View allAll Photos Tagged stutter
Red-naped Sapsuckers are industrious woodpeckers with a taste for sugar. They drill neat little rows of holes in aspen, birch, and willow to lap up the sugary sap that flows out. The presence of sap wells is a good indication that they are around, but so are their harsh wailing cries and stuttered drumming.
i was ready to tell
the story of my life
but the ripple of tears
and the agony of my heart
wouldn't let me
i began to stutter
saying a word here and there
and all along i felt
as tender as a crystal
ready to be shattered...
(Rumi)
GWR Prairie Tank 5199 making stuttering progress up the 1:80 at Berwyn where the line takes a more direct route up the Dee Valley than the nearby river.
who did walk down the street
white robe with no shoes on his feet
and on top of his head place a box with two slits
and the sign from his neck said
'I do not exist'
or a woman who could not remember her name
did stutter and stutter
again and again
and saw you and called you her son
her eyes said
'my being is gone
but still I'm not dead'?
Yep, inspired by Miserere - The Cat Empire =)
It took me hours to edit this shot... literally. I started preparing at, like half past 1, began shooting one hour later, finished shooting at 3 o'clock, finished editing at 5 and finally the decision between this and a slightly different version took me another hour...
I guess you need to view it larger
Mar 8 68/366
HP5+ @IE 100, ID11 8min @21°C
By accident exposed @IE100, reduced agitation to 3 inversions every 2min during development, increased agitation to 3 inversions every 30sec during fixation
The Werra II on the left has a defective shutter that wouldn't open at all, the Zenit on the right has a stuttering shutter. Gladly, the Werra IV in the middle is working fine.
In the low light of sunset we approached the open field of green and golden Serengeti grasses. A cool breeze mixed with the remaining warmth of the sun's radiant glow filters softly through the air, carrying distant scents and sounds. A small voice filtered through the blades in a characteristic style not unlike that of Billy Crystal on an HBO stage. "So did you hear the one about the big cat that failed his exam on gazelle hunting? He tried to have another cat take the exam for him! They failed him for being a Cheetah...." We, the Serengeti's paparazzi, fired away with our digital cameras, recording every moment. It's an interesting scenario, don't you think?
So, do you think leopards laugh? Well, we all know that this leopard is really yawning, but then, what's a yawn? Even less is known about that pre-slumberous reflex activity. If this were a polar bear then, undoubtedly, some expert in polar bear psychology would try to tell me that this is a "stress yawn." But if leopards do laugh, would we even recognize it? Might we ever get a chance to see or hear it? I can imagine a leopard with his mouth agape, tongue wagging asymmetrically about, letting out a stuttering belly like growl. Can you? Oh well, so leopards probably don't laugh, but let's talk hyenas! Now that's altogether another story! #ILoveWildlife #ILoveNature #WildlifePhotography in #Tanzania #Animals of #Africa #Nature on the #Serengeti #Cats #BigFive #Leopards #Yawns #BigCats
Piglet: A "Very Small Animal" and best friend of Winnie-the-Pooh who has a stutter, a timid disposition, and a big heart.
Gamorrean Guard: A porcine humanoid from the planet of Gamorr who guards the Tatooine palace of Jabba the Hutt.
If they had to fight, who would win?
#322 in the Duel 365 series.
1. As I've mentioned before, when I'm stressed or worried or nervous, I tend to laugh. *laugh laugh laugh*
2. As I uploaded this I glanced at yesterday's photo. Hilarious how they look like they were taken by different photographers, huh.
3. I'm so glad tomorrow is Friday.
4. My son spilled Cheetos in my closet. Don't ask me A. Why he was in my closet or B. Why he had Cheetos.
5. I love typos. They make me laugh.
6. I haven't worn my hair down in weeks. But, I have a Dr. Appt tomorrow so I figured I'd look somewhat presentable for a change.
7. I'm drinking a Sprite. It's yummy.
8. I saw an article today that had a poll about mothers never having painted nails when their kids are young. For once I'm NOT in the minority. What's nail polish, anyway?
9. I napped with my kid today. Like, literally, he laid on me and slept. Gotta take these opportunities before he's a linebacker asking to borrow my truck for the weekend.
10. I can't take a compliment. I blush, then stutter, then say something completely smartass.
11. If I ran into myself on the street I'd probably think "Nice pants, pluck your eyebrows, and why do you have a huge phone in your pocket?"
12. I totally should count how many pairs of socks I have and tell you tomorrow. I may do that.
13. I cleaned my humidifier today. In retrospect, I should have eaten first because it killed my appetite. Just saying.
14. I have a secret love of post-it notes. Especially the smaller ones. They're like...adorable post-it note babies.
15. Through humor, you can soften some of the worst blows that life delivers. And once you find laughter, no matter how painful your situation might be, you can survive it.
~Bill Cosby
Goodnight All
mwah
.K
Random Fact: The average roll of toilet paper has 333 pieces.
I came to in a dark room, my hands cuffed behind my back. My eye felt swollen from where the gun hit me. Above me stood the man in the ski mask, clutching a machete. Off to the side stood the man in the baseball.
"Had a nice nap now have we, princess?"
"Wh-where am I?" I stutter.
"Pffffttt... I'd say the middle of nowhere, South Africa, twenty metres or so under ground level? No one can hear ya scream for shit if that's what you're gonna do..."
"Who.... who are you?"
"I'll be the one asking the questions here, kitten... but I guess you should know, seein' as you'll be here till you're no longer deemed a threat-"
"A threat? A threat to who?"
"Us. Not gonna lie to you, sweets, this here? Golden for us. None of your costumed little shits can come find you here. You're ours. Forever."
The man in the cap stifles a chuckle. Sick bastard....
"Care to elaborate? You couldn't be less vague if you tried." I spit at him.
*Sigh* "Us? We work for a guy... calls himself Mordred. Doubt you know of us. We barely know ourselves... heh! All we know? Mordred's a righteous outlaw Robin-Hood type. Hell, he fits out morals like a glove!"
"Those morals being?"
"The corrupt shouldn't rule! The rulers of our great homeland, the good ol' US of A... corrupt pile of shit if you ask me. You? You help the pigs hunt the free! The ones who dare overthrow the corrupt system!"
"Soooo... you're just locking me here for the rest of my life so this 'Mordred' fucker can attempt to singlehandedly, and likely fail to, capsize America?"
"You're right, all except for one small thing... Mordred ain't gonna fail! Heheheheheheheh!!"
I roll my eyes as the lunacy of this group's ideals. Radicalism at its rock-bottom worst. The man in the cap removes his cap and flops it onto a crate. He exhales deeply, crack his knuckles and flips his hair. He reaches into his hip holster and pulls out a gun. He clicks the hammer and performs a little wild-west-like spin. I nearly shit myself. This isn't how I'm gonna die, twenty feet under, miles from civilization.
But no, that's not how. At least not yet. He points the barrel at the machete-toting barbarian in front of me and without blinking or letting the other man at least let out a gasp, a loud pop echoes throughout the room and the man's brain matter paints the walls. He falls down dead, clutching his knife still. The other man walks out briefly and returns with a flak vest, cargo pants and other military gear in hand.
"Put this on. They'll recognize you too quickly in what you're wearing right now. I'll leave the room if you like."
I nod, and he leaves. I change into the heavy fitting clothes, much bulkier than my Zulu armour for damn sure. It's uncomfortable, but it might save my life. I let him back in.
"As you can tell by now, I'm not with these hooligans. In any way, shape or form."
"...So you're a turncoat?"
"Can't say I am. I'm here on official business, but you, Zulu? What are you doing here? Gotham could use you right about now anyway..."
"How do you-"
"Ah! Yes, allow me to introduce myself!"
I'm a little freaked out by this guy, I'm gonna admit.
"Yes, please do..."
"Colonel Hal Jordan, United States Air Force, covert CIA agent and all around badass. Pleased to make your acquaintance, and I'm absolutely, one hundred percent sure the feeling's mutual!"
__________________________________________________________________________
League of Heroes: Ascent
Episode 3: Darkest Before Dawn - Part 2
“We interrupt our continuing coverage of the New Brickton prison break, it seems that we are getting an unexpected live feed from the madness in Midtown.” The news anchor stuttered, nervously shuffling through the stack of papers on the news desk. “Frank, can you switch us over…”
Static… and then the picture suddenly changed from the busy news room to a devastated street. A blonde woman, statuesque and menacing stares into a shaky camera lens.
“Good morning citizens of New Brickton. From this day forward, it will be remembered that you sent forth your champions to face Celedon the Destroyer… and I have found them wanting. They lie here now in pathetic heaps, driven before me and broken at my feet. Is this really the best you have to offer? I demand a challenge worthy of my strength! For every hour that I am unsatisfied, I will raise another block of this insignificant city! Your only other option is complete surrender. Death or servitude, I give you the gift of choice mortals. Your first hour begins now.”
The broadcast suddenly cuts to a rainbow test pattern. Unseen by the camera, a winged figure descends to the devastated street. Upon touching down on the pavement, she kneels over the motionless form of the Indestructible Man.
“Wake up! Please!” She shakes Fred’s seemingly lifeless body, “Fred, I don‘t know what’s happened to us, but I do know that you are still alive and I know that we need to get you and your friends out of here.”
This was built for the League of Lego Heroes Group… www.flickr.com/groups/llh/
_________________
For a two volume ebook, a very pretty drug-addicted street prostitute allows her life to be documented by photographs and tape-recorded interviews for an entire year while she is working the streets of Atlanta. She does it for an ebook available from the usual websites. Here is Volume One on Amazon:
Street Prostitute: A Streetwalker Tells Her Story While She’s Working the Streets
If you want to read what happens her first full day in the hospital, check out Volume One. You may read it in its entirety for free by clicking on "Look Inside this book."
**************************************************************************
I get out of the car and lean against the hood. If Ronda does keep me waiting, at least I can spend the time taking in the stirrings of spring. The jonquils are already in bloom...the redbuds will be bursting forth any day...the birds are beginning to sing...
"Mar—Mar—Mar—Marcie—"
Ronda is suddenly back. A sweater draped over one arm, she is stuttering her hooker friend Marcie's name.
Very emotionally, her voice breaking, she tells me Marcie had just admitted that she did indeed have the ring that Ronda thought she had stolen from her. And then, after Ronda told her she could keep it, Marcie had started to cry...
Ronda seems so moved by this, I'm thinking. Really and truly and genuinely moved...
Suddenly she grabs my shirt—just below my neck— twists it—hard —and jerks me toward her—
"Give me some money for a pill—or I'm gonna kill you!"
"WHAT!?" I'm shocked.
She releases my shirt. Her tone had been only half kidding.
"You're full of shit," I say. "What are you talking about? You know I'm not gonna do that."
"I'm getting strung out again, George. I discovered the other day I'm getting strung out again... Please. "
"I will not!" I declare.
"Pleeeeease!"
"I told you what the deal was before. And I'm not changing."
"Don't be on principle!"
"That's not—"
"Fuck principle!" She's almost shouting.
"That's not just principle."
"Principle sucks, man!"
I back up: "What do you mean...you're... What do you mean that you're stru— You said you discovered the other day that you're strung out again."
"I am, I'm strung out again. I know I am."
"All right, explain to me what that means... That you're strung out again."
She yells her answer—
"I—WANT—A—FUCKING—PILL!"
"Okay"—my voice is normal, or fairly normal—"but that doesn't mean strung out. I thought, basically, strung out, the way you've used the term strung out...was that you had to have it so damned much and you were doing it constantly— "
Ronda interrupts: "I have been doing it constantly—that's the problem."
"Well, Melvin said you've been averaging two a day. How many have you really been averaging?"
"Five or six. He don't know what I've been doing."
"Okay. You've been doing five or six a day?"
"I'll give you this watch."
"You've been averaging five or six a day for how long?"
"I don't know! "
She clenches her teeth in frustration.
"A week?" I push. "Two weeks? A month?"
No answer from Ronda.
"Two months?"
Still no answer.
Then: "Since my coat got stolen. At least. Before then. I don't wanna talk about it. Pleeease, George, what can I do?”
"You have been averaging five or six a day for...a month? And Melvin doesn't know that. Is that correct?"
"What have I got to do?" she asks—no, demands. "Have a goddamn—" She stops.
"Is that correct?"
"Yeah." [Sounding definitive.]
"Okay. Well, this is what I've been asking you for a long time, was to tell me the truth about the pills. So you're getting strung out? "
"I am strung out."
Now I raise my voice:
"But you're not getting strung out like you have been, Ronda! Because I know how you were."
"Well, lemmee..." She gives a frustrated little sigh. "You can have everything in my house," she offers. "You can have Melvin included. You can have me. "
I just look at her.
"I'll be your personal slave for a week," she says—and laughs. "You can say, 'Ronda...'"
"You're lying. You have not been doing five or six a day for that long."
"I have," she contends. Her brow furrows... "A hundred and fifty, two hundred...about three hundred dollars a day. That's six, right? Yeah."
"So where do you shoot up?" I ask, looking her hard in the eye.
"Here. At Rick's. They don't tell anybody. [Pauses.] What can I do?"
"So... So you're strung out again..."
"What can I do?" she interrupts, repeating her question more forcefully.
"Well, what do you usually do?"
A sound of exasperation is her response.
Then suddenly I'm wondering:
Did she mean something more by her question? Something more crucial? More hopeful?
So quickly I ask: "What can you do about what?"
"George," she answers," I will do anything..."
My hopes evaporate.
"...I swear to God I would."
"I'm not," I say, "in the business of supporting your habit. You understand? I don't like it!"
"I know... That's not..."
She stops in mid-sentence and for a minute she's quiet.
"I would do it for you," she says finally.
"And besides that," I remind her, "we had a deal. We had a deal. We had a deal."
Ronda snaps her fingers:
"Broke."
"What?"
Another quick snap of her fingers:
"Broke."
"What's broke?"
"The deal just got broke. Now. Look..."
"It did not," I counter. "Not on my side it didn't."
"It's not supporting my habit"—she softens her tone—"it's not that."
"Please," she adds in a sexy little voice.
"Ronda, we made a contract on this deal. And I work thirty or forty hours a week on it." I pause. "Look, just get...get in the car and we'll go to Popeye's and—"
"If you'll buy..."
"...you're not hurting that much!"
"If you'll buy me a pill, we'll have a four-hour interview!"
She laughs. She's obviously enjoying this new line of argument.
"You've just had your methadone..."I say again "...you're not—"
"Fuck the methadone! The man won't raise my goddamn dose— I'm tired of his bullshit. He takes it personal if I can't make it to counseling. It hurts his feelings..."
She lowers her voice: "I'd do anything; I swear to God I would. I'd kill somebody. If I had to. But I ain't got no way to kill somebody."
"You would kill somebody?"
"If I had a gun."
"If you had a gun, you would kill..."
She interrupts, speaking louder now: "No, if I had a gun, I'd take it to Rick and trade it for a pill."
"Okay, but otherwise," I continue, "if you couldn't trade it for a pill, would you kill somebody for one?"
"I'd rob somebody. [A pause.] There's gotta be something I could do."
"Well, you could turn a trick, right?"
My question is met by a long silence.
Finally I say very nicely—and hopefully, "I wish that we would just go...get something to eat...and do this interview. They've got to be done, Ronda! If this book is gonna come together."
"Uh...let's get it," Ronda says. "I promise, we'll sit...we'll sit for hours. Upon hours."
"I can see— I can see that you are...you must... You've got to be strung out again."
"We'll go to your office..."
"I really... I really could not tell it before..."
"We'll go to the office..."
"...because you haven't done this..."
"In a long time," she finishes for me.
"In a long time."
"We'll go to your office," she says again, "and we'll just sit there. Because the pill, you know, it'll hold me for...about four hours. I'll just sit there and talk, talk, talk. Four hours, I promise."
I level my eyes at her. "After all the work I've put into this book, I'd ditch it before I gave you the money for a pill right now."
"Please"—now she's sounding like a little girl—"I'll pay it back to you."
"Give it up, give it up. It's not like you're hurting... physically hurting."
"Yeah"—she places a finger on her chest. "Right here it is. Right here."
"But you just had your methadone!"
"Fuck that methadone."
There's a silence.
"How do you feel about getting strung out again? If you are."
"I—just—like—the—way—the—stuff—feels. Okay?"
She climbs up onto the hood of my car.
"If you've been doing five or six a day"—I address her up there—"that means you've been on the street a fair amount. Right?"
Quickly: "Not in front of the hotel! George, you know I get that check the first of the month—can't you go on that?"
"Ronda, I'm not available for this."
"Pleeease!" she implores. "I don't know nobody to ask. ... Don't fuck with me."
"Ronda, I'm not gonna do it. So if you need to get it, go ahead. I'm not gonna do it."
"Why?" She asks it like she truly wants to know.
"Do you want me to spell out the reasons?"
She nods that she does.
"Number one," I say calmly and seriously, "we had a deal. Which you agreed to. I'm sticking to my part of the deal. In what I will do and will not do. That's the main thing.
"Number two: I don't have that kind of money. I'm in debt myself right now. Number three: you're always able to talk folks into...getting your drugs for you."
"No, I'm not!"
"You're not able, " I say, "to talk me into it."
There's a long, frowning silence from Ronda, still perched on my hood.
"But I wish to God," I say, "that you'd...get into shape or whatever, because if you get totally strung out, the only time I'll be catching you will be a little bit on the street, and that's it."
She slides down off the hood. With great agitation, she walks to the rear of the car—then back to me...
"Jesus Christ! Fuck it. I've gotta go turn a date, George. I'm sorry, I can't—"
"I'm sorry too. Now when are we gonna do this interview?"
"We could've done it right now."
"All right. Are you—" I start to ask, "are you—"
Wheeling around, Ronda walks off.
I draw deeply on my cigarette. Across the street, an old woman is sweeping the sidewalk in front of her house. As I'm watching her, I hear the slamming of my car door, and turning, I see that Ronda has climbed into the car and is pulling her shirt off over her head. I look quickly away. Through the windshield, I'd caught only a brief glimpse of her small but pretty breasts. I watch the old woman sweeping until I hear the car door shut again.
Now wearing the sweater she'd brought out from Rick's, Ronda is standing by the door, her eyes on me.
"I appreciate the, uh...I appreciate that," she says. Her tone is sincere. "You know?"
"What?"
"The, um...respect you just showed by not watching. I appreciate that."
"Well," I reply, "I would appreciate it if we can—even if you get strung out—if we can continue on this book without you making—"
She interrupts: "Where are you gonna be? At your office?"
"Yeah."
"After I get my dope," she says, "I'll come see you."
"You'll what?"
"I'll get a trick to bring me over there."
For a few seconds she just stands there.
"You don't want to loan me just ten dollars if I lay something on it?"
I shake my head.
"I've got to go straight broke, right?"
"Yep."
"Okay. Fuck you."
This she had said without raising her voice. But she sounds, for the first time today, truly angry.
She starts walking away.
I say to her back: "Are you saying you're coming over there?"
She stops; she turns and faces me:
"I'll be over there. I don't know why. Because I'm mad at you. I'm real mad at you, but I'll still come over."
"Okay."
Again she starts toward Ponce de Leon, then speaks over her shoulder:
"I'm coming because we're friends. You know what I mean?"
--------
A little hopeful, I wait at my office.
She never comes.
_________________
For a two volume ebook, a very pretty drug-addicted street prostitute allows her life to be documented by photographs and tape-recorded interviews for an entire year while she is working the streets of Atlanta. She does it for an ebook available from the usual websites. Here’s is Volume One on Amazon:
Street Prostitute: A Streetwalker Tells Her Story While She’s Working the Streets
Hermosa Beach, April 2011
This is probably the 2nd wedding arch I saw that day. There's something that drew me in taking a photo of this one: Is it the calmness before the craziness? Or the calmness after the craziness? The arrangement of the seats in perfect pattern? The lonely cleaning guy? I really don't know.
Chloe: *eyes wide, stutters* “R-r-reef, I—”
Reef: *forges on* “Because, for me, lovin’ you is like breathin’: instinctive. And even when I take it for granted, I’m still well aware that if I ever stop, I’ll die. If you could just love me half as much as I love you, I figure we’ll still have more between us than most other couples ever—”
Chloe: “Whoa! S-s-stop! Just stop t-t-talking!”
Reef: *mouth closes with an audible click, as he starts to rise from the bed*
Chloe: *grabs Reef’s arm, clinging to it* “N-n-no, don’t go! I d-d-didn’t mean…”
Reef: *with a casualness that doesn’t match the hard set of his jaw* “No worries, Chlo. I didn’t mean to push. I’ll just give you some space and we’ll talk about it later.”
Chloe (forcefully): “N-N-NO! Stay! *exhales loudly* You know I’m s-s-slow when I’m upset. Just give me a d-d-damn second.”
Reef: *settles back onto the bed* “Okay.”
Chloe: *takes several deep breaths, carefully begins choosing her words* “I am not upset over the depth of your feelings for me, Reef. I am upset that you think you love me more, and you just accept it like that’s the way it’s gotta to be and you’ll settle for it.”
Reef: “I will.”
Chloe: *holds her finger up, fierce look demanding silence* “Who says you love me more? Who made that decision, huh? And I didn’t realize love was a quantifiable commodity that you can weigh and measure! Or that this was a contest!”
Reef: *suddenly angry* “What about Z?”
Chloe (nonplussed): “What about him?”
Reef: “You loved him for years, Chlo. Are you telling me that it’s all gone? Maybe another girl could pull that off, but not you. You don’t love easily and you don’t forget. You don’t work that way!”
Chloe: *matching Reef’s anger with her own* “No, I don’t! And I never said I didn’t love Z anymore! I just don’t love him like I love you!”
Reef: “Right. Because you love him more!”
Chloe: *growls in frustration* “Geeeez, Reef, sometimes you’re so…*quickly pulls her legs underneath her, bouncing agitatedly on the bed*…ugh! I didn’t even realize this was an issue for us anymore! How long has this been festerin’?”
Reef: *violent shrug* “I didn’t realize it was until just now. Green-eyed is so not cool, Chlo. You think I don’t know that? I hate feeling this way! You’re my best girl. He’s my brosef. Hell, I’m frickin’ sick of it! The jealousy. The fear…afraid I’ll do something to push you away. Turn you off. Realize you can do better. *buries his face in his hands, softly* I’m not him, Chlo. I never will be.”
Chloe: *stricken, crawls over to Reef, encircling him with her arms, propping her chin on his shoulder* “I never asked you to be! I don’t want you to be! I don’t want you to be anyone but you.”
Reef: *shoulders rigid, refusing to look at Chloe, mutters* “Sure.”
Fashion Credits
**Any doll enhancements (i.e. freckles, piercings, eye color changes) were done by me unless otherwise stated.**
Chloe
Crochet Top: watbetty
Short: Mattel – CaliGirl Barbie
Boots: Snow’s Shopping Paradise (ebay)
Necklace: Me
Bracelets: Knife’s Edge Designs – Into the Woods – Earthly Delights Bracelet Set
Red “Bracelets”: Goody’s Hairbands
Doll is a Costume Drama Giselle re-rooted by the amazing valmaxi(!!!).
Reef
Shorts: Gwen of Gwendolyn’s Treasures
Tank: Mattel – Playline Ken – Underwear Pack
Necklace: Me
Doll is an IFDC High Elite Pierre.
Bob. Big, beefy, but stutters when the situation goes awry.
Canon A1 - Canon FD 50 mm 1.4 s.s.c Kodak Ektar 100
My self-portrait on the cover of a book. I licensed it to marchand de feuilles
You can read more about it on my blog. :)
Twenty are Whimbrels, but two are Knot. And the collective noun for Whimbrels include bind and fling. Although I doubt that many of these collective nouns were really used, though they persist through quiz questions. They were supposed to be a covert way of communicating between hunters, without giving the game away to those not in the know (A bit like Rhyming Slang or Palare).
Whimbrels breed on northern tundra around the globe, but in America Hudsonian Whimbrels lack the white V on the rump. In Britain they are rare breeding birds, mainly in Shetland, but passing through in large numbers each spring and autumn while traveling to and from their African wintering grounds. They are similar to Curlews, but a little smaller with a shorter bill and a stripey head. If you click to zoom in you can see the stripey heads. They also have a stuttering whistling call, which gives rise to their folk name Seven Whistlers, and which is quite unlike any Curlew call.
I photographed this V-formation flying south along the Northumberland coast in late July, probably failed breeders heading down to Africa. There are two breeding plumage Knots in positions one and three in the flock. Most of the Knots that winter in Britain are from Greenland and Arctic Canada but they stop to refuel in Iceland. So I think these Whimbrels are probably from the Icelandic breeding population and this is where the two Knot latched onto this flock. But that is just my idle speculation.
The expression "In a bind" means in a box, or hole, or jam, or tight corner, or tight spot. In a difficult, threatening, or embarrassing position; also, unable to solve a dilemma. It was also one of the opening lines of the Charlie Daniels Band 1979 hit The Devil Went Down to Georgia (...he was looking for a soul to steal. He was in a bind 'cos he was way behind, so was willing to make a deal). It's not an expression I hear very often so I think it was this record that brought the words to mind.
This is a single exposure edited in Lightroom. 1.5 second exposure with multiple flashes from my flash unit to create the double exposure. The strobe on stage to the left of the dj had also been going off which created a stutter on the deck in front on the dj.
ISO: 400
f13
Shutter speed: BULB
Flash trigger: Thumb on the 'test flash' button.
Flash Settings: M 1/8 power.
British Real Photograph postcard, no. 110. Photo: Paramount Pictures.
British actor Henry Wilcoxon (1905-1984) was best known as a leading man in Cleopatra (1934) and many others of Cecil B. DeMille's films. He also served as DeMille's associate producer on his later films.
Harry Frederick Wilcoxon was born on 8 September 1905 in Roseau, Dominica, British West Indies. His father was English-born Robert Stanley 'Tan' Wilcoxon, manager of the Colonial Bank in Jamaica and his mother, Lurline Mignonette Nunes, was a Jamaican amateur theatre actress, descendant of a wealthy Spanish merchant family. His older brother was Robert 'Owen' Wilcoxon. Henry had a difficult childhood. His mother disappeared suddenly and mysteriously when he was about a year old, and his father took him and Owen to England with the intention that his own mother Ann would take care of them. But, because his mother was too frail to care for the children, they were first sent to a foster home, where they became ill from malnutrition and neglect and they were moved on to an orphanage. There, Harry suffered from rickets, and Owen developed a stutter and had epileptic fits. They were rescued from the orphanage to a new foster home. After several years Harry's father 'Tan', with his new wife Rosamond took the children home with them to Bridgetown, Barbados, where they were educated. Harry and Owen became known as 'Biff' and 'Bang' due to their fighting skills gained in amateur boxing. After completing his education, Wilcoxon was employed by Joseph Rank, the father of J. Arthur Rank, before working for Bond Street tailors Pope and Bradshaw. While working for the tailors, Wilcoxon applied for a visa to work as a chauffeur in the United States, but upon seeing his application refused, turned to boxing and then to acting. His first stage performance was a supporting role in an adaptation of the novel The 100th Chance, by Ethel M. Dell, in 1927 at Blackpool. He joined the Birmingham Repertory Theatre the next year and toured for several years. He found critical success playing Captain Cook in a production of Rudolph Besier's The Barretts of Wimpole Street at the London Queen's Theatre alongside Cedric Hardwicke. In 1932, He played at the Queen's Theatre in Sir Barry Jackson's production of Beverley Nichols' novel Evensong alongside Edith Evans.
In 1931, Harry Wilcoxon made his screen debut as Larry Tindale in The Perfect Lady (Frederick J. Jackson, Milton Rosmer, 1931), followed by a role opposite Heather Angel in Self Made Lady (George King, 1932), alongside Louis Hayward. In 1932, he appeared in The Flying Squad (F.W. Kraemer, 1932), a sound remake of a 1929 silent film based on the novel by Edgar Wallace. Altogether he made eight films in Britain till 1934. In 1933, a talent scout for Paramount Pictures arranged a screen test which came to the attention of producer-director Cecil B. DeMille in Hollywood. He cast Wilcoxon as Marc Anthony in Cleopatra (Cecil B. DeMille, 1934) opposite Claudette Colbert as the man-hungry Queen of Egypt. Harry was renamed by DeMille for the role and from then on he was Henry Wilcoxon. He was next given the lead role of Richard the Lionhearted in DeMille's big-budget spectacle The Crusades (Cecil B. De Mille, 1935) opposite Loretta Young. That film, however, was a financial failure, losing more than $700,000. After the lack of success of The Crusades, Wilcoxon's career stalled. He starred in a number of B-films, like The President's Mystery (Phil Rosen, 1936) and Prison Nurse (James Cruze, 1938) for Republic Pictures, and he portrayed the supporting role of Maj. Duncan Heyward in the commercially successful Last of the Mohicans (George B. Seitz, 1936) starring Randolph Scott. Wilcoxon himself called 'his worst acting job' Mysterious Mr. Moto (Norman Foster, 1938) featuring Peter Lorre. That year, he also played in If I Were King (Frank Lloyd, 1938) with Ronald Colman, and featured in Five of a Kind (Herbert I. Leeds, 1938) with the Dionne quintuplets. In Great Britain, Wilcoxon appeared as Captain Hardy in Lady Hamilton (Alexander Korda, 1941), alongside Laurence Olivier and Vivien Leigh. When America entered the World War II in December 1941, Wilcoxon enlisted in the United States Coast Guard. He served with the Coast Guard until 1946, gaining the rank of Lieutenant. During his period of service, he had three films released in 1942, among them Mrs. Miniver (William Wyler, 1942), which received considerable public acclaim, as well as six Academy Awards. Wilcoxon, in his role as the vicar, re-wrote the key sermon with director Wyler. The speech made such an impact that it was used in essence by President Roosevelt as a morale builder. Upon his return from war service, Wilcoxon picked up with Cecil B. DeMille with Unconquered (Cecil B. DeMille, 1947), starring Gary Cooper. After starring as Sir Lancelot in the musical version of Mark Twain's A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court (Tay Garnett, 1949) with Bing Crosby in the title role, he featured in DeMille's Samson and Delilah (Cecil B. DeMille, 1949). Wilcoxon returned to England to feature in The Miniver Story (H.C. Potter, 1950), a sequel to the multi-Oscar-winning Mrs. Miniver (1942) in which he reprised his role as the vicar opposite Greer Garson. In the late 1940s, young actors and actresses came to Wilcoxon and wife Joan Woodbury and asked them to form a play-reading group which in 1951 became the Wilcoxon Players.
Henry Wilcoxon played a small but important part as FBI Agent Gregory in DeMille's The Greatest Show on Earth (Cecil B. DeMille, 1952), on which he also served as Associate Producer. The film won the Academy Award for Best Picture in 1952. He also acted as associate producer on, and acted as Pentaur, the pharaoh's captain of the guards in DeMille's remake of his own The Ten Commandments (Cecil B. DeMille, 1956). Wilcoxon was sole producer on The Buccaneer (Anthony Quinn, 1958), a remake of DeMille's 1938 effort, which DeMille only supervised due to his declining health while his then son-in-law Anthony Quinn directed. After DeMille died, Wilcoxon worked on a film based on the life of Lord Baden-Powell, founder of the Boy Scout movement, which DeMille had left unrealised, and was also ultimately abandoned. After a relatively inactive period, Wilcoxon appeared with Charlton Heston in The War Lord (Franklin Schaffner, 1965). He was co-producer on the TV tribute The World's Greatest Showman: The Legend of Cecil B. DeMille (1963). At the opening of the DeMille Theatre in New York, he produced another short film. In the last two decades of his life, he worked sporadically and accepted minor acting roles in TV shows including The Big Valley (1965), I Spy (1966), It Takes a Thief (1968), Gunsmoke (1970), Lassie (1973), Cagney & Lacey (1982), and Private Benjamin (1982). He also appeared in a few films films, including F.I.S.T (Norman Jewison, 1978), starring Sylvester Stallone. He also had a memorable turn as the golf-obsessed Bishop Pickering, struck by lightning, in the slapstick comedy Caddyshack (Harold Ramis, 1980) with Bill Murray as his caddy. His final film was Sweet Sixteen - Blutiges Inferno (Jim Sotos, 1983). By loaning money from his early film acting, Wilcoxon assisted his brother Owen to establish himself in 1931 as a partner in the Vale Motor Company in London, and for a short time he showed a personal interest in the development of their sports car, the Vale Special. At that time his girlfriend was a London-based American stage actress Carol Goodner. Wilcoxon married 19-year-old actress Sheila Garrett in 1936, but they divorced a year later. In 1938 he married his second wife, 23-years-old actress Joan Woodbury. They had three daughters: Wendy Joan Robert Wilcoxon (born 1939), Heather Ann Wilcoxon (1947) and Cecilia Dawn 'CiCi' Wilcoxon (1950). The couple divorced in 1969. Henry Wilcoxon passed away in 1984 in Los Angeles. He was 78 years old and had been ill with cancer.
Sources: The New York Times, The Scott Rollins Film and TV Trivia Blog, Wikipedia and IMDb.
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Nikon D50 50mm 1.8d lens reversed. Aperture of f8 and 1/500 stutters peed with pop-up flash. Follow my 500px for more photos: 500px.com/iloveburgersomuch
lal·i·o·pho·bi·a (lal'ē-ō-fō'bē-ă),
Morbid fear of speaking or stuttering.
[G. lalia, speech, + phobos, fear]
(no, i did not stutter)
can you tell that i am really looking forward to spring?
art teacher friends/contacts: see much more of my school's work on Artsonia. :)
NEW YORK, NEW YORK - JULY 11: (L-R) Chaya Goldstein and Emily Blunt attend the 2022 Freeing Voices, Changing Lives Gala at Guastavino's on July 11, 2022 in New York City. (Photo by Dimitrios Kambouris/Getty Images for American Institute for Stuttering)
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 Lettice’s drawing room, usually a haven of peaceful gentility, has been given over to a more joyful and exuberant festive atmosphere as Lettice hosts a bottle party* for friends after a wonderful day out at the Henley Regatta**. At a recent dinner at the Savoy Hotel***, Lettice’s beau, Selwyn Spencely, son of the Duke of Walmsford, has devised a plan to help thwart the plans of his scheming mother, Lady Zinnia, and Uncle Bertrand to marry him off to his cousin, 1923 debutante Pamela Fox-Chavers. Lady Zinnia has been snubbing Lettice, so he and Lettice have arranged for Lettice to attend as many London Season events as possible where Selwyn and Pamela are also in attendance so that Lettice and Selwyn can spend time together, and at the same time make their intentions so well known that Lady Zinnia won’t be able to avoid Lettice for too much longer. So far, they have been seen together at the Derby**** the Fourth of June at Eton*****, the Crystal Palace Horse Show, Ascot Week****** and today the Henley Regatta. The party at Henley consisted of Lettice, Selwyn and Pamela, Lettice’s friends Dickie and Margot Channon, who are part of Lettice’s Embassy Club coterie, her old childhood chum Gerald, also a member of the aristocracy who has tried to gain some independence from his impecunious Wiltshire family by designing gowns from a shop in Grosvenor Street, and a young debs delight******* whom Pamela is attracted to, the wealthy son of a banker, Jonty Knollys.
Edith, Lettice’s maid, fled to the relative quiet and safety of the Cavendish Mews kitchen as the party decamped noisily in the drawing room, discarding hats, canes and parasols across available surfaces before collapsing in fits of boisterous laugher into chairs and on the Chinese rug in the middle of the room. Now comfortably ensconced in the comfort of Lettice’s Mayfair drawing room, the party gets underway. Dickie insists on playing his usual role of barman as he relishes making cocktails for his friends with bottles purloined from Lettice’s black japanned cocktail cabinet in the adjoining dining room. Whilst he whips up concoctions for the pleasure of his friends, they all sing along with Gerald as he plays the latest tunes on his new banjo********.
“Yes we have no bananas, we have no bananas today!” the party sing joyously as Gerald concludes ‘Yes! We Have No Bananas’********* before applauding as he ends the song with a flourish.
“Oh, I wish Cyril was here.” sighs Gerald wistfully.
Lettice glances up in alarm from her seat opposite him where she had been toying playfully with the orange ribbons on her apricot dyed wide brimmed straw hat. As her eyes grow wide, Gerald realises his mistake in mentioning his secret lover’s name aloud.
“Who’s Cyril, old boy?” Selwyn asks with piqued interest as he takes a sip of Dickie’s cocktail concoction from his highball glass.
“Oh he’s… he’s…” stutters Gerald.
“He’s a musical chap who lives as a border in the home of Miss Milford, one of Gerald’s and my friends.” Lettice pipes up quickly, covering up Gerald’s awkwardness at trying to formulate a reply. “He’s quite theatrical type; performs in shows on the West End and enjoys a sing-along as a result, doesn’t he, Gerald?”
“Yes, yes he does!” replies her best friend with a look of extreme gratitude on his face.
“Milford?” Margot asks with a slight slur from her seat as she cocks an eyebrow lazily at Lettice. “Isn’t that the same name as your new milliner, Lettice darling?”
“What? Oh yes.” Lettice replies a little awkwardly herself. “She takes in lodgers too.”
“You’re friends with your milliner?” Margot continues with a perplexed air as she tries to piece the story together with a slightly alcohol addled mind. “How frightfully irregular.”
“Well… I… err.” stammers Lettice, glancing down the front of her apricot cotton summer frock.
“Oh Angel!” laughs Selwyn good naturedly. “You really shouldn’t try and cover for Gerald. Telling falsehoods doesn’t suit you, and it gives you away since you are no good at it.”
Both Lettice and Gerald blush with embarrassment.
“You are a black horse, aren’t you Gerald?” Selwyn continues, reaching down and giving him a soft brotherly slap on the back. “So, it isn’t a Gaiety Girl********** you’ve been hiding from us at all! It’s their landlady.”
“I say, Gerald old boy,” pipes up Dickie. “I do hope she doesn’t have a face like the ones you see portrayed in Punch every week!”
“Yes,” giggles Margot, releasing a hiccup amongst her titters. “All fat doughy face and washerwoman’s arms!”
“Or perhaps she is,” adds Selwyn with a conspiratorial wink at Gerald. “And he’s just using her to get to the prettiest of her Gaiety Girls.”
Gerald laughs cheerfully as much with relief at not being found out as being a homosexual for his inadvertent gaffe, as in an effort to go along with Selwyn’s thoughts and encourage the idea that he has a pretty girl cloistered away somewhere. “Well, a gentleman never reveals his secrets, Selwyn.”
“Oh, enough Selwyn!” exclaims Pamela. “Stop being a brute and teasing poor Mr. Bruton. His private affairs are his own!”
“Sorry Pammy.” Selwyn hangs his head in mock shame.
“I should think you are, Selwyn.” Turning to Gerald she addresses him. “Ignore him, Mr. Bruton. Anyone would think him a common labourer’s man rather than a future duke! My cousin can be a charming man, but when he is in a teasing mood, he is relentless.”
“Oh, I know Miss Fox-Chavers.” Gerald replies with a knowing smile. “You forget that I know your cousin well. He and I are members of the same club at St. James’.”
“Which you seldom attend these days” Selwyn points out, enjoying his ability to tease Gerald again. “Evidently because you have a better offer from somewhere, or more to the point, someone else.”
“Selwyn!” admonishes Pamela again.
“Gerald, won’t you play us something to dance to?” Lettice pipes up in an effort to change the subject and draw the attention away from her dear childhood friend who is evidently uncomfortable under Selwyn’s scrutiny. “I should so like to dance. What about you Miss Fox-Chavers?”
“Oh yes!” She looks hopefully at Jonty Knollys sitting next to her.
“Not I,” Margot manages to slur. “I don’t know what you put in these, my dear,” She glances at her husband as he adds a fresh slice of lemon to the lip of a highball glass full of a violent green looking concoction. “But whatever it is, it has gone straight to my head.” She sinks back into her seat and cradles her glass in her hands against her stomach.
“Oh my love, you’ve never had a head for cocktails.” Dickie says with a loving sigh as he shakes his head and looks with affection at his wife.
“How about a two-step?” Gerald asks as he starts searching noisily through the pile of sheet music he has brought with him from the back of his Morris***********.
“That sounds fine to me, Gerald darling!” Lettice enthuses. “You aren’t too overcome by Dickie’s cocktails as well, are you, Selwyn darling?” she adds teasingly.
“Certainly not, my Angel.” Selwyn replies, depositing his half drunk cocktail down onto the black japanned coffee table and offering her his hand chivalrously, helping her to rise from the comfortable white brocade cushions of her rounded tub armchair. “Shall we?”
“Aahh! Here we are!” Gerald says, withdrawing a piece of music with a creamy yellow cover adorned with red writing. He quickly tunes a loose string on his banjo and begins playing the opening bars of the ‘Auto Race’************ two-step.
Lettice falls into the now comfortable feel of Selwyn’s arms as he begins guiding her across the drawing room floor. They move carefully around her furniture as they move in time to the music, whilst also being careful not to bump into Pamela and Jonty who look happily into one another’s eyes as they too move in time to the jolly two-step.
“You know I’ve had such a lovely day today, Selwyn darling.” Lettice confides with a beaming smile as she looks up into her dance partner’s handsome face.
“So have I, my Angel.” he concurs with a purr. “A ripping day.”
“This little plan of yours seems to be working out quite nicely, Selwyn darling.”
“For whom?” Selwyn asks.
“Why for us, of course!” Lettice relies in surprise. “Who else?”
“Well, I don’t think Uncle Bertrand thought it was fearfully ripping when he laid eyes on you sitting next to me, and Jonty Knollys sitting alongside Pammy.”
“Yes,” Lettice muses with a juddering sight as she casts her mind back to earlier in the day on the Thames when Selwyn introduced her to his uncle as Bertrand drew the punt containing he and his second wife Rosalind alongside the punt containing their party. “I did notice the colour rise in his face. I don’t think it was caused by indigestion from their picnic luncheon in the bottom of their punt.”
“How perceptive you are, my Angel.” Selwyn says with a chuckle. “Still this is what we agreed to, wasn’t it?” After Lettice nods, he continues as he carefully guides her around the back of one of her armchairs, “And Zinnia must be aware of you by now. Our photos have appeared in the society pages of all the major newspapers. Uncle Bertrand’s firsthand observations will only add credence to the stories and rumours that are no doubt filtering back to her in Buckinghamshire. She cannot go on ignoring you forever.”
“Selwyn?” Lettice asks a little apprehensively. “Selwyn are you sure we’re going about this the right way?”
“Whatever do you mean, my Angel? I thought we agreed that this was the course of action that we were going to take. You just said yourself that you thought it was working out quite nicely for us, and I agree. You aren’t having misgivings about it are you?”
“Well, a little.” Lettice admits. “I mean, it does smack of rubbing your mother’s and uncle’s noses in it rather, don’t you think?”
“I told you, Zinnia is the best player of ostriches that I know. She happily sticks her head in the sand so she can’t see what she doesn’t want to. We have to get her to see, and Uncle Bertrand too, that you and I are not going to be persuaded to break our involvement. And Pammy deserves a chance to pick a suitor that she likes, not one that Zinnia and Uncle Bertrand have chosen for her. She deserves happiness every bit as much as you and I do. You are happy, aren’t you, may Angel?”
“Oh yes, of course I am, Selwyn darling. And, I’d say we aren’t alone in that happiness,” Lettice nods towards Pamela and Jonty, who only appear to have eyes for one another.
“Indeed yes.” Selwyn agrees in acknowledgement. “He’s one of the good chaps.”
“He seems it. Lovely manners, and he seems to make your cousin happy.”
“Well, I’m pleased because he only fancies Pammy for herself, and not her money.”
“He comes from the banking Knollys, doesn’t he?”
Selwyn nods. “So, he doesn’t need her money, like some of the others buzzing around her do. There are too many young men with ancestral castles and country estates falling into decrepitude who look towards Pammy as a means to restore their fortunes. I’d hate for her to throw away her heart on a cad.”
“You love her very much, don’t you, Selwyn?” Lettice smiles.
“I do.” Selwyn agrees. “She is my cousin after all.” He feels an almost imperceptible change in Lettice as she stiffens slightly in his arms. “But don’t worry, my Angel. I love you more.”
Lettice’s stance eases. “That’s just as well, Selwyn darling, because I love you too.”
The pair move together happily in silence for a little while whilst Gerald’s lively jaunty banjo notes and the sounds of Dickie squirting soda water into a cocktail fill the air around them.
“Have you worked out how you’re going to break the news to Mrs. Hawarden yet?” Gerald calls out to Lettice as she and Selwyn dance near to him.
“No,” Lettice sighs with exasperation. “Not yet.”
“Mrs. Hawarden?” Selwyn queries. “Isn’t she the woman you visited during Ascot week who wants you to redecorate her drawing room?”
“That’s her!” pipes up Gerald.
“And her dining room.” Lettice adds a little despondently. “She wants me to redecorate rooms that I feel should really be left unaltered. They are fine as they are, but she seems to have it in her head to tamper with them and ruin them with inferior fabrics and foolish ideas about what she thinks makes for tasteful redecoration and modernisation.”
“Well, can’t you talk her out of her ideas? I sense some trepidation, my Angel.”
“She won’t be told,” Gerald announces to the room as he continues playing without missing a beat. “So Lettice has decided to turn her down.”
“Not trepidation,” Lettice corrects Selwyn, picking up on his question of her. “Genuine fear.”
“Of what?” Selwyn asks. “Of her? Of saying no to her?”
Lettice nods as they move in time to Gerald’s playing. “She really is very domineering, I’ve discovered, and whenever I make a suggestion that counters her opinion, she just talks more loudly and stridently over the top of me to drown me out. She is convinced that I am the only interior designer who has her vision – even though I don’t. She telephones almost every day in an effort to wear me down. It’s become such an issue that I’ve had to make Edith lie to her and tell her I’m not at home, just so I don’t have to speak with her.”
BBBBRRRINGGG!
As if on cue, the silver and Bakelite telephone suddenly begins to trill loudly.
“Well, thinking of the devil, herself.” Gerald remarks as he continues to play.
“Oh don’t say that, Gerald!” hisses Lettice as Selwyn sweeps her away again.
BBBBRRRINGGG!
“Oh Margot,” Lettice calls from Selwyn’s arms as he continues to lead her in the dance. “Be a brick and answer that will you? Edith doesn’t like answering the telephone at the best of times, so she certainly won’t answer it in front of all of us.”
BBBBRRRINGGG!
Margot sloppily pulls herself up out of her chair and her slight alcoholic stupor and deposits her glass clumsily onto the surface of the low coffee table before her. Leaning over in a rather ungainly way, she grasps the receiver and picks it up just as it is about to ring again. Leaning over the arm of the chair she pulls the long curling black flex towards her and mutters into the receiver over the top of the noise around her, “The hon… honahhrable Lettice Chet… Chetwynd’s residence.” She pauses, her partially smeared lips hanging open as she listens. A distant deep male voice burbles down the line quite loudly and then stops. “Ssshhhh!” she hisses to everyone around her, waving her spare elegantly bejewelled hand in a sign to temper their noise before placing it against her uncovered ear as the burbling voice begins down the line again.
Gerald stops playing and both couples stop dancing abruptly. Dickie holds the soda syphon in his hands, his finger on the trigger, paused to add a dash of soda water to the glass before him. All eyes focus on Margot and the telephone’s receiver.
“Well, it’s not Mrs. Hawarden,” Selwyn notes as he hears the decidedly male voice yelling from his end.
“Ssshhh!” Lettice hushes him, patting his chest with her hands.
Margot leans back into an upright position and smothers the mouthpiece of the telephone with her hand as she takes the receiver away from her ear. She looks up to Lettice. “It’s your father.” she says dully. “He says it’s urgent.”
Lettice pushes herself quickly from Selwyn’s arms and rushes over to the telephone. She takes the receiver from Margot.
“Hullo Pappa.” The distant deep male voice speaks loudly down the line again. “No, no Pappa. That was Margot.” The Viscount blasts something unflattering about Margot at his daughter. “Well, we’ve been having cocktails you see, after our afternoon at Henley.” Lettice closes her eyes and hopes to avoid a rebuke. “I told you that we were going to the regatta today. Remember Pappa.” The Viscount starts talking again at length. “What? Oh, oh no Pappa?” He continues, and as he speaks down the telephone line from Wilshire the bright colour in Lettice’s face drains away. “Well yes of course, Pappa.” More speaking from the Viscount’s end of the line. “Yes, well Gerald’s here too. Of course, we’ll set off straight away.” His distant voice softens as he says goodbye. “Goodbye Pappa.”
Lettice hangs up the receiver which releases a bright tinkle as she replaces it in the cradle of the telephone. She stands still for a moment, staring ahead of her but seeing nothing.
“Lettice?” Gerald asks, but she doesn’t answer.
Suddenly she snaps out of her momentary stupor and walks with purpose into the dining room towards the green baize door that leads to the servant’s part of the flat. “Edith! Edith!”
“Yes Miss?” Edith pops her head around the corner of the door a moment later.
Lettice lowers her voice. “Edith please make us all some coffee and then go and pack me an overnight valise. Please pack my black crepe dress and a few of my more sombre frocks and my pearls will you. Mr. Bruton and I shall be departing for Wiltshire very shortly.”
“Yes Miss!” gaps Edith.
“I’ll explain later, Edith. Just serve the coffee as quickly as you can and then pack for me. You can clean up after we have all left.”
“Yes, Miss.”
Turning back Lettice strides across the dining room and back to the drawing room.
“I’m sorry everyone, but we’ll have to bring this party to an abrupt conclusion, I’m afraid.” Lettice announces shakily.
Margot, Dickie, Pamela and Jonty all groan and complain loudly.
“Whatever is the matter my Angel?” Selwyn asks, walking over and grasping his sweetheart by the shoulders. “You look so pale.”
“Lettice?” Gerald asks again, putting his banjo aside. “You said I was here.” He says softly. “What is it? Is it Mummy?”
Lettice doesn’t answer immediately, stunned once again into silence by shock.
“No,” she says weakly at length, an air of disbelief in her voice. “It’s Uncle Sherbourne.” She references Lord Tyrwhitt, patriarch of the family of the estate adjoining her own family’s estate, and father of her sister-in-law Arabella. “He’s collapsed whilst out on the estate.” She looks at Gerald. “We have to go to home to Wiltshire right now.”
*Bottle parties, a private party to which each guest brings their own liquor, came into vogue during the 1920s and 30s initially especially after prohibition in America and liquor licence restrictions in Britain.
**The Henley Royal regatta is a leisurely “river carnival” on the Thames. It was at heart a rowing race, first staged in 1839 for amateur oarsmen, but soon became another fixture on the London social calendar. Boating clubs competed, and were not exclusively British, and the event was well known for its American element. Evenings were capped by boat parties and punts, the air filled with military brass bands and illuminated by Chinese lanterns. Dress codes were very strict: men in collars, ties and jackets (garishly bright ties and socks were de rigueur in the 1920s) and crisp summer frocks, matching hats and parasols for the ladies.
***The Savoy Hotel is a luxury hotel located in the Strand in the City of Westminster in central London. Built by the impresario Richard D'Oyly Carte with profits from his Gilbert and Sullivan opera productions, it opened on 6 August 1889. It was the first in the Savoy group of hotels and restaurants owned by Carte's family for over a century. The Savoy was the first hotel in Britain to introduce electric lights throughout the building, electric lifts, bathrooms in most of the lavishly furnished rooms, constant hot and cold running water and many other innovations. Carte hired César Ritz as manager and Auguste Escoffier as chef de cuisine; they established an unprecedented standard of quality in hotel service, entertainment and elegant dining, attracting royalty and other rich and powerful guests and diners. The hotel became Carte's most successful venture. Its bands, Savoy Orpheans and the Savoy Havana Band, became famous. Winston Churchill often took his cabinet to lunch at the hotel. The hotel is now managed by Fairmont Hotels and Resorts. It has been called "London's most famous hotel". It has two hundred and sixty seven guest rooms and panoramic views of the River Thames across Savoy Place and the Thames Embankment. The hotel is a Grade II listed building.
****The Derby Stakes is one of the greatest sporting events of the London Season, and is held in June at Epsom Downs Racecourse every year. It gets its name from its founder, Edward Smith-Stanley, the 12th Earl of Derby, who inaugurated the race as a lark in 1780. It is perhaps the most democratic of all events on the London social season calendar as it was not founded by royalty. It grew in popularity because of the patronage of the Duke of York (later King Edward VII) who found the race to his liking and attended every year, often entering horses from his own stud. As well as being a place of great joy, it also witnessed a tragedy in 1913, when suffragette Emily Davidson threw herself in front of King George V’s horse to draw attention to the plight of women wanting the vote. Sadly, such a heroic act killed her, turning her into one of the most famous martyrs of the suffragette movement.
*****June the fourth is an important day for Eaton College in Windsor. The day is celebrated annually with a tradition known as the “Procession of the Boats” or the “Swan Upping Ceremony”. During the ceremony, the reigning sovereign’s swan marker and his assistants row up the River Thames in traditional skiffs to check on the health of the swan population. Eton College students, dressed in their distinctive black and white uniforms, also participate in the ceremony, riding up and down the river in their own boats, accompanied by the school’s band playing lively tunes. After the ceremony, the town of Eaton and the college celebrate with a variety of festivities including music, food, drink and parties.
******Royal Ascot Week is the major social calendar event held in June every year at Ascot Racecourse in Berkshire. It was founded in 1711 by Queen Anne and is attended every year by the reigning British monarch and members of the Royal Family. The event is grand and showy, with men in grey morning dress and silk toppers and ladies in their best summer frocks and most elaborate hats.
*******A “debs’ delight” is an elegant or attractive young man in high society who is also an eligible bachelor and thus a suitable match for a young debutante.
********Originating out of America during the 1920s the banjo quickly gained popularity in Britain too because it was reasonably cheap as an instrument, portable, easy to learn on and musical duelling matches were played like draughts or chess.
*********"Yes! We Have No Bananas" is an American novelty song by Frank Silver and Irving Cohn published on March the 23rd, 1923. It became a major hit in 1923 when it was recorded by Billy Jones, Billy Murray, Arthur Hall, Irving Kaufman, and others. It was recorded later by Benny Goodman and His Orchestra, Spike Jones & His City Slickers, Kidsongs, and many more. The song became a best-selling sheet music in American history. It inspired a follow-up song, "I've Got the Yes! We Have No Bananas Blues", recorded by Billy Jones and Sam Lanin (with vocals by Irving Kaufman and others) in 1923. Al Jolson recorded on film, an operatic version, in blackface, in the 1930s
**********Gaiety Girls were the chorus girls in Edwardian musical comedies, beginning in the 1890s at the Gaiety Theatre, London, in the shows produced by George Edwardes.
***********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.
************”Auto Race” is a popular two-step composed in 1908 by American musician Percy Wenrich (1887 – 1952), who is perhaps more famously known for his hit songs like “Put on Your Old Grey Bonnet” and “On Moonlight Bay”.
This 1920s upper-class drawing room party is different to what you may think at first glance, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
Lettice’s tea set is a beautiful artisan set featuring a rather avant-garde Art Deco Royal Doulton design from the Edwardian era. The jam fancies are also artisan miniatures from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. He has a dizzying array of meals which is always growing, and all are made entirely or put together by hand. The glass comport is made of real glass and was blown by hand. It too comes from Beautifully handmade Miniatures.
The books that you see scattered around Lettice’s drawing room are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors, although these are amongst the exception. In some cases, you can even read the words of the titles, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection. What might amaze you even more is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make this a miniature artisan piece. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.
The magazines on the lower shelf of the coffee table were made by hand by Petite Gite Miniatures in the United States.
The very realistic floral arrangements around the room are made by hand by either the Doll House Emporium or Falcon Miniatures in America who specialise in high end miniatures.
Margot’s umbrella comes from an online stockist that specialises in miniatures, whilst her red handbag with its gold chain strap comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House in the United Kingdom
Lettice’s drawing room is furnished with beautiful J.B.M. miniatures. The Art Deco tub chairs are of black japanned wood and have removable cushions, just like their life sized examples. To the left of the fireplace is a Hepplewhite drop-drawer bureau and chair of black japanned wood which has been hand painted with chinoiserie designs, even down the legs and inside the bureau. The Hepplewhite chair has a rattan seat, which has also been hand woven. To the right of the fireplace is a Chippendale cabinet which has also been decorated with chinoiserie designs. It also features very ornate metalwork hinges and locks.
On the top of the Hepplewhite bureau stand three real miniature photos in frames including an Edwardian silver frame, a Victorian brass frame and an Art Deco blue Bakelite and glass frame.
The fireplace is a 1:12 miniature resin Art Deco fireplace which is flanked by brass accessories including an ash brush with real bristles.
On the left hand side of the mantle is an Art Deco metal clock hand painted with wonderful detail by British miniature artisan Victoria Fasken.
In the middle of the mantle is a miniature artisan hand painted Art Deco statue on a “marble” plinth. Made by Warwick Miniatures in England, it is a 1:12 copy of the “Theban Dancer” sculpture created by Claire-Jeanne-Roberte Colinet in 1925.
The carpet beneath the furniture is a copy of a popular 1920s style Chinese silk rug, and the geometric Art Deco wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend, which inspired the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.
Seascape shot at the IJsselmeer, Friesland, the Netherlands.
Stutter time: 30s
Apterture: F8
ISO: 100
6-stop ND
If I cry
The whole day long,
They say that I
Must be more strong.
If I'm hard
And I am strong,
They say that
That, is very wrong.
And if I birth
Till I am poor,
I must be stu---
pid, that's for sure.
And making money,
Saving cash?
They say that I
Am much too brash.
Then if I laugh,
When I am witty,
I am crude,
It is a pity.
And if I pout
And look quite sour,
I'm a stubborn,
Sullen, dour.
When confessing,
Stutter, halt...
Yes, you guessed,
It's all my fault.
If life throws me
An awful curve,
It is a pain
That I deserve.
So makeup on,
Yes, it goes.
Perfumed head
To perfumed toes.
'Cause lipstick's red,
And red, rouge paint,
Will make ya what...
Ya think you ain't!
Hilary McRee Flanery
She comments: 'I write short stories and books to bare my soul because after 10 kids, God KNOWS I can’t bare my body.'
League of Heroes: Ascent
Episode 3: Darkest Before Dawn - Part 2
“We interrupt our continuing coverage of the New Brickton prison break, it seems that we are getting an unexpected live feed from the madness in Midtown.” The news anchor stuttered, nervously shuffling through the stack of papers on the news desk. “Frank, can you switch us over…”
Static… and then the picture suddenly changed from the busy news room to a devastated street. A blonde woman, statuesque and menacing stares into a shaky camera lens.
“Good morning citizens of New Brickton. From this day forward, it will be remembered that you sent forth your champions to face Celedon the Destroyer… and I have found them wanting. They lie here now in pathetic heaps, driven before me and broken at my feet. Is this really the best you have to offer? I demand a challenge worthy of my strength! For every hour that I am unsatisfied, I will raise another block of this insignificant city! Your only other option is complete surrender. Death or servitude, I give you the gift of choice mortals. Your first hour begins now.”
The broadcast suddenly cuts to a rainbow test pattern. Unseen by the camera, a winged figure descends to the devastated street. Upon touching down on the pavement, she kneels over the motionless form of the Indestructible Man.
“Wake up! Please!” She shakes Fred’s seemingly lifeless body, “Fred, I don‘t know what’s happened to us, but I do know that you are still alive and I know that we need to get you and your friends out of here.”
This was built for the League of Lego Heroes Group… www.flickr.com/groups/llh/
1. Green I, 2. printed dolly, 3. how i got my stutter, 4. Green II, 5. My love of Green Doors, 6. Pay Attention To Me, 7. Untitled, 8. Those Cookies, 9. India Rose Textiles, 10. "Wonder Frog"..., 11. Little Green Mittens, 12. Sporting Vintage Brooches, 13. 0145, 14. shades of green, 15. work in progress...Green 1 inch squares, 16. green wednesday, 17. Untitled, 18. New rainboots, 19. Green Lady PC1, 20. DETALHES. DETAILS., 21. *secret bunny* wrap skirt...green and pink, 22. see the doll. . . ., 23. NA - Pastel green/Green dotty Vintage kerchief dresses (1 left), 24. green, green, 25. Cupcakes
Fourth mosaic for my colour week:
Created with fd's Flickr Toys.
There once was a warthog
with a stutter
who spoke mostly with a hiccup
and a mutter.
He improved things, it's true,
just for something to do,
And now his speech is smoother
than butter.
NEW YORK, NEW YORK - JULY 11: <> attends the 2022 Freeing Voices, Changing Lives Gala at Guastavino's on July 11, 2022 in New York City. (Photo by Dimitrios Kambouris/Getty Images for American Institute for Stuttering)
I need to exercise my demons
they're getting out of shape
rush along my life in line
(the dead are running late)
I want to name you after nothing
because nothing has never been more loving
and I'm sunning myself
just beyond the war drums thundering
the fireflies are out tonight
deftly dancing
in their stuttering shining
morse code messages
from warriors wandering
go lightly, go brightly, go boldly
coldly fusing my faith
in the human race
to the timelessness of tears
(it's been ten years)
a decade decayed
a dream for a new night
a firefight burning
both sides of the kitchen table
once you let the broncos break
there'll be no one
to say who's unstable...
© Steve Skafte
The odd cloud effect is due to the use of the Comet Mode, of the Advanced Stacker PLUS (v14). About twenty frames taken at one second intervals were combined to create this shot. All were taken at 15mm using a fish-eye which is uncorrected. I'll also be showing a vertorama of the Spire and a huge multi row panorama of the entire building.
See the tags for more information about the exposures.
On aspirations beyond one's background or capabilities. There is a certain irony in the recognition that this has never changed.
To laugh might appear to be the best response.
This film (1962) impressed me as an 8-year-old. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that a stutterer doesn't stutter whilst singing. It felt good to let rip, to allow words, now and then, to flow. The yodelling would be part of the warm-up, I guess.
I fantasised about being chosen to be in the 'Vienna Boys Choir'.
Then along came Julie (The Hills Are Indeed Alive), reminding me that a certain Mr. Hitler was Austrian.
This was the colour of my hair, more auburn than ginger, and the freckle proliferation is about right. Freckles are difficult to 'tie down' in Infrathin.
That this was all happening 'mid-Hayley Mills' and 'The 5 Find-Outers' was only doubly confusing.
I did end up singing a stutter-free 'Panis Angelicus', solo, in church.
Two of the boys on the poster were ginger, which seemed to convince me that young paddies were in with a chance.
'Sean Scully', even, blimey O' Reilly!