draco Malfoy head, reversed S14 Clumsy Guy cmf torso, S12 Gamer CMF arms, computer board

 

Red Lion: LBM Red Hood CMF head, Kraven collar, NK promo fig torso, Catman CMF utility belt, Wolverine claws

 

Superman (Rebirth): Superman base fig w/Senate Commando legs

 

Clock King: Clock round plate, reversed City Beachgoer torso, Ninjago Lloyd DX hips, dark azure arms and legs

 

Ravager (Grant Wilson): Damian Wayne hair, N52 Nightwing head, Ninjago Jay ZX armor, 2012 Hawkeye torso, dark blue arms w/red hands, Catman CMF utility belt BvS Superman legs w/red hips

 

The Creeper: LBM Joker hair, S16 Strongman head, LBM Red Hood CMF cape, S12 Lifeguard CMF torso, S3 Hula Dancer CMF legs

 

Batman (Rebirth): Buccaneer Batman cowl, N52 Batman torso, LBM Death Metal Batman CMF arms w/dark blue hands, Helicarrier Nick Fury legs, custom-cut Disney Maleficent CMF cape

 

Damian Wayne (Robin): Damian base figure with Shazam hair, S15 Grim Knight arms, green short legs

 

_______________________________

  

Props to Multi_Sharp for requesting this shot a couple months back! He was the only one that did so, but it definitely gave me the push to greenlight this one. :)

Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.

 

Concerned about her beau, Selwyn Spencely’s, true affections for her, and worried about the threat his cousin and 1923 debutante, Pamela Fox-Chavers, posed to her own potential romantic plans with Selwyn, Lettice concocted a ruse to spy on Pamela and Selwyn at the Royal Horticultural Society’s 1923 Great Spring Show*. As luck would have it, Lettice ran into Pamela and Selwyn, quite literally in the latter’s case, and they ended up having tea together. Whilst not the appropriate place to talk about Selwyn’s mother, Lady Zinnia, whom Lettice suspects of arranging a match between Selwyn and Pamela, who are cousins, Selwyn has agreed to organise a dinner with Lettice where they can talk openly about the future of their relationship and the interference of Lady Zinnia. However, whilst Lettice waits for the dinner to be arranged, she has a wonderful distraction to take her mind off things.

 

That is why today we are far from London, returning to Wiltshire, where Lettice grew up at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie and his new wife Arabella. However, we are not at Glynes, but rather in Glynes Village at the local village hall where a much loved annual tradition is taking place. Every year the village have a summer fête, run by the local women and overseen by Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, to help raise money for a worthy cause in the village. The summer fête is one of the highlights of the village and country calendar as it always includes a flower show, a cake stand, stalls run by local famers’ wives selling homemade produce, games of hoopla, a coconut shy, a tombola and a jumble sale, a white elephant stall and a fortune teller – who is always local haberdasher Mrs. Maginot who has a theatrical bent and manages the Glynes theatrical players as well as her shop in the village high street. All the stalls and entertainments are held either in the village hall or the grounds surrounding it. Not only do the citizens of the village involve themselves in the fête, but also the gentry, and there is always much excitement when matriarch of the Brutons, Lady Gwyneth – Gerald’s mother, and Lady Isobel Tyrwhitt – Arabella’s mother, attend. Neither lady have been well over the last few years with Lady Gwyneth suffering a spate of bronchial infections and Lady Isobel receiving treatment for cancer, so it is a rare treat to have both in attendance. This year’s summer fête is a special one for Arabella in particular, for as the newly minted Mrs. Leslie Chetwynd, she now joins the effort to help run the Glynes summer fête for the first time and has been given the second-hand clothing stall to run as part of the jumble sale.

 

The Glynes village hall is a hive of activity, and the cavernous space resounds with running footsteps, voluble chatter from the mostly female gathering, hammering and children’s laughter and tears as they run riot around the adults as they set up their stalls. Mr. Lovegrove, who runs the village shop, climbs a ladder which is held by the elderly church verger Mr. Lewis and affixes the brightly coloured Union Jacks and bunting that have been used every year since the King’s Coronation in 1911 around the walls. Lady Sadie casts a critical eye over the white elephant stall, rearranging items to put what she considers the best quality items on more prominent display, whilst removing a select few pieces which she thinks unsuitable for sale, which she passes to Newman, her ladies maid, to dispose of. Bramley, the Chetwynd’s butler arranges and categorises books for the second-hand book stall, perhaps spending a little too much time perusing some of the titles. Mrs. Elliott who runs the Women’s Institute manages the influx of local women bringing in cakes with regimental efficiency. And amongst all the noise, activity and excitement, Arabella busies herself unpacking boxes of old clothes and tries her best to make her trestle an attractive addition to the summer fête. Lettice perches on an old bentwood chair, offering suggestions to her sister-in-law whilst pulling faces as she lifts up various donations before depositing them in disgust where they had been beforehand.

 

“Here we are then,” Gerald announces as he walks across the busy floor of the hall bearing a wooden tray containing several teacups and a plate of cupcakes from the refreshments stand, narrowly avoiding Mrs. Lovegrove’s two youngest children as they chase one another around his legs. The sound of his jolly call and his footsteps joining all the other cacophony of setting up going on around him. “Refreshments for the hard workers,” he looks at Arabella. “And the not-so-hard-workers.” he looks at Lettice.

 

“Don’t be cheeky!” Lettice says to him with a hard stare, letting a limp stocking fall from her hand and collapse into a wrinkled pool on the trestle table’s surface.

 

Gerald puts the three tea cups down where he can find a surface on Arabella’s trestle table, followed by a long blue and gilt edged platter on which sit three very festive cupcakes featuring Union Jacks made of marzipan sticking out of white clouds of icing.

 

“Mrs. Casterton’s special cupcakes.” he announces proudly with a beaming smile.

 

“How on earth did you get those, Gerald?” gasps Lettice in surprise, eyeing the dainty cakes greedily. “Mrs. Casterton hasn’t let me take food from her kitchen since I started dining at the table with the rest of the family, never mind pinch anything from her stall for the fundraiser!”

 

“It helps when you aren’t her employer’s indulged youngest child.” Gerald says, tapping his nose knowingly.

 

“I was not an indulged child!” Lettice defends, raising her hand to the boat neckline of her frock and grasping her single strand of creamy white pearls hanging about her neck. “You were more indulged by Aunt Gwen than I ever was by Mater or Pater.”

 

“Oh, just ignore him, Tice!” laughs Arabella from her place behind the trestle. “You know Gerald has always had the ability to charm anything from anyone when he wants to.”

 

“That’s true,” Lettice replies, eyeing Gerald with a cocked eyebrow and a bemused smile as she picks up her magenta and gilt rimmed cup and sips her tea. “I had forgotten that.”

 

“What can I say?” laughs Gerald proudly with a shrug of his shoulders.

 

“It’s not so much what you can say as what you can do, Gerald.” mutters Arabella with a frustrated sigh.

 

“I am at your service, my lady?” Gerald replies, making a sweeping bow before Arabella and Lettice, who both laugh at his jester like action.

 

“Be careful what you promise, Gerald.” giggles Lettice.

 

“Bella would never expect too much from me, Lettice.” Gerald retorts with a smile. “She’s known me all her life and she knows what my limitations are.”

 

“Well, I was hoping you could help me by working some magic on my second hand clothing stall.” Arabella remarks with another frustrated sigh as she tugs at the old fashioned shirtwaister** blouse with yellowing lace about the collar. “I’ve tried and tried all morning, but nothing I seem to do helps make anything look more modern and more attractive to buy.”

 

Lettice and Gerald look around at Arabella’s stall. The shirtwaister outfit with its pretty, albeit slightly marked, lace, tweed skirt and leather belt with a smart, yet old fashioned Art Nouveau buckle really is the most attractive piece that she has on display. Around it on the surface of her trestle are a jumble of yellowing linen napkins complete with tarnished napkin rings, a selection of embroidered, tatted*** and crocheted doilies, mismatched pairs of leather and lace gloves and several rather worn looking hats that are really only suitable for gardening now, rather than being worn to church services on Sunday.

 

“I warned you Gerald.” Lettice says with a knowing wink.

 

“Don’t you remember how much we all felt sorry for whomever ran the second-hand clothing stall at the fête each year as children, Bella?” Gerald asks.

 

“It was always the short straw.” Lettice adds.

 

“Yes, being stuck under the piercing stare of His Majesty.” Gerald indicates to the portrait of King George V, dating back to the pre-war years when the King still had colour in his hair.

 

“The worst stall to have because none of the villagers ever seem to have anything nice or remotely fashionable to donate, even for a good cause like new books for the village school.” Lettice picks up a pretty primrose yellow napkin. “These are nice at least.”

 

“Except there are only three of them.” points out Arabella with a disappointed air. “I can’t seem to find a fourth.” She picks up a red dyed straw hat in the vain hope that it will be there, even though she has searched beneath it three times already. “And I’ve looked everywhere.”

 

“Tea for two, perhaps?” Gerald suggests hopefully as he picks up his own teacup and takes a sip of tea.

 

“Oh, you two are no help!” scoffs Arabella. “I’ve a right mind to stick you both with these!” She grasps a pair of knitting needles complete with some rather dreadfully made rows of incomplete knitting and a ball of wool and thrusts them through the air between she, Lettice, and Gerald. “They’ll get you working.”

 

“Even if they do, Bella, we aren’t miracle workers.” remarks Gerald.

 

All three of them laugh good heartedly.

 

“Oh I must make the best of it,” Arabella sighs resignedly as she tugs at the left leg-of-mutton sleeve**** of the shirtwaister. “After all, this is my first year as Leslie’s wife, and the first jumble sale I am actively helping to run to help raise funds for the village. I must make this stall a success no matter what.” The steely determination in her voice surprises her as she speaks. “I’m a Chetwynd now, and I can’t disappoint the villagers with a poor show.”

 

“Nor Mater.” adds Lettice, taking another sip of tea.

 

“No indeed!” agrees Gerald. “Lady Sadie will be judging you from afar, Bella, rest assured. If your stall isn’t a great success, you’ll hear about it.”

 

“In a dozen little quips.” Lettice adds.

 

“More like a hundred.” corrects Gerald.

 

“Tearing delicately phrased strips off you.” agrees Lettice.

 

“Inflicting as much pain for as long as possible.” adds Gerald with seriousness.

 

“Oh stop, Gerald!” laughs Arabella. “She isn’t anywhere near as much of a dragon as you and Tice paint her to be.”

 

“You’ve only been married to the family for a little while now,” Lettice counters, looking at her sister-in-law over the magenta and gilt painted rim of her cup. “And you and Leslie have your own lives and are left pretty much to your own devices down in the Glynes Dower House from what I can gather. We’ll give you a little while longer to find out the truth about your wicked mother-in-law.” She smiles cheekily.

 

“I have grown up alongside you, going in and out of your house, Tice,” Arabella replies with a dismissive wave of her hand. “So it’s not like Sadie is an unknown quantity to me.”

 

“But you’ve never been a recipient of her acerbic tongue either, I’ll wager.” adds Gerald dourly. “You’re far too sweet and compliant a young daughter-in-law for that, but both Lettice and I have.”

 

“I still don’t know,” Lettice queries, turning her attention to Gerald. “What was it you said to Mater that night of Hunt Ball that set her so against you, Gerald? I’ve never known her to take against anyone so vehemently, except perhaps poor Aunt Egg who can never do any right in her eyes.”

 

Gerald blushes, remembering the altercation he had with Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, at the ball. In a slightly inebriated state he told her that neither she nor Lettice had any sway over Selwyn Spencely’s choice of a wife, any more than Selwyn did himself, explaining that it was his mother, the Duchess of Mumford, Lady Zinnia, who would choose a wife for him. “I keep telling you, darling girl. I really don’t remember,” he replies awkwardly, covering his tracks as best as he can. “If you remember, I was rather tight***** that night on your father’s champagne.”

 

“Well,” Arabella says with a sigh. “I’m determined not to incur her wrath, even though I’m sure it’s nowhere near as awful as you two suggest.”

 

“Oh-oh!” Gerald mutters under his breath to Lettice. “In coming.”

 

“Oh no.” moans Lettice quietly in return behind the painted smile she places on her face as she, Gerald and Arabella are suddenly set upon by the Miss Evanses, the two spinster sisters who live in Holland House, a Seventeenth Century manor house in the village.

 

The trio smile benignly as the two sisters twitter to one another in crackling voices that sound like crisp autumn leaves underfoot as they approach them.

 

“Well, twice in as many weeks, Miss Chetwynd!” exclaims the younger of the Miss Evanses in delight, a joyous smile spreading across her dry, unpainted lips. “Last week at the Royal Horticultural Society’s Great Spring Show, and now here! How very blessed we are to see you again.”

 

“How do you do, Miss Evans, Miss Evans,” Lettice acknowledges them both with a curt nod from her seat. She glances at the two old women, who must be in their seventies at least, both dressed in a similar style to when she saw them last week at the Royal Horticultural Society’s Great Spring Show, in floral gowns of pre-war Edwardian era length, their equally old fashioned whale bone S-bend corsets****** forcing their breasts into giant monobosoms down which sautoirs******* of glittering Edwardian style beads on gold chains cascade. Wearing toques with feather aigrettes jutting out of them atop their waved white hair they look like older versions of Queen Mary.

 

“I’m afraid you are a little early for the jumble sale, Miss Evans and Miss Evans,” Arabella remarks sweetly. “We are still setting up.”

 

“Oh, thank you! We know, Mrs. Chetwynd.” twitters the elder of the Miss Evanses, surprising Arabella a little as she still gets used to being referred to by her new married name. “I was just remarking to Henrietta this very morning over breakfast that we do so much look forward to the village fête every year.”

 

“Yes, it’s a nice way for us to be able to support the local community in our own small way, isn’t that right Geraldine?” enthuses her sister, raising her white lace glove clad hand to her wrinkled and dry mouth as she giggles in a rather unseemly girlish way.

 

“Indeed yes, Henrietta. It is to aid the school this year, is it not?”

 

“It is Miss Evans.” Arabella confirms. “To help buy new books for the children.”

 

“A very fine cause, I must say,” the younger of the Miss Evanses remarks indulgently. “Helping the young ones to read and develop their fertile minds. Rather like gardening, wouldn’t you say?”

 

“It is not even remotely like gardening!” quips her sister. “Stop talking such nonsense Henrietta.”

 

“We shall of course be glad of your patronage when the jumble sale opens in an hour.” Arabella quickly says in an effort to diffuse any unpleasantness between the two spinster sisters, at the same time emphasising the time the sale begins.

 

“Well,” adds the elder of the Miss Evanses seriously. “We shall of course come and spend a few shillings and pence when it opens officially, but…”

 

“Oh!” interrupts the younger of the Miss Evanses. “Is your frock designed by Master Bruton, Miss Chetwynd?” She addresses Gerald in the old fashioned deference of the village and county folk when addressing the children of the bigger aristocratic houses.

 

“Yes, Miss Evans. Mr. Bruton,” Lettice applies gravatas to the correct reference to Gerald’s name now that he is of age. “Did design my frock.”

 

“Oh it’s ever so smart!” the younger of the sisters enthuses.

 

“Thank you, Miss Evans.” Gerald acknowledges her.

 

“And your hat?” Miss Evans points to the yellow straw hat. “Didn’t I see you wearing that at Master Leslie’s wedding to Miss Arabella?”

 

“Mrs. Chetwynd, I think you mean, Henrietta.” corrects her sister with a sharpness to her remark.

 

“Oh yes!” bristles the younger Miss Evans at her sister’s harsh correction, raising her hand to her mouth again. “Yes of course! Mrs. Chetwynd, I do apologise.”

 

“It’s quite alright, Miss Evans.” Arabella assures her. “I am still getting used to being Mrs. Chetwynd myself.”

 

“How very observant of you, Miss Evans.” Lettice addresses the younger of the siblings. “I did indeed have my hat made for Leslie and Bella’s wedding. It was made by a friend of Mr. Bruton’s, Miss Harriet Milford.”

 

“Yes, well thinking of hats, I…” begins the elder Miss Evans.

 

“Oh it’s most becoming, Miss Chetwynd.” the younger Miss Evans interrupts her sister again as she compliments Lettice in an obsequious manner, followed by another twittering giggle.

 

“I can send someone down to Holland House this afternoon after the fête with her details if you like.” Lettice replies. “The next time you’re in London, you might pay her a call.”

 

The two sisters give one another a sour look at the idea, their lips thinning and their eyes lowering as they nod to one another in unison before turning back to Lettice and Gerald.

 

“Aside from the Great Spring Show, we don’t have much call to go up to London these days, do we Henrietta?”

 

“Indeed no, Geraldine.” agrees the younger Miss Evans between pursed lips, a tinge of regret in her statement.

 

“Besides we find the services of Mrs. Maginot’s in the high street to be quite adequate.”

 

“Good lord!” gasps Gerald, causing the two spinster sisters to blush at his strong language. “Is old Mrs. Maginot still going?” He chuckles. “Fancy that!”

 

The elder Miss Evans clears her dry and raspy throat awkwardly before continuing. “For our more bucolic, and doubtlessly simple tastes, Master Bruton, we find Mrs. Maginot to be quite satisfactory.” Both sisters raise their lace gloved hands to their toques in unison, patting the runched floral cotton lovingly. “We aren’t quite as fashionable as you smart and select London folk down here in sleepy little Glynes, Master Bruton, Miss Chetwynd, but we manage to keep up appearances.”

 

“On indeed yes, Miss Evans.” Lettice replies with an amused smile. “No-one could fault you on maintaining your standards.”

 

“I imagine you will soon be designing Miss Chetwnd’s own wedding frock, Master Bruton.” the younger of the Miss Evanses announces rather vulgarly.

 

“That’s only if I let her get married, Miss Evans,” Gerald teases her indulgently. “I might like to whisk her away and lock her in a tower so that I can keep her all to myself.”

 

“After what we all saw with our own eyes at the Hunt Ball, I’m sorry Master Bruton, but I don’t think you are in the running for Miss Chetwynd’s affections!” the younger Miss Evans twittering giggle escapes her throat yet again as her eyes sparkle with delight at the very faintest whiff of any gossip.

 

“How is Mr. Spencely, Miss Chetwynd?” the elder Miss Evans asks pointedly, her scrutinising gaze studying Lettice’s face.

 

Lettice blushes at the directness of both Miss Evans’ question and her steely gaze. “Oh, he’s quite well, as far as I know, Miss Evans.” she replies awkwardly.

 

“As far as you know?” the older woman’s outraged tone betrays her surprise as she looks quizzically into Lettice’s flushed face.

 

“Well, I haven’t seen Selw… err, Mr. Spencely just as of late.”

 

“Oh?” the elder Miss Evans queries. “I thought we saw you leave the tent we were in at the Great Spring Show, on the arm of Mr. Spencely.”

 

“Yes, I’m sure it was him, Miss Chetwynd.” adds the younger Miss Evans as she raises a lace clad finger in thought. “He’s very striking and hard to mistake for someone else.”

 

Silently Lettice curses the beady eyed observation the two spinster sisters are known for. Of course, they of all people at the bustling and crowded Chelsea flower show, noticed her inadvertent stumble into Selwyn and then her departure with him. Although perfectly innocent, and accompanied by her married friend Margot Channon, and Selwyn’s cousin, Pamela Fox-Chavers, she can see how easily the Miss Evanses can construe the situation to their own advantage of spreading salacious London gossip about Lettice, as daughter of the local squire, around the citizenry of Glynes village.

 

“I believe you were here for a purpose, Miss Evans.” Gerald pipes up, quickly defending his best friend from any more uncomfortable cross examination.

 

“Oh,” the elder Miss Evans replies, the disappointment at the curtailing of her attempt to gather gossip clear in both her tone of voice and the fall of her thin and pale face. “Yes.” She turns to Arabella. “I have actually come early today to see you on business, Mrs. Chetwynd.”

 

“Me, Miss Evans?” Arabella raises her hand to the scalloped collar of her blouse and toys with the arrow and heart gold and diamond broach there – a wedding gift from her husband.

 

“Yes.” replies the elder of the two sisters. “You see, when I heard that you were running the second-hand stall this year, I did feel sorry for you.”

 

“Sorry for me, Miss Evans?”

 

“Yes,” she replies, screwing up her eyes. “For as you know, there is always a poor offering of donated goods by the other villagers, and it makes for a rather sad and depressing sight amidst all this gaiety.” She gesticulates over Arabella’s trestle with a lace glove clad hand, sending forth the whiff of lavender, cloves and camphor in the process.

 

“Unless you are donating one of your lovely frocks to the sale, Master Bruton?” the younger of the Miss Evanses adds with a hopeful lilt in her voice. “I should buy it, even if it didn’t fit me.”

 

Gerald splutters and chokes on the gulp of tea he has just taken as the question is posed of him. Coughing, he deposits his cup quickly and withdraws a large white handkerchief which he uses to cover his mouth and muffle his coughs.

 

“Oh, poor Master Bruton!” exclaims the younger of the Miss Evanses as she reaches out and gently, but pointlessly, taps Gerald on the shoulder in an effort to help him. “Did you tea go down the wrong way?”

 

“I arrest my case.” her elder sister snaps giving Gerald a steely, knowing look.

 

“Now be fair, Miss Evans,” Lettice defends her friend, filled with a sudden burst of anger towards the hypocritical old woman, who despite having plenty of money of her own, only spends a few shillings at the fundraiser every year. “Gerald is still establishing himself in London! He cannot afford to give one of his frocks away when he has to pour what little profit he currently makes back into supporting and promoting his atelier.”

 

“As you like, Miss Chetwynd.” Miss Evans replies dismissively. “It is a pity though that neither Master Bruton, nor yourself could cast something Mrs. Chetwynd’s way, to help make her stall more,” She pauses momentarily as she considers the correct word. “Appealing.”

 

Lettice feels the harshness of the old woman’s rebuke, but she says nothing as she feels a flush of shame rise up her neck and fill her face.

 

“Geraldine!” her younger sister scolds her. “That’s most uncharitable of you.”

 

“Charity, my dear Henrietta, begins at home.” She looks critically at the knotted half completed knitting, the yellow and age stained linen and the mismatched gloves. “And Mrs, Chetwynd, I see that try as you might, you cannot disguise the usually dispirited efforts of the village used clothing drive this year.”

 

“Oh, well I haven’t really finished setting up yet, Miss Evans.” Arabella defends herself. “There are still some things to unpack from the boxes behind me.” She indicates to several large wooden crates stacked up behind her against the wall under the watchful gaze of the King.

 

“Which are items that doubtlessly didn’t sell last year, or the year before that have been shuffled away, only to make their annual reappearance.”

 

“Perhaps you have something appealing,” Lettice emphasises her re-use of the elder Miss Evans’ word as she tries to regain some moral standing against the older woman. “To offer at this year’s second-hand clothing stall, Miss Evans.”

 

“As a matter of fact,” the elder Miss Evans replies with a self-satisfied smile and sigh. “That is exactly why I am here.”

 

With a groaning heave, she foists the wicker basket, the handle of which she has been grasping in her bony right hand, up onto the trestle table’s surface. She opens one of the floral painted flaps and withdraws a large caramel felt Edwardian style picture hat of voluminous pre-war proportions from within the basket’s interior. The brim of the hat is trimmed with coffee and gold braid, woven into an ornate pattern whilst the crown is smothered in a magnificent display of feathers in curlicues and the brim decorated with sprigs or ornate autumnal shaded foliage and fruit.

 

“As I said, charity begins at home, so I thought I would add some style and panache to your stall, Mrs. Chetwynd, with the addition of this beautiful hat.”

 

“Oh, thank you, Miss Evans.” Arabella says with a sweet, yet slightly forced smile as the older woman tears off a smaller blue stiffed lace hat from a wooden hatstand and replaces it with her enormous millinery confection.

 

“I know it is only a hat from Mrs. Maginot, and not a London milliner,” she looks pointedly at Lettice. “But I dare say it will be more than suitable for our modest little country jumble sale.”

 

“Oh I’m sure it will be,” Arabella lies politely as she looks in dismay at the old fashioned headwear.

 

“Geraldine!” gasps her sister in disbelief. “You love that hat! I remember you had Mrs. Maginot make it for the King’s Coronation celebrations at great expense!”

 

“That’s true, Henrietta, but it just sits in a box at home these days and never gets worn anymore. It seems a shame to hide it away when it could look fetching on another’s head in church on Sunday. No-one will have anything to rival it. Not even you, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“I agree with that,” whispers Lettice discreetly into Gerald’s ear, unnoticed by either of the spinster sisters. “I’d rather die than be caught in that ghastly thing. It looks every minute of it’s age.”

 

“Just a touch Miss Havisham, don’t you think?” Gerald whispers back, causing both he and Lettice to quietly snort and stifle their giggles.

 

“Well, that really is most kind of you, Miss Evans.” Arabella says loudly and brightly with a polite nod of acknowledgement, anxious to cover up the mischievous titters from her friend and sister-in-law.

 

“It’s my pleasure.” she replies with a beatific smile. “Well, we shan’t hold you up any longer from doing your setting up of the clothes, Mrs. Chetwynd. Come along Henrietta. Let’s go and make sure Mr. Beatty has my floral arrangement in a suitably advantageous place. I’m not having it shunted to the back like last year.”

 

“Oh, yes Geraldine.” her sister replies obsequiously.

 

Lettice, Gerald and Arabella watch as the two old ladies slowly retreat and heave a shared sigh of relief.

 

Gerald deposits his cup on the trestle’s surface and walks up to the grand Edwardian hat and snatches it off the wooden stand before placing it atop his own head with a sweeping gesture. “Do you think it suits me?” he laughs.

 

Lettice and Arabella laugh so much they cannot answer.

 

“Well,” Gerald sighs, returning the hat to the stand. “Even if Hattie could make hats a hundred times more fashionable than this, maybe some local lady who is a bit behind the times will want to take this beauty home.” He arranges it carefully on the rounded block so that it shows off the autumnal themed fruit garland pinned to the wide felt brim.

 

“That’s the spirit I need, Gerald.” Arabella manages to say as she recovers from laughing at her friend’s theatrical modelling of the hat, and quietly she hopes that someone will buy the hat and everything else she has in her remit to sell, to help raise money for schoolbooks for the local village and country children that attend the Glynes Village School.

 

*May 20 1913 saw the first Royal Horticultural Society flower show at Chelsea. What we know today as the Chelsea Flower Show was originally known as the Great Spring Show. The first shows were three day events held within a single marquee. The King and Queen did not attend in 1913, but the King's Mother, Queen Alexandra, attended with two of her children. The only garden to win a gold medal before the war was also in 1913 and was awarded to a rock garden created by John Wood of Boston Spa. In 1919, the Government demanded that the Royal Horticultural Society pay an entertainment tax for the show – with resources already strained, it threatened the future of the Chelsea Flower Show. Thankfully, this was wavered once the Royal Horticultural Society convinced the Government that the show had educational benefit and in 1920 a special tent was erected to house scientific exhibits. Whilst the original shows were housed within one tent, the provision of tents increased after the Great War ended. A tent for roses appeared and between 1920 and 1934, there was a tent for pictures, scientific exhibits and displays of garden design. Society garden parties began to be held, and soon the Royal Horticultural Society’s Great Spring Show became a fixture of the London social calendar in May, attended by society ladies and their debutante daughters, the occasion used to parade the latter by the former. The Chelsea Flower Show, though not so exclusive today, is still a part of the London Season.

 

**A shirtwaister is a woman's dress with a seam at the waist, its bodice incorporating a collar and button fastening in the style of a shirt which gained popularity with women entering the workforce to do clerical work in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries.

 

***Tatting is a technique for handcrafting a particularly durable lace from a series of knots and loops. Tatting can be used to make lace edging as well as doilies, collars, accessories such as earrings and necklaces, and other decorative pieces.

 

****A leg of mutton sleeve is a sleeve that has a lot of fullness around the shoulder-bicep area but is fitted around the forearm and wrist. Also known as a gigot sleeve, they were popular throughout different periods of history, but in particular the first few years of the Twentieth Century.

 

*****’Tight’ is an old fashioned upper-class euphemism for drunk.

 

******Created by a specific style of corset popular between the turn of the Twentieth Century and the outbreak of the Great War, the S-bend is characterized by a rounded, forward leaning torso with hips pushed back. This shape earned the silhouette its name; in profile, it looks similar to a tilted letter S.

 

*******A Sautoir is a long necklace consisting of a fine gold chain and typically set with jewels, a style typically fashionable in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries.

  

Whilst this charming village fête scene may appear real to you, it is in fact part of my 1:12 miniatures collection, including items from my own childhood.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

Perhaps the main focus of our image, the elder Miss Evans’ camel coloured wide brimmed Edwardian picture hat is made of brown felt and is trimmed with miniature coffee coloured braid. The brim is decorated with hand curled feathers, dyed to match the shade of the hat, as well as a spray of golden “grapes” and dyed flowers. Acquired from an American miniatures collector who was divesting herself of some of her collection, I am unsure who the maker was, other than it was made by an American miniature artisan. 1:12 size miniature hats made to such exacting standards of quality and realism such as these are often far more expensive than real hats are. When you think that it would sit comfortably on the tip of your index finger, yet it could cost in excess of $150.00 or £100.00, it is an extravagance. American artists seem to have the monopoly on this skill and some of the hats that I have seen or acquired over the years are remarkable.

 

The shirtwaister dummy, complete with lace blouse, tweed skirt and Art Nouveau belt attached to a lacquered wooden base, is an artisan miniature as well, once again by an unknown person. It came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The divine little patriotic cupcakes, each with a Union Jack on the top, has been made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. Each cupcake is only five millimetres in diameter and eight millimetres in height! The plate on which they stand and the teacups on the table are made by the Dolls House Emporium and are part of a larger sets including plates, tureens and gravy boats.

 

Miss Evans’ wicker picnic basket that can be seen peeping out near the right-hand side of the picture was made by an unknown miniature artisan in America. The floral patterns on the top have been hand painted. The hinged lids lift, just like a real hamper, so things can be put inside. When I bought it, it arrived containing the little yellow napkins folded into triangles and the hand embroidered placemats that you see on the table in the foreground.

 

The knitting needles and tiny 1:12 miniature knitting, the red woven straw hat, the doilies, the stockings and the napkins in their round metal rings all came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom. The elbow length grey ttravelling gloves on the table are artisan pieces made of kid leather. I acquired these from a high street dolls house specialist when I was a teenager. Amazingly, they have never been lost in any of the moves that they have made over the years are still pristinely clean.

 

The wooden boxes in the background with their Edwardian advertising labels have been purposely aged and came from The Dolls’ House Supplier in the United Kingdom.

 

The Portrait of King George V in the gilt frame in the background was created by me using a portrait of him done just before the Great War of 1914 – 1918. I also created the Union Jack bunting that is draped across the wall in the background.

I decided to isolate a select few tulips among tens of thousands... kind of fun.. :-)

 

View On Black

Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.

 

Friends of Lettice, newlyweds Margot and Dickie Channon, have been gifted a Recency country “cottage residence” called ‘Chi an Treth’ (Cornish for ‘beach house’) in Penzance as a wedding gift by the groom’s father, the Marquess of Taunton. Margot in her desire to turn ‘Chi an Treth’ from a dark Regency house to a more modern country house flooded with light, commissioned Lettice to help redecorate some of the rooms in a lighter and more modern style, befitting a modern couple like the Channons. Lettice decamped to Penzance for a week where she oversaw the painting and papering of ‘Chi an Treth’s’ drawing room, dining room and main reception room, before fitting the rooms out with a lorryload of new and repurposed furnishings, artwork and objets d’arte that she had sent down weeks prior to her arrival from her London warehouse.

 

Now the rooms are finished, and under Lettice’s adept hands where once there was dark red paint, modern white geometric wallpaper hangs, and where formal, uncomfortable and old fashioned furnishings sat, more modern pieces dispersed by a select few original items give the rooms a lighter, more relaxed and more contemporary 1920s country house feel. To celebrate Margot and Dickie have organised a Friday to Monday, just as they did in January when they wanted Lettice to view the rooms of ‘Chi an Treth’ and give her interior redecoration suggestions. As Lettice is unable to drive and therefore does not own a car, Margot and Dickie have extended the weekend invitation, as they also did in January, to one of their other Embassy Club coterie, Lettice’s old childhood chum, Gerald, also a member of the aristocracy who has tried to gain some independence from his family by designing gowns from a shop in Grosvenor Street. Gerald owns a Morris*, so he can motor both Lettice and himself back to London on Monday at the end of their stay. The quartet now sit in the house’s newly appointed drawing room, which is light and airy and very welcoming, just as Margot had hoped it would be. The fragrance of late summer roses freshly picked from ‘Chi an Treth’s’ garden by Mr. Treventhan, the gardener and odd job man, intermixes with the light waft of still fresh paint and the smell of the crashing ocean outside as it drifts in through the open French doors at the end of the room.

 

“I say Lettice darling!” Gerald enthuses as he looks around the newly redecorated drawing room of ‘Chi an Treth’. “You’ve transformed the old girl!”

 

“Isn’t it marvellous, Gerald! It’s so light and bright and thoroughly modern. Just what I wanted!” Margot purrs contently from the roomy confines of her sleek and modern eau-de-nil armchair. “No more dark red walls hung with ghastly maritime daubs. No more horrible old fashioned furniture.”

 

“Well,” Lettice says lowering her lids as she smiles and blushes at Margot’s evident happiness with her work. “I wouldn’t go quite that far, Margot.”

 

“Oh! Is it in here?” Gerald asks.

 

“It’s over there,” Lettice points behind Margot’s chair. “To the left of the fireplace, exactly where it was before the redecoration.”

 

Margot turns and looks over her shoulder at the small demilune table** covered in family photographs that sits beneath a pretty Georgian painting. “Oh no Gerald,” she remarks to him as he gets up from his seat on the end of the sofa that matches her armchair and walks across the room to the white painted demilune table. “You and Lettice are mistaken. That painting wasn’t here before the redecoration. There was a rather dull seascape hanging there in a frightful black frame. No. That painting comes from my old bedroom in Sloane Street. Mummy and Daddy said I could have it because I loved it so much.”

 

“I wasn’t talking about the painting, Margot darling.” Gerald corrects her.

 

“You weren’t, Gerald?” she questions, looking quizzically at the photos in gold, brass and silver frames on the demilune table, none of which were in ‘Chi an Treth’ prior to the redecoration.

 

“I was taking about the table.” he goes on to elucidate.

 

“Good god?” Dickie splutters from his place, smoking a pipe, his newest affectation as he plays lord of the manor, whilst leaning against the fireplace, a newspaper hanging limply in his empty left hand. “Is that the same half-round table that we used for port and sherry when we first came here?”

 

“It is.” Lettice confesses quietly. “It broke my heart just to fling all the house’s history out, just for the sake of modernisation.” She blushes at the last comment. “Sorry Margot.”

 

“You always were a sentimental thing, old girl!” Dickie laughs good naturedly as he carelessly tosses the Daily Mail onto the pile of newspapers and periodicals that sit atop a large eau-de-nil pouffe that matches the armchairs and sofa. “I wouldn’t have known it was the same table if Gerald hadn’t said something.”

 

“Well, it seemed a shame to waste a perfectly good table.” Lettice admits.

 

“But it wasn’t going to waste! I said you could do what you like with any of the furniture we weren’t going to keep, Lettice darling.” Margot says in surprise.

 

“And she did, Margot.” Gerald counters as he runs his hand idly along the smooth edge of the table.

 

“I spoke to my aunt about how best to repurpose it.” Lettice goes on.

 

“What does Lady Rostrevor know about repurposing furniture?” Dickie asks quizzically.

 

“Oh, not that aunt,” Lettice explains. “My Aunt Egg: Pater’s sister.”

 

“Oh, she’s the Chelsea artist, isn’t she?” Dickie confirms.

 

“Little Venice, but close enough.” corrects Lettice.

 

“I’ve been encouraging Lettice to apply her own artistic skills to her interiors and add a personal touch.” Gerald explains.

 

“So, I consulted Aunt Egg as how best to paint wood.”

 

“And the rest is her skills as an artist.” Gerald beams. “I was there, encouraging her every doubtful step of the way.”

 

“Doubtful?” Dickie asks.

 

“Lettice has doubts about her own abilities.” Gerald explains with a kind smile towards his friend sitting demurely on the sofa in the empty seat next to the one he has vacated.

 

“I say, old girl!” Dickie exclaims. “I don’t think you have anything to doubt, don’t you agree, my love?” he asks, addressing his wife.

 

“Rather, Lettice darling!” Margot smiles beatifically at her friend. “I agree with you, my love. I’d have scarcely recognised that old table myself!”

 

“I’d scarcely recognise this to be the same dark and old fashioned room we sat in, in January!” Gerald elaborates with a sweeping gesture at the papers, curtains, carpets and furnishings around them.

 

Just at that moment the door to the drawing room is forced open by a heavy boot, startling them all. Looking to the door as it creaks open noisily on its hinges, old Mrs. Trevethan, the housekeeper, with her wind weathered face with her unruly wiry white hair tied loosely in a bun, wearing a rather tatty apron over an old fashioned Edwardian print dress, walks in carrying a silver tray. Although weighed down heavily with a champagne bottle, four champagne flutes and a range of canapes for the Channons and their guests, the rather frail looking old woman, as usual, seems unbothered by its weight. She lowers the tray onto the low occasional table between the settee and armchairs with a groan and the disconcerting crack of bones.

 

“Oh, thank you Mrs. Trevethan.” Margot acknowledges the old woman.

 

“Omlowenhewgh agas boes!***” the elderly woman replies in a gravelly voice, groaning as she stretches back into an upright position before retreating the way she came, closing the door noisily behind her.

 

“Well,” Gerald corrects his lasts statement despondently. “I see some things haven’t changed.”

 

“Oh Gerald!” Lettice exclaims. “What do you have against old Mrs. Trevethan?”

 

“Is it because you think she was too slow binging you Aspirin the last time you stayed, old bean?” Dickie asks.

 

“Well there is that too.” mumbles Gerald, rubbing the toe of his shoe into the thick fabric of the green and blue Art Deco rug beneath his feet.

 

“She took very good care of me over the last week whilst I’ve been staying here on my own, Gerald.” Lettice defends the old woman. “And when I was down here a few months ago, Mr. Trevethan took me sightseeing.”

 

“She’s just an old Cornish witch, and you’ve fallen under her spell.” Gerald replies rather sulkily. When Margot and Dickie laugh at him he adds, “You all have!”

 

“It was the Aspirin.” Dickie chuckles knowingly as he puts down his pipe and walks over to the low table and picks up the bottle of champagne.

 

As Gerald blushes with guilt, his three friends laugh good naturedly at his expense.

 

“Well, the table isn’t the only piece of original furnishing I retained,” Lettice adds, reverting the subject back to her interior designs to spare her best friend any more embarrassment. “I did keep the two Regency gilt side tables and used those two matching stands that were in the reception room. I hope you don’t mind, Margot.”

 

Dickie pops the bottle of champagne expertly, the sound filling he and his guests with excitement and enthusiasm, rather like the effervescence of the golden champagne within the bottle.

 

“Oh I know I said I wanted a modern look, but I don’t mind the occasional piece, within reason.” Margot assures her friend as she hands a champagne flute to her husband to fill. “In fact I think they rather suit the room now you’ve redecorated it. It looks light enough with the pale wallpaper and the eau-de-nil suite that they don’t make the room look fusty or dark.” She passes the full flute to Lettice, who gratefully accepts it. “Besides, they complement Miss Rosvear’s presence.”

 

The quartet all pause and turn their heads to gaze upon the luminous portrait of the beautiful woman looking over her shoulder in the ornate gilded frame, hanging over a mirror topped Art Deco demilune table now used for the drinks tray, a dainty carriage clock and Lettice’s wedding gift to the Channons: a silver Regency tea Caddy from Asprey’s****.

 

“I am sorry that she wasn’t a Winterhalter***** after all, old bean.” remarks Gerald sadly.

 

“Oh I’m not!” Dickie laughs, resuming filling a second glass with champagne, which he passes over to Gerald.

 

“I’m not either.” adds Margot as she holds out a third flute to Dickie to fill.

 

“By her not being a Winterhalter, I have been spared the indignity of watching my father sell off yet another piece of our family history.” Dickie says, wiping the mouth of the champagne bottle against his wife’s glass. He smiles to himself as he goes on, “It was jolly good fun to see the old bully get his comeuppance for once. To see the colour drain from his face when the Bonham’s****** man told him that it was likely done by a local Cornish artist who was perhaps inspired by Winterhalter, was priceless!”

 

“Poor Mr. Fox.” Lettice remarks piteously.

 

“That was an ordeal!” Margot says as she releases a pent up breath that shudders nervously from within her. “But by finding out that she isn’t worth the fortune Lord and Lady Channon were hoping for, I am afforded the pleasure of having her hang here in my new drawing room.”

 

“Where she belongs.” Lettice smiles.

 

“Where she belongs.” the other three chime in, in agreement.

 

“Shall we propose a toast to Miss Rosevear?” suggests Lettice, raising her glass.

 

“Well, if you don’t mind, old girl,” Dickie says, raising his own glass. “I have a toast of my own that I’d like to raise first, that I think is more timely.”

 

“Well it is your house, Dickie darling,” Lettice concedes. “So as master, you may do as you wish.”

 

“What is the toast?” his wife asks, an expertly plucked eyebrow arching over her right eye, this revelation obviously unknown to her too.

 

“Well, I was chatting to Henry Tipping******* at my club earlier this week,” Dickie begins.

 

“Who is Henry Tipping, my love?” queries Margot.

 

“He’s a great authority on history, architecture, furnishings and gardens of country houses in Britain.” Gerald clarifies.

 

“Quite so, old bean!” exclaims Dickie. “And he is also the Architectural Editor of Country Life, and he’s rather thrilled to come down and see Lettice’s sympathetic redecoration of ‘Chi an Treth’.”

 

“Henry Tipping is interested in seeing my interior designs?” Lettice asks in astonishment. “Mine?”

 

“Indubitably, old girl.” Dickie smiles proudly, full of self-satisfaction at his announcement. “So I’d like to propose a toast to my hopes for this room to be featured in Country Life. To your future success, old girl!”

 

“To Lettice’s success!” Margot says, standing up elegantly and raising her glass.

 

“To Lettice’s success!” Gerald and Dickie echo as they click glasses with Margot and the silently stunned Lettice.

 

“Just imagine Sadie’s face when she sees your interiors in her beloved Country Life, Lettice!” giggles Gerald mischievously. “How I should like to be a fly on the wall to witness that!”

 

But Lettice doesn’t reply, this surprise in Margot’s new drawing room robbing her of words. However, a hopeful smile plays on her lips as she sips the effervescent champagne from her flute, her eyes sparking with possibility as she considers what this could mean for her career as an interior designer.

 

*Morris Motors Limited was a privately owned British motor vehicle manufacturing company established in 1919. With a reputation for producing high-quality cars and a policy of cutting prices, Morris's business continued to grow and increase its share of the British market. By 1926 its production represented forty-two per cent of British car manufacturing. Amongst their more popular range was the Morris Cowley which included a four-seat tourer which was first released in 1920.

 

**Co-opting the French word for “half moon,” the demilune table is an accent table featuring an elegant, rounded front and a flat back. A demilune's flat back allows it to sit flush against a wall, making it a striking substitution for a standard console table or credenza.

 

***”Omlowenhewgh agas boes” is Cornish for “bon appetit”.

 

****Founded in 1781 as a silk printing business by William Asprey, Asprey soon became a luxury emporium. In 1847 the business moved to their present premises at 167 Bond Street, where they advertised 'articles of exclusive design and high quality, whether for personal adornment or personal accompaniment and to endow with richness and beauty the table and homes of people of refinement and discernment’. In 1862 Asprey received a Royal Warrant from Queen Victoria. They received a second Royal Warrant from the Future Edward VII in 1889. Asprey has a tradition of producing jewellery inspired by the blooms found in English gardens and Woodland Flora. Over the decades jewelled interpretations of flowers have evolved to include Daisy, Woodland and sunflower collections. They have their own special cut of diamond and produce leather goods, silver and gold pieces, trophies and leatherbound books, both old and new. They also produce accessories for playing polo. In 1997, Asprey produced the Heart of the Ocean necklace worn in the motion picture blockbuster, ‘Titanic’.

 

*****Franz Xaver Winterhalter (1805 – 1873) was a German painter and lithographer, known for his flattering portraits of royalty and upper-class society in the mid-19th century. His name has become associated with fashionable court portraiture. Among his best known works are Empress Eugénie Surrounded by her Ladies in Waiting (1855) and the portraits he made of Empress Elisabeth of Austria (1865).

 

******Established in 1793, Bonhams is a privately owned international auction house and one of the world's oldest and largest auctioneers of fine art and antiques. It was formed by the merger in November 2001 of Bonhams & Brooks and Phillips Son & Neale.

 

*******Henry Tipping (1855 – 1933) was a French-born British writer on country houses and gardens, garden designer in his own right, and Architectural Editor of the British periodical Country Life for seventeen years between 1907 and 1910 and 1916 and 1933. After his appointment to that position in 1907, he became recognised as one of the leading authorities on the history, architecture, furnishings and gardens of country houses in Britain. In 1927, he became a member of the first committee of the Gardens of England and Wales Scheme, later known as the National Gardens Scheme.

 

This elegantly appointed drawing room with its modish Art Deco furnishings may not be all that you think them to be, for this scene is in truth made up with pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

On the coffee table, he savoury petite fours on the white porcelain plate and the champagne flutes, which are made from hand spun glass, have been made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The ornamental glass bon-bon dish, also made from hand spun glass, was made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures. The silver tray and the bowl of caviar come from Karen Ladybug Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The bottle of Deutz and Geldermann champagne is an artisan miniature and is made of glass and has real foil wrapped around its neck. It was made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.

 

The Statue of the nude Art Nouveau woman on the right-hand pedestal to the right at the back is based on a real statue and is made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. It has been hand painted by me.

 

The glass topped demilune table in the background is a hand made miniature artisan piece, which sadly is unsigned. On its surface, made of real glass are decanters of whiskey and port and a cranberry glass soda syphon made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering in England. The hand spun Art Deco glass vase containing creamy yellow handmade roses are also from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The silver Regency tea caddy is made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, whilst the metal carriage clock comes from Melody Jane Doll House Suppliers in the United Kingdom.

 

The three novels on the occasional table next to the armchair come from Shepherds Miniatures in England.

 

The wedding photo in the silver frame on the mantlepiece and the photos in frames on the demilune table behind the armchair are real photos, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frame comes from Melody Jane’s Doll House Suppliers.

 

The Georgian style demilune table behind and to the right of the armchair is an artisan miniature from Lady Mile Miniatures in the United Kingdom. Painted white and then aged, it has been hand painted with a Georgian style design on its surface.

 

The hand spun Art Deco glass vase in the foreground containing white roses with yellow centres are made roses are also from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

The newspapers on the pouffe, except the copy of Country Life, are made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The copy of Country Life was made by me.

 

The eau-de-nil suite consisting of armchairs, sofa and pouffe are all made of excellent quality fabric, and are very well made, as is the coffee table with its small drawer beneath the tabletop. All these pieces were made as a set by high-end miniatures manufacturer Jiayi Miniatures.

 

The Regency gilt swan pedestals and round tables are made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq.

 

The fireplace is made of plaster, and comes from Kathleen Knight’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom.

 

The stylised Art Deco fire screen is made using thinly laser cut wood, made by Pat’s Miniatures in England.

 

The paintings around the ‘Chi an Treth’ drawing room in their gilded frames are 1:12 artisan pieces made by V.H. Miniatures and Marie Makes Miniatures in the United Kingdom and geometric Art Deco wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend, which inspired the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series. The Geometrically patterned Art Deco carpet on the floor comes from a miniatures specialist store on E-Bay.

CSX CW44AC 426 leads L694 on the Main at Union City, Georgia. L694's crew and L816 are in the process of a job briefing as they will work in tandem over the proceeding hour. Meanwhile CSXT GP40-2 4419, one of just a select few units remaining in active service wearing YN2 colors stands to the side. November 27, 2023.

Barda was born of the race of self proclaimed "New Gods" about 250 years ago, on Apokolips.

 

Barda was told she was bred at a Gestation Lab in Apokolips where the genes for these breeds were provided by a selected few of Darkseid's choosing based on the qualities he desires the most: cruelty, avarice, ruthlessness, etc.

 

In truth, however, Barda was a natural child, conceived by Big Breeda and the man she loved. Darkseid took Barda away from her mother at birth, put her in the Gestation Lab, and then sent to be raised at Granny Goodness' Orphanage, without ever knowing her mother.

 

Barda became a product of Granny Goodness' Home for Orphaned Youth. Granny's motto is "Die for Darkseid" (the planet's evil ruler). Granny groomed Barda to one day lead the Female Fury Battalion, a ferocious pack of women warriors.

 

However, during a raid Barda met Scott Free, Darkseid's adopted son, and, sensing a peace about him, fell in love. Barda risked her own safety to help Scott escape from Apokolips.

 

Eventually, Barda turned her back on Granny, and came to Earth herself. Scott has become an escape artist called Mister Miracle, and teamed with Oberon, his diminutive manager.

 

After some time, Scott and Barda married with the blessing of Scott's father, the Highfather of New Genesis.

 

Barda is physically more powerful than her husband, is more than willing to use her strength in battle, and is very protective of her husband.

 

Though naive regarding Earth customs, Barda relished her roles of wife and housekeeper. However, when duty calls she never hesitates to assume the posture of a warrior.

 

For a number of years, Barda followed Scott and Oberon on tour. When Scott joined the Justice League, Barda participated in several missions. Eventually, they retired as superheroes and moved to New Hampshire.

 

However, despite their best attempts, a normal life eluded them. Barda, Scott, and Oberon left Bailey and moved to a loft in Greenwich Village, New York City.

 

Under Oberon's advise, Barda joined the BBBW (Bad and Beautiful Babes of Wrestling), and her battling nature helps her becomes the new champion. Along with her wrestling friends, Barda formed a defense-training program for women called the New Female Furies.

 

After an unexpected visit of her mother, Big Breeda, on New York, Highfather offered Scott to return to New Genesis and find his true heritage, and Barda followed her husband.

 

However, they soon returned to Earth and took up temporary residence aboard the Justice League Refuge. During this period, the couple went through at time of arguments due to Scott's lack of consideration for her feelings.

 

These difficulties were soon overcome through their love and they continue to be a premiere "power couple"

 

Powers & Abilities

 

Immortality

Barda was born in the year 1748 (in human years). Like few other of the New Gods, Barda is functionally immortal, having ceased aging physically near the age of 30. Unless she falls in battle, Barda is immune to the ravages of time, and could easily live for thousands upon thousands of years.

 

Superhuman Durability

 

Even outside her armor, Barda is fairly difficult to damage. She is resistant to blunt trauma like punches, kicks, and blows from weapons like bats and maces, though not completely immune. unless the blows are dealt by a being with similar or greater strength than Barda, there just isn't a chance of injury. However, her invulnerability does not extend to bullets, laser-blasts, or other piercing/slicing weapons - her invulnerability is more akin to that of an Amazon, rather than a Kryptonian.

 

Superhuman Reflexes

 

Barda has an enhanced physiology which allows her to move her entire body at incredible speeds and with heightened accuracy. Despite wielding weapons and armor and even alien tech, she's able to move and flow with astonishing ease. Given the opportunity Barda can and will dodge bullets which would've normally bounced off her armor.

 

Superhuman Stamina

 

Barda's stamina and endurance is nothing short of amazing. Due to the naturally exhausting and extensive rigors of her life on Apokolips, Barda is able to manage her stamina on a certain amount of rest and sustenance (more than minimal) so that it seems she is able to constantly function, though this is not entirely the case. Tied directly to her strength and invulnerability, even her immunity to a certain extent, Barda can actually function at peak efficiency for almost 48 hours before needing to eat and rest off the stress.

 

Superhuman Strength

 

Barda's super strength comes from her heritage as a member of New Genesis, where all of the people of that realm are genetically superior to normal humans in their physical characteristics. She was later augmented by Darkseid to further increase her strength and stamina at least by twenty-fold. Barda's strength is in the megaton range, nearly on the order of Wonder Woman's, easily able to lift a weight well surpassing 100 tons.

 

⚡ Happy 🎯 Heroclix 💫 Friday! 👽

_____________________________

A year of the shows and performers of the Bijou Planks Theater.

 

Secret Identity: Barda Free

 

Publisher: DC

 

First appearance: Mister Miracle # 4 (October 1971)

 

Created by: Jack Kirby (writer/artist)

 

The beautiful Adèle came over to visit our studio all the way from Paris! We were keen to transform her as she showed up for her session.

 

After hundreds of photos taken and trying on 6 different looks her makeover was complete.

 

Here are a selected few for you.

 

Boys Will Be Girls, London's Luxurious Dressing Service

 

www.boyswillbegirls.com

 

Follow us on Social Media:

 

Facebook - www.facebook.com/boyswillbegirls

Twitter - www.twitter.com/bwbgofficial

Instagram - www.instagram.com/bwbgofficial

Youtube - www.youtube.com/c/boyswillbegirls

I visited Hopetoun House during the warm spell at Easter 2019. Just got round to processing the photos! Here are a select few.

The annual Vegetarian Festival is on again; here a pic from a previous occasion in Phuket.

 

Every year in the 9th lunar month the descendants of Chinese immigrants throughout SE Asia celebrate the festival in honour of the 9 emperor gods. Participants purify body and mind through adherence to a specific diet and abstinence from impure or intoxicating acts and sex, as well as feats of endurance and suffering during a period of 1-2 weeks.

 

Gods and shrines are processed through town and purified in a hailstorm of firecrackers. Select few operate as mediums, called ม้าทรง (lit. 'horse officially enrolled for duty'), and use rituals, including self-mutilation to demonstrate their commitment and purify, and thus direct misfortune away from their community. At least for another year.

 

In this pic here one of the ม้าทรง is seated in front of a shrine, awaiting the start of the morning procession through Phuket old town,

 

© All rights reserved. Please do not use my images and text without prior written permission.

I love still life and I find it interesting and challenging.

 

To make a mark and record for my statistics, it comes to 15.3 million views this morning on 30 August 2015. Thank you to all your visits, views and comments.

 

Wish you a great Sunday!

 

This is repost of tomatoes still life in my kitchen.

 

The following is the original story going with the previous post.

 

*******************************************************************************

 

Isn't internet amazing?

 

In September 2013, there are two millions views on my Flickr stream. In July 2014, there are 6.4 millions.

 

Numbers does not give real meaning to anything. However it is still interesting to see these changes.

 

This is the repost of my picture taken in September 2013.

 

Have a great Friday!

 

Yesterday (30 September 2013) my Flickr stream hit the mark of two millions views. Right at this moment when I write this description, the views count comes to 2,008,051.

 

It took me 39 months (more than 3 years) to reach the one million view count in October 2012. It only takes me 11 months more to hit the two millions view count. But I am not excited.

 

On my third anniversary on Flickr (July 2012), my daily view count was about 1,200 and a picture had about 600-900 views in the first 24 hours. Now my daily view count is 12,000 to 15,000 views and a picture will have 1,200-1,500 views in 24 hours.

 

The increase is not coming from my improved photography but more a result of change on Flickr. I have noticed the trend on Flickr lately.

 

A picture on Explore nowadays can warrant 18,000 - 22,000 views in the first 24 hours. Last year the same Explored picture has only 3,000 - 5,000 views in 24 hours. Compared to a non-Explore picture like mine, the difference or gap is 10.800 views (or 90%) while the gap in the past was only 2,400 (or 80%).

 

The expansion in viewing platform to mobile devices has increased the view count but also widens the gap between the popular (or selected) few and the majority. Also the comments has dropped and this reflects less interaction in the community.

 

This is like a developed economy has a bigger gap between the poor and the rich when the economy grows quickly.

 

Internet is not a democratic place and the resources are more and more commanded by a few elites. These selected few again command more resources outside the internet e.g. getting published, showing in galleries and other platforms.

 

We are not small potatoes. I am too old to join a revolution but we can get ready some tomatoes for protest. :o)

 

We have had wind storm in the weekend. It was pouring in the last few days and my still life season comes again. This is the tomatoes in my kitchen. Oh I forgot to mention I have eaten them yesterday! :o)

 

Happy Tuesday!

 

Fuji X10 compact camera

In-camera B&W mode with green filter

ISO 100 F3.6 1/10 second.

Legate Mark and his troops set up camp for the night, or so it seems...

 

Labienus clenched his fists in anger. "Such a cowardly withdrawal on our part! If our ancestors knew of it they would rise from the funeral ground to rebuke us terribly! I have never been so ashamed in my life!!"

 

Mark gazed calmly into the fire.

"Better to withdraw than to meet your ancestors in person in the afterlife, Labienus. The wise can realize when victory is impossible."

 

Tribune Theodorus adjusted his chin strap.

"What can we do now? Perhaps there is another way through the mountains?"

 

Labienus' brow wrinkled in frustration. "Don't ask the obvious, Theodorus! There must be another way through those cliffs!"

 

Mark lifted his gaze from the fire and raised his hand for silence.

"Before the sun went down I sent the horsemen to scout the mountains. If there is a pass unknown to us presently they will inform us as to its whereabouts."

 

Mark had barely finished speaking when the cavalry centurion strode up to the commander's fire.

"Sir, the outlook is not pleasant. We have searched the cliff face in both directions for about ten miles, only in one place is it possible to get through..."

 

Labienus raised his fist in excitement. "Aha! Then we can march around them and cut off their their supply lines!"

 

The centurion shook his head.

"I think not, Sir Tribune. I saw the crevice myself. It is very steep and extremely narrow, scare a goat could make its way up."

 

Mark put his hand to his chin as if deep in thought.

"So, it would be unlikely to get the legion through and across before daybreak..."

 

The cavalryman sighed heavily.

"No, Sir. That would be nigh impossible."

 

Theodorus raised his head to the stars and wailed.

"Even if we tried to climb the crevice we'd just be ambushed mid-way by daybreak! Or they'll just stop us at the NEXT pass! We're doomed any way we try!"

 

Labienus drew his sword in rage at both the unhappy news and his annoying co-commander. "Silence, you fool!"

 

Mark took a step forward and stretched forth his hand.

"Silence, both of you! Sheath your sword, Labienus, or I shall take it from you!"

 

All four stood quietly for a moment, then Mark snapped his fingers. A plan had come to mind.

"Perhaps we cannot all cross the mountains, but what if a small band of soldiers were to eek through while the main force stayed here. Even if it took them all night to cross and circle round, the main body could attack at dawn and at the opportune moment the select few could attack the enemy from behind and cut them down while they least suspect it!"

 

The cavalry centurion nodded in assent. "A dozen picked men could get cross easy enough."

 

Labienus cocked an eyebrow.

"That seems plausible, but not without considerable risk. How do we keep the Tylisians from intercepting the strike force?"

 

Mark now raised both hands in excitement.

"We keep the fires going to make them believe we are all here! In fact, light even more fires than you need! They will hardly leave their pass if they seem to see all of us before it! We shall utterly destroy them before daybreak tomorrow! Labienus, get the main body ready for a full frontal attack tomorrow at dawn exactly. Theodorus, you're with me. Let us select the bravest of the brave to follow us over the cliff."

 

To Be Continued!

  

This is really just a test to see how my newish camera does in low light situations. A little grainy but not bad IMO. ;)

 

TFVAHAGD!

   

Once considered the new kids on the range, the vintage C40-8 roster on CN has seen quite the reduction in recent years from newer GE’s taking up the mainline work from these old coal haulers. Now it’s only a select few that remain on the iron range hauling taconite as they await the AC44C6M rebuilds that will be replacing them shortly. For now though, a trio of dash 8’s thunder back north with empty ore cars destined for reloading at Minntac

In the darkest recesses of the galaxy, where danger lurked in every shadow, a shadow ARF trooper donned in imposing black armor. Ventured forth into a treacherous and mist-shrouded realm. The mission was shrouded in secrecy, and the trooper's purpose known only to a select few.

 

As the trooper continued their patrol, the air was thick with suspense. Every sound, every movement, was met with intense scrutiny. He was a lone sentinel, dedicated to a mission that could tip the balance of power in the galaxy.

Kodachrome collection slide.

 

Airline : United Airlines

 

Aircraft : Boeing 727-222/Advanced

 

Registration : N7286U

 

MSN/LN : 21564 / 1420

 

Location : YVR / CYVR - Vancouver Int'l Airport

 

Photographer : John Kimberley

 

Date : April 1982

 

Notes : In an effort to save weight, United Airlines stripped the normal white belly of paint, and left it polished with the introduction of the 767-200. A select few 727-100/200's, 737-200's, 747-100/200's, 767-200's, and DC-10's received the polished belly but the idea never stuck which resulted in reverting back to the white belly.

 

Box 390

While on vacation in South Beach, Miami, Florida, my friend Michel Socha was trying to hand feed seagulls. Only a select few would take the food from his hand. This was the best shot from their attempts.

 

Picture entered in the 2012 National Geographic photo contest.

 

ngm.nationalgeographic.com/ngm/photo-contest/2012/entries...

The 'mushroom' lamps leave no doubt in the mind as to where this is in Europe - Following the reunification of Germany post-1989 'Berlin wall collapse', the days of the remaining Deutsche Reichsbahn (DR) mainline steam locomotives in East Germany were numbered. Falkenberg (Elster) is a small railway town in the centre of the former DDR and in the latter DR years boasted two entirely separate steam sheds, one serving a yard and lines on an East-West axis and another for an equally large yard on a North-South axis. As well as being an important railway location, it was also of strategic military importance for the Group of Soviet Forces in Germany, the East German Army (NVA) and Air Force. The network of railway lines converging on this small town in Saxony are still important today and the level of freight and mostly local-hauled passenger traffic around the clock is really quite remarkable and is worth the visit for this alone. However, the chief reason for my visit to Falkenberg was to gain access to the 'mini Barry Docks' style locomotive graveyard which has 35 locomotives from classes '22' and '41' 2-8-2, class '44' "Jumbo" 2-10-0, "Reko" class '50-35' 2-10-0 and class "Reko" class '52-80' 2-10-0. The shed and loco dump is usually only open to the public twice per year and at other times is inaccessible. Many locomotives have been robbed of parts over the years, as to be expected, and a number finally ended up as stationary boilers for steam-heated coaching stock around the DR network. The coal-stage seen in this view is in an equally corroded state and internally is still in the state that it was left when the last coal was dropped into a tender in the late-1980s - in fact, one of the two storage bunkers if almost full of coal! This 18-road semi-roundhouse at the site, with a 23-metre turntable, was opened in 1902 and was closed entirely in 1995. It is now the centre of a private collection of a select few restored locomotives, with this separate 'dump' of apparently forgotten locomotives, gradually being taken over by nature and slowly disintegrating. The main subject locomotive in this view is relatively complete 'Rekolok' 52.8194-4, rebuilt from 'Kriegslok' 52 .556 originally built in 1943, and withdrawn from Cottbus shed in December 1991. Further 'Reko' 52-80s and 'Jumbo' Class 44 2-10-0s are also visible in this view. Some thirty years of external storage has clearly taken its toll on these former DR locomotives, once the mainstay for freight traffic in the latter years of the former German Democratic Republic - whatever future these locomotives face is unclear, but miracles do happen, - witness Woodham's at Barry Docks...

 

Copyright Gordon Edgar - All rights reserved. Please do not use my images without my explicit permission

The "Old Barn" in Ballymagorry, Strabane, County Tyrone, Northern Ireland

 

Most of my images have the history/story of each building or area attached. However once in a while a scene like this comes along. Ive looked everywhere online & asked many people but to no avail can I find the history on this old Leckpatrick barn/mill. I guess the real reason is because its not famous or symbolic to many people living today, so it stands lonesome & hidden away in this field along an extremely quiet country road....

 

We may not know its history or stories etc but I can tell you that this old barn means the world to me. My friends & I spent our childhood/teens meeting up, playing & camping out etc inside this old building. Some of the best summers of my life were spent around here.

 

A few evenings ago I finally decided to return here after almost 20 years! Just to capture this image for my own personal collection. Instead of saving it for myself Ive instead decided to share it with you all. I believe that just because the history isn’t available or that this old building may only hold personal memories for a select few, isn’t a reason for others not to appreciate it

 

Hope you enjoy! Please favourite & add me as a contact to view my newest upcoming works, Thank you

 

Facebook | Website | Instagram

On my first full day in Skye the rain and mist descended but that actually helped to make "The Old Man" {on the right-hand third vertical } stand out from the rest of the mountain known as The Storr. "The Old Man" has only been climbed by a select few climbers from 1955 I believe.

This little guy was alive and trying to find his way back to water after being left high and dry at low tide. I carried him to the water and he flipped over and scurried off.

 

Note: I am slowly replacing all my photos with ones containing copyright signatures, starting with my most popular shots. I don't like to detract from the photo but I've had too many flicker friends have photos stolen. I know I am only talking to a select few here, but if you want to use my photo elsewhere, pleeeease contact me first!

The beautiful Adèle came over to visit our studio all the way from Paris! We were keen to transform her as she showed up for her session.

 

After hundreds of photos taken and trying on 6 different looks her makeover was complete.

 

Here are a selected few for you.

 

Boys Will Be Girls, London's Luxurious Dressing Service

 

www.boyswillbegirls.com

 

Follow us on Social Media:

 

Facebook - www.facebook.com/boyswillbegirls

Twitter - www.twitter.com/bwbgofficial

Instagram - www.instagram.com/bwbgofficial

Youtube - www.youtube.com/c/boyswillbegirls

Click inside the image for a larger view.

 

Taken at the Walter P. Chrysler's Museum, at the Chrysler's (FCA's) Headquarters in Auburn Hills, Michigan. Chrysler was acquired by Fiat, and the Fiat CEO became the FCA CEO. I guess he can't stand it to see an American icon, inventor, and a legend being honored with a museum. So he has now made the decision to close the museum and send all its contents to storage. He should be deported :-) ... Lens: Canon EF 16-35mm f/2.8 L.

 

Light conditions are simply photography nightmare. A combination of Fluorescent (neon) lights, incandescent lights, flood lights, large windows daylight, etc.

The museum is a 3-story building, with lots, and lots, and lots of beautiful vehicles to see. It was also extremely crowded on that weekend because people heard that it was going to be closed for good.

The collection has vehicle models dating back as far as 1902.

 

All images were taken hand-held; no tripods allowed.

I did the best I could under the circumstances.

Editing almost one thousand images will take a lot of time, but only a select few will be uploaded here anyway.

  

I use Degoo (a Swedish company) for my Cloud storage. You can get 100GB of storage for free.

Here is the Invite link: degoo.com/g/IbJT56H

 

The Indiana Northeastern Railroad was kind enough to let a select few do a night session at their shop in Ashley, IN on Aug 6, 2015.

 

© Eric T. Hendrickson 2015 All Rights Reserved

A lot of exploring and accessing certain locations is all by luck, one day something could be locked down beyond belief, everyone says its not doable, its too risky etc. Yet you could walk by the next day and the front door has been left ajar and you can waltz right in. If you do strike gold you know you have to be quick to react and have to get on it. You cant be making excuses. You will never know how long this will last. You have to make the most out this type of situation when it arises, and take all that you can from it. Obviously you only come across situations like this by going out and about constantly checking anything and everything, not by sitting at home on a forum, watching your phone for someone to text you the next big thing or by browsing blogs adding locations to your shopping list.

 

Many situations like this can be handled in a lot of different ways. The way anyone handles this will be different and will be based on how they think or what their goal, or aim is. My personal goal would be to pro-long the length of time this so called location can be accessed in the same manor, especially if it is easy. This not only means you can enjoy it yourself, but you can share this with others over time. Obviously you have to think who you will want to take or tell. This is as people will have different, I am not saying the wrong incentive, but just different goals to your own. This can lead to a place being made hot or getting sealed. Its a knock on effect of someone knowing, they tell their select few, then that select few tells their selected friends, or co-explorers etc. Quickly 1 person turns into 9. As much as you think you could trust those people you told, somewhere down the line it will be leaked. There will be that one person who wont think about the safe keeping of the information, and therefor everything will be ruined.

 

Its always that person who wont think about said things properly, who will always be the first to complain and winge that they weren't told about a lead. But this then arises another question. If people were told about a 'hot' or 'risky' location being doable in some way, would they actually leave their computer to check it out? Would they go and find this way in? Would they venture into the unknown? Would they take a risk? Or would they only visit if someone had posted a 28dayslater thread, with step by step instructions with every last detail of how to access the said location? Would they also need to be told its risk free and they wont get into any trouble by following this elite exploration manual?

 

People will obviously disagree with this whole statement, but the vast majority of you so called 'explorers' hardly explore, you never tread the unknown, you dont find any leads, you dont push any boundaries. Yet you all want to be the next big thing posting something with in hours of arriving home and wanting to get mad props for your write up. I just find that most of you lack any motivation because you might have a few wasted nights checking shit for yourselves. You all seem to hate the thought that you will come home empty handed and will have no content to do a post on. Yet you expect a certain few to go out every week, bust their nuts finding leads, slaving to find ways in, taking any risks involved, to then just turn around and give all of this work condensed into a digestible packet for you to use. So for future reference, dont run your mouth saying people have done something bad and are wrong because they havent told you about a location being open pr easy. Instead go out and use your time wisely and you wont miss out the cream of the crop...

A handful of Enviro 300s have hit the road in Scunthorpe over the past few weeks, with 27192 being no exception!

 

A select few Darts and Vykings can still be seen being utilised on the network, but these replacements are well and truly settled in now.

 

They tend to be thrown on any of the routes around the Scunthorpe network, including 350s.

 

Seen here on the 90 from Crowle to Scunthorpe on Doncaster Road's hill is Enviro 300, 27192.

Each year in the 9th lunar month of the Chinese calendar participants demonstrate their devotion through cleansing rituals, from adherence to a specific diet and abstinence from impure or intoxicating acts and sex to feats of endurance and suffering.

 

Select few operate as mediums, called ม้าทรง (lit. ‘horse officially enrolled for duty’) and use rituals including self-mutilation to purify and thus direct misfortune away from their community.

At least for another year.

 

☞ IG

☞ more from Southern Thailand

☞ album Vegetarian Festival

 

© All rights reserved. Please do not use my images and text without prior written permission.

BLE 910, 866, and 908 on left sit next to BLE 905, 867 and 901 on a moist and steamy night in Greenville PA. I can't remember which of these two sets had just arrived back from XB with a empty train and the other set had ran an ore train earlier in the day as well. Today only the 905 and two BLE SD38-2's are still on the old Bessemer line. After the CN take over the BLE held it's own power wise till a couple years ago when IC SD70's, CN SD40-2W's and SD60's started showing up on property while the remaining Tunnel Motors and 38's were sent to roam the CN system.

 

Before you say I was TRUSSSSSpassing, a select few will understand the spelling error, I was with a CN employee and we were giving permission to foam it up for a evening in the yard.

Listening to some Coltrane because these are truly two of my favorite things.

 

One of my many clicks that was just a young kid in awe of the sight, sound, and smell of what idled away before the Pentax. And I rack another frame into position...

 

Well, I wasn't quite that green anymore. I'd been getting familiar with these circumstances over the last two years. Sixth grade was my "coming of age" moment, and when I got permission to ride my bicycle up to "the Pole Yards" , as it was affectionately known, unsupervised. That was merely a blank spot in the tape, as most of the time I was under the watchful eye of a select few railroaders.

 

We all have our specific memories, and this snapshot brings the air compresser knock right back to me. The "up close and personal" passer-by that I was, I appreciated the faint hint that there would be exhausting happening, and soon.

 

Onto the image, we are looking at two trailing EMD's on the WC Transfer. Enenbach must still be at the hotel counting sheep, so the beautiful morning departure would not commence. But check out the details!

 

WC 7498, one of the last SD45's to receive paint, shows off the company flare quite nicely for what I believe to be spring of 2005. The Byron Hill helper box is still installed, and the neat SLSF short fuel tank is very evident.

 

CSXT 8469, part of a series that got to be pretty hard to find out on the mainlines only a few years later. This was one of the rebuilds that received a little extra love. It started out as SP 9104, but got zero decked and stepped back out looking to all the world like a by-god straight 40. The typical CSX details are on display, somewhat new white cab roof with K5 perched, mail slot door, and the ubiquitous digital fuel gauge. Mismatched Timken's and Hyatt's round it out on what looked like a perfect late morning at New Brighton.

Tonight was an "Electric night", organised by the chap who tried to teach me guitar. A select few hire a music studio and play loud music. I did my best to strum along but was seriously outclassed. Good fun trying though...

I should have posted a festive photo as time for Christmas is only few days away .

 

But I have to be honest ,my state at this moment is as gloom as this photo .

 

Few weekends ago I received a txt message my uncle passed away . It was confirmed by a long phone call with a family member . He had a udden death. Brain tumour they said , without proper diagnostic procedures done only an one MRI scan the day befroe his death .I am still very sceptical of it ,but whatever it is ,it would not make so much difference any more. He’s gone . It came to me like a blow of a hammer . I can’t still reconcile with the truth he’s gone like a bubble .

 

I have big extended family .When on vacation I don’t visit all of them . I only see a selected few ,and one of them was this uncle . I have many uncles but he is one of a kind .

 

What distraught me was , I haven't visited him in the two occasions I had been in the Philippines , that of last year '09 and this year when I had the opportunity to do so. I've only seen him very briefly in 2007 family holiday .

.

My holiday in the country wasn't all about relaxing on the beaches . I was part continuing a little project I left of last year , which seemed stressful . My vacation to the Philippines last summer didn't feel like a holiday sometimes ; also had bought a car which nailed some of our days at Cebu .

 

Perhaps ,I would not feel so deeply bad with it if I have seen him in his last moments . But he wasn’t known to be ill .

 

My focus was diverted on so many things . There was a time I was about to go with my mother to see this Uncle but something came in the way and didn’t make it that day .I thought the next day will do , but my youngest daughter wasn’t well enough to go ,had catch some flu bug around ,which held us up for few days . I suppose there’s always hundreds of excuses I can state here ....

 

I can only remember the good old days with this Uncle when I was a student . He was an old bachelor , no wife and kids to feed . On his pay day ,he gave away some pocket money to us / his nieces and nephews . Though it can be peanuts in equivalent of today’s sums but during those days it means so much when you’re a student with only meagre allowance.

 

I remember him so well as a very kind man . One thing about him which gets my conscience , he was living alone , not surrounded with a big family . He would have been so happy to see us and the kids seeing how they’ve grown up . My eldest remembered him teaching her how to start lighter . My husband said ages ago he looks like his Uncle David from Cheshire . This is how I refer this Uncle sometimes “ David “ to my husband to quickly distinguished him from my few other uncles .

 

Being too busy with so many things in our lives sometimes divert us out of focus from our main priorities ( people have different priorities in life ,I can’t assume we all have the same definitions of it ,but saying this from my personal perspective ) , which means taking care of human relationships we value most - our love ones . Sometimes ,it’s hard to realize how important someone is to us until we lost the person –-- forever .

 

The hardest thing I ever experience is letting go and giving way to forgive myself .

 

elanevk

  

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

I am contemplating a little flickr break soon for a change .

I 'll try NOT to enjoy it too much to forget flickr all the way .

My last flickr break started of January '07 ,

then came back posting again March '08 and on to date .

I'll not be away too long as my last one.

 

There are just times flickr just took so much of my spare moments that I am not able to do my other interests . This is a problem if you have several other things very interested in to do . I felt I am reaching the peak again , I needed some space away from the flickr uninterrupted in relative terms . :) This is only to inform ,if you don't see me commenting on your streams as often like before - that I am away .

 

I'll be posting few more before my break and will try to visit all your streams .