#I want to do another photo session after London in the cold months when the atmosphere will be creepier and I will have all my accessories.

[thequeenofmyownscreen]

This Sunday, me and my sister took advantage of the weather (not very creepy, very sunny, but the light was beautiful) and the fact that we live in the area to go and take some photos at the famous Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris (fun-scary !).

This is my first cosplay ever - I've done events in historical costumes before, but those were rented and it's not quite the same vibe. Also it's not quite finished, I'm still missing the hammer hair piece, I'm not satisfied with the white strand, and the hands feel too "clean". Also my sister took the pictures and then I modified some of them, but I'm not a professional by any means, so it mostly meant me opening Paint and the Microsoft software ^^

Also, and this is the major problem, I did NOT realize when I was doing the make-up and the hair, that I put the lock of hair and the mouche on the wrong side. On the official portrait, you (as a viewer) see them on the left, but it's the character's RIGHT… and I put them on MY left, when I should have put them on my RIGHT. "But wait", you say, "on these photos everything's the right way round !", and yes, you're right, it's because I edited the photos and managed to flip them like a mirror image, to hide the fact that I'm a dumbass. (My sister laughed, and said it's wasn't a big deal and that my cosplay could be different in that way ; but I have control problems).

... Still I'm happy with the results of this day.

Fulls credits under the cut

Laudna from Critical Role, Campaign 3. Character created by Marisha Ray. Hair and make-up and cosplay by me (based on the official design by Hannah Friederichs) : with my own embroidery work on the blouse, Pâté plushie from the Critical Role store, ear jewellery & leather belt & leather bag bought from different Etsy stores. Photos by my sister G.C., edited by me. Location : Père Lachaise Cemetery (Paris).

[harrystyleseditsx]

If you need me

SUMMARY: A one shot of where y/n experiences something that reminds her of her traumatic past and Harry’s 5000 miles away

based on the song If you need by julia micheals

WARNING: Angst with fluff :) 

pairing: Harry Styles x uni y/n 

wordcount: 2.3k

A/N: Welcome to my first fic, I needed to write something to get in the flow to write my 2000 word story so here it is :)) ily guys <3 (also would you prefer y/n or an oc, please let me know!!)

Y/N was very happy about how her morning had been going.

She had woken up early, worked out and made her favorite breakfast. She had also gotten herself some flowers to celebrate the fact that she had submitted her 10 page essay early. The only thing that would make her morning better would be face timing harry but she knew it was 1 pm here meaning it would be 9 pm in London where Harry was and he had a concert to perform. She threw on one of Harry’s treat people with kindness hoodies over her sundress as she headed to the library that would often get chilly or she was just always cold as harry often teased her. She smiled as she remembered harry telling she would overheat if she continued to wear zip ups and pile blankets on herself even during summers. 

She had by now almost reached the library when she suddenly bumped into someone causing the other person to drop some of their stuff. “Shit, I’m so sorry. I should have paid more attention-” it felt as if the words were stuck in her throat as she glanced at who she bumped into. 

“Oh hi Y/N” Asher taunted, her ex. She hadn’t seen him since the break up when he told her that he needed space and took off to France only to send her the infamous break up text. And, here he was 6 months later, looking the every bit same. She felt a feeling of anxiety creeping up on her as she started playing with her fingers trying to stop when she saw Asher’s eyes drop to her hands. 

“Are you nervous y/n? Always played with your fingers when you were” he said with a hint of smugness, as he reached his hand forward trying to grasp hers. She immediately pulled back, crossing them against her chest as she took a deep breath. 

“What are you doing here Asher? Aren’t you supposed to be in France?” she snapped at him, her nervousness quickly turning into anger. Asher raised an eyebrow as if surprised at her response. 

“Been keeping tabs on me?” he smirked. “Well forgive me if I wanted to know where my boyfriend, sorry, ex-boyfriend ran off too on our 1 year anniversary” she scoffed.

“Finally grew a backbone y/n?” he drawled looking her up and down. Y/N had never felt the urge to pull someone’s eyeballs out more than she did now. She found herself thinking what she ever saw in this piece of shit. She snapped back to reality as she heard him droning about something.

“..you need me, so I’ll take you back-” he was in interrupted as y/n threw her head back laughing. When she looked at him again, he had an annoyed look on his face. “I need you? Well, I’d like to inform you that you’re wrong again. I don’t need you, I don’t need anyone. I managed myself when you left and I’m doing so now too. So, you can see yourself out of my life again” she reiterated. Asher now looked furious, he lunged forward and grabbed her by her wrists as she tried to free herself from his grip.

“Is all this attitude because of her famous singer boyfriend? Yes, I know all about him. Is he telling you that you’re beautiful? or that you’re important? because news flash, you’re not y/n. You’re worthless, stupid, ugly and you’ll be nothing without me. You’re a whore” he growled. Y/N felt herself flinch as she heard his words before she composed herself and kicked him in the balls. His grip on her wrists loosened giving her the perfect opportunity to attack. She grabbed him by the back of his neck and jerked it forward, raising her knee and smashed his face against it and then shoved him backwards. She heard Asher yelp in pain as blood gushed out of his. One of his hands was on his dick while other on his nose. She felt a sense of pride and satisfaction rush through her as she looked at him. 

"You bitch, you broke my nose. You'll pay for this" Asher yelled at her. She decided it was best to kick him one more time for good measure and she did, smiling as he groaned in pain. "No, you listen to me. If you ever come near me again or try to hurt me I will fuck up your life and I'll get my famous singer boyfriend to help too" y/n taunted as she turned out to head back to her apartment, she had never been more glad to have her apartment be a 5 minute walk from campus. The whole incident had taken a huge toll on her.

She locked her room as soon as she entered it, leaning against the door as she slowly sank to the floor. She took a deep breath before the sobs broke out. Her entire body was shaking as she wrapped her arms around herself trying to feel as if she wasn't alone in the world. Y/N picked up her phone to send a text to harry but she try made her feel even more shitty. What if he realized she wasn't worth it, what if he had enough of her breakdowns. She pressed her nails into her palm, hitting herself to try to stop herself from feeling too much. She had come so far and now all it took was one interaction for everything to come crumbling down.

//

She didn't know how long she had been sitting like that but her phone rang, she looked at the clock to see it flashing 5 pm. Realizing that it must be harry on the phone, she got up and rushed to the bathroom, quickly washing her face, she laid down on the bed so he could only see half of her face and then accepted his call.

Harry appeared on the screen all smiley and sweaty. Her heart fluttered at the sight of him. All she wanted to do was hug him. "Finally picked up, huh? I thought y'were gonna leave me hangin' lovie" he teased her. "I'm sorry, my phone was on silent" she said softly.

Harry realised the change in her demeanor, his smile turning into a frown. "Y'alright honey? Not even showin' me y'pretty face" he said to her. She tried to smile as she moved the camera a bit so he could see more of her face. "I'm just tired H" she whispered. Harry had been moving around, probably trying to find a quieter area. He shut the door behind him as he entered what looked like his dressing room.

"Have y'been cryin' y/n?" he questioned as he saw her red nose and faint traces of year marks on her cheeks. y/n knew there was no point in lying because it was pretty obvious. "Yeah, I didn't do very well in one of the assignments my economics professor had assigned but I'm fine now" she told him adding a smile in the end to make it more believable and maybe Harry would have believed her had he not caught a glimpse of the nasty bruise on wrist as the sleeve of her (his) hoodie slipped down when she was pulled the hood up. Harry was furious and the visible anger on his face made y/n want to curl up.

"What the fuck is that y/n?" he questioned furiously. "What are you talking about? "y/n replied looking genuinely confused. "The fucking bruise on your wrist” harry snapped, by now he had lost all his patience. No one gets to hurt his lovie. 

Y/N was at a loss, she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want him to worry about her but she couldn’t come up with anything to say. “Asher came back, he cornered me and when I tried to go, he grabbed my wrists” she mumbled, playing with the hem of his sweatshirt. She dare not glance his way, afraid of his reaction. After a minute of silence, Y/N glanced at her phone only to find the screen to be blank. Had he hung up on her? She stared at the blank screen of her phone in disbelief. She felt as if she was having an out of body experience. Opening her gallery, she started scrolling through the numerous photos and videos of her and harry. It was at this time that she was grateful with her obsession of taking pictures and photos. A few tears escaped her eyes as she realized how much she missed him and how he probably didn’t want to talk to her ever. Was he going to break up with her? Y/N’s heart clenched at that thought, she put on harry’s playlist on her spotify and laid there. 

//

She must have fallen asleep because she woke up to the sound of pots clanging. Her heart sped up, no one besides her and harry had the key to her apartment and harry wouldn’t- 

She threw the blanket covering her aside (which had not been there before) and rushed to the kitchen. And sure enough there he was, her boyfriend, with his back facing her. Y/N felt tears well up in her eyes, he came here for her. Harry  turned around to see her standing in the entryway of the kitchen, crying. He reached her in three quick strides, pulling her in a hug. She tightly wrapped her arms around him, fearing he might disappear. Harry pulled back after a few minutes, cupping her face in his hands he gently brushed his thumb over her cheek. 

“Gonna properly tell m’what happened now bubs?” he urged. Unable to say anything at that moment Y/N just nodded. Grabbing her hand, Harry led her to the sofa, grabbing her by the waist and seating her on his lap. He patiently waited her to start talking. For a while Y/n just played with his hair, then she took a deep breath and told him everything that happened. She could feel Harry’s grip tightening on her hips, not to the extent that it was painful, when she told him what Asher had said to her. 

“M’gonna fuckin’ kill him” Harry cursed when she had finished. “I already did some damage” Y/N told him, smirking as she remembered Asher’s face. Harry looked at her questioningly, “I might have kicked him in the balls and broken his nose and added another kick for good measure” she admitted. Harry grinned, “that’s m’girl” he said proudly, pulling her in for a kiss. They sat like that for a while with Harry telling her about tour and she filled him in with other things that she had forgotten when they had their facetime sessions.

Y/N told him that she wanted to report Asher, in case he ever tried to pull shit like this again. Harry not only told her but also showed her how proud he was of her, how brave she’d been and how much he loved her in multiple ways. 

//

The next day they headed to the dean’s office, where Y/N saw two officers sitting outside. Luckily there were several camera’s in the hallway where Asher had cornered Y/N, so by noon, with all the available proof, she’d gotten a restraining order against Asher. If her were to come within a distance of 6ft with her, he’d serve jail time. As they left the dean’s office, Y/N saw Asher standing , she could feel harry tensing up, so when Asher looked Y/N up and down and smirked, Harry lunged forward punching him in his already swollen nose. Asher yelped in pain, he tried to fight Harry back but by now the officers had restrained him, taking him away. 

Back at the apartment, Y/N tended to Harry’s bruised knuckles as she felt a hollowness knowing he’d be leaving soon. By the look on her face, Harry knew what she was thinking about, he took the cotton swab from her hands, placing it on the table before he kissed her. 

“I’ll be back soon, it’s only a matter of two months now and by then you’ll  graduate and I’ll be done with tour and we can  have everyday to ourselves” harry told her, wiggling his eyebrows. She lightly smacked his chest, pressing a small kiss to his lips. “I know, It’s just that sometimes I miss you” she commented. “Only sometimes?” Harry pretended to be offended, “Well a bit more than sometimes” she retorted. “Just a bit more? I miss you so much, it hurts” he admitted. Her shoulders slumped a bit as she pulled him in a hug. “I love you Harry” she whispered and heard him softly whisper I love you too sweetheart. 

That evening Y/n drove him to the airport, they knew they couldn’t outside for long so Harry pulled her in a kiss before he pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. “Promise me you’ll tell me anything that happens, I don’t care if it’s just a paper cut or not. Just don’t hide things from me, If when you need me I'll be there" he blurted. “I promise” she said firmly, showing him she was serious. She didn’t want him to worry but he’d eventually know something was up and it was better to sort things out. He kissed her again before he went in the airport. She stood there until he was no longer in her sight before she sat in her car and started driving off. 

Her phone chimed, picking it up she saw that Harry had sent her a image. It was a very poorly drawn graphic of a guy lying on the floor with a crooked nose and blood around him that she assumed was Asher and a girl stood over him wearing a superhero cape. He had written, ‘my hero’. She smiled fondly before sending him a picture of her reaction as she increased the volume of her radio and driving off. Soon. 

. 

This is my first time writing a harry fic/blurb. Feedback would be greatly appreciated. Also, I’ve turned on the asks (I didn’t know they were off) so you can send in your requests!! Thank you :))

[virtchandmoir]

Tessa Virtue On Her Second Act and Finding Balance In the New Normal

We asked Canada’s Olympic darling and Nivea’s new ambassador how her goals, self-care and beauty routine have transformed in 2020

December 21, 2020

In partnership with Nivea

The last 10 months have been *insert another word for unprecedented* for everyone, even for five-time Olympic medalist Tessa Virtue. In some ways, they’ve been uniquely challenging for someone like Virtue, a 22-year competitive athlete who was just a few months post-retirement when the COVID-19 pandemic hit. No more weeks on end of travel, no more rigorously regimented exercise schedule, no more stage makeup, and a whole big world of opportunity to navigate in this New Normal.

FLARE spoke to the retired skating champion and Nivea’s first Canadian ambassador over Zoom (yes, both parties wore real pants—it was a good day!) about finding joy in lockdown, the ways she has been practicing self-care this year, how her beauty and skincare routine has evolved and how her priorities have shifted since retirement.

You retired from professional skating in fall 2019. What has life been like since then?

“It’s been upside down, but that’s from a more global standpoint. For me personally, the more difficult transition was going from competition to touring. After we wrapped up our Rock the Rink tour last fall, there were so many challenges and goals that I had already set for myself, so it was about navigating the path of, ‘OK, how do I go from being so singularly focused [on skating] to seemingly endless options and ideas and plans?’

“One thing I’ve realized is just how pressure-filled that time was. It was so intense and draining on so many levels that there’s a bit of levity that has been nice to embrace. And having new purposes and goals ahead of me also helps because I’m so task-oriented.”  

Tell us about pursuing your MBA—all over Zoom, no less!

“I’m doing my MBA through Smith’s School of Business, associated with Queen’s University. I have a bit of an entrepreneurial spirit so I wanted to make sure that I was learning as much as I possibly could about all facets of the business before I truly pick an avenue and take a run at something.

“Also, as a buffer between sport and real life, it’s good to have a goal that is in the not-so-distant future. May 2022 is graduation so it’s this tangible thing that I can work towards, challenge myself in a way that is not so physical, but rather academic.

“There are about 90 students in the class and they’re such formidable, exceptional humans that have accomplished such amazing things in their own realms. I have to admit, I’m much more nervous participating in our school sessions with 90 people than I was ever performing or competing, probably even at the Olympics (laughs)!”

What’s something that has been bringing you joy in these recent months?

“What has been really special is seeing those smaller, random acts of kindness that people have been showing, whether that’s on social media or just in the neighbourhood. When I was home in London for a time, the sense of community was so strong, whether it was checking in on each other, enjoying a driveway chat, or helping with grocery runs. There have been those who have stepped up and showcased their thoughtfulness and generosity, and that is so beautiful to witness during this tumultuous time.”

What has been something that has been challenging for you in the recent months, especially as Toronto settles into its second lockdown?

“The hardest thing is missing that human touch with the people you’re close to. Oddly enough, I always considered myself as not an affectionate person (laughs) and I’m really missing that now. I have two nieces and one is around 9 months old and I get these photos or videos and see her chunky little arms, and I just want to hold her so badly. I saw my other niece at a great distance in a field one day and it was so hard not to hug her. I feel that kind of sadness and loneliness.”

How have you been practicing self-care during this time?

“This time has made me realize that in ‘busy culture,’ people were deemed successful or living a full life if they were busy, and that was sort of my party line for a long time: People would say ‘How are you doing?’ and I would say ‘Oh, I’m so busy.’ And I really was. I was home maybe one day a month and I was always on the go. But this time has made me stop and reflect and really just sit in my emotions, sit with my feelings. And that has led to prioritizing self-care because I know now that I need those moments. I need the quiet time alone to journal or to reflect on my thoughts.

“In terms of working out, I’ve kind of done a full circle where I really had great departure from it for a bit because I didn’t want to feel like an athlete. And now I feel like, ‘Wow, I’m so grateful to be able to move my body and it feels good.’ That hit of endorphins is healthy. So I’m finding little moments like that throughout the day to treat myself.”

What have you been doing in lockdown when it comes to beauty?

“The nice thing is that I’ve been doing absolutely nothing! (Laughs) Letting my hair air dry, no makeup really, and it’s been so refreshing. The Nivea Micellar is a great cleanser that lets my skin be free and breathe. [I’ll use that] and Nivea moisturizer, and that’s been it.

“It’s been great, especially coming off of tours and competitions where the makeup is so heavy and there’s always a hot iron on my hair. I feel like my priorities have shifted and really, that doesn’t seem important at all anymore.”

Do you feel that your beauty routine has changed in recent months?  

“Because I’m not all that patient, I’m pretty low maintenance in general. But in terms of self-care, it’s been about making it more of a purposeful choice and a treat to dry brush and then moisturize, for example, or exfoliate and then use Nivea Care Cream. I do it more purposefully and it feels nice to be intentional about it.”  

Is there anything you’re going to be changing about your skincare regimen now that it’s getting colder?

“Moisturize, moisturize, moisturize! My skin is so sensitive and I’m used to being in a freezing cold, dry rink all the time so moisturizer has always been the key, especially with all that sanitizer now. I have moisturizer in my pockets, in my purse, in my car, every little place.”

What is keeping you feeling good in your own skin?

“There are a couple things. Moving. Working out. Sometimes it’s just stretching or doing a bit of yoga, whatever it is, just moving my body has been really good. And then also positive messages. It sounds crazy but just accepting whatever state my body is in today, in this moment, just acknowledging it and thanking it. [Thinking], ‘I’m grateful and this is what I’m working with and it’s good enough.’

Especially because we’re in this global health crisis, I think it forces you to be more grateful for what you have.

“I did an event with the singer Jully Black recently and she mentioned something about how important breath is right now and how grateful we can be for it when you think about people who are on ventilators. There’s so much to appreciate just with a simple inhale and exhale. I thought that perspective was really powerful, too.

“There are so many stories around right now that make you think, ‘Gosh, the stresses that seem huge in my relative bubble are not really that important.’ That perspective is key, I think.”

What are some of the most pleasant surprises that you’ve had this year?

“I thought I would be really restless if I wasn’t travelling so much, because that’s what I had grown accustomed to, and I was so surprised by how grounded and comforted I felt at the notion of not even seeing a suitcase for a while. That’s been really, really nice.

“And then, because those times are so fleeting when we do get to connect with family and friends, that joy is magnified. That is so special. Every little tiny moment or phone call seems like a more monumental event and I really try and savour all of those moments.”

—Flare

[goldenncherrybombb]

Falling

This is gonna be a double update!! TBSL should be posted soon so keep any eye out ;) This chapter is different kinda. But you’ll see what I mean maybe. Anyways, you get to know more about y/n in this because I wanted to add more about her so sorry if it doesn’t fit you at times. Anywayssss, enjoy :)

need to catch up?

masterlist

WARNINGS: none ;)

Word count: 3k

this isn’t edited so if there is any mistakes, my bad

The one where Harry is falling again 

The London air whips around Harry harshly, the cold bitter wind nipping at his skin. He picks up his pace when rain starts to fall, getting into his mum’s house just in time.

 “Harry!” She cheers, coming out from the kitchen with a cuppa in her hand. She sets it down on the coffee table before hugging him. As soon as her scent engulfs him Harry feels his eyes tear up. He sniffles and his mum hugs him tighter, not saying anything and letting him get it out first.

 “Who am I, mum? I feel so lost, an’ empty an’ I don’t want to feel that way. I just-I just don’t know wha’ t’do anymo’.” Her hand rubs up and down his back and she coos at him. 

“‘S alright, love. Sometimes you gotta get worse before you get better. ‘S just a hurdle you can get over. Ya are my baby boy. Yeh can do anything you put yeh mind too. Look at what yeh’ve accomplished. I know it sucks now, but trust me H, she isn’t doing much better either. You just needed a break. That’s all this is.” He listens to his mum and takes in her advice.“I know this feeling won’t last forever, but it hurts.” He whispers and Anne puts her hands on his cheek to make him look at her. “I know it hurts love, but pain is temporary.” She smiles at him and he cracks a smile at the saying. She always told him and Gemma that. “Now, I just made some biscuits so let’s go stuff our faces.” He chuckles at her and follows her into the kitchen.

 They have tea as well and he catches her up on everything that’s been going on. She listens and gives motherly advice here and there. “How do you know she isn’t doing that well?” Harry questions, not being able to forget what she said earlier. 

“She’s called me a few times, asking if I’ve heard anything about you, how your doing, and asking for some advice. It wasn’t easy for her to make that decision, H. She still loves you, and I know it’s hard to hear right now and maybe hard to believe. But it’s the truth. And I know you still love her. Just give it time, love. I know she is end game for you.” He cracks a smile at her words and nods. 

This is exactly why he came to London before he went to Japan. His mum always makes him feel better. When he comes back home it’s like all worries are washed away from him. 

Gemma joined them for dinner. Her and Harry joked around with each other as they helped Anne make dinner. After dinner they played a few rounds of scrabble before Harry went back to his house, tired from his long flight.

 He hadn’t been back to his London house in almost six months. It felt weird walking in and seeing all the photos of him and y/n, but he did his best to ignore them, not having the heart to take them down. It felt wrong.

 He took a shower and got ready for bed, finding a bag full of y/n’s stuff in the closet that he shoved in the back. But as he was trying to sleep he couldn’t stay still and kept tossing and turning. He had a melody in his hand and he couldn’t rest till he figured out what it was. So he got up and walked downstairs to his grand piano. He sat down then pulled his phone out and went to voice memos before he started trying different keys. Once he found the one’s he was looking for he tried new things and added on to it. Lyrics starting popping up in his head and he started to sing softly, stopping sometimes and trying new keys or a different lyric. His journal was open so he started to write what he doing down before playing again. 

I’m in my bed

And your not here

And there’s no one to blame but the drinks and my wondering hands 

Forget what I said

It’s not what I meant

 And I can’t take it back-

“Fuck. Now ‘m stuck.” He train of thought disappeared and he started to look around. 

His eyes were glued to a certain photo of his ex-lover smiling widely with  flowers in her hair as she puts some in Harry’s and he looks up at her curiously. It was one of his favorites from the Jamaica trip for his first album. It was before they got together but to everyone besides them it was so obvious they liked each other and Mitch always made sure to let Harry know.

***

She swims up next to Harry who is swimming in his underwear and has his arms on his surfboard. He smiles widely at something Mitch is saying, laying a kiss on her temple before laughing at him. Mitches words replay in Harry’s head.

“You guys just need to get together already. It’s obvious how much you guys like each other, H.” And all Harry did was bashfully smile and tell him she doesn’t feel the same as he watches her swim around them, her snorkeling goggles on.

It goes quiet and the only thing heard is the waves crashing on shore and the birds above. She climbs onto Harry’s board with his help and lays back, stretching her arms above her head. 

“It’s pretty here innit?” He questions, turning his head to look at her and watch as she looks around with curious eyes.

 “It’s beautiful. Feel like I could stay here forever.” She replies with a dreamy sigh. Mitch and Harry chuckle and Mitch agrees. 

When they get back to shore and have showered and redressed they all meet in the back patio. Harry and Mitch have a guitar, Jeff is on his laptop next to Mitch, and the rest or Harry’s crew sit around on the patio furniture. Harry is sitting under a Ixora Ixora Coccinea. A tree that has beautiful red/orange flowers. 

When the wind blows the flowers fall and y/n has been sticking them in her braid she has. Then when she was happy with her hair she started putting them in Harry’s. Hélène laughed when she noticed and snuck a photo.

 A wide smile is on her face as she is happy with her work so far, and Harry is looking up at her curiously and lovingly. Both of their eyes shine and the colors of y/n’s dress stick out with the colorful tree in the background. 

The sessions finishes before dinner time, everyone content with their progress. Y/n helped and gave her pointers, Mitch showing Harry new ideas he came up with, and Harry giving his input and showing everyone what he has so far.

 After dinner Harry and y/n went to Harry’s room to watch a rom-com. Harry had a matching red button up and shorts on, and y/n couldn’t wait to steal the shirt one day. When they shut the lamps off Harry pulled y/n into his front so he could spoon her.  He pressed a soothing kiss to her head and her eyes fluttered shut. 

“Goodnight.” They both whispered at the same time making them laugh lightly. Their legs were tangled together and his arm was firmly wrapped around her as they slept, a content smile on his face. 

***

I can’t run pack the bag that you left 

The conversation he had with his mom earlier in the night replays in his head as he thinks of new lyrics. 

What am I now

What am I now

What if I’m I don’t want around

What if I’m down 

What if I’m out 

What if I’m someone you won’t talk about

His eyes travel back to the picture as the words flow out of his mouth easily.

I’m falling again

 I’m falling again

 I’m falling 

When he finishes and is happy abotut his prgress he sends the file to Mitch and Harpoon, wanting to know what they think. He fills a glass of water and replies to some emails before heading back up the stairs and going to bed.

The next morning when he wakes up and looks at his phone seeing he sees he has a text from Gemma asking him to go out to breakfast with her. He replies and gets up to get ready for the day. 

He meets Gemma at a newer restaurant with modern decor. Gemma is at a booth in the back scrolling on her phone when he sees her. She looks up and smiles at him, waving him over. 

Once Harry sits she puts her phone down reaches over to mess up his hair, knowing it would make him mad. “Gem, stop it.” He chuckles, fixing his hair as she laughed lightly.

 “Sooo, we didn’t get to catch up much yesterday. What have yeh been up too?” She questions, sipping on her water.

 “The usual, writing, and recording, then more writing, and maybe an event here and there.” He shrugs and grabs the black coffee she got him. 

“How about you, how have you and Michael been?” She perks up at the mention of Michael, her boyfriend of a few years. 

“Good. Really good actually. He accompanied me to an event a few days ago actually, it was really fun, and also insightful.” The waitress sets their food down in front for them, pancakes for Harry and french toast for Gemma. “Knew yeh would want some pancakes .” 

“‘S my favorite breakfast food as you know. You and I used to make a mess trying to make pancakes cuz we ended up throwing the batter at each other.”  They both laugh at the memory. 

“Mum was so mad at us.” Harry nods in his head in agreement as she reminsces on another memory.

“The rest of the breakfast they catch up more and enjoy their food. “I heard about what happened, h.” She talks quietly, and with a small frown on her face. “‘M sorry that happened, thought she was the one for ya.” Harry wipes his mouth with his napkin and clears his throat at the painful reminder because he thought she was too. “Probably shouldn’t of said that.” She mumbles to herself, the mask Harry’s putting on not fooling her. 

“How about I pay for this and then we go shopping?” Harry shakes his head at her. 

“Yer not paying, I am.” She shakes her head and they both go for the checkbook at the same time, Gemma winning. “Gem, I can pay for it myself, ‘s no big deal.” Gemma pays no mind to him as she counts her money out. 

“‘S like you said, no big deal.” She smiles at him and sets the check down. “Now let’s go shopping.” She cheers, sliding out of the booth.

***

 Back in the states Y/N went back to her hometown and is staying there for a few days before she has to go to New York and do interviews. She missed her parents and needed the comfort and distraction they give her. 

When she arrived home her mom opened the door with open arms, seeing how tired and sound her daughter looked. She pulled her into her arms and hugged her tightly as she sniffled into her shoulder.

“Oh honey,” Her mom, Angela, cooes, rocking her back and forth slowly to calm her down. Her dad, Ben, comes to the front door thinking his wife was calling for him but when he sees y/n he joins the hug.

 “It’ll be ok baby bop. It takes time, and in the mean your mom made our favorite cookies and I got some Malibu and pineapple juice calling our name.” Y/n chuckles at her dad while wiping her tears.

Her dad carries her luggage into the house as her mom pulls her to the kitchen. When her dad joins he starts making their drinks and y/n munches on a cookie.

 “Benjamin! That’s a lot of Malibu.” Her mom laughs and shakes her head. “‘S like he’s trying to give us alcohol poisoning!” Y/n laughs and shakes her head. 

Her mom and dad were the main reason she is a hopeless romantic. After thirty two years together there is still so much love. If you were to meet them for the first time you would think they had just got married with how much love the show and how they are constantly joking around and messing with each other. Her mom was the one who got her into music. There was always music playing when she was growing up, her mom always singing around the house off key as Ben looked at her like she was the biggest pop star and had the loveliest voice. So when y/n started to sing and didn’t get her mom genes with the singing abilities they were all blown away because neither of her parents could sing.

They were all sat in the living room watching old home videos. Their cups in hand as they laugh at the videos and share stories. The video playing was one of y/n when she was around two. She had only a diaper on and some boots, she was playing the piano and singing to her mom. Obviously it wasn’t good and she laughs at her horrible rendition of ‘Lucy In the Sky with Diamonds” by The Beatles. Her mom laughs when she sings “wucy” instead of “Lucy.” 

The next video is one of her around eight years old. She got her second guitar and wrote a song for her parents. She was in their living room singing shyly for them and at the end her mom claps loudly, saying “My babies gonna be a rock star someday.’ As she cheers for her.

“Who would've guessed that would come true?”  Her dad questions, his eyes glossy. She looks at her mom and sees tears trailing down her cheek.

“No don’t cry!” Y/n says, getting up to squish in between them.“Their happy tears, baby bop.” Her mom says, messing her hair up making her laugh. “We’re just so proud of you. You worked so hard and now look at you! Touring all over the world and you have two number ones with only one album out!”

 “It is crazy. But you both know I wouldn’t be here without my fans and I want to thank you guys for being my first and helping me get to where I am today.” She smiles at her parents and her mom yells ‘group hug’ making y/n laugh as her parents crush her into a hug.She wakes up at around three am in need of a drink. 

When she walks into the kitchen she sees her dad and she accidentally scares him. He drops the doughnuts he was eating on the floor, thankfully none of them fall out of the box.

“Jesus you scared me!” He tells her and she apologizes before opening the fridge. “What’s on your mind, y/n?” He questions, not missing his daughters sadness in her eyes.

“Just miss him is all.” She replies, laying her head on her dad's shoulder. “I just feel terrible because I left him and I still love him so I feel guilty because I want to be with him more than anything right now but how can you love someone that doesn’t love them self? But I feel guilty because what if I finally tell him how I feel and he doesn’t feel the same anymore or he hates me now? I just lost a best friend and the person I thought was my forever.” Her dad takes a minute to reply, letting her words sink in and thinking of the best advice he could give her.

“Love takes time, y/n. You think me and your mom never had our rough patches? We took a break once too, for a similar reason. We both needed to work on ourselves before we could be together, we wanted to be the best person we could be for each other because we know both of us don't deserve any less. He still loves you y/n, trust me. I know you guys aren’t talking but you know how much your mom adores him so when he called her she talked to him for hours about you. That was only a few days ago actually.” She smiles because she did the same thing with Anne. Since her and Harry were friends for so long both of our families are close and he is as close to my parents as I am his, especially Anne.

“I don’t even know where he is right now. I know he left Malibu but he never told me where he was going. I just miss how it was. Wish I could go back and relive it. Or I at least wish I could tell him how I feel.” 

“You gotta shoot your shot before you miss it, kid.” She huffs and sets her mug in the sink next to his

.“If it was only that easy.” She whispers before saying goodnight to her dad.

She thinks it’s safe to say she’s fallen again

[ssfoc]

I saw you rb this on my dash: "Louis has a triangle tattoo permanently tattooed on his body". buuut the same way, "I don’t know why this is even still up for debate tbh. Louis has an E tattoo permanently tattooed on his body. Just because it’s covered up doesn’t mean it’s not still there and you can tell yourself it’s because he loves Ecuador all you want, but deep down I know you know that’s not what that tattoo means so please just stop." the same logic applies?

That is true. Louis does have an E on his hand, a tattoo that appeared after he “reunited” with Eleanor in 2017, to show how much she meant to him. And El has an “L” tatted on her hand.

By this logic, Louis also has the “X” on his forearm that Robbie Williams did for The X Factor, because the show was something dear to him as well. And Louis gave him a complementary one.

A tattoo taken out of context can mean anything one wants it to mean. Tattoos are narrative, as the fandom and TPTB know. They know because there’s been another narrative, involving complementary tattoos, that had been going on for years, covering much of two men’s bodies.

The context of the E tattoo was to further a narrative at a time when Louis denied Larry and the rainbow bears on video, pushed Eleanor and Freddie, and covered almost every tattoo on his body for over a year. Eleanor was credited as the “creative inspiration of his autobiographical album” with papped photos and fan photos. Like twin children, they wore matching outfits. The E tattoo is tiny— one of the smallest that Louis has— but located in a conspicuous place that can be easily seen. Yet it is frequently covered, or angled not to be included in photos, where his “28” tattoo is often flashed prominently.

Louis’ triangle tattoo was done sometime early in 2013, and was first noticed in May 2013. In the link, Emma’s post shows the context of the tattoo. Louis had been undergoing a harsh closet for more than a year, transforming his mannerisms to appear less flamboyant and more stoic, publicly separated from Harry. He had denied Larry on Twitter. He had been “dating” Eleanor since September 2011.

In the context of this narrative, getting a tattoo of LGBT persecution and activism was an act of personal defiance. Covering it in 2017, and keeping it covered for over 400 days, was also symbolic— of an intentional change in narrative. How do we know that it was intentional? Because Louis himself drew attention to it.

On the last papped session displaying his ankle, outside of Sony offices in London, 22 February 2017, Louis (known to abhor the cold) was dressed without a winter coat or socks, and asked the photographer to take close up, HQ images of his ankles.

Five months after these photos, it was announced that Louis signed with Epic Records (part of Sony). And then the BTY/ Eleanour narrative began.

For those claiming that Louis isn’t proud of his sexuality, or support his LGBT community, this is the context of his closeting and proof that Louis himself has been aware all along, is proud, and has been silently but unambiguously fighting his closet.

I think for every anti argument of false equivalence (“the E tattoo is meaningful to Louis”), we can find contextual reasons to refute that argument. Taken out of context, Louis’ compass/home tattoo could mean anything, until one considers that it was done the same day as Harry’s ship tattoo.

In the context of Louis’ Just Like You music video, with its myriad references to LGBT rights, closeting, and industry abuse of artists, and the Miss You video, with prominent display of a pink triangle, the refusal to acknowledge Louis’ LGBT support and to recognize the ankle tattoo’s symbolism is undeniable, intentional homophobia.

[imsickoftheseshadows]

London - A Short Story.

Harping did not define the emotion I experienced, for several months, after Axel had left me. 

Of course, Axel was not the only man I had pined for; in fact, there was Jack, the other musician who had flown across the Atlantic at summer’s close; there was Tim, a film professor at my university, and Enrique, a South American artist who had told me he was possessed by the devil. But Axel, the New York singer and delicatessen owner, had been special – He was thirty-five, six-foot three, and rail thin, with a vague Williamsburg air that was pretentious enough to clot a Californian cocktail. His first record, evocative of Blade Runner’s score, was perpetually spinning in my bedroom. He was a frequent collaborator with James Murphy of LCD Soundsystem, who I had admired twice as much as Axel, though had little fantasies about (I will admit I had developed crushes on several of my favorite artists, though James was lower on the totem pole aesthetically than someone of Axel’s caliber).

This recollection isn’t about Axel, but I cannot tell this story without him.

My twenty-first year had proven uneventful – I still spent too much time in collegiate cafes, scrolling through online-dating profiles, and reflecting on whether or not I would ever be ready to leave my comfortably suburban dwellings. I sensed a trace of finality about this season. It was my last autumn enrolled in university, and I would be deciding whether to pursue a professorial path, or obtain stability between the walls of a cubicle. My distraction, Axel, visited biyearly, when we would meet either at The Standard or The Roosevelt, and I would make the pilgrimage to Los Angeles. Already half a year had passed, and Axel was not to return until the following January.

My town was in its final stretch of Indian Summer on this particular evening – The saffron sun unfurled the paper night, brittle and arid. I settled into my bedroom, arrested by the mushroom clouds of milk enveloping my black tea. Halloween was a fortnight away, though I would be spending it in class. I thought about Axel regularly, simultaneously a daydream and a diversion, envisaging the perpetual cigarette dangling from his mouth. Tonight, he weighed heavy in my mind. I picked up my phone, and began to stalk his social media.

Nothing remarkable, I thought, as I peered at his posts. One of Axel’s newest videos, a capture of him expertly playing with a Moog synthesizer, had an entrancing, obscure comment. My ex-girlfriend told me she hates music. The commenter was familiar. I tapped on his thumbnail. The eyes, mass of ginger hair, and Cheshire grin, were reminiscent of Malcolm McDowell in A Clockwork Orange. His profile betrayed him. Beneath his portrait was the name of his band, which I instantly recognized as the English musicians who had scored my first break-up, and had several alternative hits in the US. Lovehurt, I recalled, and began to murmur the lyrics. I thought nothing more of it, and decided to follow him.

I returned to my homepage, and began to think of getting ready for bed. A silent banner flashed across my screen -- GeorgeGibson has followed you. I reclined, falling betwixt my pillows, and held my phone over my head.

No harm in liking a few of his photos – Is three years ago too far? I sensed my desperation. I was in bed, fully-clothed, and it was nearing midnight. My tea had gone cold, and my cat was fast asleep at the foot of my bed. George was sensationally attractive, though I couldn’t imagine being so ambitious as to write to him.

My phone vibrated with another notification.

Hello Madame, it read, in the form of a direct message. I hesitated to respond. Is this really happening? I rolled over onto my belly. Where are you from, I typed. It’s quite late here.

I live in London, he replied. Have you ever been?

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

We corresponded via WhatsApp over the course of two months – He sent me music; I responded with poetry. Facetime became our preferred mode of communication, though the time difference made it difficult to coordinate our video chats. I began to fear that our contact would eventually taper off, especially when my boredom seemed so conclusively quelled. I blocked Axel, in case George ever asked about us.

I’ve never left the country, I wrote, but I’ve always wanted to see England.

He had spoken of the prospect of me visiting him in prior conversations – I conjured up possible stories to tell my family, if I hypothetically, unexpectedly set off for London. We’re still strangers, I thought. Constant correspondences or not – But when will I ever have the chance to take a trip like this again?

I basked in this quaint fantasy by making an appointment to apply for a passport. No harm in having one of these on hand. I drove down to Orange County, two hours south of my house, to retrieve a copy of my birth certificate. My passport arrived within two weeks. Tickets to London were unreasonably cheap, though I had heard London in January was brutal. I wavered between fiction and reality – George, the famed musician, and George, the friend I had made, so eager to take me to the stationary shops with Italian stamps from the 1970s. I checked plane tickets daily, and told George I was on the verge of making a life-altering purchase.

Know I can only spend a couple of days with you, Taylor, he typed. My band will murder me if I’m away from our recording session for more than a weekend.

I was at my local café, alternating between sips of black coffee and bites of an overcooked frittata. My bangs had grown long enough to tuck behind my ears – I nervously fingered each strand, calculating my response. Christmas was to come and go, as though the seasons had become perpetually stagnant. It could rain for days, and the sky would still be a blaze of azure at dusk.

It doesn’t matter, I answered. The tickets are mine, and I arrive three weeks from today.

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

I feigned connectivity issues. I silenced all notifications, and then turned on Airplane Mode. I wanted to be certain – I wanted to be confident that not a single person, even those I had entrusted with my private line, would contact me for the next five days. LAX was bustling with people, and I was anxious to remain remote until we were tens of thousands of feet above the technicolor skyline. I had no idea that there was one terminal for all departing international flights. I wore three sweaters to lighten my carry-on, and arrived six hours before my flight.

My parents did not know I was leaving until I boarded the plane. My mother sobbed when she found out, and I consoled her by stating I would phone her the second I landed. I didn’t. My story was simple: I was off to London for a girl’s trip with one of my best friends from high school. It was a spontaneous, last-minute decision that we decided we had to do before graduating college.

George was concerned. How could you not tell your parents, he had written, moments before I boarded the plane. My story was partially true – It was spontaneous, as in, I would have never left America if I hadn’t felt compelled to conduct a transatlantic, pseudo-love affair. George had urged me, and now my departure was met with cool reserve. I started to question my mental state. I ordered three glasses of wine, one after the other, upon takeoff. 

I touched down in London around 10 in the morning, and the ground had been veiled by impenetrable clouds, as though I had fallen into heaven – all was in reverse. I noted the specks of cars lining the roads in the opposite direction; the silver buildings and the lush foliage. The tarmac was barely visible from my window, but the jet bridge was clear – and on the other side would be a man and a city, and he was to be my tour guide for the first two days.

Before dealing with border control, I hurried to the airport’s restroom. No toilet seat covers. I caught a glimpse of my reflection -- Perspiration ruined my hair and the little makeup I had applied. Fortunately, I had a spare pair of hoop earrings in my purse, but my complexion remained ghastly. I rushed through the border, anxious in line. I quickly handed over my unblemished passport to the border control officer.

“Who do you know here?” I paused, searching for the answer in the lines of my arrival card.

“It’s a friend – An Internet friend, whom I will be checking into the Hilton in Islington with.”

The officers, an elderly man and towering woman, exchanged dubious glances. They asked for more information. I acquiesced, thrusted my return ticket in their faces, and after several minutes, was allowed through.

The escalator was in sight, and I began to sense an onset of anxiety – I am in a foreign country, about to check-in to my first hotel. I stumbled over my carmine suitcase as I approached the exit; my luggage matched my tired eyes. The heels I had worn so well in Los Angeles were unfit for cobblestone streets, and I clumsily found him, in the front of the crowd, with a ticket for the Heathrow Express in his right hand. 

We embraced, and upon contact, my visage colored damask rose. 

He was five-foot-eleven, and wore a brown bomber jacket with black leather boots. He pursed his lips, full and heavenly, while I stared, in awe. George was cool in a European sense – He owned boots, and trainers, and foreign vintage labels, but was a minimalist and adored neutral colorways. His accent, crisp and clipped, was warm, and I instantly wondered what it would be like to miss him after only two days.

He took my luggage with his left hand, and we dashed toward the train.

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

We arrived at the Hilton in a black cab. He upgraded my room. We made love for an hour, and I thought I was going to faint.

“I want to take you around Islington,” he whispered. 

Morning had bled into afternoon, and we were languorous, lazy and lounging. I happily obliged, sensing the ghost of passion about my being. I changed into a dress, and reapplied my eyeliner, but remained equal parts self-conscious and jet-lagged. Does he find me as attractive as he did online? It was frivolous to question this, though my mind was tainted with uncertain thoughts. He put on his trousers, then laced up his boots. My parka, bought at a discount, was colossal for my frame. He smiled endearingly, and we took the elevator to the lobby.

I was clumsy against cobblestone, my ankles buckling beneath me – George caught me twice, and kissed me with each fall. We arrived at a bijou cocktail lounge in Clerkenwell, which appeared to be a repurposed home – the corridor led into segregated rooms, with hundreds of vintage books along each wall. We both had whiskey – This will wake you up. I quietly quaffed my drink, while he took apathetic sips of his. He grasped my hand.

“It’s so lovely that you’re here,” he paused, studying my expression. “Are you feeling okay?”

I was drowsy, disengaged, and enamored. The stained-glass windows could not hide the somber skies, yet I gazed at each cloud lovingly. Everything was perfect.

He took me to another lounge, and then to the British Film Institute, where I imbibed a glass of Malbec in the café. A Hot Chip song boomed through the stereo, and he reminisced the time that he played at a festival with them. Alt-J played next, and he discussed his disdain. I finished my drink and wandered toward the gift shop, where I searched for obscure British DVDs, blissfully unaware that they were region 2 locked (until arriving home). I hung onto his every recommendation, as a schoolgirl would a handsome instructor. I chose Jean-Luc Godard cinema critiques and Stanley Kubrick’s photo book. He picked up a copy of Caligula.

By nightfall, we had arrived at our final bar, which was two-stories, with the bottom floor having been fashioned from a basement. A beautiful woman in a blue beret was reading Proust by the entrance, and he commented on the pretentiousness of the lounge. We went back to the hotel shortly after, as my exhaustion had faded into delirium.

I woke up around 2 am. I noticed that he had spilt tears of wine; red vino, according to the bottle, a Tempranillo. I think I had it in Echo Park one lonely summer ago. The crisp, white sheets were speckled with blood. He turned over, noticing that I was awake – He kissed me, and I realized that I was ravenous, for the first time since leaving Los Angeles. 

He went to buy us a kebab, England’s guiltiest pleasure (I found this out much later). He left the BBC on, and the reporter was exploring Donald Trump’s ascension to the presidency. Not here. I changed the channel, and absentmindedly flipped past an Amy Winehouse documentary. I began to thumb through my newly acquired Jean-Luc Godard book, then sifted through the treasures of the day.

By the second chapter, the door swung open, and George appeared, grinning, with a fistful of candy and two kebabs. I pulled the covers over my head as he fell into bed next to me; devouring the kebab, popping open a can of Coca Cola. He unfastened his duffel bag, and revealed bags of chips not sold in America. I clasped the delicacies close to my heart, and dissected the Reese’s Pieces bar.

“You don’t understand,” I laughed. “This is a novelty to me!”

We finished our respective dinners, and slept until noon.

Our room was littered with candy-wrappers and wine bottles; our ardent affair had been in view of several landmarks – the London Eye was in sight, and Big Ben was covered in scaffolding.

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

The following day, George showed me his favorite stationary store, Present & Correct. He bought a stamp book, and then promptly lost it at the second scarlet pub we went to. We began our afternoon at a café, where everyone drank their coffee black and from a French press. The coffee was rich enough that creamer was unnecessary – I tasted it slowly, for pleasure, and because I knew he would be leaving at midnight. We went back to the British Film Institute, and he explained a music project he conducted, where he had recorded the sounds of London, while I examined other books from more obscure directors. I kept forgetting that I listened to his music for a number of years before knowing who he was. He stopped speaking for a moment, and shyly reached for my hand.

“George,” I paused. “Do you really have to leave tonight?”

He waited, appearing distraught. “I want you to come be with me in the summer. Can you do that?”

We sauntered to another pub, each one more grandiose than the last. I began to drink out of apprehension, dissolving my worry with each swallow. I wasn’t sure if he noticed – If he did, he didn’t seem to mind. I grew bored of the pub; I grew exhausted of our reservations. I remained awestruck, which translated into perceivable uneasiness, and called for medicinal drinking.

We stopped in Charing Cross, London, after mindlessly walking through the city. He stopped to show me his old apartment, which was built beneath one of the many cobblestone streets. I was two glasses of wine in, and twice as lecherous. He took me to Foyles, knowing such bookstores had fallen out of popularity in America. I bought a book on witchcraft, a Gustav Klimt novel (solely because of a chapter titled “Klimt’s Women”), and an autobiography entitled Art Sex Music (a friend I met later would call this his curriculum vitae) at George’s urging. I didn’t want to forget my fleeting emotions, nor him. I knew our time together was rapidly dissipating. The sky had blackened, as had my mood, though the wine began to enhance my synthetic insouciance.

George chose an Italian restaurant – Why not beans on toast? I knew nothing of British cuisine, and trusted his selection. We sat next to a heat lamp outdoors, in the frigid night, as there were no seats left inside. I peeled off my homely parka, even though I was cold, to remind him of desire. We caroused some more, and I embarrassed myself with comments of a dramatically wretched past – A lack of female friendship, men in power that had plagued my adolescence, and inappropriate commentary on my familial ties. He politely beamed the entire way through, even as I mistakenly slurped my pasta, and messily consumed a slice of his pork pizza. I poured the remainder of the Tempranillo into my glass, and asked him again to stay.

I was not immune to the social anxiety I faced at home – Abroad, I was aware of my unpalatable Californian accent and absence of fashionable clothing. I became hyper-conscious of my unnaturally stiff disposition. He was understanding, but courteously, clinically so. I knew I would be infatuated with him for months after our transatlantic love affair -- I silently wondered if he would ever tell Axel about a young, nameless brunette girl from Los Angeles, who flew across the Atlantic Ocean to make love to him.

He walked me back to the hotel, as I half-smiled and asked him to be with me one final time.

“We’re never going to see each other again.” I spoke with finality.

“I know we will. I’m coming to Los Angeles soon, don’t cry.”

As soon as the door slammed shut, I undressed, filled the bathtub, then mourned my solitude – a constant sob ebbed and flowed. I wrote, incomprehensibly, in my sanguine, store-bought moleskin journal. I took my phone off airplane mode. I sent him a thank you note, fully understanding that I would never see him again. Several moments passed, and twenty text messages from my family came through. I turned on the BBC, and stayed up all night. I became pragmatic at the break of dawn.

I texted my friends, those of which who had known of my secret trip, and then fell into fits of laughter, for two reasons:

I had no idea why I was crying at the Hilton, in a double bed, and God, I had gotten stupidly wine-drunk.

[sussex-nature-lover]

Saturday 20th February 2021

Looking Out, Thinking UP

Female Blackbird in the snow

Female House Sparrow wishing she was anywhere else instead

The snow has gone from here now. I really liked the added element to my photographs, but not the biting cold the weather brought, or the sheer amount of work running outside with food and fresh water in an endless loop of chores. It certainly meant for a very busy garden though. My pictures can’t compete with the type on this BBC Link but I really did enjoy taking them when we got a little light. The BBC ones are highly recommended though, do look.

Two (possibly Continental migrant Robins) looking gorgeous in the snow

Of course a professional photographer will spend days setting up and waiting for beautiful shots and will have a specific environment sorted out too. That’s a thought, I should put some effort in to the view outside of our kitchen window instead of the sea of mud taking its chances with only the Guard Lamb acting as a prop. On the other hand I too was very disappointed and empathised with the furore that surrounded the Countryfile Calendar a couple of years back. Not really in the spirit at all. I get most of the pleasure from stumbling across something entirely natural and not coaxed along by artificial means.

Sometimes you just happen to look out of the window and notice something that takes your eye!

This female Pheasant was getting very cosy in the Olive Tree pot on Thursday and then again yesterday afternoon. She obviously likes the spot, which used to have a decent layer of chipped bark on top of the compost. Now we know why it’s thinned and almost disappeared.

I think the pot has another life as a Pheasant Spa for a bit of a ruffling of the feathers.

‘I’m ready for my close up now’

Pheasants don’t have the monopoly on the garden beauty salon, oh no...although sometimes there’s more of a rough dry than a blow dry. 

I just love this photo even though it was misty and not centred. Usually I’d end up with just the legs and tail! It’s proof I think, that you don’t need all your pictures to be perfect

And some clients may end up somewhat over-primped and over-groomed. This little Robin reminded me of a ‘Essex Boy’. Oops.

Meanwhile when the girls are treating themselves to pampering sessions, the boys are still on the prowl. I’m keeping my eye on them.

Well, I really need to shake my own feathers as they say and get wrapped up to venture outdoors. There’s so much tidying to do that I hardly know where to start, although rest assured it still won’t be too tidy and pristine for all our visitors to entertain us with their antics.

Guest Photo today is from our London Correspondent, Ms NW the Elder. Grey Heron looking somewhat pensive.

NOTES FROM THE KITCHEN:

I’ve had a tea cake to start me off and lunch is to be scrambled eggs on toasted sourdough rye bread. We had Haddock last night with a chilli pickle, olive and tomato topping and tonight is steak marinated in a mix of soy and a little bit of teriyaki sauce, with baked potato and side salad.

WHAT DID I LEARN TODAY?

There was great excitement from NASA on Thursday (the 18th February) with the successful landing of the Perseverance rover at Mars' Jezero Crater, nearly seven months after its takeoff to the Red Planet. Perseverance becomes the fifth NASA rover to ever touch down on Mars after Sojourner, twin rovers Spirit and Opportunity and Curiosity. Perseverance will spend the coming years scouring for signs of ancient microbial life in a historic mission that will bring back samples from Mars to Earth and prepare the way for future human visitors.

Jezero Crater ( YEH-zuh-doh ) the landing site of Perseverance rover, is named after Jezero, a small municipality situated on the Veliko Plivsko Lake entrance to the Pliva River in the western part of Bosnia and Herzegovina. In many Slavic languages, Jezero means lake.

Read more at the BBC News site

If you want to go back and watch the nail-biting build up and landing, it’s narrated here from NASA

The earliest any of its samples could be returned to Earth is 2031. Perseverance, which launched in July 2020, cost US$2.4 billion to build and launch and will cost another $300 million to land and operate during its first year on Mars.  nature.com

[justamomentaryfuckup]

Lady Madonna

Chapter 1

There are some days where there isn’t enough coffee in the world to make the morning better, and today was absolutely one of those days. I hadn’t slept well. Reaching out to the opposite side of the bed and finding cold sheets, when, while still dreaming, I would reach out and expect to touch him. Nine months later I still kept waking up confused and cold. Today I was more than cold, I was brittle. As though I would shatter at the lightest touch. Rory and I had managed to survive our first holidays alone, but I hadn’t recovered from them yet. My mother in law had desperately tried to have us come stay with them, but I had just as desperately shied away from going home. I had finally rebuilt my foundations to where I wouldn’t shatter. I could feel like I was going to, but I wouldn’t allow myself. I didn’t have time. Especially this morning. Rory had slept in and we were behind schedule.

I was still scrambling to get his lunch together and keep my coffee from spilling all over the paperwork I was also trying to finish, when Rory barreled into the kitchen and into the back of my legs.

“Mama, I don’t want to go to school today.” he whined into my pant leg, still in his pajamas.

“I know buddy, but it’s a school day and you have to go. You have to get dressed. We’re late!”

I was shoving things into his lunchbox, PB&J sandwich, strawberries, goldfish crackers, yogurt, and applesauce. Things I knew he would actually eat, and would save me from the nasty looks from the room mom of the day, who, somehow managed to get their Pre-K kid to eat vegan. After the fall session I was a scarred veteran of the P.S. 11 mommy wars.

“You know Wills, I can take him.” Jonathan said from the kitchen doorway. Leaning against the doorjamb, he scratched his chest, and addressed Rory directly, “You wanna walk with Uncle Johnny t’school? Huh, kiddo?”

“No.”

I choked on a laugh. I’d managed to avoid my in-laws, but not my own siblings. I considered myself lucky that it was only Johnny and not him and Jack, his twin. He had flown out before the new year to find inspiration in the icy cityscape and then drive cross country with a buddy to become the next Jack Kerouac. Until then, he was crashing on my couch. Johnny grabbed the pile of Rory’s clothes off the counter and knelt down to where Rory still clung to my leg.

“Come on, we’ll get you ready and then we’ll play. Ok?”

Rory detached himself from my leg, “Play trains with me?” he asked.

“Sure, but you have to get dressed first.”

“Ok.” With that decided, Rory grabbed Johnny’s pant leg and pulled him into my tiny office to collect the basket of wooden train tracks.

In the 10 minutes that it took Johnny to wrangle Rory into his clothes and play trains, I managed to finish Rory’s lunch and my case work. Downing the last of my cold coffee, I herded the boys out the door of my second floor walk up and down the hall to pick up Allie. She and her parents, Marija and Petar, were our first friends in the city and Marija and I would trade babysitting from time to time.

We ran the two blocks to the school. January in the city can be unforgiving, and it was bitterly cold and bright. I managed to get both kids to their programs on time, and I even made my correct train, Johnny running along right behind. I stuck my headphones in my ears and watched the people around me. Everyone wrapped in their own worlds and not even acknowledging mine. It was exactly how I preferred it. I could put my head down and keep moving forward. Johnny settled further into the seat next to me, head back, dozing, as we rattled along.

~~~

“Thanks mate.” Harry shook the driver’s hand and hung his leather duffle over his shoulder. Back in New York. This time last year he was putting the finishing touches on his album, and doing reshoots for the movie in LA. Now he’s on the other side of the country to begin to lay the ground work for his next album and do some promo for the arena tour that started in the spring. Thankfully promo was minor and he could focus on the album.

The car door across from him slammed shut and Mitch, with his own bag in hand, angled his head toward the building behind Harry. Mitch flew out early to help with some more complicated melodies that Harry’s admittedly improving guitar skills could handle. Otherwise, Harry wouldn’t have seen him until right before tour rehearsals started back up. The album wasn’t set to actually begin recording until after the tour was over. Dragging his fingers through his hair, Harry led the way into his building. They walked through the warm lobby, and slumped against the walls of the elevator, rode up to the 4th floor to Harry’s flat. Purchased last year, so aside from a few weekends here and there, Harry hadn’t spent any significant time here. It still had the slightly sterile smell of new construction, overlaid with the candles scattered throughout the space.

Harry dropped his bag on the floor, kicking it with his foot until it lay enough out of the way so he wouldn’t trip. Mitch shuffled past him, dropping his bag in front of the couch and settling down in the cushions, feet propped on the luggage.

“Oi! Takeaway?” Harry called over, moving to the kitchen to rummage through his drawers for the menus that where here from before. He’d do a proper grocery shop later. Specifically after he slept off the jet lag. Mitch waved a hand at him in acknowledgement, preoccupied with his phone. Harry rolled his eyes. Typical. Mitch was never one to talk when silence would do. It made for a nice change from the excitement of the holidays and the severe extroversion of some of his London friends.

Pulling out the only menu he could find, a restaurant from around the corner, Harry tossed it into Mitch’s lap so he could make his choices.

“Chinese, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Despite the lack of choices, the food order decided and called in, Harry threw himself in the opposite corner of the couch from Mitch and settled in, journal in hand. While he hadn’t written anything yet for the new album, per se, he was always working on bits and pieces that floated around in his head. Someday, they might turn out to not be complete shit. Lately though, they all have been shit. Sighing, Harry flipped open the book and set the photo strip that he used as a place marker on the cushion next to him. He’d had this phrase he’d over heard in London stuck in his head for over a week and couldn’t make it do anything. At this point the words had been scribbled repeatedly on the page surrounded by doodles in different colored pen. Useless. Harry stared at the page until the doorbell rang.

After the food was divvied up and subsequently inhaled, Mitch and Harry retreated to their respective corners. Mitch on his phone, texting, reading, and Harry scribbling and cursing occasionally under his breath. Every so often, Harry’s eye would fall on the photo strip, a welcome distraction from the frustration on the page in front of him.

“How’s the missus?”

Startled, Harry looked up. Mitch had dropped his phone and was watching him fiddle with the pictures. It had started out as a joke on tour last year. Adam had noticed the pictures sticking out of Harry’s journal and had asked about them. Leaving Harry to explain that he didn’t actually know who the woman and little boy were, but that there was something about the pictures that made him smile. It just seemed cool to him. She looked interesting and the little boy, happy. It earned him some ribbing, carrying around the pictures of people he didn’t know, like the lipstick on his jacket, but it had also turned into a game. Any time they were bored, or Harry became too withdrawn, frustrated with himself for whatever reason, Adam or Clare would ask how she was and Harry would make up a story. Sometimes she was upset that the caterer had screwed up the menu, and another time she was thrilled because she was pregnant again, but every time by the end of the story she was always happy. That was important to him. That she be happy. It seemed like Mitch had decided that he was sick of listening to him.

“Let’s see” Harry drummed his fingers against his lips and hummed a little, “She is currently working on baking two dozen chocolate chip cookies…”

~~~

That’s it. I was going to quit. Rather, I was going to get arrested. I finally cracked and was seconds away from chucking my desk phone at Paul’s head. My morning did not improve on my willingness to put up with idiots. He was the second most loathsome individual I’d ever had the misfortune of working with. As the senior paralegals, I was stuck dealing with him. It wasn’t that he was bad at his job, it was that he couldn’t multi task to save his life and that he was the most inefficient person in the firm. There were only 20 of us, not including the partners, but he stood out and not in a good way. I never wanted my work associated with him.

I glared up at him from my seat, while he loomed over the front of my desk, ugly tie dangling. “I am not redoing the Lipnitski files. I already found more than enough precedent that Jacobs could close in his sleep.”

“William, I don’t think you understand,” Paul jabbed his finger into the file he’d placed on my desk, “This contract needs to get over to the Columbia offices by end of day. I will finish the motions for Lipnitski, Cox wants to you complete the amendments and get it over to them.” The fact that he used my full name, William, didn’t help his case any, in general or right now. Running through my options, I decided I could manage both tasks. I really didn't want Paul's hands on my work.

“I will finish Lipnitski’s motions and I will get the amendments completed. Can you please let Jessica know?” I snatched the folder out from under Paul’s hand and stuck it under my keyboard. Paul raised his hands in surrender and stalked away. I’m sure the people in the Doctor’s office below us could hear him clomping steps.

“Thanks fucker,” I muttered under my breath. No lunch for me today. I rummaged around in my desk drawer for my phone, shooting off a quick text to Monica that I wouldn’t be meeting her at The Wooly Daily for lunch. She texted back a sad smiley, but I’m sure she understood. It’s not going to be the first time or the last that I’ve bailed on lunch for extra work. I kicked my shoes off underneath my desk and dug into my work.

By the time 4 o’clock rolled around I’d gotten all my daily stuff done, and both projects. I was running off the break room coffee and spite. Lipnitski’s motions had been dropped off at Jessica’s desk and the amendments for Columbia were ready to be taken up to their office, several floors above the Law Firm of Cox & Jacobs.

I closed down my computer, pulled my hair out of the messy knot that I had resorted to, to save it when I had begun yanking on it in frustration a few hours earlier. Standing there, I smoothed my hands down the front of my skirt and took a few deep breaths. I may be a lowly paralegal, but I still represented the firm and needed to put forward a good impression. Columbia Records made me nervous. They'd been in the Woolworth's Building since the 30's and while they weren't a frequent client of ours, they still were a huge account for us. Files in hand, I headed out the doors and over to the bank of elevators.

~~~

Harry waved to the front desk as he trotted down the steps of his building. Pulling his shearling jacket closed around his neck, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets. It was bitterly cold, but the diffused light through the city would make the short walk worth it. He was headed to the Columbia offices to ok some changes to the contract for the second album. Normally, it would be couriered over to him, but there were meetings scheduled for the following day and this needed to be completed prior to the morning. So he left Mitch still ensconced in the corner of the couch, this time with one of his guitars, while Harry headed out.  

New York in the cold was all bright, reflected light and sharp edges. Harry’s breath fogged out in front of him, as hat, sunglasses, and coat, rendered him unrecognizable to the other people walking through Tribeca. He'd opted against headphones as he walked, preferring to listen to the horns and traffic. It was only a short 10 block walk from Harry's building to the Columbia offices. His fingers and toes had begun to lose feeling by the time it came into sight.

Harry hurried up the steps of the building and into the warm lobby. Eager to regain the feeling in his extremities before heading up, he slowed down taking in the faces of the people around him. Walking  toward the circular welcome desk, his feet tangled over themselves and he stumbled, as he caught a glimpse of a familiar face rushing past him to the doors he had just walked though.

"Fuck." Harry breathed, earning the glare of an older lady sitting behind the desk, "Sorry."

Harry turned and watched as she disappeared through the doors of the building, black coat floating out behind her. Her smile from the dogeared photos burning into his thoughts.

[ceciliataormina-internship]

CV new and improved! Also, Critical Evaluation of the experience

CECILIA TAORMINA

Mobile: +447476435196                              

Email: cecilia.taormina.ct@gmail.com

Website: https://ceciliataorminact.wixsite.com/mywebsite

Profile:

Attitude to listen and understand. Confidence. Positivity. That is what makes me a great employer. I like to be involved in a challenging environment where I can apply my skills and improve my knowledge around photography and art therapy.

Through the use of self-initiative, commitment and work ethic I am able to deliver a great customer service and assuring a prompted problem solving attitude. When working in a team, I have the ability to understand everybody’s needs and to find a middle ground without disrupting or compromising the integrity of the job itself; When working alone instead, I can make choices to speed up the work but still maintaining an exceptional standard for the final result.

I am very patient, energetic and willing to learn more.

Education and Qualification:  

2016-2020  BA (Hons) Photography University of Westminster, London

The Photographic Eye,  Photography from the invention to Mass Medium, Photography from Cold War to the Present, Vision and Technology, Photography for Wall, Page and Screen, The Constructed Photograph, Photography Beyond the frame, Advanced concept in Photography, Professional Practice, Professional Futures, Advanced Research Methods.

2009- 2014 University of  Languages of Genoa, Italy (English, Spanish and Arabic)

2004 -2009  Pedagogical High School (Camillo Finocchiaro Aprile, Palermo, Italy)

 Working Experience:

August 2019-Present: Support Worker At Royal Mencap Society

    Running Art Phototherapy Activities For People With Learning Disabilities

May 2019- Present: Photographer Assistant For Paul Romans

    Assisting During Video And Photo Production

March 2019-August 2019: Photography Assistant For Marcus Boyle

    Documenting Workshops, Recording Video Testimonial, Video Editing, Social Media Manager, Content Creator, Targeting And Promoting Events, Contacting Institutions, Booking Manager, Customer Service.

November 2018- Present: Main Event Photographer For Women Of Power Uk

Documenting Events And Fashion Show, Content Creator, Fashion Shoots Organizer, Video Producer.

 It Skills:

Microsoft Office Package (Intermediate)

Adobe Photoshop Cc 2017 (Intermediate)

Lightroom (Basic)

Bridge (Basic)

Adobe Premierpro (Basic)

 Admin Skills And Others:

Customer Service (Advanced)

Booking Appointment (Intermediate)

Marketing & Promotion (Intermediate)

Excel (Basic)

 Spoken Languages:

Italian (mother tongue), English (fluent), Spanish (basic)

 Reference contacts:

Raquel Mezquita +447719238848

Marcus Boyle +447506625727

Critical Evaluation

The Critical Evaluation should reflect in depth your own course-based learning and professional work-based practice. You should consider each section carefully and try to summarise and critically evaluate the learning experience. This process of self-realisation should provide you with useful insight that will be transferable to future experiences; your statements should demonstrate this understanding.

(Word count for the whole document should be between 1500 – 2000, excluding CV.)

 Work Placement and your job description

Details of the work placement, length of employment and your role and responsibilities and an outline of the tasks undertaken during the experience.

(This section is the basis of your PowerPoint Presentation / Recorded Presentation Submitted on 16th September 2019)

What fascinated me the most when I came to this country it  was the huge amount of opportunity I had to exercise my photographic practice. During my University years I became more and more acknowledged of my feelings, myself and my perception of reality. This self-discovery brought lots of emotions to the surface, some of which I worked with to create all the projects of the last three years. Without being conscious of it, I was doing art therapy. I became familiar with the existence of it – and the terminology –during a meeting with Marcus Boyle, introduced to us by Eileen. He was there to explain us how he started to work in the field. Marcus happened to be a director first and a phototherapy facilitator after, through a long personal intercourse. I approached him immediately after his talk, asking to go to one of his workshops. And this is how the journey started. He did not interview me or asked me for my CV, because he got a sense of my personality and my working attitude during the workshop where I attended as participants. On March the 3rd we met for the first time to discuss what my tasks were going to be. He wanted my help to market the workshop in a better way, so we agreed that this it was going to be my point of focus. I then helped him to update his social media contents, creating later on an account both on Instagram and Facebook called Phototherapy Workshops. My duties involved choosing the right images to post and managing the time when these were uploaded on the web, to reach as many people as possible. My tasks also involved contacting the mailing list informing people of the upcoming workshops and –a week before the event – inform them what props they needed to bring along. With the time passing by, my role started to include also the research of new venues able to give us a good price deal and offer the right space in the room, facilities included (chairs, kettles, mugs, desks, etc.) to make the workshop happen. I also helped Marcus with the creation of a video testimonial to use for fundraising purposes, which we also used to promote the workshops on social media to show people the health benefits and creative outcomes participants could gain from the experience. Another thing I helped Marcus on it was the tracking of the people/institutions we contacted or we had in mind to contact. I did this using Excel and then I shared the file with Marcus on Google Drive, to be able to upload it at any time and have it synchronized. Finally, it was my duty to take care of the booking for our last workshop together. This included having directed contact with the people who wanted to participate and sending them over the bank details. Of course all these tasks needed to be done during the preparation of the workshops. During the event itself instead, I covered a more practical role. I was in charge of giving out forms participants needed to fill up –those were meant to measure the effectiveness of the workshops and their results on people. I had to handled them a copy before and after the session to see the personal outcomes. Another important duty of mine was to photo document all the moments of interaction and co-creation between the participants.  The material it was then edited down and published on social media, creating testimonial posts. The experience lasted for 5 months and we have been seeing each other once a week face to face, but I have been working at home doing researches for him, editing or managing social media pages at least two days per week.

Audit of current knowledge, skills, values and aspirations

Discuss the strengths and weaknesses that have changed through the experience and identify your personal needs arising from the self-analysis exercises.

What I noticed about myself it was that my role evolved through the months. What it was supposed to be an assisting role, it happened to start as what I understand now being a Social Media Manager, due to the fact that I had to learn how to read the statistics given by the app and to understand how to reach as many people as I could, posting at a specific time of the day and of the week. I had to create new accounts on Instagram and Facebook detached from Marcus’ personal profiles, to make the workshops become the focal point of the account themselves. I had to evolve them into a business profile to get access to the daily statistics and I had to learn to choose the right pictures to post, the most effective and/or eye catching ones. Learning how to use the tags to connect with people from different fields it was not easy at first, but then it became almost automatic. The amount of interaction for each post grew, reaching the hype of 500 people on Facebook, which for us it was absolutely great! Another skills I improved it was time management, which it is something I believe it still can get better but it evolved way more that I could expected. Now I am able to perform better and faster, maintaining a great quality service. My confidence it is also grown a lot, which helped me to face problems such as the phone booking with venues or price agreement with owners. Last but not least, I learned how to accomplish data entry tasks, without doubting about the quality of the delivered service. I learned to keep a record of the people contacted and to work with Excel. Something that it still needs lot of improvement and I am not happy about, it is the learning outcome in matters of workshop exercises, vegetotherapy and the concepts behind of the co-creation exercises done during the sessions. As Marcus assistant I hoped to learn more about the thinking that stays behind the creation of the workshop rather than just taking care of business duties. I am sure most of it needed to be done by myself, but I hoped to gain a certain amount of knowledge at the end of the experience, which I am kind of unsure it happened. Stress under pressure is still something I am working on too,  even if I have been able to speed up with my researches to find solutions and so on, fighting with time it was not easy at all and it still is something I feel a bit stressed about. My personal needs now are still the same, but first of all the economical reward is something that stays on the top list. This work placement was unpaid, so I lost a lot of money in travel that I could not cover due to the fact that for two months I was unemployed. So right now I am focused on finding jobs where I can be paid or at least have the travel expenses covered. Feeling appreciated it is also on top of the list, due to the fact that feel needed and wanted helps me to perform better. In matters of aspirations, I still want to create a work piece out of this experience, possibly a video or a photographic exhibition with all the material I shot myself. To be able to run a workshop myself is one of my biggest aspirations at the moment, because I really could see how good I felt seeing people who were able to work with their feelings using them to make art. This is what I really want to do in life. I want to help others, learning more about yoga, mindfulness and mental health.

Contact with Professional Practitioners Reflect on the strategies you used to contact professional practitioners and how useful the contacts and your current database may be for the future. At Marcus Workshop I happened to meet another photographer who actually asked me to assist and to collaborate with him for video and photo projects. We agreed that I am going to assist him for as many times as he will need me and everything will be paid. So far, with him I earned £400 doing 2 shootings, and other 100 has yet to come as long as it is a long term project the one he signed me up for. This makes me extremely happy of course, because even though Marcus did not pay me, his workshop kind of helped me to find a paid job in the field. Another good point of the contact I made during the internship it was that I discovered a lot of charities, institutions and private practitioners who I could rely on later on my career to help me hold my exhibition or to hold my future workshops in their facilities.   Regarding the strategies of approach used to connect with practitioners and institutions, I definitely can say that a face to face introduction is more effective than a simple cold email, unless it is completely necessary to use first.

Personal Development Plan Discuss and identify the main points of your Personal Development Plan and how you may achieve your aspirations. 

The points I have to work on to achieve my aspirations are: -Understand how to create a specific concept of the workshop -Identify the right target I would love to work with (such as drug or alcohol addicted people in recovery, people with learning disability, children, young adults and so on) -Get a master in Art Therapy at the Goldsmiths University

These points set a long term goal, which can be achieved prior education ONLY. I need a certificate to be able to practice art therapy or run my own workshop, which means I still have at least the years of the Master ahead of me. But it is great anyway, because it will allow me to discover and learn more things about psychotherapy and mental health. This journey will help me to find the right place I want to work for, especially thanks to the 2 years internship the Master offers in NHS.

Critical evaluation of the experience Reflect on your learning in relation to your initial expectations of the experience and evaluate the relevance of this experience in relation to your own professional future.

The experience was very relevant for my professional future. It helped me to see what actually happens on the backstage of a workshop and how much thinking is involved and needed to be able to run everything smoothly. The final result is beautiful only if well curated. My initial expectations were very different, as long as I thought I would be involved more in the “content” part instead of the Marketing, but thanks to that I gained lots of social media skills and I improved my time managing skills. I also learned that mistakes are great and they are the only way to go out from our comfort zone and to achieve things we could never thought we were able to do. Therefore, overall, I can say that this experience it was not just great for the outcome but very inspiring and it made me become a better person. I also have to say that thanks to that, I have been able to find a paid assisting role for the Royal Mencap Society where, assisting a professional art therapist, I will work with people with learning disabilities giving them tutorial on how to make art with their camera and express their emotions. I will facilitate their emotional expression through the use of the camera and I will help them to overcome the technical difficulties.

[kay-okays]

on a wild hunt

on a wild hunt 2500k / T

i guess i’m posting fic here now? i don’t know. we’ll see how this goes 

title and lyrics included lifted from "all is well" by austin basham. story based on this and this. and the fact they should move, immediately, to a house big enough for them, their anime DVD collection, and their future army of shibes.

thank you to the lovely @oqua12 for the help.

~

Dan shivers. He’s still got his jumper on but he may as well be naked with how intimate it feels. He whines a little, presses his back into the muddy earth behind him as he arches.

“Being here makes me not want to go back to the city,” he says, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Hmm,” Phil makes an interested noise against the thin skin pulled tight around the plane of Dan’s jawbone. “Where should we go?”

~

woe is me, weary soul heeding grief your love in my heart feels like the ocean breeze said your love in my heart feels like the ocean breeze

--

“Man, it's nice here.”

Dan looks up from where he’s tugging a rogue zipper on his shoe and grins. Phil’s got his back to him, eyes set out over a sparkling blue ocean, his voice soft with awe. “Do you mean like ‘Man, expression of exclamation, it's nice here’ or ‘Mann, nickname for this island, it's nice here’?”

Phil turns away from the sea and looks over his shoulder at Dan. “Not everything has to be a pun.”

Dan’s grin falls as he straightens up quickly. He places a cold palm against Phil's forehead, concern evident in the furrow of his eyebrows. “Are you feeling alright?”

Phil swats a hand in his direction and Dan sways away. “Ha, ha,” Phil says flatly, Dan covering his chuckles with his jumper sleeve.

Mann really is beautiful, in a way that Dan seems to forget every time they spend too long away from here. He loves London in all its sprawling beauty, miles and miles of cement and glass and greenery like a multi-tiered cake fitfully frosted with people upon people upon people. In the winter, this time of year, London so often has a glaze of gray fog over it, trapping the dew drops down at the ground level and driving its inhabitants just a smidge more stir-crazy than normal. Luckily for Dan and Phil, they find their most recent bout with dreary city weather timed up with Phil’s birthday, which means one thing -- a way out.

Mann has its own share of fog, light and misty on this side where Phil’s parents now live. They’re set back from the coast a bit, no more than a fifteen-minute walk to the best sunset viewpoint on the island at a pleasant, after-dinner pace. Dan had worn his long coat with the drawstrings, didn’t even attempt to iron his hair after seeing the scattered cloud cover outside.

It’s still light out, and Dan’s snapping pictures from the top of the cliff they found themselves on. Phil sidles up next to him and turns around, phone poised at an angle above them. “Selfie.”

Dan turns his head and smiles in a thin line, Phil snapping the photo before poking him in the side and snapping another one, Dan’s eyes scrunched tight and mouth stretched in a laughing grin as he darts away. It’s blurry across the screen when Phil opens up his photos, but he can still make them both out, leaning in towards each other even as Dan tries to escape. They look natural and happy, cheeks tinged rosy with a mixture of the crisp ocean air and their short walk.  

“I like this one better,” Phil declares, holding up the second photo and showing Dan. He considers it over Phil’s shoulder.

“Me too, less of my face is clearly visible,” Dan quips, earning another elbow to the ribs.

They walk along the cliff in the quiet, hands in their coat pockets but elbows grazing, footsteps falling slowly in time as they always seem to do naturally when they walk side by side. It’s not bad weather but it’s an odd time of year, late January when not many tourists are out and there are only a few people jogging along the walking path. None of them pay attention as they trot past Dan and Phil, earbuds firmly in their ears and puffing out staccato breaths to their own private soundtracks.

The third jogger runs past them, and Dan speaks up. “Let’s go before we miss it,” he says, nodding toward the now-clearing horizon and inevitable sunset. He points at a winding staircase about a quarter-mile down the path; they can see it meets its end at a rocky beach at the bottom of a hill. “This way.”

Phil nods and digs his fist a little deeper into his pockets, leans further into Dan’s side.

-

Dan vows out loud to exercise more once they get back home, 2017 is his year, he’s actually going to follow through with a New Year’s resolution this time, he promises.

“This is… downhill,” he huffs out, palm kneading at a stitch in his side, “It’s not supposed to be… this hard.”

Phil’s no athlete but he says, in spite of himself, “You’re the one who wanted to run down the stairs, Dan.”

“I thought it’d be fun!” he tries to exclaim, but it comes out sounding like a sickly half-wheeze. He coughs. “Oh, this is just pathetic.”

Phil stands up from where he was leaning on the metal guard rails. “We’re almost there. Let’s keep going.”

Dan makes a face and whines, but he pushes a mop of damp, wavy hair out of his face and unzips his coat. Furred cap long-stuffed into a side pocket, he follows closely behind Phil the last remaining steps down a winding switchback.

It’s not much longer until the stairs dissipate into a small clearing, a desolate rocky beach situated at the bottom of the cliffs they were just on. The rocks are wide and flat, sun-bleached arms reaching far into the ocean until they disappear under cerulean water. The waves are calm this time of day, but Dan and Phil stay away from the water line, air too frigid to make it look appealing.

They step carefully on the wet rocks, round a corner at the base of the cliff and find themselves in a makeshift cove. The slabs of stone are smooth but slippery here, so Dan climbs up on one and turns towards Phil, extending out his hand. Phil takes it gratefully, and Dan doesn’t let it go when Phil joins him.

Dan angles his face towards the ocean and breathes in deep. He misses this in the city, sea-salty air and the sound of water beating against rocks, the quiet that comes after a wave crests, the odd sound it makes as it recedes back through the sand and returns to the ocean. The feel of Phil’s hand laced through his, fingers that slide together easily and click into place. The anonymity they have, pressed together under a nameless chunk of cliffs on this tiny island in the Irish Sea.

Phil’s stepped up onto another slab, a couple inches higher than Dan’s. He turns to look down at him, pushing his hands back into his coat pockets as the corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk. “Remember when I was taller than you?”

The sky is darker now, variants of cobalt and orange streaking above them, and they haven’t seen anyone around in at least twenty minutes. Dan leans in, fits his palms into the dips at Phil’s hipbones and pulls minutely. “Yes, I remember the first three months we dated,” he cheeks.

Phil makes another face and knees him in the thigh. Dan just pulls him closer, and Phil’s elbows bend to lean against his chest. He smiles secretively down at him and Dan can’t look away from sunny sky blue eyes, feels his own heartbeat in his fingertips and times his breathing with the tempo of the water.

“I’m glad you’re here with me this year,” Phil says, a single finger toying with the metal tab on Dan’s coat zipper. Last year they’d had a marathon Skype session like the old days as it rolled past midnight into Phil’s birthday, Dan in London for one of their projects, unable to make it up north until later. Phil’s quiet against the sound of the waves, almost as though he doesn’t want to alert them of their presence on the beach. “It’s better when you’re here.”

“Yeah?” Dan smiles, wide. He can’t keep it off his face.

“Yes,” Phil huffs out a laugh. He gets his arms free and lays them across Dan’s shoulders, anchors them together. “Always is.”

Dan’s bare hands find Phil’s waist and he tugs, their faces coming closer. He can feel Phil draw in a breath, see his eyes go to half-mast as his head tips, but Dan pulls back slightly at the last minute.

Phil’s face is confused for a split second before Dan leans in again, gently Eskimos his nose against Phil’s. “Your nose is all red.”

Phil reaches his a hand up to rub at it. “I’m cold!” He laughs, eyes going slitted with a familiar glittered grin. Dan feels all the air leave his lungs and he has to press up on his toes to reach for him, the first time he’s had to in years.

Phil makes a surprised noise when Dan touches their mouths together, and it gets lost between them in a muted sound. Dan kisses so unlike the way he usually talks -- instead of animated and hasty he’s calm and thorough. Purposeful when he parts his mouth and gently pushes, tilting his head to one side when Phil’s palm slides up and grips at the flat expanse of his neck. Dan tugs Phil off the rock to lean them against the bottom of the cliff’s wall, sun slowly dipping lower in the horizon.

They’re lazy here for a while; soft, exploratory kissing turns insistent and unyielding with each passing minute. Eventually Dan’s got Phil’s coat unzipped, hands shoved up and under his royal blue jumper and sliding across the soft skin at Phil’s back. He’s putty, literally and figuratively, Dan softly squeezing handfuls of flesh and drinking in the delicate, delicious whimpers he gets from Phil every time he trails his fingertips across a sensitive spot on his ribs. Phil’s hand comes down to grasp at the zipper on Dan’s coat, Dan making his own exclamation of surprise when Phil unexpectedly breaks their heated kiss to start pulling the metal tab down. He follows the seam as it separates open, dropping airy kisses down Dan’s chest.

Dan shivers. He’s still got his jumper on but he may as well be naked with how intimate it feels. He whines a little, presses his back into the muddy earth behind him as he arches.

“Being here makes me not want to go back to the city,” he says, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Hmm,” Phil makes an interested noise against the thin skin pulled tight around the plane of Dan’s jawbone. “Where should we go?”

Dan’s head falls to the side as Phil leans in, eyes sliding shut with Phil’s warm mouth pressing insistently into his neck. He can’t concentrate. He says the first thing that pops into his head. “A farm.”

“Charming little house in the middle of a corn field,” Phil contends after a beat.

“Your own menagerie of animals, you’d like that.” A shiver runs down Dan’s back when Phil pulls his collar aside, takes in mouthfuls of skin stretched across the sharp bones at the base of Dan’s neck.

“I'd kill to watch you chop wood shirtless,” Phil comments and Dan barks out a laugh.

“Mandatory physical activity required to survive?” Dan scoffs. “Too demanding.”

Phil leans back but Dan drags him closer by two handfuls of puffy coat lapels. He kisses him soundly, curves his hips forward when one of Phil’s hands creeps across his lower back.

“The mountains then, surely,” Phil mutters against Dan’s earlobe, finally getting a hand past the waistband on Dan’s jeans, fingernails making slight crescent moon marks in heated skin.

“Snow is lovely but not when we'd have to shovel ourselves out of it every winter,” Dan argues, sighing a bit when Phil fits a thigh between Dan’s. “But we could have a fireplace again…” He trails off.

“Fireplace?” Phil pulls away from his ministrations to glance up, considering. “Could this mountain scenario hypothetically involve you chopping wood shirtless again?” he questions, ducking away laughing when Dan pushes at his shoulder.

Without Phil in his arms he gets chilly again, so Dan zips his coat back up. Phil situates himself against the cliff wall, holds a hand out like a line that Dan takes.

Phils tugs Dan’s back to his front, caps his chin gently on Dan’s shoulder. The sun’s almost gone now, three or four curved orange lines above a navy horizon, slowly receding and wavering far in the distance. Dan feels Phil’s arms wind around his front, and he places his own hands over them. He listens to the waves for a long time before he can find the right words he wants to say.

“You know, we love it so much every time we come here,” he starts. He's oddly nervous. He can't place his finger on why. “What about Brighton? London is wonderful, but I feel like we're outgrowing our flat, not just size-wise but I've been feeling lately like I kind of want a change, a place we can actually call our own and by that I mean, like,” Dan's babbling now, he's fully aware but he can't stop the train once it's started, “Like, we can get a pet, or drill holes in the wall, or be loud without the neighbors calling the police on us, break a fucking kitchen tile without worrying about it, or paint an accent wall or something, I don't know...”

Phil, to his credit, never cuts him off mid-rant. When Dan comes to a natural end, dropping his head back against Phil’s shoulder, he finally speaks.

“You know, I think Brighton has some really nice beaches. As a matter of fact, I think they have some really nice houses near some of these really nice beaches.”

Dan lifts his head and turns to look at him, but Phil keeps his eyes trained on the dipping sun, his mouth trying to hide an impish smile.

“I think…” Phil starts again quietly, lips pressed soft against the short hair at Dan’s temple, “I think I can't wait to pick out matching beach chairs with you,” Phil trails to kiss against Dan’s cheek, chin, side of his neck, “and to find a dog to adopt and to decide what kind of wind chime we should have on the front porch. And of course, what color we should paint the accent wall in our lounge,” he lands at his shoulder and kisses there, once he's moved the puffy coat aside again. “Because we're definitely having an accent wall. It's what the first-time homebuyers always mention on House Hunters International.”

Dan nearly doubles over laughing, can't hold back from turning to throw his arms around Phil’s neck. He knocks Phil back a little with the force, pivoting them around in a lopsided half-circle, swaying slightly. He feels on the cusp of something important, a chapter heading later in life, bookmarked to read over again when looking for comfortable familiarity. Dan’s happy it happens here, on a sliver of sand that meets the edge of the ocean sequestered from the rest of the town, the country, the world.

“Oh --” Phil points towards the horizon behind Dan’s back, dusky pink and cornflower now, sun just below a wispy line of clouds. “We missed it.”

Dan glances with disinterest over his shoulder at the skyline before he pushes forward, walking Phil backwards to the cliff wall. Phil’s shoulders meet the earth and Dan slides his arms down, warm hands cradling a cold face.

“There’ll be more,” Dan murmurs, hushed words caught between kisses he presses to smiling lips, Phil’s quiet laughter the only thing Dan hears over the sound of crashing waves.

~

you can read it on ao3, read the rest of my work, or follow me on twitter, too

[juniorformulamotorsport]

Tuesday, 28th May 2019 – The Luggage Room, London; Hide, London

Having had a relatively quite few months to start 2019 it’s all kicking off now with theatres and restaurants and films and literature and food festivals to attend, and parties coming at us from all sides. In addition, there seem to be lots of foodie events all vying for our attention. This, a Hardens Invites event, was too good to resist, with dinner at the relatively new – and very swanky – Hide on offer. This was to celebrate the restaurant being 1 year old, and thus in addition to the usual crowd who had responded to the invitation by buying a couple of tickets, there were some of the regulars including the delightful couple we found ourselves seated next to, Dame Rosalyn Higgins (Rosalyn C. Higgins, Baroness Higgins, GBE, QC, former President of the International Court of Justice) and her husband, Terrence Higgins (Terence Langley Higgins, Baron Higgins, KBE, DL, PC, a former Conservative MP, Commonwealth Games silver medalist winner for and Olympian). I’m not one to be impressed by titles, and I’m not exactly a Conservative politically (quite the opposite in fact), but they were terrific company and utterly fascinating people.

Anyway, to return to the subject of dinner. The tickets were £150 each and included a drinks reception, and a five course tasting menu (six if you included the canapés) and matching wines (which they were very generous with). Given that a normal night would see you pay £115 for 7 courses, and that before you’d so much as touched a glass of wine, it seemed like a not unreasonable deal to me.

Lynne and I had arranged to meet up in advance across town in The Luggage Room, the very pleasant cocktail bar hidden away in a corner of the Marriott Hotel on Grosvenor Square, where we were served an interesting selection of drinks by what seemed to be some of London’s most charming bar staff. I arrived first and so whiled away the time reading, scrolling through my Twitter feed, and drinking The Bramble, made so the list tells me, to a recipe from 1984, invented by Dick Bradsell, and containing Fords gin, lime, and blackberry. I can only tolerate gin in cocktails, not on its own, and this was a fine if light concoction. It also contained a vast single ice cube, which is apparently a thing too!

By the time Lynne arrived I was ready for a second drink and so decided I would try the rather luridly named Midsummer’s Wet Dream, a mixture of Absolut Elyx vodka, Swedish Punsch, peach, lingonberry, malic acid and  bitters. It was a pale pink and tasted beautifully of the lingonberries, which was what I was hoping for!

Lynne chose a Penicillin (Chivas 12 year whisky, Laphroaig Quarter Cask whisky, ginger, honey, lemon) which was aptly named and slightly medicinal in taste – mind you, given it seems to mostly contain the ingredients you’d put in a hot toddy if you had a bad cold, this is nor especially surprising. The recipe comes from Sam Ross’s time at the now-defunct New York branch of Milk & Honey, more specifically in 2005.

For her second drink she went for a rather more conventional Snow White (Green Spot whiskey, Perrier-Jouët Grand Brut Champagne, apple) on the reasoning that she would be best staying with whisky and not changing spirits mid-session. She was probably right!

I settled for a glass of Perrier-Jouët Grand Brut NV, to keep it simple.

Once we were ready to head to the restaurant, the concierge very efficiently found us a taxi and we were soon inside the building which I must have passed numerous times while running, but which I’ve never noticed before, so discreet it is. We were invited in and shown up the fabulous staircase, which feels very organic, very hobitty almost. I didn’t get a photo – there were too many people moving around – so I nabbed this one from their website instead.

We were greeted at the top of the stairs by waiting staff with trays of Gusbourne Blanc de Blancs 2014, from Kent, a very popular wine at these sort of events, and apparently served at the 2012 London Olympics opening party and at Buckingham Palace for visiting heads of state. It’s around £12-16 a glass on many wine lists, and seems to be hard to find outside restaurant wine lists and Liz II’s gaff, or at £59 a bottle from the makers! It’s also very good, biscuity in the same way the best Champagnes are, with a massive citrus hit and a hint of apple. With it we were served canapés, most specifically an excellent tempura softshell crab with a marigold and green peppercorn dressing. We made our way to our table in one of the private dining rooms at the back of the room to eat these because napkins or no they were not something you could attempt standing up with a glass in your other hand!

Of the warm Spenwood cheese gougères, I can say nothing, because we never did see any. I think this was a bit of a shame, and suggested that the staff are not especially au fait with trying to serve a roomful of people who will keep milling around, rather than having a captive audience seated at the tables. They were sweetly apologetic about it, but we never did get the gougères!

We stayed with the Blanc de Blancs for the first “course”, the staff enthusiastically topping up our glasses, something that doesn’t always happen in the grander and more expensive restaurants.

Baskets of fresh bread arrived (bread and broth), along with some whipped butter, and everyone tucked in happily, first tackling the refreshing strawberry gazpacho as per the instructions of our waiter.

We were also served “vegetables” which included lightly pickled radish, beetroot and yellow courgettes, fresh peas and some lettuce to dip into a camomile dressing. They recommended we get as messy as we wanted!

Finally we had “flesh & bone” with home-cured meats wrapped around a licorice root (saddleback pork with oregano & fennel seed) or a goose feather (goose with sage & fenugreek). It was a substantial start, as well as very good. The pescetarian next to me was losing out though, as he wasn’t given any sort of substitute for the flesh and bone.

Our next course was a delicately cooked portion of alliums, served in a chilled pine infusion that looked good when it first hit the table.

It looked even better when the infusion was added. The flavours were mild and sweet and the petals of the onions still had a good crunch to them. A further upside was that it was a small dish after the starters, and the bread I had left mopped up the sauce perfectly. With it we drank a 2015 Trimbach Riesling Cuvée M Grand Cru, a gorgeous example of an Alsace Riesling, with that rich fruitiness you often get, but in a fresher, lighter style than some. It can be bought at £39.80 a bottle, which strikes me as not unreasonable, given the quality of the wine.

The next course saw a return (in a small way) to the yellow courgettes, this time thinly sliced and covered with a perfectly-executed piece of steamed turbot, served sitting on a pool of crushed nasturtium broth. There were a couple of peppery nasturtium leaves to add a punch to the dish, and a nasturtium flower or two as well and it was nicely balanced without in any way scaring the horses. It was intelligent, classical use of ingredients, and my only regret was that there wasn’t a bigger piece of fish. You don’t mess with turbot, and they hadn’t, keeping it simple and letting it speak for itself.

Wine-wise we were now in Spain, with a lighter Encina del Ingles Blanco La Melonera 2016, which felt a little thin after the Riesling. It was pleasant enough but I wasn’t that excited about it compared to the previous wine.

The next dish up was the last of the savoury courses, a pinkly barbequed piece of roast Herdwick lamb, with charred runner beans and a savoury pine nut praline. The meat was too pink for our companions, but Lynne and I both loved it. The runner beans, not so much, but then I’m not a fan of things that are charred in the main (or as I call them, burnt). The nut praline was a stroke of genius though, delicious, savoury, with a softness that coated the lamb perfectly. As for the lamb, as I say, we both loved it. It was just the right shade of pink, still tender but not bloody.

The wine with it was a Portuguese wine, and as such a relatively light wine in colour terms, though it packed quite a hefty wallop of flavour. It was a Quinta do Crasti Vinhas Velhas 2015, Douro, Portugal and I would be more than happy to drink it regularly. We’re off to Porto in a month’s time and I may have to try and buy from them while we’re there, especially as a day trip to the vineyard looks like a possibility.

And so to dessert, which ironically was the heaviest dish of the meal. It was a mousse of avocado, pistachio and white chocolate, and it was very dense and sticky, with an almost bread-like texture in places. I liked it very much, though I struggled to finish it.

The final wine was a triumph, a Tokaj Classic Late Harvest 2009, Tokaji, Hungary, which was described elsewhere as “botrytis agogo”, for a wine that is made in the same style as a Sauternes, rather than in the way Tokaji wines are usually made. With an extended aging process as well, the result was superb!

That just left coffee, tea and petit fours! We both declined the caffeinated drinks (I don’t touch coffee after lunch, not if I want to sleep anyway) but the petit fours were mighty fine, with marshmallows on sticks, and tiny Portuguese custard tarts. They were very cute, and delicious, with great pastry. They were also the final straw, as it were, and neither of us could have eaten another thing.

We legged it to the station, struggling to stay away during the journey and made it home around 1 in the morning, full of food and having had a great evening.

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Food 2019 – The Luggage Room, London; Hide, London Tuesday, 28th May 2019 - The Luggage Room, London; Hide, London Having had a relatively quite few months to start 2019 it's all kicking off now with theatres and restaurants and films and literature and food festivals to attend, and parties coming at us from all sides.

[gyrlversion]

Reporter goes undercover with eco-activists

Cigarette break: XR training volunteer Clare Farrell

I’m sitting in a cavernous community hall in East London with a group of eco-activists huddled in thick jackets against the cold.

We’re being drilled for our arrest – like soldiers being trained for capture and interrogation by the enemy.

Our tutor is a sixtysomething woman with fuzzy white hair who knows all about civil disobedience and its legal consequences.

She explains passionately that we must not speak to the police, other than to give our name and date of birth.

We must not get drunk before the ‘action’ in just a few days’ time.

And we should consider wearing adult nappies – in case we’re locked up for hours in a police van with no access to a lavatory. Or if we decide to chain ourselves to railings, barriers or whatever else to cause maximum disruption.

Welcome to Extinction Rebellion (XR), the revolutionary protest group hell-bent on eliminating fossil fuels from Britain.

To achieve this, they are planning an onslaught of civil disobedience on a scale rarely seen in this country. And I’m here undercover as a new recruit, or ‘rebel’ as they call it.

My induction took place late last month in an anonymous office block near Euston station. I’m told XR was given the space for free by a well-placed sympathiser.

A lift takes me to the fourth floor – an open-plan space with a smattering of desks and some 40 new recruits, an even mix of male and female, all casually dressed.

A handmade poster by the lifts is daubed ‘Eco not Ego’. A large sign warns us to avoid ‘suppression juice’ – that’s alcohol – so we can ‘rebel with a clear body and mind’. Brightly coloured banners hang from the ceiling – ‘No Brexit in a dead planet’, says one – while a giant papier-mâché skeleton of some big beast lies, under construction, in the corner.

This introductory meeting is led by a bearded XR activist called Greg, who lives in a squat in West London with other members of the group. His first move is to lead us in an awkward ‘ice breaker’. Sitting in rows on school chairs, we’re instructed to stick both arms in the air and waggle from side to side, chanting ‘woo-hoo’.

Preparing for action: A photo of an XR meeting taken by our undercover reporter. There is no suggestion those pictured are all intending to break the law

Then comes a minute’s silence for ‘the dying planet’. Struggling not to laugh, I bowed my head with the others, eyes down.

‘Devote some of your brain to imagining the kind of world you want to create,’ says Greg. ‘To get through this struggle together, we need to hold tight to our dream.’

We’re asked to think of one word to describe the world we want – and shouts of ‘harmony’, ‘sharing’ and ‘green’ come from around the room. ‘Courageous’, mutters a boy in a long beige trench coat sitting next to me.

Questions follow. The volunteers are keen, but concerned.

A charity worker with short blonde hair says she is worried about XR’s policy of deliberately getting arrested.

Not that she’s against breaking the law – just that it might deter volunteers who cannot take the risk of getting into trouble.

Eating her dinner from a Tupperware box, another young woman raises concerns about XR’s links to Labour’s hard-Left Momentum faction. George agrees XR and Momentum have a good relationship.

‘Training session’: XR potential recruits Greg, left, and George

Then we are told to get in a long line, arranged in order of willingness to get arrested. It is time to hone our tactics and strategy for the forthcoming ‘rebellion week’ – which starts tomorrow.

‘Move around the room according to what you feel,’ says Naomi, one of the lead activists.

‘The question is this: how arrestable are you in XR?’

A handful immediately place themselves at one end of the room, the extreme that signifies: ‘Yes, I really wish to be arrested right now.’ A few walk to the opposite side, meaning: ‘Absolutely not.’

Middle-class zealots who’ll make Monday a misery for millions 

The most prominent – and radical – of the XR leaders is failed organic farmer and PhD student Roger Hallam

Failed farmer wants a world revolution 

The most prominent – and radical – of the XR leaders is failed organic farmer and PhD student Roger Hallam.

After years in a succession of Left-wing groups, the 52-year-old says the ‘name of the game’ for XR is to ‘bring down all the regimes in the world and replace them’. Hallam (above) says paralysing traffic will eventually cause food shortages and trigger uprisings.

In a recent interview, he said XR protesters should be ready to cause disruption through personal ‘sacrifice’. If necessary, they ‘should be willing to die’.

XR co-founder Stuart Basden, 36, a middle-class writer from Bristol

Co-founder says jail’s like boarding school 

XR co-founder Stuart Basden, 36, a middle-class writer from Bristol (above), has goals that go way beyond a desire to curb global warming.

Indeed, he has claimed: ‘XR isn’t about the climate. You see, the climate’s breakdown is a symptom of a toxic system that has infected the ways we relate to each other as humans and to all life.’

Basden has urged XR followers to embrace going to prison – where he spent a week after defacing London’s City Hall with spray paint last year – saying it is ‘a bit like boarding school’

Tasmin Osmond, 35, is a veteran of ‘direct actions’

Veteran campaigner from baronet family 

Tasmin Osmond, 35, is a veteran of ‘direct actions’ which had little to do with climate change, such as Occupy London, the poverty protest which set up a camp outside St Paul’s cathedral in 2011.

The granddaughter of Dorset baronet Sir Thomas Lees, Omond (above) went to Westminster School and Trinity College, Cambridge, where she read English.

She was thrown out of anti-aviation group Plane Stupid after saying the green movement ‘brand’ was ‘unwashed, unshaven and up a tree’, and this ‘doesn’t represent me’.

George Barda, 43, believes the ‘Criminal UK Government’ is to blame for climate change

Student who’s on Putin’s TV channel 

George Barda, 43, believes the ‘Criminal UK Government’ is to blame for climate change.

A post-graduate student at prestigious King’s College in London, the son of classical music and stage photographer Clive Barda still finds time to be a dedicated revolutionary and camped outside St Paul’s cathedral in the Occupy London campaign.

Today, Barda (above) is a director of XR parent company Compassionate Revolution and regularly appears on Russia Today, Russia’s controversial British TV channel.

I’m with the majority shuffling around in the middle amid embarrassed laughter. This position says: ‘Maybe, let’s think about it.’

They ask us how far we’ll go. Will we commit a litany of protest crimes – smashing windows, defacing buildings? Will we glue ourselves to doors or block roads using ‘swarming’ – sitting down for a few minutes at a time to stop traffic?

‘I’m comfortable with spray paint that permanently damages but not breaking windows,’ states a woman in her 30s from a refugee charity.

‘I’m somewhere between the permanent spray paint and the chalk spray paint,’ says a man studying for a PhD in environmental activism. ‘They can’t charge you with criminal damage if you use chalk paint.’

After an hour or so, we’re all split up into what they call ‘affinity’ groups based on how radical they judge us to be. They don’t seem to think I’m very revolutionary.

Roles are assigned for the forthcoming ‘action’. Our group has a ‘wellbeing co-ordinator’, a ‘legal observer’ and a ‘media organiser’.

How far would we go for the movement? A Scottish actress in her 20s tells us she’s planning to recruit her mother. ‘I think I’d be OK with being arrested,’ she adds. ‘It’s just that I’m so in and out of the country, I work between here and Paris. I don’t know if I would be able to make my court date, so I don’t know if it would work out.’

Another young woman, a university student, says she’ll bring her harp along to keep us entertained during ‘rebellion week’. Before the meeting breaks up, the organisers call for mature women willing to be trained as ‘de-escalators’.

These are the people asked to calm down frustrated members of the public, particularly drivers, trapped in the traffic jams we’re going to cause.

Then the evening comes to a conclusion with repeated chants of ‘Extinction… Rebellion’ from the hardened activists, who then treat us to an impromptu and utterly excruciating dance.

A beat box starts blaring, one long-haired man sways expansively, arms waving out of time, the others jig about. I leave, armed with XR stickers and posters to plaster on the streets.

The group gives me constant updates through the WhatsApp messaging system, and a few days later I’m back in the office block for another training session. This time, it’s altogether more alarming.

An activist in her 20s called Jess lays out XR’s terrifying vision of the future: ‘We want to build a structure, a community and test prototypes for the coming structural collapse of the regimes of Western democracies. And we see this as inevitable – this has to happen.’

Now, we’re drawn further into the plans for illegal protest, and made to take part in role-play scenarios of activists clashing with the police.

The golden rule is to stay silent when confronted by police – unless we quote from a self-righteous prepared statement outlining our supposed right to break the law as a ‘conscientious protector’ of Planet Earth.

And we must never, ever identify any of the XR organisers in case they are charged with inciting illegal activities.

Activists who plan to ‘lock on’ by super-gluing themselves to public property are warned to expect a long wait, as few police officers are trained to dissolve the glue.

The hope is to cause the maximum amount of chaos. They might even have activists locked on at five separate protest points in London. If we are seized by the police, we must make our bodies go floppy, to tie up more officers as they attempt to carry us away.

I endure a further marathon training session at a climbing centre in North London.

We’re being addressed by the white-haired lady, who I now know is press officer Jayne Forbes. Stating her own readiness for martyrdom and jail, she tells us that: ‘I’m an older person with no responsibilities.

‘I’m prepared to go to prison and I think we are privileged in this country to have prisons that are relatively acceptable.

‘If I was living in Brazil or something, I could get killed as an activist. Our prisons are not bad compared to many in the world.’

She tells us never to agree to a caution because that would be ‘an admission of guilt’.

We must never accept the help of a duty solicitor because they would be ‘pally with the police’. I’m learning a great deal.

We’re advised only to bring an old-fashioned ‘burner’ mobile phone to the protest in case the police want to seize the device as evidence.

I’m told a paperback will help me while away the long hours in a police cell – and that I can ask for up to three blankets from the custody officers.

I now have a list of ‘friendly’ solicitors on a small sheet of paper reminding me of my legal rights. Can we get vegan food in prison? XR thinks the answer is ‘yes’.

By the time I say my goodbyes, I’m truly worried. If this week goes according to plan for Extinction Rebellion, I know that many of its members will be only too delighted to learn first-hand about the inside of our police cells and our prisons – believing they have come one step closer to making their dangerous plan a reality.

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