#Letting Agent West Kensington

[relcollins]

"The Night of the Declaration" part 4

(4) “Now, gentlemen, let me do my best to explain why you’re here.” Mr Fortescue Weston looked at his guests with a benign expression. “It was extremely generous of President Grant to send you both, and I confess I had no expectation of an actual Secret Service agent, let alone his two most renowned ones.” Jim and Artie nodded at the description, no false modesty refutations uttered.

“You see, “Weston began, “ah, here’s the afternoon tea. Do please help yourselves. Cook is an excellent pastry chef, as I’m sure you’ll find out.” A tea trolley was wheeled in and parked conveniently alongside the two agents, the young housemaid retreating as quietly as she’d come in. Artie and Jim cast approving gazes over the offerings, and decided that Cook’s wares certainly gave the appearance of  her knowing her way around a rolling pin and oven. They saw big, fluffy-looking scones, pots of jam, pots of clotted cream, enormous cream-covered sponge cakes, plates of brownies and fingers of various slices piled onto fine china platters, enough to satisfy the hungriest of appetites. An urn of boiling water sat beside cups and saucers, a large teapot wearing a thick woollen cosy nestled beside it, a filled sugar bowl and a jug of chilled milk rounding out the repast.

“Do please help yourselves, gentlemen. Cook likes to know that no-one goes hungry at Kensington Manor. Indeed, it is thanks to her that we have such a fine reputation for the culinary arts, and seldom is an invitation turned down, and when it is it’s with much reluctance.” Mr Weston’s expression turned to one of quiet pride.

“Now, as I was saying, the President was most generous to send his two most trusted operatives along to help out an old friend, although I’m sure it’s too trifling to be bothering you with. I must apologise in advance.”

“On the contrary,” Artie replied, “if the President felt it worthy of our journey here, then there must be some substance to your concerns. Also, never have I sat down to an English afternoon tea quite as sumptuous as this one. Your Cook is a marvel. It won’t be a wasted journey I’m sure.”

“Devonshire tea, in fact, Mr Gordon, and it has quite a lengthy history. Do try the sponge cake as well, won’t you.”

Artie stepped over to the trolley and began pouring cups of tea, gesturing to his host his intention to make him one as well, but Mr Weston waved him down. Artie then poured a cup of tea, added milk and sugar in measured quantities, handing the cup and saucer to Jim, who accepted it with practised grace. Artie then poured one for himself, noting with pleasure that the tea was hot and strong, and added milk and sugar in more generous quantities than he’d given Jim. He then dished up a slice of sponge cake for Jim, handed that over, served himself one next, and resumed his seat. They rested their crockery, in between bites, on convenient side tables, turned their faces to Mr Weston, and gazed intently at him with expectant faces.

“Do please tell us what you think is so trifling, and let us be the judge, Mr Weston. We might be better placed to assess the situation, being somewhat removed from it, as it were,” Jim’s voice had a reassuring deep timbre, and it had the desired effect here once again, as Mr Weston sat up a bit straighter, squared his shoulders, and cleared his throat.

“Well, Mr West,” he began, “about two years ago a man by the name of Jeremiah Jasper came to this town, and like so many before him he liked what he saw. Prosperous businesses, contented residents, municipal buildings, and organisations for the betterment of the people, all the things I believe a decent town should have, and my father and grandfather before me felt it should have, and we have spent our lives providing those very things, and watching with great satisfaction as this town has taken root and grown into a healthy, happy little metropolis. You saw for yourselves, gentlemen, how attractive the township is, and that’s not just window dressing; Westonia is, I don’t want to say Utopia, but it is a small slice of tranquillity and prosperity, and we all love it here.”

“I take it then that this Mr Jeremiah Jasper is somehow connected to your, er, shall we say, disquiet…?” Jim ventured, an expression on his face that indicated his focus on the matter, while simultaneously  dexterously managing to eat a whole slice of cream sponge cake, making the most economical movements with his little cake fork. He was the most tidy eater when he wanted to be, unlike Artie who was known to be a hearty consumer of sweet treats and was less economical with cake forks. Fortunately no errant crumbs were scattered nor did any misdirected cream wind up on his face. Both men were being the essence of well-trained guests.

“Yes, Mr West, that is quite so.”

“What, then,” Artie said, between mouthfuls, “is the cause of the disquiet?”

Mr Fortescue Weston looked directly at Artie and then at Jim, his voice one of quiet conviction, even though he retained his earlier benign expression. “I believe Mr Jeremiah Jasper is trying to kill me.”

[cowandco]

East Sheen, also known as Sheen, is a suburb in south-west London, in the London Borough of Richmond upon Thames. The main high street is the Upper Richmond Road, which offers many small boutique clothing shops and delicatessens. Our letting agents love East Sheen for its parks and open spaces.

[cha-melodius]

Fic vibes tag thanks to @heytheredeann​. 

Above the break are works and series currently in progress, as well as recently published standalones. Feel free to drop into my ask box if you have and questions or comments about them or any of my other fics! Full fic list under the break. Main links are to AO3. 

Kiss Ficlets on Tumblr (Firstprince, Napollya, Lokius)

RWRB, Alex/Henry

Flowers Only Grow Where There Are Seeds (white house gardener AU)

Tonight, You’re Gold (Olympics AU)

Our Get Along Oodie (grad students AU)

Body and Soul(mate) (bodyswap soulmate spy AU) cover art on tumblr

The Impossible Soul (westworld/android AU)

TMFU, Napoleon/Illya

Playing Cat and Mouse with the Light (non-linear partners-to-lovers-to-exes-to-lovers)

The Harrowed and the Haunted (paranormal investigator AU)

Black Moon (For All Mankind/space AU)

Just a Shot Away from You (5+1 ordered to kill each other)

Loki Series, Loki/Mobius

Ain't No Place for a Better Man (old west AU)

Enemies of the Ocean (stranded on a lifeboat AU)

Cold Light (Norway AU)

True Hollywood Romance (fake-dating actor AU)

Other Fandoms

No Ordinary Friend (The Pairing, Blond Calum/Ginger Calum, missing scenes from the novel)

RWRB, Alex/Henry

The Hazards of Unsolicited Toy Advice (pet store meet cute AU)

So Close to Something Better Left Unknown (spy AU, fuck or die) cover art on tumblr

False Dichotomy (You’ve Got Mail AU) cover art on tumblr

Trying My Patience (Try Pink Carnations) (florist/cake artist wedding AU)

You're the Perfect Gift for Me (Alex is a Hallmark movie ‘bad guy’ AU)

This Hell of a Season (Nova-verse spies Christmas 3+1) cover art on tumblr

Taste the Way You Bleed (WWDITS AU)

In the Dog Days (supernatural/magic AU)

Falling Down the Stairs of Your Smile (canon-divergent Kensington hookup AU)

Something To Be Proud Of (Edinburgh Pride AU)

Lessons in Foreign Diplomacy (1785 ambassadors AU)

Will You Brie Mine? (cheesemonger AU)

Step Into My Office, Baby (office AU)

Getting Clinical (STI clinic meet-cute AU)

Theory and Practice (rival grad students AU)

That's My Trouble (detective/ME AU)

Please Don’t Let Me Be So Understood (accidental couples therapy AU) cover art on tumblr

Always Where I Need To Be (roommates AU + David cuteness)

The Sky is Open (1970s Pan Am pilots AU)

All the Old Showstoppers (canon-divergent Celebrity Bake Off AU) cover art on tumblr

Nova, Baby (CIA/MI6 AU) cover art on tumblr

All for a Taste of the Honey (FBI agent AU feat. stripper!Henry)

May Your New Years Dreams Come True (office NYE party AU)

The Spirit of Giving (neighbors holiday party AU)

Class(room) Warfare (professors AU)

Sun in the Sky (You Know How I Feel) (post bonus-chapter canon)

(Forever) In My Way (5+1 of Henry getting in Alex’s way, AU)

Tiny Little Movies (drabble collection)

TMFU, Napoleon/Illya

Canon-Setting

All Comes Crashing (last night to live, confessions)

Love is a Deserter (canon-set exes getting back together)

A Home for the Holidays (decorating a Christmas tree)

The Life You Had in Mind (Glass Onion crossover)

Eyes on the Horizon (early relationship, sequel to “I Trust No One”)

A Kiss Away From Being Dangerous (4+1, warnings about being dangerous)

Loving You is Cherry Pie (5+1 Napoleon wearing aprons)

That's What Other People Do (outside observer, together but they just don’t realize it yet)

Double Dutch with a Hand Grenade (Illya wears short shorts, Napoleon loses his mind) illustration on tumblr

Cold Hands, Warm Heart (Illya comforts Napoleon)

I Trust No One (And Especially You) (Istanbul mission, the bath house)

Half Asleep (All Your Dreams Come Alive) (clothes/bed sharing + comfort after a nightmare)

Hard to be Soft, Tough to be Tender (Illya takes a bullet for Napoleon)

Another Sunny Day (ficlet; the boys have a picnic)

Good To Me (Illya does nice things for Napoleon, misunderstandings ensue)

Follow You Into The Dark (whumptober, presumed dead)

Where Doesn't It Hurt? (tropetember H/C, cleaning wounds)

All Your Little Words (5+1 Napoleon telling Illya “I love you”)

The Lost Art of Keeping A Secret (undercover as a couple)

Another First Kiss (6+1 stolen kisses)

Enough of a Natural Disaster for Me (apologies + kissing in the rain)

Impostors (sleeping with lookalikes, series)

What You Meant (5+1 Illya telling Napoleon he’s a terrible spy)

The Definition of Madness (time loop mission fic for whumptober)

And I Was The Boy Who Was Lucky (KY derby mission fic) cover art on tumblr

Light Will Keep Your Heart Beating in the Future (nonlinear sleep deprivation)

Love is a Chemical (Illya gets dosed with a love potion)

AUs

How’s About Cookin’ Something Up With Me? (teacher AU, baking)

Another Christmas Song (This Time I’ll Sing Along) (neighbors AU)

Consider the Price to an Elf (santaland AU)

A Hard Habit To Break (canon-verse AU, secret relationship)

White Knuckles (Olympic figure skating AU) cover art on tumblr

The Makings of a Perfect Christmastime (Christmas in Connecticut AU) cover art on tumblr

Love is a Losing Game (60s chess AU; series) cover art on tumblr

The Best Thing About NYC is You and Me (modern roommates art student/fashion designer AU; series) part 1 cover art on tumblr, part 2 cover art on tumblr

Love Is A Great Teacher (professors AU; series) cover art on tumblr

Loki Series, Loki/Mobius

Don We Now Our Gay Apparel (ugly holiday sweater office AU)

Got My Love to Keep Me Warm (stranded at a Christkindlmarkt)

It's Been a Bad Day Lately (post s01 time loop)

The Truth is Just a Rule That You Can Bend (canon-divergent AU, secret relationship, fallout of Roxxcart divorce)

The Hardest Cut (bodyguard AU)

My Name Stitched On Your Lips (exes getting back together AU)

You, or Your Memory (troptember amnesia, fix-it)

Once in a Lifetime (Bookshop/GO AU) cover art on tumblr

What Makes A Good Man (Art Thief/CIA Agent AU; series) part 1 cover art on tumblr, part 3 cover art on tumblr

Mandalorian, Cara/Din

You Left Me Under Your Spell (15 independent one shots or short multichaps)

Hanging On For Dear Life (8 stories inspired by songs from the album Dear Life by Brendan Benson)

Do You Want to Know a Secret? (epic story of Din, Cara, and the kid following season 1)

Crossovers

Maybe, This Time (Mandalorian/BSG, Cara/Din, Lee/Kara) cover art on tumblr

Familiar, But Not Too Familiar (Mandalorian/Witcher, Cara/Din, Geralt/Jaskier)

[anotheruserwithnoname]

60 years of The Avengers

Sixty years ago today (Jan. 7, 1961), a gritty crime drama series called The Avengers debuted on the commercial ITV stations in the UK. Devised by future Doctor Who co-creator Sydney Newman, the series starred Ian Hendry as Dr. David Keel, who, after avenging the murder of his wife by drug dealers, finds himself the reluctant partner of a mysterious government agent named John Steed, played by Patrick Macnee.

Doesn’t sound like The Avengers we know - that came later! During the first season (all but a handful of episodes of which are lost), Keel was the lead character and Steed didn’t even appear in a couple of episodes! The stories generally dealt with fighting crime. When a strike forced the season to end ahead of schedule, Hendry left to pursue film roles, Macnee was promoted to lead, and he was assigned a rotating series of partners. one of whom was Dr. Cathy Gale, played by established UK film star Honor Blackman. Soon, Steed’s other partners (Venus Smith and Dr. Martin King) were pushed aside and, with the addition of more fantastical plots and spy action (i.e. “The White Dwarf” which involved the earth allegedly being set for destruction by a killer rock from outer space), the show took off like a shot. (Patrick and Honor even recorded a hit single, “Kinky Boots”, during this time!) Cathy Gale was considered a trailblazer for the depiction of female action heroes on screen, influencing (among other characters) Space Agent Sara Kingdom (a short-term companion of the First Doctor in Doctor Who), the on-screen depiction of female sleuth Honey West in the US series of the same title, and likely also had an impact on Modesty Blaise, Peter O’Donnell’s iconic comic strip superspy.

Internationally, it wasn’t until 1965 that The Avengers became a thing, with its move from videotaped to filmed production and resulting higher production values and, more importantly, with Blackman having returned to films (specifically an obscure movie called Goldfinger, playing a character who was in many respects Cathy Gale with the serial number filed off), and after a false start with a miscast actress being let go after completing an episode, Diana Rigg joined as Mrs. Emma Peel. Her electric chemistry with Macnee and even more ramping up of the fantasy elements (such as the recurring robotic villains The Cybernauts), plus the show later moving to colour production, made it a 1960s icon.

Of course all good things had to come to an end. Rigg left the show to pursue her film career and Canadian actress Linda Thorson joined as Tara King, the first of Steed’s partners allowed to openly romance him (Cathy and Emma’s relationship with him was more implied and off-screen - not too dissimilar to the Twelfth Doctor and Clara Oswald romance in Doctor Who). Unfortunately, poor scheduling of the show in the United States led the show to be cancelled in 1969.

About 7 years later, however, The New Avengers saw Macnee return as Steed alongside two new partners - Joanna Lumley as Purdey and Gareth Hunt as Mike Gambit (with Diana Rigg making a cameo in one episode as Emma via archival footage). The show managed to recapture some of the spirit of the original, updated to the 1970s, but only managed to survive two seasons. After that, there was a radio series, attempts at an Americanized TV series revival, and the spectacularly unsuccessful late-1990s film starring Ralph Fiennes as Steed and Uma Thurman as Emma (who unfortunately had the bad timing of playing Mrs. Peel after Elizabeth Hurley basically nailed the character with Austin Powers’ Vanessa Kensington). Since then, The Avengers have been confined to comic books - though usually as “Steed and Mrs. Peel” since the title is taken by some superhero team that’s been around for a few years.

The Avengers was a groundbreaking show in many ways - but above all, it was fun to watch and the plotlines were always second fiddle to the characters. The byplay between Steed and his partners - especially Cathy and Emma - made it a joy. It’s sad that we lost both Honor and Diana in the year leading up to this milestone. But it’s still one very much celebrating.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 10: Premonitions]

Several weeks and depressive episodes later...I’m BACK! 😃

And guess what: we’re officially approximately halfway done with BYCNL! (There will probably be nineteen chapters total.)  

The Queen/BoRhap fandom is feeling extra quiet lately, so if you’re still out there I’d LOVE it if you dropped me a comment/message/etc to let me know! I appreciate you all so much and hope you are finding things that bring you happiness, fulfillment, and peace. 💜

Chapter summary: Roger makes a purchase, Freddie makes a friend, Y/N makes an unsettling discovery, John makes a bewildering request.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, babies (but not your babies...or are they?!).

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @killer-queen-xo​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @bookandband​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​ @simonedk​ @herewegoagainniall​ @stardust-killer-queen​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! 😊

“Roger, this is too much.” Your sandals click on the marble tile floor, a sandy gold like the beaches of Ostia. You peer up at the winding staircase, the Tudor-style diamond windows, the chandelier dripping with crystals. “This is way, way, way too much.”

“There’s no such thing as too much,” he parries merrily. “And look!” He pulls back an armful of sheer white curtains that had obscured the backyard. “The pool has a slide!”

You smile because you have to; he’s so elated, so young. “Roger, baby, unless you’re planning to acquire a literal harem of women we will never have a use for six bedrooms.”

“Sure we will!” He counts on his rugged fingers. “There’s one for us, and one can be the guest bedroom for when my mother or your parents visit, and then there’s one for if Chrissie ever wises up and leaves that wanker Brian and requires a place to stay between husbands, and one for when John needs an escape from that mind-numbing domestic purgatory of his, and one for Freddie’s overflow cats...” Roger trails off. He’s lost track.  

“That still leaves one unnecessary bedroom.”

He grins. “One for Roger Junior.”

“Oh my god.”

“It’s a wonderful home for children,” the real estate agent chimes, flitting around rearranging pillows and dusting off tabletops. “Plenty of space to spread out in, lots of bedrooms, fenced-in yard, security gate, spectacular school district...and such a lovely garden to explore! Does your wife garden?” she asks Roger.

“Girlfriend,” he corrects. “And no, she’s thoroughly useless in the agricultural department.”

You laugh and shove him away. “I have other talents.”

“You certainly do.” He growls as he grips your waist, inhales you, bites playfully down your neck and collarbones. The real estate agent raises her eyebrows, but politely averts her gaze and pretends to check if an artificial fern needs watering.

It’s the downturn of August, 1976. The sun is glaring and hot and spills in through the windows, setting the metallic flecks in the marble floor alight. It makes you think of the Yellow Brick Road, of fantasies built piece by piece into truth. John and Veronica bought a house in Putney, Brian and Chrissie a far larger one in Chelsea, Freddie and Mary a posh flat in West Kensington. Roger has his heart set on nothing less than a Surrey mansion. On the rare occasion that Queen has been home since the start of the A Night At The Opera Tour, you and Roger stay in his shabby—dodgy, you remind yourself—old apartment and pack boxes late into the evening, giggling over all the random and ancient relics you stumble across, sticks of Freddie’s eyeliner and dust bunnies tangled in strands of Brian’s spiraled hair, crumpled up spheres of paper with excerpts of songs scrawled on them, fossilized crusts of grilled cheese sandwiches beneath the couch. Queen is preparing for a brief UK tour at the start of September, including a free concert in Hyde Park organized by entrepreneur Richard Branson. Then it’ll be back to the studio to record their next album, a highly anticipated album, an album that will make millions regardless of what’s on it; and what’s on it, in your humble and musically unlearned opinion, is pretty goddamn great.

“Seriously,” Roger prompts, quietly now. “Do you like it?”

“Of course I like it. I love it. I just don’t need it.”

He grins. “I know you don’t need it. But I do.”

“That list of yours is getting awfully long.”

“You have no idea. We haven’t even started on the exotic pet collection yet.”

“There’s a marvelous koi pond out in the backyard,” the real estate agent says. “You could add turtles, and frogs, and all different types of fish. I can recommend sturgeon, they have such an alluring primeval sort of look to them, and the shimmer on shubunkins is just delightful...”

“You heard the lady.” Rog stretches his right hand like he does when his arm bothers him, when the bone that will never fully heal aches like something ancient and irredeemable, like hunger, like unrequited love: fingertips sprayed outwards, then folded into his palm, then outwards again.

“Rog...I don’t know.”

“Come on, baby! It has everything. Roman-style master bath. Bedrooms with mirrors on the ceiling. Space for my own studio. Land. Enormous refrigerators. You’ll have abundant room for John’s drawings.”

“Ohhh, now that’s true.” John is always adding to your collection, slipping you sketches as the boys scurry around getting ready before a show, during songwriting sessions that last long after midnight, when the band and its expanding circle of friends and family gather for birthdays and holidays. You don’t ask him about You’re My Best Friend, or, come to think of it, any of his other songs. You don’t ask him how he feels about his new life as a husband and father. And in return, John doesn’t ask whether you’re ever going to marry Roger, if you even want to, if you worry about what the future holds. It’s a loaded peace, but a comfortable one. A safe one.

“It doesn’t bother you, does it?” Roger asks suddenly. “The girlfriend thing. The not-wife thing.”

“No,” you reply, smiling. “Of course not.” Roger isn’t someone who pens love letters, recites all the reasons why he cannot live without you, sings love songs. He rarely speaks of love at all. Roger is as he always is: all action, all energy, eyes forever looking forward. But he does love you; you’re sure he does. Everything he does bleeds with love.

“Good. Because there’s no one I’d rather acquire a harem and zoological park with.”

“Okay,” you relent. “But no lions or tigers or bears. I’m quite attached to your limbs, and you’ve come close enough to ruining them already.”

“Deal.” He taps the Canon that hangs from your shoulder by its strap. “We should document this momentous juncture. One day we can pull out the photo album and show Roger Junior. ‘Hey look kid, this was the day Mum and Dad bought the house you were conceived in.’”

You laugh, almost positive that Roger isn’t serious. “I can guarantee you that precisely zero percent of children would ever want to hear that.” Nevertheless, you ready the camera and hold it as far away as you can, the lens aimed towards you.

“Don’t forget to smile!” Roger trills in his high, victorious voice as he rests his chin in the dip of your collarbone.

You snap the photo. The flash bursts through the kitchen of the Surrey mansion, blinding you both. The artificial bluish light dissipates like smoke.

~~~~~~~~~~

His name is Laszlo, and he’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen...even when he’s not especially well-mannered.

Currently, Laszlo—an Eastern European moniker from somewhere in his mother’s comically vast family tree—is whimpering and squirming against Veronica’s chest as she pats his tiny back and sighs wearily. Veronica, ever the good Polish Catholic wife, is already pregnant again. Chrissie smirks triumphantly and puffs on a cigarette, her rings glimmering on her left hand, her dress violet and new and very expensive. Brian is lost in some deep intellectual conversation with Richard Branson, gesturing with his long nimble hands and nodding empathetically, his dark curls rustling in the breeze like the lithe branches of a willow tree.

“Thank god you’re here,” John calls as you and Roger approach. “Freddie is about to get this concert cancelled.”

“I’m about to make this concert fabulous, darling,” Freddie objects. “We need pyrotechnics, we need sparklers and explosions and fireworks!”

Mr. Branson shakes his head. “Can’t do it, Fred. The embers could travel and set the trees on fire.”

Freddie groans. “Tell him, Roger!”

Roger shrugs, grinning, resting his elbow on John’s shoulder. “I don’t know, maybe we shouldn’t burn down Hyde Park.”

“You’ll be under a huge orange canopy, right over there.” Mr. Branson motions with a sweep of his arm. “You can’t do anything aerial. Flashing lights, sure. Fog, sure. But no fire. No explosions. Oh, and there’s technically a noise ordinance, but we’re working out a deal so the city won’t enforce it on the day of the show.”

“Orange?!” Freddie squeals.

“How will the acoustics be in a tent?” Brian asks, troubled.

John smiles mischievously. “Yes, how dreadful if no one could hear the extraneous guitar solos.”

“I have a gong, Rich,” Roger says. “Everyone will be able to hear my gong, right?”

“Your gong?” Freddie whines. “What about my voice?!”

“I miss stadiums,” Roger grumbles. You exchange a knowing glance with Mary and Chris and Veronica, who is imploring Laszlo to take a bottle. Our boys are difficult, aren’t they?

“The acoustics will be fine,” Mr. Branson snaps. “The tent color will be fine. Everything will be fine. You don’t need any fucking fireworks. Please for the love of god just tell me what kind of sandwiches you want.”

“That’ll be an ordeal as well,” Chrissie quips, and you all laugh; even Laszlo perks up, stops wriggling, glimpses around the open green space with curious greyish eyes like John’s.

Some teenage employee carrying a tangle of cables trots over, sweat dripping down his flushed freckled cheeks. “Mr. Branson? There’s someone from the city here to see you.”

Richard Branson smacks his forehead. “Jesus christ. Okay, I’ll be right there. Hey, Steve, hey, have you seen Dom? Go find Dom and tell her to come over here, okay? Thanks.”

The teenage employee nods and disappears into a sea of bustling people ferrying equipment, fliers, chairs, messages.

“I’m so sorry about this,” Mr. Branson says. “These city bastards are out to crucify me. You’d think they’d be a little more grateful that Queen of all bands is willing to put on a free concert in their backyard, but alas. Hey, Dom, over here!”

He waves to a petite young woman with a glossy shock of black hair and olive Mediterranean skin. She’s wearing all yellow: shorts patterned with daffodils, a tank top the color of butter, a headband like a sunbeam. One of her trim arms is cradling a notebook; the other reaches out so she can shake hands with everyone. The gesture is courteous but somewhat unnatural.

“This,” Mr. Branson begins, “is my personal assistant Dominique. She’s wonderful, she’ll listen to all your pretentious tales of woe and do it with a smile, because she’s a true professional. Better yet, she’s going to ask you the tedious questions I was supposed to so you don’t have to wait for me to finish sparring with the city council. Okay? Okay. Have fun. I’ll be back.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Dom says placidly in a heavy French accent. So that’s why her handshake was off somehow, stilted and weak; the French usually kiss as a greeting. You choke back a snort as you imagine Veronica’s reaction to that. Mr. Branson stalks away muttering about litigious twats.

“Oh, aren’t you just darling!” Freddie circles Dom, admiring her outfit, her hair, her gold hoop earrings. He wafts his cigarette around flamboyantly, completely forgetting to smoke it. “The French are so tasteful, aren’t they? You simply must connect me with your stylist.”

“I would be happy to, Mr. Mercury. But regrettably, I am my own stylist.”

“Ahh!” Freddie exhales, enamored. Mary lifts Laszlo from Veronica’s tired arms and cradles him, tickles his nose, beams down into his fresh and inquisitive face.

Dom pulls a pen from her shirt pocket. “May I ask your sandwich preferences for the day of the show?”

She immediately receives four very different answers, and she raises an eyebrow, her pen hovering over the lined paper of her notebook.

“I’m so sorry about them,” Chrissie says, and Dom chuckles civilly.

“Ham and cheddar,” Freddie tells her, synthesizing the responses. “Bacon, fried fish, steak and onion jam...and something for Brian. Cucumber maybe. Could we get some cucumber sandwiches, dear?”

“You’re a vegetarian?” Dom asks Brian, jotting down notes.

“He’s morally superior to us in every way,” John sighs dreamily, and Rog and Freddie cackle.

“I’m not a strict vegetarian,” Bri clarifies. “But for the sake of the animals and the planet, I try to limit meat when I can.”

Roger adds: “And I order twice as much of it, just to spite him.”

Dominique leads Queen around the portion of Hyde Park where the concert will be held, runs through the itinerary, fields a litany of questions and complaints. And you decide that you like Dom; she’s professional and reserved, yes, but she’s also patient with Freddie, smiles at his jokes, compliments his black-and-yellow striped shirt (“We match, and you remind me of a...oh, what’s the word in English? That bug...it flies around buzzing...buzz buzz...a bee!”), asks him what he’s planning to wear to the show. She assuages Brian, listens to John, takes the time to chat with the women about children, makeup, homes, what it’s like to be in love with rock stars. But Dom mostly ignores Roger, dodges his grins, remains staunchly undazzled. And that would worry you—because Roger loves the chase, you know that firsthand—if he hadn’t already taught you how to trust him, how addictively flawless and exhilarating life with Roger Taylor could be.

When Laszlo begins to fuss in Mary’s grasp, you take your turn holding him; and he blinks up at you with eyes that are wide and clear and seeking, and you find yourself feeling like you always do when you’re around your godson: like maybe you have a stronger opinion about wanting children than you thought you did, like you can’t stop envisioning a baby with Roger’s eyes instead of John’s.

That evening—after leaving Hyde Park, after dinner, after drinks mixed out by the koi pond—as you doze in a sweltering bubble bath and steam curls through the air, you hear Roger’s voice floating from the kitchen downstairs. You rise out of the tub, towel yourself off, slip into a white silk robe as rivulets of bathwater slink down the back of your neck. You tread gingerly towards the kitchen, keep silent so you can hear, lurk in the shadows of the hallway with your palms pressed flat against the wallpaper.

“Hello, is Dominique Beyrand in?” Roger says into the kitchen phone. “I’ve been trying to track her down. Sure, I’ll wait. Thanks.” After a pause, he continues. “Hi, Dom! It’s Roger Taylor, from Queen. The irritating blond one. I was just wondering if you’d happened to stumble across my wallet since this afternoon, I seem to have misplaced it. Oh, you haven’t? Bloody hell. Well, thank you for taking my call. Aw, that’s so kind of you, I’m sure I’ll locate it eventually. I’ve got a terrible habit of losing things. Okay, thanks so much. Goodnight to you too. See you soon. Cheers.” He hangs the phone up as you step into the kitchen. His smile is bright and innocuous. “Hey, baby!”

“Who was that?” Your tone is similarly casual; or so you hope.

“Just Richard Branson’s assistant. That French woman Dominique. I can’t find my wallet and thought I might have left it at Hyde Park, but no dice. Oh well.”

Roger begins rummaging through the drawer full of business cards and address books, tapping his foot, humming to himself. And surely he isn’t trying to avoid my eyes. Your gaze skates over the marble countertop. There, by the refrigerator, just a few feet—a meter, you correct yourself to be properly British—from where Roger stands, is his black leather wallet.

“It’s right there, Rog,” you say, pointing. And now your voice isn’t so nonchalant.

Roger spins to check. “Oh my god, I completely missed it!” He snatches up the wallet with a celebratory chuckle. “I’m such a twit sometimes. You’re too fucking smart, you know that? You’re making me look bad.”

He rushes to you, takes your left hand, bites your knuckles lightly like he did outside Massachusetts General Hospital under dawn skies over two years ago. And then Roger whispers to you, nuzzling your neck scented with lavender soap and doubt.

“Let’s go to bed.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s a knock at the door. John is standing on the front porch of the Surrey house with his hands in his pockets and a vague sort of smile on his face. He’s in a black suit.

“Get ready,” he says. “Do your hair, throw on some earrings. Maybe the pearls Roger got you last Christmas. We’re going shopping.”

“Why do I need to look fancy to go shopping?”

John shrugs, feigning indifference; but the puckish glint in his eyes gives him away. Yet there’s something a little sad and weighty in them too, isn’t there?

Your own eyes narrow. “I’m onto you, bassist.”

He laughs as you tug teasingly at a lock of his downy hair. “You always are.”

John takes you to a dress shop on Bond Street where the corsets trickle with gemstones and the designers all have Italian names: Armani, Prada, Abate, Cerruti, Valentino, Biagiotti. He sinks into a leather chair just outside the fitting room and lights a cigarette, takes a long drag, points to you with the lit end.

“Go ahead. Go wild. It’s a blank check.”

“Really?!” You glance around the shop, your pulse racing. “But I don’t know the occasion. I don’t want to be underdressed or overdressed or whatever. Although I don’t think I’ve ever been overdressed in my life.”

“Yes, you can’t seem to shake those pragmatic service industry roots, can you?” Another drag. “You need a dress and matching shoes. Formal, but not too formal. Think a record company party. Elegant but exciting. Lots of sparkle. Slightly slutty, if you’re so inclined.”

“This is an unconventional bonding activity,” you tell John, trying to conceal your nerves.

“Love, this isn’t something you can fail at,” he says, gently now. “You’re going to look amazing no matter what. So just have fun with it. This isn’t a test. This is one of those adventures you’re always searching for.”

I can promise you that your life will never feel like a cage; that’s what Roger once told you. But maybe you don’t always want to be quite so free, so unmoored. “Okay. But you have to swear to give honest opinions. I don’t want to show up looking like a wombat because you were too nice to say anything.”

John just chuckles to himself, shakes his head, devours cigarette after cigarette.

With the assistance of one of the shop employees, you climb into a pastel pink dress with a full ruffled skirt, an emerald green dress with an empire waist and loose sheer sleeves, a shimmering metallic silvery dress with a form-fitting silhouette. John nods at all of them, wholeheartedly approves, defers to your judgment. He periodically consults his wristwatch as he taps his cigarettes on the rim of an ashtray, and deflects your questions when you ask him why. Then you step out of the fitting room—balanced on gold heels—in a white dress with a hem that hits just above your knees, a halter neckline, a slim keyhole down the center of your chest; and John’s cigarette tumbles out of his fingers.

“That’s the one,” he breathes, soaking it in. Then he asks the employee to cut off all the tags and whips out his wallet. “Toss your old clothes and shoes in a bag. We gotta catch a cab.”

“We’re going straight to the party?”

“We certainly are.”

“What the hell kind of ridiculously lame party starts at 3 p.m.?”

John smirks craftily. “The kind of party we’re going to. Let’s rock and roll, Florence Nightingale.”

John gives the taxi driver an address and you sail through the streets of London, splashing through shallow evaporating puddles, squinting when sunlight ricochets glaringly off the slick pavement. The taxi rolls to a stop outside of a grand stone building with columns and intricate carvings of leaves and flowers. The sign outside reads: Kensington and Chelsea Register Office.

You turn to John. “Who’s getting married?!”

He just smiles, a deep harbor of secrets.

“It’s Fred and Mary, right? Jesus christ, John, you can’t wear white to someone else’s wedding, Mary’s going to strangle me—”

“It’s not Mary’s wedding.”

Slowly, your jaw falls open. “No,” you whisper in disbelief.

John darts out of the taxi, jogs around to your side, and opens the door for you. You gape up at him senselessly, struggling to remember how to form sentences.

“John...this...this is some bizarre and elaborate joke, right?”

“Nope.” He offers his hand, helps you out of the taxi, leads you up the front steps of the Register Office. Inside, everyone is waiting: Freddie and Mary, Brian and Chrissie, Veronica with babbling baby Laszlo, Roger’s mother and sister...and Roger, of course, in his best black suit and bleached blond hair and trademark guaranteed-to-dazzle (unless of course you’re Dominique Beyrand) grin. He flies to you and takes your hands in his.

“You look incredible, baby.”

“Roger, what’s going on...?”

“Don’t freak out,” he commands, and instantly your panic vanishes. There’s a pink rose pinned to his lapel. “I know we don’t feel like we need to get married. I know we agree it doesn’t mean anything.” Is that still true? “So don’t think that this is about trying to trap you or control you or bullshit white picket fences or anything. And of course you can say no, I won’t be mad, no one will hold that against you, we can find some other reason to party. But the simple facts are that I’m a British national with a mansion and a plethora of perpetual royalties and you’re an American here on a work visa, and the law gets a bit thorny in this situation. And I want to make sure you’re taken care of if something happens to me. That you can carry out my wishes. That you can stay here with the band as long as you want to. So, I’ve got your passport and birth certificate and everything else we need...and some overly-enthusiastic witnesses. Are you cool with signing a piece of paper today?”

“Of course she bloody well is!” Freddie exclaims, and everyone laughs. Mary is carrying a basket full of champagne flutes, Chrissie several bottles of pink champagne, Roger’s sister a tub of ice. Brian has been entrusted to chronicle the event with your Canon. Veronica is more giddy than you’ve ever seen her, even more animated than she was at her own wedding. Well, I suppose she doesn’t have to worry about any illicit pregnancies or condemnatory great aunts this time around.

“Okay,” you tell Roger. And you wish you weren’t beaming so broadly your cheeks ache, because it feels a little pathetic to be this happy about an admittedly meaningless wedding. But it does make you happy, your general aversion towards conventionality be damned.

You sign papers and you toast glasses and you giggle uproariously in the lobby of the Register Office with the best friends you’ve ever had, guzzle pink champagne, pose for photos, take your turn holding Laszlo, kiss Roger beneath the stone arch of the centuries-old building.

It doesn’t mean anything, you remind yourself, suddenly very aware of the missing weight of a ring on your left hand. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything.

But you catch a few furtive glances between Chrissie and Bri, the twist of a frown on Freddie’s face when he thinks no one is watching, the distance in John’s shadowy eyes as he inhales champagne like air.

It doesn’t mean anything.

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

'It's just madness': Brazil music legend Caetano Veloso on Bolsonaro

The musician, 77, exiled to London under Brazil’s military dictatorship says he fears the president’s ‘ultra-reactionary bunch’ will not let go of power easily

Half a century has passed since agents of the Brazilian dictatorship appeared on the doorstep of the music legend Caetano Veloso and announced: “You’d better bring your toothbrush.”

Six months of detention and confinement later he was forced into European exile, spending the next two and a half years as a resident of Chelsea, West Kensington and Golders Green, where he would rehearse what remains his most celebrated album, Transa, in the vestry of a local church.

“I’d only been to London once before and I hadn’t liked it. I found it so aloof, so strange,” Veloso remembered during a rare, three-hour interview with the Guardian. “I felt so depressed about the whole situation.”

Fifty years later the composer, now 77, is again perturbed by the intolerant political winds sweeping his native land – although this time he has a front-row seat to the turbulence from his seaside home in Rio.

Brazil, which emerged from two decades of dictatorship in the mid-1980s, is governed by Jair Bolsonaro, a democratically elected but openly anti-democratic former paratrooper who has packed his administration with military figures and reveres the generals who banished artists and intellectuals such as Veloso from Brazilian soil.

In recent months hardcore Bolsonaro supporters have hit the streets with banners calling for the closure of Congress and the reintroduction of the dictatorship-era decree that paved the way for Veloso’s exile – with the president himself attending several of the rallies.

“An utter nightmare. It’s just madness,” the musician said of the rightwing “fanatics” demanding the return of military rule, with Bolsonaro at the helm.

Continue reading.

[anuknowha]

Till Death Do We Part//Chapter 5, Papers

I would highly appreciate it if you reblog it and all its lovely tags. Thank you!

As they stepped in they couldn’t help but marvel at the site of the long aisles of metal stands that contained many cardboard boxes. It seemed to go on forever, further than they’d want to go.

The door locked behind them as they each took another step in leaving them in complete darkness. This caused them both to jump.

A light slowly flickered on, it was dim.

“Hello.” a voice said from the corner nearest to them. It was a computer monitor, the screen was a bright blue.

“Welcome to the celebrity database. May I ask who you are looking for?” it spoke, its voice monotone.

“Yes-” John trailed off stepping towards it. “I would like to search for George Harrison’s news articles.”

“I’m sorry, but he is a band member of yours, you are to find him yourself if you would like to see such papers.” it replied.

John sighed and shook his head. “Of course I do. Now does that mean this is under “B” for “Beatles” or is it under our own names?”

“I suggest you check “B”!”

“B” it is mate!” John stormed off with George left behind still looking at the computer, almost admiring it.

“Ey, John, we didn’t even have such advanced technology back when I died.” George grinned as he looked around for his bandmate.

“John?” he saw him looking for the “B’s”. It was a process that took a while.

Minutes had passed, hours maybe even, and George sat down next to the computer. Occasionally he would touch it and it would respond to him with a question. He was completely taken aback by the reactions this machine would give him, and soon enough he grew quite fond of it. They soon started up a conversation, the computer telling George things such as the point of the room, and why it was created. This caught his interest and he would listen, until they were both caught off guard by John letting out a frustrated scream in the distance. George turned his head in his direction.

“I can’t find a single bloody thing in here!! I’m sure I’ve been searching hours, looking for a paper that probably doesn’t exist! I see everyone but us and we were better than Jesus! I bet his name is here, isn’t it?!” John shouted.

“Jesus. Many articles have been found, including movies and documentaries. Which section would you like to search?” The computer stated almost mockingly.

“No! I don’t want to find Jesus!”

“I’m finding all my favorite actors and actresses but I can’t find a single paper about us and its making me mad. Why can’t I just find the Beatles?”John sighed.

George couldn’t help but cover his mouth and let out a small snicker.

“Aha!” John shouted in what George assumed was a feeling of success. He had looked up and found the exact box he was looking for.

“I found them, the Beatles folder. Absolutely great!” John went in to grab the papers and found that there was nothing on them. He flipped through the entire box, paper after paper completely blank.

He threw the box to the floor in anger.

“This box says Beatles and there’s nothing in here George!! There’s not a thing in here! Everything is blank, no writing, nor is there an explanation!!” At this point he had a mental breakdown. He sat on the floor and brought his knees to his chest, and held his hands to his head.

“Are you telling me that Janis was lying!?” he said as he held back a scream.

“Would you like me to find Janis Joplin?” the computer said.

“What!? No-!”

George looked into the distance and only shook his head at the thought.

“Why can’t we find ourselves?”

The computer registered this question, it took a minute to look and search for the answer, one that hasn’t been given in decades.

“According to the system of the Information Center, members of the same band cannot view each other’s information. This is due to the fact that they are closer to each other than any other person here which only makes sense to inform them about other people. You are not allowed to see your own papers either because you more than likely know how you passed and when you passed, and if you don’t someone in here does and they are able to inform you with this information.” the computer declared.

“Than how come we can see theirs wouldn’t they know how they died, couldn’t we just ask them?”

“That is in fact true but this database was created to provide more information including documentaries that were created about them. Information that was released way after they had passed and that they are unable to find out anytime soon because of their bandmates still being alive. Yes, they can bring the information with them, but, there will always be more documentaries and movies that come out after a celebrity death and we want that to be more enjoyable, an accessible feature for all!”

The room was quiet for a while, and George could tell that John was staring at him from the darkness but he quickly turned to look back at the computer. It clicked in John’s mind that maybe there’s more in this than he knew, his curiosity brought him the thought of wanting to find new movies and documentaries of his band.

“I’m upset that this makes sense.” John commented pacing around as his mind started to race with thoughts about others who have been here, of others who have passed away and are now alive in this place. He knew a lot of these people died after him and that most of them, if not all of them, looked up to him and his colleagues in one way or another regardless if they publicly admitted it or not. He knew that his life had a big impact on everyone who was born after his time, and everyone who was alive during it.

“Hey computer, may I have Freddie Mercury’s files?” George hummed.

As John continued to process the databases methods, he picked up the box along with the papers that had fallen out before and sat them back on the self as neatly as possible.

“Yes!” A few boxes appeared around him. “These are articles on singer Freddie Mercury, the lead singer of the British band Queen.”

“Thank ye.” George nodded as he began to flip through the newspapers. He pulls one out.

“The Guardians. Hmm... “ curiosity peaked through him. He started to read, “Freddie Mercury, rock's showman incarnate, died last night, 24 hours after he confirmed he was suffering from Aids.Mercury, lead singer with the band Queen, had become a recluse at his home in Kensington, west London, over the past two years, fuelling speculation that he was suffering from the disease. He was 45.” George read out loud so John could hear.

John raised a brow, and decided to walk towards George, his footsteps becoming louder as he approached the man on the floor. He snatched the paper from his hand. His eyes scrolled through the words, looking for some cause.

“Freddie Mercury died of aids? Bronchopneumonia. Caused, by aids? Tch. How did he even contract such a thing?” John swung the papers in the air in slight disgust.

George continued to look through the papers. Finding another one that caught his attention, “Aye the New York Times.” he grinned showing the paper to John who was not at all interested.

“Freddie Mercury, the lead singer of the hard-rock group Queen, died today at his home in Kensington here. He was 45 years old. He died of bronchopneumonia resulting from AIDS, his publicity agent said. Mr. Mercury announced on Saturday that he had AIDS.” his voice lowered.

“Brave man admitting he had a disease. Most people didn’t even try to tell others while I was still around. Tragic death it was. I even felt bad for the poor chap.”

John failed to look up from the papers. He was completely indulged in the article about one of the men downstairs.

“Well, according to the papers and the channels that showed on the news. AIDS was brought on by homosexuality. I never believed it for a second.”

John peeked over the papers, his eyebrows furrowed. “AIDS? That wasn’t much of a thing when I was around. And homosexuality? Are you telling me that Freddie was gay?”

“Bisexual seemingly. And AIDS wasn’t a big thing until the year after you died, it became an epidemic, millions of people caught it and were unable to survive because of the lack of medicine. It was not at all a fun time, people would get really sick, die within months or years, some people didn’t even display serious symptoms and it ended them. A lot of the world blamed gays but it took forever for people to accept that it was more than that.” George nodded.

John took this paper, and he started to glance over it, George still digging through the boxes. As he picked up the boxes with tapes, movies, and dvds, something caught his attention. He started walking back towards the darkness to once again start searching for another Beatles box.

“So does that mean that, that guy that was standing next to Freddie was his boyfriend? Because I don’t remember any member of Queen looking quite like that.” John questioned.

“Yes, your spouse along with your band mates join you here when they pass. All are welcome. We don’t want you to be lonely in the after life, even with your band mates, sometimes you need your soulmate with you, that’s why you got married.”

“Hey George… Olivia and Yoko are going to be here eventually. My sweet sweet Yoko.” John said, a smile on his face as he hugged his knees tighter. “I miss her so much.”

Tears started to stream down his face, and he slowly wiped them away with his sleeve. He was overwhelmed with the thought of being united with both Paul and Yoko sometime in the future and he sat there in thought of what it would be like to see his two favorite people once more and be able to live with them forever this time around. He took time to remember the fun he had with the band, with Yoko, how all of them, even though broken up, were still a close knit family of four loving and caring goofballs. And even though he missed Yoko a lot, it was Paul who truly had his heart, he knew that Paul must’ve been crushed when he received the news. It happened so suddenly, he was so young, they all were, there was no signs of anything bad happening to any of them and his life was taken from him before the other Beatles all because a man wanted to end him.

He never knew why this man shot him or what he hoped to gain from it but he hated how early he left the world. He knew he wasn’t done back on earth but at the same time he knew that he couldn’t go back, he was stuck here and that’s just how it was. You live and you die and you can’t choose when you were born or how or when you die. ‘It's all about the path you lead’ he told himself many times in the past, but at times like this he would come to think something else. ‘What if this is all set in stone? That his fate was already made for him before he had been born, that he was going to die this same way unless, unless he decided to not create his band. Maybe if he had never been a Beatle he wouldn’t have lost his life so soon, maybe today, he’d still be with Paul, Ringo and George back on earth. It was a thought he never liked to have but couldn’t help but wondering too when he remembers how just him and George aren’t the whole group.

As much as he appreciates George being here, helping him through this, he still misses everyone who is still rocking out at home, his friends, his family that he knows are almost impossible to reach except for the feeling in their heart.  

“What’s this?” George picked up a brightly colored dvd case, it was purple and yellow, for the background. In the foreground was a man who looked and dressed similar to Freddie, leaning back and holding a microphone in one of his most iconic poses. The title on the top was “Bohemian Rhapsody.” written in a big bright yellow font. He turned it over.

“Golden Globes winner? Biopic of the legendary Freddie Mercury.” he turned to John, who was still wrapping his head around the articles and the thoughts of AIDS being a cause of death to a famous rockstar.

“Hey John, you might want to take a look at this one.” he said holding up the dvd high enough for him to see.

John glanced over to him in the darkness, his eyes red from tears. He was not able to see him from there but he got up and walked in his direction, trying to make sure all the tears that were on his face were wiped away. He had to snap out his own mind, his own thoughts to give George his full attention.

“What is that exactly?” He spoke, still a little choked up from the last thoughts he had.

“A dvd. It's like a tape, but updated, more around my time, and they became more popular than that of the VHS.”

“Interesting.” it caught the “older” Beatles attention.

“Bohemian Rhapsody?” he squinted. “Wasn’t that the name of that Queen song? What is that?”

“Apparently, it's a movie, a “biopic” as they call it. Its seemingly a movie about the life of Freddie and how he became a star. And must I say, the picture on the front looks exactly like him.”

John tried to avoid snatching it from his hand this time, his eyes stared directly at the cover.

“How come he has a movie all about himself and we have yet to see one about how famous we were!? We were more popular than Jesus! And we still lack a film as such.” He let out almost all his rage at once and soon calmed down as much as he could.

“I want to see this.” he huffed. “How can we view this?”

“I have a dvd player. You may insert the disc inside.” a small dvd slot slides out the computer.

Without a second to waste John opens the case and pops the dvd out. He looks at the disc and than to the slot. He puts it in carefully, still confused about the process. He takes a seat.

The movie started to play, showing many different previews.

“Would you like to skip previews?” the machine asked.

But it gained no response, John was intrigued by the camera movements, bright color and clear picture. He laughed to himself.

“We didn’t have such a thing back than did we!? This is amazing!”

George glanced over his shoulder, watching the previews as well until it came to the main menu.

“Would you like to play the movie? Or maybe you want to view special features.”  the computer questioned.

With John practically hypnotized by the amazing detail on the screen in front of him George had to respond.

“Play the movie please.” And with that it started, the voice of “Freddie Mercury” filling the room.

They sat there for over two hours watching the group of actors “perfectly” portray the life of Freddie Mercury. They were both highly impressed by the singing, and the staging.

The movie soon came to an end and the two Beatles were left with their mouth agape in awe.

“This was an amazing movie, I think it portrays him absolutely perfectly.” George clapped.  

John scoffed, not agreeing to finding the movie entertaining. He did not want to, “lose his battle.” It was obvious he was jealous but it was something he didn’t want to make obvious.

“I wonder if Freddie knows about this… we should tell him.” George grinned from ear to ear as he headed towards the door.

“No.” John responded bluntly causing George to turn around.

“No, we aren’t going to tell him, he has no reason to know about this. He doesn’t deserve to know about it. We haven’t got our movie and as far as he knows he hasn’t one either. We can keep it that way as long as we can, it’ll save both our pride and dignity.”

“Are you sure about this John? Don’t you think this is rude? Cut a man off from his victory?”

“And? Just promise me George that you won’t say a thing to him.” John sat his elbows on the desk in front of him. His fingers intertwined and covered his mouth. He blatantly watched the screen.

“I thought you loved Queen, they were around longer than us.”

“I do, but I do not like admitting a defeat, and trust me, after everything we put into that 10 years and what I put in after it, I refuse to be outdone. I sacrificed my life to this band, I died trying to save the music that we created together and society, after who knows how long still refuses to bring us what he had clearly created. I know we can’t be replaced, and I know that no actors would even be able to “represent” us the way we had ourselves, but out of everything, the least they could’ve done was given us what we worked for. We earned a movie, we earned our legacy and we earned the money we worked for. And I know Freddie has too, I believe he has, after all he was still making music with his band long after we had. Hell, they didn’t even form until after we disbanded, and yet, they had their legacy recreated in a more recent film. Remember, everyone knew who were were, regardless of race or religion, everyone knew our music, and they would sing along to. We had a cartoon, we had movies, we had stories to tell everyone that was nothing but jokes and laughs. But now, I’m pretty sure not a lot of people remember us these days, we aren’t as big as we use to be, I can feel it. I can feel our very existence as “The Beatles” fading George and I know you can too. And with that being said, I simply don’t appreciate being surpassed by anyone.”

George reached for his friend but quickly moved away when he saw only clouded eyes in the reflection of the computer screen. He swallowed hard.

I appreciate feedback!

Taglist: @lennonwhipped @rogers-flowered-blazer @peacelennon @caviarandqueen @caminc91 @sweet-mother-love

[keepthingslocal]

Horton and Garton: Even Estate Agents Have To Move Home

John Horton John Horton will soon return to the same Hammersmith premises – 172 King Street – where he started his property career 23 years ago John Horton founded Horton and Garton in May 2008 with a clear vision in mind. ‘I wanted to create an independent business that provided the best service. That meant treating every client as an individual rather than a potential sales figure and building enduring relationships – and doing it with a smile.’ Clearly, the formula has worked. Horton and Garton is the market-leading estate agent for sales and lettings in W6 and W12 and a Chiswick franchise opened in 2016. With the company about to move two doors down to a new office at 172 King Street, here John looks back to his first day in the industry which, by coincidence, was in the same premises. ‘Roll back the years – or decades – to 1996. I turned up for my first day working at the Hammersmith office of Barnard Marcus at 172 King Street. I was wearing my smart blue blazer and grey trousers. The manager, Barry, took one look at me, duly raised the fashion “yellow card” and marched me down the road to Moss Bros. He bought me my first pinstripe suit and said: “Now you look the part – remember that you’re in Glamour-Smith!” ‘Whizz forward to 2019 and 172 King Street currently looks like a building site as we prepare for our move. Over the last 11 years we have developed a strong business and, inevitably, outgrown our current premises. Our new home has been an estate agency for over 50 years, before that it was a branch of Barclays Bank and, back in the early 1900s, a gift and novelty shop. The surroundings have certainly altered since 1996 when I started there: the cinema has gone and, with four years of works due to begin at the Town Hall, the view will change even more dramatically… ‘The success of Horton and Garton has been based on achieving consistent positive results. We have an experienced team who have worked here for many years and they know every pocket of Hammersmith, Shepherd's Bush, Brook Green and West Kensington like the back of their hand. ‘We’re always transparent, we flag up issues and try to solve them without fuss. Naturally, many clients want to hear the highest price and the lowest fee; but what they need to hear is an accurate valuation and a clear strategy for realising the best price in the market. If you’re straightforward and clients have a positive experience, they will come back when they are trading up or downsizing. Longevity is at the core of our approach. ‘I also believe that a successful local business should invest in its community. That’s why we’ve sponsored Hammersmith Food Bank, Artists at Home, the Petros Singers and many other charities and school events – it’s little and often and I try not to turn people down. ‘We will be opening our new office later this year. In the meantime, if you are considering selling, letting or renting in West London, make Horton and Garton your first call.’

Archive photographs: LBHF Local Studies and Archives4 Read the full article

[forcewindow85-blog]

Rooms for rent: Inside Philadelphia’s shadow housing market

Outlawed affordability

James Smith Jr.’s landlord, Victor Pickney, opened his Cecil B. Moore Avenue rooming house in the 1980s. He says that he got permission to open through political connections in City Hall. Though he serves as vice president of an organization that represents Philadelphia landlords, Pickney said he doesn’t know anyone else who owns a legal rooming house.

“I know there are a lot of people who want rooms though,” he said, “because I generally don’t have vacancies, and I have a lot of people who come here looking for rooms.”

It wasn’t always this way.  In the 1930s, a Philadelphia Tribune report tallied 50,000 of them in the city. But by the time Pickney opened his doors, legal rooming houses were becoming rare. Philadelphia’s zoning code makes it extremely difficult to establish single-room residences. They are banned in all but the highest-density zoning districts, which are mostly found in Center City and University City.  To legally establish one requires a round of often-hostile community meetings and a trip to the Zoning Board of Adjustment, which does not tend to look favorably on such requests.

It is impossible to fully map the city’s illegal rooming houses, but violation data from L&I provides a window into their geography. Inspectors wrote the most violations in North Philadelphia, with large numbers also found in Kensington, South Philadelphia west of Broad Street, and parts of Germantown, Southwest, and West Philadelphia.

Even this data is fuzzy. Although the agency receives more than 500 complaints about illegal rooming houses annually, inspectors are largely unable to gain entry to the buildings. No law requires residents to allow government agents into their home without immediate cause — and they have little incentive to admit an L&I worker. Why let in an inspector who could imperil your living situation, forcing you onto the street?

The more limited pool of actual rooming house violations collected between January of 2016 and December of 2018 shows almost 400 violations across some 300 properties, ranging from a lack of carbon monoxide alarms to plumbing code violations.

But as far as the number of violations and the number of complaints, city officials believe there are exponentially more rooming houses out there than they ever hear about.

Consider the findings of the Centennial Parkside Community Development Corporation, which attempted to map known rooming houses in the neighborhood in 2017. Although no rooming house-related L&I violations are shown in the neighborhood over the course of three years, the group reported almost 40 rooming houses on four thoroughfares in the neighborhood.  

By contrast, that’s roughly the number of legal rooming houses that have been established across the entire city of Philadelphia since 2012.

“It's easy to tell people what they can’t do, and then they continue to do it,” said Councilwoman Maria Quiñones-Sánchez.  “But [rooming houses] exist. I have them in my district, and I’ve tried to work with some of the owners to become compliant. But there is no pathway for them to become compliant because we don’t have it in our code right now.”

After the fire, L&I Commissioner Dave Perri said he supported changing the city’s zoning code to make it easier for legal rooming houses to operate.

“We have an affordable housing crisis, but a prohibition against establishing the most inexpensive form of housing in the areas where they are needed most,” said Perri in an interview with PlanPhilly. “The code is out of sync with reality. The question is how can we responsibly put rooming houses back into neighborhoods?”

But Perri declined recent interview requests, saying that nothing has changed since last spring, so he had nothing more to add. A change in zoning would require City Council actions that haven’t materialized.

Source: http://planphilly.com/articles/2019/03/28/rooms-for-rent-inside-philadelphia-s-shadow-housing-market

[benningtonalumnirelations]

Q&A with Janet Capron ’69, author of “Blue Money”

Blue Money, a new memoir by Janet Capron ’69, chronicles the author’s time as a prostitute working in New York City in the 70s. This “bracing personal narrative” has been praised as “thoroughly new and uniquely feminine” and “intense, electrifying” by fellow authors and critics alike. Excerpts from the book were featured in Playboy and LitHub.

In the following interview with Alumni Relations Kilpatrick fellow Olivia Judson ’17, Janet reminisces on Bennington and offers some advice to writers wanting to hit that big break.

OJ: What was your time at Bennington like? What did you study? In which house did you live?

JC: As long ago as that time was, some memories are still vivid. From the day I arrived, I felt set free. I was relieved because all of my peers, it seemed, were at least as smart as I was—I was in my element. I lived in Dewey, and I can still recall a lot of my housemates—I loved every strong character in that house: Nan, who I think was the head of the house; Joanna Pousette-Dart zooming away on the back of her gorgeous boyfriend’s motorcycle;  Connie Kheel in deep contemplation in her single room; my darling and extremely tolerant roommate, Brenda, to name a few. My close buddy, Margaret Wise, introduced me to a dashing prince who later, briefly, became my fiancé and then lifelong great friend.

The first term of my freshman year, I took a class in English literature with the now legendary Claude Fredericks. The first month was devoted to the poet John Donne, the second to William Blake and the third to Ezra Pound, including the Cantos. This class transformed how I read poetry, and it transformed me—week upon week of revelations.

The second term of that year, I took English literature with Howard Nemerov, who had been or was even then the Poet Laureate. He wanted to read Finnegans Wake by James Joyce and decided to tackle that with our class. I circulated a petition, reminding him we were freshmen and most of us had never read Ulysses, let alone Finnegans Wake. There were so many great works of literature I was dying to read first. Everyone signed the petition and, without much or maybe any resistance, Nemerov changed the syllabus, which became highly varied and extremely interesting. Probably only at Bennington would a professor think to assign Finnegans Wake to a freshman class, and only at Bennington would a student petition be so willingly honored.  

Barbara Hornstein Smith’s class in English Renaissance Literature was perhaps equally as meaningful as Claude Fredericks’ class, if in a less dramatic way. To this day, key bits of information inform me as a writer. The contrast between the Silver and Golden Poets of the 16th century, for instance, continues to be a useful prism.

I remember the stunningly beautiful and outspoken poet, Anne Waldman, a senior when I was a freshman and a wielder of tremendous power it seemed to me, nixing the possibility of a poet whose work she did not like from joining the faculty. No doubt hers was not the only decision or even the deciding one, but the idea that an undergraduate would even be allowed to participate in choosing faculty blew my mind.

Of course, a lot of memories were extracurricular: SDS meetings at Bennington and Williams full of firebrands hammering out policy; Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee members, proud young black men who belonged to an intelligentsia that was new to me, swooping onto campus like missionaries. After that, all of my black friends suddenly had afros and were glowing. This was the sixties, and the campus was alive with politics.

Before I leave the first question, I have to talk about Williams, where I spent a lot of time drinking beer with frat boys. Sadly, those outings cost me the last few years at a college I dearly loved. Finally, 15 years later, right after I stopped drinking, I went back college, this time to Columbia, where I got two degrees. But my inability to function at Bennington is one of those regrets I have had to learn to live with over the  years.

However, I do have one caveat. I am glad Bennington is now co-ed. When I was there in the sixties, all of the academic student population was female, and almost all the professors were male. I felt as though I were being groomed to be a dilettante. This was not Bennington’s fault—it was the times, the dark ages just before the swell of the second wave of feminism we are still riding—nevertheless, that discrepancy between students and faculty galvanized me to become, for a time, a militant feminist.

Throughout my life, I have always been afraid of not being heard or not being taken seriously—partly because I grew up in an era when women were, with a few monumental exceptions, without a voice.

OJ: Describe what the process of publishing Blue Money was like. Were you approached by a publisher, or did you present them with an outline first? Was there anything unexpected about publishing this book?

JC: My luck finally changed the day my brilliant literary agent, Emma Parry, signed me. Emma is at Janklow & Nesbit, one of the top literary agencies in the world. She fell in love with Blue Money, met with me for two hours before submitting it, and the upshot was her pitch was supremely better than any previous agent’s had been.

Unnamed Press, the hip, enterprising young publishing house I like to compare to Barney Rosset’s Evergreen Press, bought Blue Money and has done a superb job of distributing and promoting it.

With very few exceptions, the only way to get published is to first acquire a literary agent. I had several of them, and all of them meant well, but Emma is the only one, I believe, who really got the book and therefore knew how to pitch it. She has had my back every step of the way since.

As far as unexpected goes, the most astounding parts of my journey, beyond my wildest dreams, are: First of all, Emma; second, my terrific publisher, Unnamed Press; and then seeing my book in the window of Three Lives Books, my favorite bookstore in the West Village. When Huff Po’s National Book Review made BLUE MONEY their #1 pick the week it came out—now that was a surprise!

OJ: Describe an experience where you learned that language had power. What inspired you to become a writer?

JC: My mother, Jill Stern, was a writer, and I’m sure that influenced me. We had a huge library, and I began reading on my own when I was still in nursery school. My mother had been reading to me before bedtime J.M Barrie’s Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens, the precursor to Peter Pan. But she often went out, leaving me with my governess. On those nights my mother was out, I was dying to find a way back into J. M Barrie’s fairyland. Somehow, as a direct result of that frustration, I learned to read. Most likely my governess helped. By the time I was four, the written word was already all powerful! By the time I was eight, I knew I was going to be a writer.

OJ: What is your advice for people who want to write or are just starting to write?

JC: Only write if you have to, if you are driven, because it takes years to find your voice. The road is narrow and hard. On the other hand, if you discover you have real talent, not just cleverness but undeniable talent, and you realize you have something, or maybe even a lot, to say, you better nurture and grow that talent—you better honor it, because a writer who isn’t writing is a bitter, frustrated human being—take it from me.

Blue Money is available on Amazon.

[thespecialrelationship-phff]

Chapter 4

FLOTUS POV—4 weeks until Invictus

It takes a week for shit to hit the fan.

It’s a Thursday morning, I’m sitting in my office when my phone rings. Through the open door I hear my Secretary answer it, Office of the First Lady

A pause and then, Oh, wow, uh yes sir.

I wince. Sir can only mean one of two things and neither are good options. A second later my secretary has popped her head in, “Good morning Miss, pardon the interruption but that was the President on the phone.”

“Personally?” I ask, surprised. My father rarely uses my office phone to reach me. If he’s calling it’s usually my cell phone.

“Yes, Miss.”

“Well this can’t be good.” I stand, closing my laptop. “Do you know where Anna is?”

��No Miss.”

“It just keeps getting better and better. “If she comes back just let her know I’m headed to the Oval.”

“Will do.”

“Thank you.”

And I begin the long walk from the East Wing, where I plan parties, to the West Wing, where my father runs the country. I’m followed by my two secret service agents, closely on my heels.

We take the elevator down to the lobby of the East Wing, the dark paneled room, empty this morning.  Then we walk down the East Collonade, enclosed, unlike its counterpart. The wall of windows does little to keep out the April chill. I suppose it will be nice to enjoy the sunshine of Orlando in a few weeks.

My heels click and echo across the tiled floor of the visitor’s lobby. The lobby connects to the ground floor of the residence which will then lead me to the West Wing. Coincidentally my office is one of the farthest rooms from my father’s office. I imagine that the separation has kept many Presidential marriages alive. Today though, it’s just a pain for my feet.

I open the door and walk into the vaulted center hall. I shiver, it’s always cold and a bit gloomy down here. Not to mention that the marble faced walls are dated, old-looking. Perhaps next term we could redecorate.  I’m sure that’s a project Jenkins would love for me to waste my time on.

The plush carpet muffles the sound of my heels as I keep walking. Belatedly, I notice the dividers towards the end of the hall.  The staff only puts those up if there’s going to be…

A door creaks open followed by the sound of shuffling feet and then a booming voice, “Yes, that was the Vermeil Room, or sometimes known at the Gold Room.”

A tour. For fuck’s sake.

I’m walking swiftly trying to cut in front of the group but the tour guide sees me. She’s one of the older women who has been here longer than I’ve been alive. Unfortunately for me she’s part of the generation that believes in the duty of the First Lady to see and be seen. “Or casually known as the First Ladies Room, due to the number of portraits of First Ladies.  Speaking of which, we’ve run into a special guest.”

The group files out as I wait patiently, caught in the docent’s trap. We both know that I can’t leave now. My secret service detail step to either side of me and a few steps back. Far enough to be unobtrusive, but near enough to help.

The group ohs and awes when they notice me. I smile and wave slightly.

The guide clears her throat, “May I introduce Miss Margaret Kennedy Penelope Frances Conrad Randolph, First Lady of the United States.”

Wow, I can’t believe she went with the full name. Again, I smile, noticing that a few people are frantically fumble for their cell phones. “Welcome to the White House, I hope you’re enjoying your tour. My father and I consider it a privilege to be able to open the Residence to tours.” I recite the speech that was written for this very occasion.

The group of large, probably Midwestern tourists continue to stare at me. I nod slowly, “Well then.  Unfortunately, I’m on my way to a meeting with the President.” The word elicits the response I knew it would, wide eyes, nervous glances. It’s really too easy.

“Perhaps just one photo for the group?” The tour guide says, shit I really should remember her name.

“Of course,” I say looking at the eager faces of the group. My smile is plastered on, “Why don’t you hold the camera, uh Jane.”

A little boy towards the front whispers, “I thought her name was Mary.”

Oh fuck all.

I chuckle, a lie quickly springing to my lips, “Oh, it is. That’s just my nickname for her since she’s just so sunny, like a June day.”

It’s absolute bullshit but Mary doesn’t say anything. She knows it’s her duty to make me look good. Luckily the little boy is satisfied.

I stand in the middle of the group and they all crowd around.  We take a few photos and I promise to post them on twitter for the families to have. As I turn to leave a little girl with bright red hair blurts out, “Are you dating Prince Harry?”

The question throws me for a moment. I almost ignore the question until I see that the whole group is waiting for the answer. Usually, questions like these are dismissed by the adults of the group as childish fantasies. But this time it isn’t.

“Oh, no we’re not.” I say. “We’re working together on the Invictus Games.”

“But the internet-” A woman, I’m assuming her mother places a hand on her shoulder. The little girl is quiet.

I think I know why I’m being called into dad’s office.

As the awkward silence descends on the group I realize I have to salvage the situation or this is all the group will remember. “He’s very nice though and I’ll be seeing him again in Orlando.  Have you been there?”

She nods.

“Well in a few weeks the city will host the Invictus Games.  All of you should tune in, it should be great.” Smiling, I step back slightly. “Please, enjoy the rest of your tour.”

With that I leave them, quickening my pace slightly.  The last thing I need is to be stopped by another tour. My brain is spinning. Obviously there’s something in the news today about Harry and I.

I had thought we escaped with little press since it’s been a week since the visit.  Apparently not.

The palm court is thankfully empty and I choose to use the colonnade instead of walking through the press offices. A little chill is worth avoiding the prying eyes and questions of the press corps.

The agents open the doors and I pass into the West Wing, gone is the relative tranquility of the East Wing or Residence. The West Wing is never tranquil. I walk through the rather small corridors, assistants and interns pause as I walk past. It’s odd, most of them are around my age.

I follow the familiar hall to the secretary’s office, the gateway to the President.

“Morning Beth.” I wave. “I believe I was summoned.”

Beth was hired on during the transition. Truthfully, I don’t think anyone knows much about her at least not much beyond the fact that she came highly recommended from some high-powered law firm. She’s a force of nature in her smart business suits and tightly coiffed hair.  There are very few people who can inspire fear in the hearts of Washington’s elite and Beth is one of them.

“Yes, just one more minute.” She smiles. “You look beautiful today.”

“Thanks. I suppose I’m not dressed for an Oval Office meeting.” I say, glancing down at my over-the-knee boots.  

“Nonsense.” She says. “You can go in now.”

“Thank you.” I walk through the thick door leaving my secret service detail behind.

Walking into the Oval Office is still a little jarring even three years after we first moved in. I can't help it, I don't think anyone can. It exudes confidence and power.  The plain beige walls aren't ornately decorated nothing in the room is, and yet it's intimidating as if it was gilded. The cream contrasts beautifully with the deep blues of the curtains and rugs.  

Of course, it doesn’t help when it’s your father sitting behind the large, dark wooden desk. This really isn’t going to be good. He’s in full presidential mood. If this was a casual call he would be sitting on one of the couches. To make matters worse, Jenkins is standing just off to his left.

He looks up when I walk in. “You’re late.”

“I ran into a tour group, dad.”

“I see.’ He gestures to the delicate chair in front of his desk, “Come sit Margaret.”

I take the seat offered and look at my dad. He’s in a full suit, immaculately tailored, his eyes are tired. In the last few months the strain of the job has really started to show on his face.

“So what’s going on?”  I ask, even though I already have a good idea.

“It’s about Invictus.”

“I’m sure it will blow over, gossip always does.”

Both men look at me as if I’ve grown a second head.

Dad speaks first. “Margaret, what are you talking about?”

I narrow my eyes, not the reaction I was expecting. “What are you talking about?”

Jenkins steps forward, “I received your official and final schedule for the Invictus Games from Kensington Palace.”

I stay silent, waiting for him to reveal more. Instead he hands a sheet of paper to me. I scan over the minimalist document. When I return to the top of the page I have to school my features.

May 8th:

 7:00 AM Interview with Ramona Robinson (also attending HRH Prince Henry of Wales)

6:00 PM Opening Ceremonies begin—opening remarks FLOTUS

He did it, just like he said it would. Triumph washes over me. I’m going to make a speech. I could get my voice back.

The silence apparently eats away at Jenkins. “They have you scheduled for a joint interview and a speech.”

“I see.”

I’m going to pretend nothing is wrong with the arrangement as is. Even though we all know an interview with me will make headlines not to mention a speech.  It’s their own fault really. They’ve kept me from the public for this long.

“They didn’t run this through my office.” Jenkins practically growls.

His office? Fuck this.

I sit up straight and glare at him, “I think Kensington went through my office since the appearance doesn’t involve the President and therefore not the President’s office.”

“That’s not how it’s done.”

I shrug, “What would you like me to do?”

Jenkins looks grave, but smug. “Decline.”

My eyes widen then glance to my dad. He’s looking at me thoughtfully. I wait for a second, wondering if he’ll disagree. Quickly, I realize he’s on Jenkin’s side, hence why he’s here.

I’m giving him an opportunity to be on my side, to fulfil his promise to me. But he sits there, staring at me impassively.

So, this is how it’s going to be. I cross my arms. “That might be a little rude. We’re a month away from the games.”

“They’ll get over it.”

“Harry was very adamant about having my speak.”

“So it’s Harry now?” My dad finally speaks up. He sounds just like he did when I brought my first boyfriend home

“Really, dad?”

He shrugs, smirking a little bit. I figure it won’t do any good to remind him that I’m almost thirty years old.

Jenkins clears his throat, “Sir, we have a meeting with the joint chiefs in a few minutes. We should resolve this.”

My dad nods, standing. “Margaret, do you want to do the interview and the speech?”

“I think it would be a good gesture towards the Games and the Royal Family.” It’s the appropriate answer.  The other answer is hell yes I want to do it.

“Keep it.” He strides around the desk and places a kiss on my forehead. “I’ll lend you my speech writer.”

“Thanks dad.”

He nods, “Now go, I don’t like the way that General Mitchum looks at you.” I know he’s only half joking about the General. “And send in Beth as well please.”

“Of course.”

I step out into the secretary’s room and let out a breath I had no idea I had been holding. Dear God, that was nerve-wracking. “Miss?” Anna is standing there.

“And where the fuck have you been?” I demand.

“I think there’s something you need to see Miss.” Anna is holding her tablet out to me as I begin walking the trek back to the East Wing.

“What?” I ask as hit the colonnade.

“It’s about the trip to-”

“Miss Randolph!” I curse. Jenkins has followed me down the colonnade. Anna and I both turn. “I’m glad I caught you.”

“Yes?” I say tersely.

“These are for you.” He hands me a stack of magazines and newspapers. “You’re front-page news, not like you aren’t accustomed to it, but nevertheless congratulations.”

I ignore his taunting words and focus on the stack of publications he’s handed me. People happens to be on the top of stack. It’s a split picture of Harry and I with the bold lettering ‘ROYAL ROMANCE’ emblazoned across the tops of our head.

Today is just not my day.

I don’t have to look through the rest of the stack to know they hold more of the same. Moreover, I refuse to stand here and read them in front of Jenkins’ ugly face.

“We’re not going to issue a correction.” I say.  It’s not a question, it’s a statement. If my Office bothered to address every tabloid they wouldn’t be doing much else.

“No. We’re not.” Jenkins smiles. “And these are only the print sources. I’m sure Anna has the digital ones for you.”

He’s really starting to get on my fucking nerves.

I hand the folder to Anna who staggers under the weight of it for a second.

“Being a sore loser isn’t attractive Jenkins.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” He says shrugging.

But he does. He’s pissy that I bested him in front of my dad this morning. For once in the last three and a half years he didn’t get what he wanted. Boo-fucking hoo.

I realize I have nothing else to say to him today. I walk away Anna trailing at my heels.

She knows well enough to not say anything, at least not yet.

When we pass through the residence I stop and veer upstairs. I don’t feel like going over this in the East Wing offices.

We arrive in my bedroom, “Anna, set those things down in the sitting room. I just want to take off these boots.

Carefully I tuck my boots in the storage beneath the large federal style bed that dominates my bedroom, usually referred to as the Queen’s bedroom. I preferred the lighter federal style to the dark Victorian décor of the Lincoln bedroom.

When we moved in I simply asked that the antique furniture be reupholstered with light blues and dark creams instead of the ghastly green that was in here before.

“Kennedy?” Anna calls.

“I’m coming.” I grab a bottle of wine I have stored in one of the cabinets. I think the secret service pretends that they don’t know that I have it. I appreciate the semblance of privacy. “Wine?”

“I’m fine Kennedy.”

I sit down and sip. “Okay, how bad is it?”

“Well…” Anna fans out the magazines and swipes through her tablet. “You’re on the cover of every major domestic tabloid and made it into the fluff sections of the few major ones, the Times, Journal and the Washington Post. Internationally, the coverage is there just not as strong.”

“They even picked up this gossip?” I ask incredulously.

“Affirmative.”

“And what are they saying?”

“Most of the tabloids are running a variation of the instant chemistry angle and that the two of you are excited to see one another at the Games.”

At least they’re talking about the games, I suppose. So it’s not a total loss. “How about the actual newspapers?”

“Unfortunately those stories allude to a possible conflict of interest.”

“What?”

“Well they cite sources that say you’re speaking and giving interviews, something you don’t normally do and they’re wondering why.”

“They think Harry is motivating me.”

“Exactly.”

Today keeps getting better and better. And here I thought people would be anticipating a more public role.

“But, they are also looking forward to your involvement.”

I sigh, “Find me a British publication please. I’ll read People first I suppose.”

I settle in to read the bullshit. Usually, I stay away from the tabloids but this is unchartered territory for me. When I was seeing Trevor I got a little coverage, but nothing like this.

London-U.K. Apparently sparks flew last week when POTUS and FLOTUS visited the United Kingdom. The world anxiously watched Margaret Randolph’s first visit overseas but no one quite expected this. Inside sources reveal that Margaret and Prince Harry hit it off. Apparently, Prince Harry had always had a bit of a crush on the eligible bachelorette and meeting her in person did not disappoint.

           Photos from inside Kensington 1A, reveal the two speaking closely, chuckling over something. There’s a definitive sparkle in the Prince’s eyes.

           And now it seems the feeling is reciprocated. The First Lady scheduled a brunch meeting for the following day, squeezing in some extra one-on-one time into her busy schedule. She arrived to the trendy restaurant off of Grosvenor Square in a pair of tight skinny jeans, a white floral blouse and a camel hair jacket we need in our closets.

           Other diners remarked that the two enjoyed a long brunch complete with two bottles of prosecco! The couple were laughing, the source continued, “Overall I would describe the atmosphere as flirtatious. It seemed like a date.” A date!

           Prince Harry and the First Lady are officially our favorite couple.  We’re already designing our hats for this royal wedding…who knows.

When I finish I down my glass of wine before pouring another one. That was mind-numbingly painful. How do people actually believe this nonsense.

“So brunch is turning out to be damning.” I remark.

“Yes, I think that is fueling most of these stories. Apparently the waiter was not discreet.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.” She hands me the tablet. “Here’s the DailyMail.”

“Oh goody.”

ROYAL ROMANCE: Prince Harry and First Lady, Margaret Randolph meet for romantic brunch after stuffy Kensington Palace introduction.

§  Clandestine brunch arranged by FLOTUS

§  Prince Harry and Margaret were “flirtatious” while sharing bottles of prosecco

§  Sources say FLOTUS was smitten with the gallant Prince

           Apparently, FLOTUS prefers one-on-one time with the Prince. After what Kensington Palace referred to as a productive dinner between the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, Prince Harry and the First family, it seems that the First Lady wanted to be ore productive.

           The Prince and Margaret Randolph met at a trendy restaurant off Grosevnor Square.  The brunch was not on the First Lady’s official agenda. That didn’t stop a crowd of paparazzi and admirers from camping outside the restaurant. The First Lady’s first overseas tour was closely followed by her international fan base.

           Twitter was nothing short of obsessing over photos of the couple from the brunch.  Multiple users proclaimed that the two were perfect for one another. And it didn’t take long for the photoshops to come rolling in. Miss Randolph does pull off a tiara rather well.

           Without question international eyes will be fixed on Orlando in just four short weeks when the potential lovers reunite.

“This is nauseating.”

“I would agree Miss.”

“Kensington hasn’t commented on any of this correct?”

“They’ve issued their standard, ‘Kensington Palace does not comment on the personal life of members of the Royal Family.”

“They realize that just makes it worse, right? If they had called it a business meeting, we could have deflected it.”

“Perhaps they didn’t want it deflected? Apparently you’re worth more as a potential love interest than a First Lady.”

I realize she’s right. By flirting and being casual I played right into Harry’s hands. I should have stayed distant, remote. So much for being the user for a change. “God dammit.”

“Kennedy?”

“The good news is that I’ve confirmed the interview and speech. Jenkins tried to take it away, it didn’t work.”

“Good.”

I nod, thinking over the best way to minimize this romantic drama from here. “I just have to be the picture of professionalism during the Games. I must prove that I’m in control. I’m not doing the speech and interview for anyone else but me.”

Anna coughs, “Um and the veterans of course.”

I blink, “Right, well that goes without saying.”

Two weeks later things have begun to settle down.  The papers have stopped dragging out the no story of Harry and I’s relationship, for now. I know that it will pick up again once we get to Orlando. But I have my plan, be professional, distant and untouchable.

Most of all don’t flirt with him. I must resist that urge.

I’m in my office prepping for an engagement later today when there’s a knock on my door. ''Come in.''

Anna walks in with a rather concerned look on her face, unusual for her. ''Miss, Prince Harry has been calling you for the last thirty minutes or so.''

''What do you mean?'' I blurt out.  Immediately my eyes stray to the phone on my desk, which has been mercifully silent all morning. ''My phone hasn’t rang.''  And then I add. ''Also, why would he be calling me?''

''He's calling on your personal cell phone.''

“My cell-” My office is silent as her words sink in. Then I explode. “My fucking cell phone?”  

To her credit Anna doesn’t flinch. ''I'm investigating it Miss. I have confirmed that is indeed the Prince calling though, it would be best to answer it.''

I shake my head, ''Why on earth would he call me on my cell?''

Probably because I flirted a little too much.

The giggling, my hand on his hand, the entire end of the brunch. Yeah, he’s probably calling to set up a fucking date.

I take a few deep breaths. ''Find out who gave him my number and start with Jenkins.  He's up to no good.''

''As usual.''

I take one more deep breath and focus on my cellphone. I had silenced it this morning but looking at it now I can see the numerous missed calls from an international number. Here goes nothing, I return the call.

''Hello?'' The familiar voice comes across the line.  

''Prince Harry? It's Ke- Margaret Randolph, I'm returning your many calls.''

''Ah, yes Margaret.  Thank you for returning my call.'' I wince at his use of my first name or maybe it's the way he says my name. His accent somehow adds another syllable, drawing it out just slightly with a bit of lilt that threatens to bring a smile to my face.

I revert to formalities for distance. ''Of course, Your Royal Highness.''

''Of course I wouldn’t have had to make so many calls if you had answered one of the first five you know before I had to make the next ten.''

He says the sentence so dryly that for a moment I think he's actually offended. If anyone should be offended…

''That was sarcasm Margaret.''

And I can perfectly imagine the smile on his face as he says it. This man is going to kill me.

I cough slightly. ''Well good. To what do I owe this pleasure, on my personal cell phone nonetheless.''

He chuckles, a purely masculine sound. ''Your father's chief of staff gave it to me.  His name was Steve something or other I figured it would be alright.''

''Right, of course.'' I immediately say. No one outside of the White House needs to know how much I despise Jenkins.  

''And considering we'll be working together. It might be easier to forego some of the security surrounding both of our persons. When we get to Orlando we'll have easy access to each other.''

I try not to visualize any alternative scenarios for the words 'easy access to each other.' Did I imagine that his voice sounds a little deeper over the phone? I must have.

''Margaret?''

''Oh, sorry.  Yes, that makes sense.''

''Lovely. So the reason I called was that we are about to post the full video of your challenge and our response. Would you like to watch it first?''

Yes, but I don't really want to prolong this conversation any longer. I’m not sure how much longer I can stay steady against his accent. ''I'll watch it on the internet a bit later. I trust that our teams did a good job.''

''Come on, it will just take a moment.'' There's pleading in his voice but he's clearly joking.

''Okay, send it to me.''  I rattle off my e-mail and sure enough there's an email with an attachment at the very top.

I play the video, it starts with what's obviously a brochure for the Invictus Games and Harry's voice. The camera pans out and Harry isn’t alone. He's sitting next to the f-ing Queen. ''Oh fuck me.'' I curse under my breath.

''Did you say something?''

''Nope!'' I say a little too loudly. ''Looks great so far!''

Harry's phone rings and he says that it's a message from me. The short video my dad and I made last week plays.  I roll my eyes, not even the president of the United States can make that face look cool. But it's definitely a challenge and most people will probably think it's funny. When our video is over the Queen looks at Harry, brow raised and goes 'Oh really?'  Harry turns to the camera and 'drops' the mic. Oh my god, the internet is going to lose their shit.

When the video is finished I try to take a moment to fully comprehend everything: the bond between the Queen and Harry, the Queen's side-eye (which was one point) and that challenging glint in Harry's eyes. Even through a computer screen he manages to be mesmeric.  

''So, what do you think?''

''It looks great.'' I decide to say, then focus on the practical. I can't quite say I'm jealous that your social media video was better than ours or that I found it difficult to drag my eyes away from your stupidly handsome face. ''It will definitely generate interest.''

There's a long heavy pause before he answers. ''Yes, it definitely will.''

Well this feels awkward now. I wonder if I've hurt his feelings.

''Um, please give our thanks to the Queen. It was a surprise seeing her.''

''Believe it or not it didn’t take that much convincing.'' He says, his voice back to that friendly quality. ''She's planning on winning you know.''

''To finally put us colonists in our place?'' The teasing phrase slips out before I can stop it. My dad wasn’t kidding when he said we were competitive.

He scoffs, ''Please, allowing you all to leave the Empire was the best thing to happen to us.''

''Oh was it now?'' I laugh lightly. ''Spending 80 million pounds and fighting for eight years is allowing? And here I thought we spoke the same language.''

''You do speak the Queen's English and the language of the Bard, you're welcome.''  His words are teasing and quick. And of course he ignores my statistics about the cost of the revolution.  

He laughs loudly now.  Ashamed to say that even his laugh is infectious and I start to laugh as well. It feels good to laugh even if I'm not quite sure what I'm laughing about at this point. Something about the inane conversation I'm having with a Prince of our former colonial motherland.

Harry eventually quiets, ''This went better than I thought it would Mar.''

The shortened name draws me back to my sentences. Focus Margaret, anything much more than a friendship with him is going to ruin everything. I can't let his enticing, no annoying, laughter or banter make me forget that.

“I was nervous it would be awkward…” belatedly I realize he’s still speaking.

“Awkward?”

“All of the tabloids a few weeks ago.” He says and I know he’s referring to our brief stint as the top news story.

“Yes, that was quite surprising.”

He’s not speaking and I’m wondering if he waiting for me to say something else. Resolutely, I keep my mouth shut, less chance of me saying something dumb, or flirtatious that way.

He sighs, “Any publicity is good publicity I suppose.”

The familiar annoyance creeps up again. He could at least have the courtesy to admit that he’s using me. Could at least do me the respect of not treating me like an idiot. But he doesn’t, he’s just like the others.

If I remember that it will be easy to maintain the distance no matter how charming he might be.

''Yes, well I'm glad you thought so sir.'' I respond briskly. ''Is there anything else you needed from me today?''

There's silence on the other end, my abrupt change in tone no doubt causing it. ''Uh, no I don't think so.''

''Perfect. Then the next time I'll see you is in Orlando.''

''Well, yes but-''

''Unless your office has bestowed any other duties upon me or my staff.'' The sentence ends up sounding a little harsher than I originally intended. I bite my lip.

''No, we do not.''

''Then I'll see you in Orlando.'' I infuse some cheer and gratitude in my voice. ''And of course, thank you to Her Majesty, it was an honor starring with her.''

''Well yes, and thank you to your father as-'' I hang up.

I stare my cell phone like it's betrayed me for a few seconds before I scream in frustration. Anna immediately bursts in followed by a secret service agent. ''Miss?''

''I'm fine, I'm fine.'' I wave the agent away with a smile. ''Can you stay Anna?''

''Yes Miss. Is there a problem?''

''Prince Harry is the problem.''

''Oh?''

I sigh, ''He's annoys me, doesn’t think much of me.''

A perfectly arched eyebrow raises, ''Oh?''

So Anna has never been overly loquacious. ''But still manages to be so damn charming.''

''I'm confused Miss.''

I hold my head in my hands for a second, desiring nothing more than a large, a very large margarita.  ''Just make sure I remember that I care more about my reputation, and making a difference than a pretty face.''

''I doubt you'll forget that.''

''Just remind me on the off chance I do.'' I groan. ''It's not like we would even get along.  We're complete opposites.”

''Complete opposites.'' Anna agrees vehemently.

I look up quickly, ''What do you mean by that?''

She blinks, ''Just that like you said,'' She stutters for a moment. ''You and the Prince have completely different approaches to life.''

''Riiiiiiiiight.''  

Chapter 3                                                                                             Chapter 5

[coppicefics]

Masked Omens: Week Eight, Part Two

[Image Description: Image 1 - A simple rendition of the Masked Singer UK logo, a golden mask with colourful fragments flying off of it. The mask has a golden halo and a golden devil tail protruding from either side. Below, gold text reads ‘Masked Omens’.

Image 2 - A page from the Celebrity section of the Capital Herald, dated 13th February 2021. Full image description and transcript below the cut. End ID.]

The Capital Herald, Saturday 13th February 2021 Celebrity section, page 19 Top story: Pepper Moonchild: “Women have been especially important to me” Presenter and interview expert kicks off our series on the women who’ve shaped the stars’ lives Pepper Moonchild is the sort of person who makes interviewing anyone from an entertainer to an astrophysicist seem effortless; she's known for her incisive questions and her flawless instincts. When it comes to asking her questions, then, I find myself surprisingly nervous. But, as all good interviewers can, she soon sets me at ease. “Mary Hodges. Here, I promised you my top secret hot chocolate recipe. How's the family?” Of course, Pepper practically is a member of the Capital Herald family, and she promised me that recipe at the Christmas party. With the pleasantries thus dispensed with, we settle down to get to the topic at hand; talking about Pepper. “Oh, I don't know if I like being on this side of things. I'm usually asking the questions! But of course I'm happy to answer them - go on, I'm just being dramatic.” Pepper is currently a judge on ITV's hit show, The Masked Singer UK, where she's now approaching the end of her second series on the panel. It's an import from South Korea, via the US - had Pepper watched any episodes before she signed up for the task? “No, not at all. Honestly, they started explaining the concept to me and I thought, 'what? How does this work? How does anybody not know when the most famous faces in showbiz are performing in front of them?' Then we started filming series one and it became 'how are any of us supposed to guess?' I'd like to think we're getting better at it, but who knows? It's always fun, regardless.” And the judges really don't have any inside information? “If anything, I think we know less than the audience - we can't exactly hop on our phones and look things up, the way people do at home. And - in case anyone was wondering - we don't do any research between the live shows, either. That would just ruin the fun. We do listen to theories from friends and family, though!” Pepper - or, to give her her full name, Pippin Galadriel Moonchild - is a woman of many talents. Her first television appearance came at just ten years old with her turn on Junior Mastermind (specialist subject: the Pendle Witch trials). While she didn't win, she made a real impression on viewers, and later went on to co-host children's talent show Showstarters alongside Michael Banner - a show that helped launch the TV careers of numerous young comedians, musicians and actors, including those of every member of the current Masked Singer UK panel. “I was so excited when I heard we were all going to be doing the show together,” Pepper confesses. “We all met on Showstarters when we were about thirteen years old, and kept in touch, but this is the first chance we've had to really work together since then. And who doesn't want to work with their friends?” Banner, having made the jump from presenting to production several years ago, is also involved in The Masked Singer UK.“Yes - she's so high up in the production hierarchy that we don't see a lot of her, but it's good to know she's there. She's always been a great example to me, an example of how you can start in one place and then sort of find your way to the job you really want. I think I've done all right at that, so far!” Banner is one of Pepper's role models, but she's far from alone. “There are loads of women  - and other people, but I think the women have been especially important to me personally - who've really shown me that I can do anything the boys can do. I once did a whole presentation at school about Greta Kleinschmidt.” Kleinschmidt, as some readers may remember, was briefly the glamorous assistant of The Amazing Mr Fell before her very public return to The Harmony & Glozier Show back in her native Germany. Much was made of it in the press at the time, with speculation rife that she had broken Fell's heart and taken his secrets back with her to Harmony & Glozier. “I always thought she got a bit of a raw deal,” Pepper remembers, “I hated that the press were so focused on how she'd supposedly done an unforgivable wrong to this rising-star magician, and not the fact that she'd been really struggling with being so far from home. Besides, even the magician she'd been working with said she'd done nothing wrong and he wished her all the best. It was all very unfair, and I thought it was really brave of her to realise something wasn't working and change it like that.” Pepper can talk for days about the women she admires, it seems. “You see some really ugly attitudes towards successful women, even in this day and age,” she muses, “like Anathema, for example. What a voice that woman has, and yet she's constantly battling for people to take her seriously. But what I really admire is that she doesn't let that stop her. And look at the results - Narrative Devices has been at the top of the charts for weeks now.” Working on The Masked Singer has also allowed her to actually meet some of her heroes. “Agnes Nutter, for example, she's always been a big role model of mine. I've been practically devouring everything she writes since I was probably too young to be reading it! And Carmine Zugiber is one of the people who made me want to work on my interview skills; I love how she doesn't compromise on anything.”But, Pepper assures me, there's one woman who's done more than anyone to make her the woman she is today.“Carmine made me want to interview people, but it's my Mum (Tina Moon, a Capital Herald columnist) who got me started with everything in the first place. And she taught me to stand up and be counted, to follow my dreams, and always to reach out and help others up when I can. I do my best, I really do. I hope she's even half as proud of me as I am of her.” MARY HODGES This interview is part of a series called Me And The Women That Made Me, which will be running here on Saturday and Sunday every week until Mothering Sunday, which falls this year on the 14th of March. Next week, we’ll be talking to  Jane Adams, star scorer of the England Women’s Rugby Team. To find more information, please visit our website at www.capitalherald.com/women-that-made-me.

Centre left: Celebrity news in brief: our weekly round-up Misrepresented? Brian Thames changes agent Brian Thames, comedian and The Masked Singer UK panellist, has split with his representatives at MetteTalent and signed with the independent B.Z. Agency, informally known in the industry as BuzzTalent. Reports vary on the reason for the change; a spokesperson for MetteTalent said, “Contracts end, and industry relationships are always changing. There is no suggestion that Mr Thames was unhappy with the service he received at MetteTalent; he has simply chosen to go in a different direction and, naturally, we wish him every success in the future. Thames' blog post on the subject, however, is a little more ambiguous. “I've been with MetteTalent since the moment I won Showstarters – they were partnered with the show and also offered representation to many of the other acts after the series ended. I signed with them when I was very young and, for many years, simply renewed our agreement every time it expired. However, I've since gained more industry experience, and I feel that Buzz – that's B.Z. Agency – is a better fit for me at this point in my life and career.” Thames continues, “My friend Warlock (Dowling, who hosts The Masked Singer UK) is already with them, and with many of the Showstarters contracts due for renewal soon, I may not be the only one to make a change. I am grateful to MetteTalent for taking me on at the start of my career, and look forward to new opportunities for all concerned.” Rumours abound that there is some deeper reason for this change in representation, with many speculating that the child stars of Showstarters may have been forced into unfair or even predatory contracts, lacking the industry knowledge to make better choices. Since then, however, Thames has had plenty of time to change agency, and hasn’t done so until now. It’s likely that any reasons Thames might have for changing agency will stay under wraps. There is no confirmation yet of any other stars leaving or planning to leave MetteTalent. Out and proud West End darling Gertrude Johnson has come out as a transgender woman. Speaking on Friday, Johnson told fans on Instagram, “I've wanted to tell you all this for a while, but I think now it's time. Hi, my name is Gertrude – but you can still call me Gert – and my pronouns are she/her.” A later video thanked fans for their support, and reminded them not to be too harsh on fellow fans who 'slipped up'. “To those of you leaving less supportive messages, I'd just like to say this. Each of us has the choice, every day, to be kind or to be cruel. I try to be kind whenever I can. If you call yourself a fan of mine, please try to do the same.” Gertrude’s second video also explained that she had already discussed her gender identity and pronouns with close friends and family. “When I said I was going to go public, my mates threw me a gender reveal at my parents’ house - balloons and everything,” she said, “so if you saw the words ‘she/her’ floating away over Tadfield last weekend, that’s why!”

Centre right: THE RUMOUR MILL Curated by Scuzz Fisher A MEETING OF MINDS: A doctor, a rapper and a journalist met with an unknown figure in a dark corner of a Kensington restaurant last week. What could they be planning...? MYSTERIOUS VISIT: A high-profile fashion designer was seen lurking in the vicinity of a biographer's home late on Monday night. Is a book in the offing...? SILVER SURFER: An astrologer of renown recently registered a new account on YouTube, a source tells us, and so far has yet to upload anything. But who's getting all those likes...? TEARING UP THE TOWN: Six young stars of stage and screen were seen staggering down an Oxfordshire village high street last Saturday night. The group were quite tipsy, according to one observer, and one was carrying a balloon that said ‘It’s A Girl!’. “Never mind, you’ve still got one,” one of the others was overheard reassuring the balloon-carrier. But one of what...? We rely on your observation skills to fill the Capital Herald’s celebrity pages. If you see or hear something about a celebrity that you think our readers would be interested in, please let us know. You can get in touch via our website at www.capitalherald.co.uk or email us at celebrity@capitalherald.co.uk Don’t worry if you have limited information to give us - if we can’t substantiate a claim or develop it into a full article, we’ll anonymise it and publish it here. We cannot guarantee publication of any sort as some verification is required - but all information and tips are kept completely confidential. We never reveal our sources! Correction: The Tadfield Arms has asked us to clarify that there was no fight in the bar on the night stated in this column two weeks ago, and as the only pub in Tadfield they feel they were unfairly identified. We apologise for this mistake.

Bottom left, ad: [Image Description: A picture of Madame Tracy, eyes closed, sitting behind a lit candle and a crystal ball. The photo is credited to QuiteUnlikely.net. The following text is superimposed over the image in an informal handwriting script. A star shape reads ‘As seen on TV!’ End ID.] Madame Tracy's Psychic Hotline 09098 79 06 66 As seen on TV! [Image Description: The following text is in small print at the bottom of the ad.] Calls cost 80p/minute plus network charge from a landline. Calls from a mobile network may cost more. Calls not guaranteed to be taken by Madame Tracy personally. You will be put through to one of Madame Tracy’s trusted assistants and may be asked to hold the line. Madame Tracy’s Psychic Hotline cannot dispense medical, legal or financial advice; please contact the appropriate accredited professional instead. Madame Tracy’s Psychic Hotline is not liable for the consequences of any advice or predictions given.

[End Transcript]

[mastergaragedoorngates]

How to Choose a Garage Door Repair Company?

Both as a car and a house owner, you must certainly be familiar with garage doors. When you put your vehicle inside the garage and you find that the garage door needs repair, immediately rush to a repair firm. This is important because, you cannot keep your car unprotected for long. Let us take a brief look at what are the most important components of a garage door.

The two main parts include:

1. The door

2. The opener

The doors of a garage basically run on a spring tension. Usually its mobility depends on special metal tracks and they derive the power from the spring. Some repair tips helpful for you include -

1. You need to regularly check the proper functioning of the brackets that are there in metal tracks. You can also check them if you find crimp, dents or any damages. In case you find damages, then you must replace them at the earliest.

2. Just like a safety officer will check the rail tracks positioning; in a similar way, you need to keep up the metal tracks in the garage. As a result it is important that the tracks stay clean.

3. You need to find out whether the plates are functioning properly. Screws do become loose and hence, you need to tighten it. Look into the servicing of the hinges too.

4. The door opener is another important gadget. In many cases, you need a professional company for installation purpose. It is wise, if you install Garage Doors at the center.

5. Your garage must always have a support. If it lacks to have such a structure, then you can make use of a mounting board.

Thus, the above are some of the basic steps that you can keep in mind while repairing a garage door yourself.

Nonetheless, in today's world every contractor has become more or less indispensable. A qualified agent can help you with quick repairs which otherwise, might take a lot of time. The services that such firms offer differ a lot. As a means of a practical and cost-effective suggestion, you must try to choose that company, which will give you all round service. They must not only repair and replace but also install.

Effective garage door repair is not possible if a non-skilled person tries to handle it. Therefore, you must remember that, such tasks are not hassle-free. Protecting your vehicle is as important as appointing the rightful garage repair company.

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[acceleratehomes]

Sell House Fast Liverpool (Our Expert Guide)

Considering selling your house quickly in Liverpool? It can be daunting. But with the help of Accelerate Homes, it doesn't have to be.

Accelerate Homes partner with many of the UK's most trusted residential cash property buyers. Our partners offer a transparent and honest approach that has seen them help thousands of satisfied clients achieve a fast and equitable sale.

After a decade in the business, we have developed efficient processes with our partners and the financial capacity to buy your house in Liverpool quickly for cash. Why wait months, when you can have a full sale in weeks or even days!

Read on to discover how you can sell your house fast in Liverpool with a leading quick home buyer.

Need a fast house sale?

We can connect you with the best cash property buyers in the UK. Sell in under 30 days.

Get a Cash Offer

Sell House Fast Liverpool

Our Process

We understand that the need to sell your house quickly can be an urgent necessity. While traditional selling routes, including estate agents or private sale, typically achieve the best possible price, quick home buyers can guarantee a complete and final sale in as little as seven days. That’s fast cash in your hands.

The average house sold through an estate agent in Liverpool is on the market for seven months. That’s a total of 204 days, plus four additional weeks to finalise the sale. On top of this, estate agents charge transaction and solicitor fees, which can be a real burden especially if you’re struggling to meet mortgage repayments.

If your goal is to sell your house fast, then estate agents just aren't the answer.

An auctioneer can speed up the process, but they’ll charge you ‘through the roof’, and they can’t guarantee your desired price. Your return is unpredictable, and from our point of view, auctions aren't a risk you have to take.

In this case, a cash buyer is a perfect solution offering a quick, hassle free sale. Of course, not every cash buyer is legitimate. Regulatory bodies including the Financial Conduct Authority (FCA) and the Office of Fair Trading (OFT) do their best to debunk the market. However, there are still some scammers out there. To keep yourself safe, we advise reading our comprehensive guide on avoiding quick house buyer scams.

Be assured that our partners operate to the highest standards of practice as set out by the National Association of Property Buyers (NAPB), and subscribe to the Office of Fair Trading (OFT). Our partners are also active members of The Property Ombudsman and are serious about providing maximum clarity and confidence throughout the sale process.

Sell House fast Liverpool

Our Easy Three Step Process

Step 1. Quote The first step is easy. Simply pick up the phone or enter your details here. We will immediately connect you to one of our friendly cash property buyers who will contact you within 24 hours. They’ll discuss your needs, and provide honest and impartial guidance according to your individual circumstances. They’ll work to find a solution that best suits you and offer an initial estimate of your property value.

The initial estimate is determined using data on the current local real estate market, in combination with custom property valuation tools and experience in buying property in Liverpool.

Step 2. Surveyor Selling your home is an important decision, and we understand you may need more breathing space. We encourage you to ask as many questions as you need and take as much time as you feel comfortable with. Our partners will never pressure you to sell. When you're ready, the buyer will send a surveyor from the RICS (Royal Institute of Chartered Surveyors) to your property to provide an independent valuation. The buyer will cover the cost of the RICS report and associated fees.

Following a review of the RICS report, the buyer will finalise our formal offer. Once issued to you, the final offer will never alter, unlike some unethical cash buyers in the marketplace, who reduce their offer after exchanging. It is important you are aware that at this point, you are by no means obligated to proceed, and you will not be liable for any administration fees.

Step 3. Acceptance and Completion If you choose to accept the formal offer, our partner will proceed with paperwork and arrange legalities. If you wish, you may select your own solicitor at their expense. At this point, you can also choose your preferred completion date. Typically, sales are completed in 28 days. However, our recommended buyers have the means to accommodate nearly any timeline.

Need a fast house sale?

We can connect you with the best cash property buyers in the UK. Sell in under 30 days.

Get a Cash Offer

Sell House Fast Liverpool

What makes us unique?

Accelerate Homes partner with a select group of reliable cash buyers who can assist you through the entire sales process.

But, what sets us apart?

Our partners buy any house in any condition: It’s as simple and straightforward as that. Our partners live by the slogan - we buy any house, in any condition. Whether your house is old or new, pristine or falling to bits, our partners will buy it.

No expenses: Our partners charge no admin fees, no valuation fees, no survey fees, and no legal fees. You will never be asked to cover any costs when using the service of our partners.

Your timeline is our priority: We believe no one should have to wait to move on with their life. Whether you’re in urgent need of cash, or you need a specific sale date, our partners are here to put your timeline first.

Private and confidential: We eliminate the need for expensive advertising, imposing sale boards, and disruptive inspections. All our dealings are confidential because sometimes the whole world just doesn't need to know you’re selling.

No chains, no lenders: Our partners have access to significant cash funds. Therefore, they don't use any third party lenders or participate in house chains. This removes the risk of a transaction falling through. It also means they can get you the best possible CASH price for your home!

24 hrs a day: Selling your home is tough, and our partners take their duty of care seriously. Their caring teams are available anytime you need them for support or guidance.

Sell House Fast Liverpool

Reasons and Solutions

There is a multitude of reasons why you might need to sell your Liverpool house in a rush. Below you will find a small selection of reasons why customers seek our help. Please feel free to contact us if any of these reasons resonate with you.

Financial hardship: If you’re facing financial hardship or potential repossession of your home contact us immediately. We can connect you immediately with a reliable cash buyer who can help by buying your house, clearing your debt and helping you move into a new home.

Moving abroad: Are you chasing the sun? Maybe you're just about to start a new job? If you’re moving abroad and wish to sell your house fast, our partners can have you on a plane, and in your new home within a matter of days!

Inheritance: Have you recently inherited property, but wish to liquidate the asset as soon as possible? Our partners can help have the house sold before you know it and save you time and money.

Divorce or separation: Divorces and separations are difficult enough, without the added stress of selling your shared property. Let our partners deal with this one so that you can move on swiftly and cleanly.

Former Investment Property: Are you sick and tired of managing tenants and no longer want the hassle of being a landlord? Whether the property has tenants or not, our partners can take the burden away within a matter of days.

Caught up in a scam: Have you been the victim of a quick house buyer fraud? Try not to stress. Our partners can help. Just give us a call or fill out our online registration form and you’ll be speaking to one of our partner's helpful representatives in no time.

Sell House Fast Liverpool

District where we operate

Aigburth. Aintree. Allerton. Anfield. Bebington. Bidston. Birkenhead. Bootle. Bowring Park. Brighton-le-Sands. Broadgreen. Childwall. Claughton. Clubmoor. Crosby. Croxteth. Edge Hill. Egremont. Everton. Fairfield. Fazakerley. Ford. Garston. Gateacre. Grassendale. Greasby. Great Crosby. Halewood. Higher Bebington. Hunts Cross. Hyton. Kensington. Kirkby. Kirkdale. Knotty Ash. Knowsley. Litherland. Liverpool city centre. Moreton. Netherley. Netherton. New. Brighton. New Ferry. Norris Green. Orrell Park. Page Moss. Port Sunlight. Prenton. Prescot. Princes Park. Sandfield Park. Seaforth. Sefton Park. Speke. Stockbridge Village. Stoneycroft. Tarbock. Thornton. Toxteth. Tranmere. Upton. Vauxhall. Wallasey. Walton. Waterloo. Wavertree. West Derby. Whiston. Wirral. Woodchurch. Woolton.

The post Sell House Fast Liverpool (Our Expert Guide) appeared first on Accelerate Homes.

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[naplesgolfguy]

Luxury Private Golf Club Real Estate

Looking for real estate trends for a luxury private golf club in Southwest Florida? If so, you have found the right source of information.  There are over 150 golf communities in our area and it can be a challenge to pick the right one.

Whether your searching for information on golf communities in Naples, Bonita Springs, Estero or Fort Myers, below you will find highlights for the latest real estate statistics for single family golf homes and golf condos in multiple southwest Florida luxury golf communities.

Southwest Florida Luxury Private Golf Club Trends - Single Family Homes

Audubon Country Club - 33 properties for sale, 25 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $988,232

Bonita Bay - 38 properties for sale, 81 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $1,153,702

Collier's Reserve - 19 properties for sale, 19 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $1,210,684

Grey Oaks - 53 properties for sale, 44 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $2,157,483

Kensington - 11 properties for sale, 15 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $1,002,250

Lely Resort - 105 properties for sale, 104 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $650,936

Mediterra - 63 properties for sale, 42 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $2,316,664

Olde Cypress - 24 properties for sale, 35 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $793,783

Palmira - 33 properties for sale, 31 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $566,013

Pelican Bay - 41 properties for sale, 45 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $2,372,782

Pelican Bay (Bay Colony) -  14 properties for sale, 3 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $3,066,667

Pelican Landing - 37 properties for sale, 51 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $785,126

Pelican Landing (The Colony) - 14 properties for sale, 5 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $1,331,000

Pelican Marsh - 41 properties for sale, 40 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $1,244,585

Pelican Sound - 1 property for sale, 9 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $594,167

Quail Creek - 20 properties for sale, 23 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $1,129,133

Quail West - 75 properties for sale, 67 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $1,947,981

Shadow Wood - 53 properties for sale, 65 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $868,018

Talis Park - 21 properties for sale, 20 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $2,342,884

Tiburon - 9 properties for sale, 2 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $1,992,326

Vineyards - 47 properties for sale, 72 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $626,497

West Bay Club - 18 properties for sale, 21 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $1,250,476

Southwest Florida Luxury Private Golf Club Trends - Condos

Bonita Bay - 92 properties for sale, 118 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $632,921

Grey Oaks - 5 properties for sale, 12 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $1,089,375

Kensington - 12 properties for sale, 31 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $436,953

Lely Resort - 180 properties for sale, 154 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $303,281

Mediterra - 12 properties for sale, 18 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $570,778

Olde Cypress - 1 property for sale, 5 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $442,500

Palmira - 20 properties for sale, 20 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $326,288

Pelican Bay - 176 properties for sale, 235 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $918,376

Pelican Bay (Bay Colony) - 26 properties for sale, 33 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $3,093,242

Pelican Landing - 50 properties for sale, 61 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $328,781

Pelican Landing (The Colony) - 74 properties for sale, 41 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $805,259

Pelican Marsh - 64 properties for sale, 83 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $388,103

Pelican Sound - 18 properties for sale, 64 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $314,537

Shadow Wood - 22 properties for sale, 29 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $318,976

Talis Park - 25 properties for sale, 14 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $896,508

Tiburon - 19 properties for sale, 35 properties closed over past 12 months and average sales price $899,842

Vineyards - 116 properties for sale, 126 properties closed the over past 12 months and average sales price $377,441

West Bay Club - 5 properties for sale, 25 properties closed over the past 12 months and average sales price $608,060

Overall, the latest real estate trends for a luxury private golf club community in Naples, Bonita Springs, Estero show the market for luxury properties continues to soften.  There is no doubt it is a buyers market.  With a handful of exceptions, the months of supply of housing inventory has moved well above the 6-7 month healthy market range. However, each community varies.  For example, West Bay only has 5 condos on the market and only 2.4 months supply of inventory which is pretty limited which means there will be less room for negotiating a lower price.

Bay Colony at Pelican Bay, on the other hand, has increased from a 39 month supply of inventory for single-family homes up to 56 months which is the highest supply of inventory in a Luxury Golf Community in Naples.  So, if your a luxury home buyer, now would be the time to look at property in Bay Colony since a large number of months worth of supply means there should be room for negotiating a great price. Contact me today to help identify the best Southwest Florida golf communities for you and your family to consider to get the best return on your investment.

If you do not see a snapshot of the southwest Florida luxury private golf club community you are interested in, contact us for complete market analysis.

More Articles About Southwest Florida Real Estate Trends

Naples Real Estate Trends

NABOR March 2019 Market Statistics

Begin Your Own Property Search for Luxury Dream Home:

So, if you’re ready to begin your search for Southwest Florida Luxury dream home or condo, we encourage you to explore our website to find information about communities in the area.  If golf is your game, we specialize in golf community real estate and would be happy to help you navigate the more than 150 different golf communities in our area.  If you prefer a more direct approach, we will provide a list of properties that meet your criteria and/or communities that meet your needs.

Also, if you are considering new construction, remember the contractor’s real estate agent represents the builder’s best interest, not yours.  There is no cost for you to have an agent represent you. In fact, we may be able to help you save money and negotiate for extras which the builder may not let you know about.

Lastly, we will handle all contract negotiations for your property from offer to close!

Bottom Line:

If you’re looking for a focused and results-oriented Realtor in Naples, Bonita Springs or Estero who will help you achieve your Real Estate needs, please reach out to me directly. Additionally, if you are looking for a golf community expert or you are considering buying or selling a home, a luxury home, luxury vacation home, luxury golf home or dream home, call me or text me on my mobile phone at 239-370-0892 or email me at Matt@NaplesGolfGuy.com

About Naples Golf Guy

The above information about private golf club real estate trends was provided by Matthew Klinowski PA, an expert in Southwest Florida Luxury Golf Community real estate.  When you are ready to buy or sell a single family home or condo in Naples, Bonita Springs, Estero or Ft. Myers, contact me. With almost 20 years of experience, I can help provide the market information and insights into individual communities to help you find the perfect home.  Most importantly, I will handle all the negotiations to make your real estate transaction as smooth as possible.

Contact Matt:  Matt@NaplesGolfGuy.com

Text or Call me at 239-370-0892

Learn more...

[cokeisrael4-blog]

What You Can Rent for $1500 a Month in Philly Right Now

For Sale/Rent

A good selection of well-maintained two-bedroom or larger apartments - or even a house.

Bright MLS image via E Marketing Real Estate

According to the current Apartment List rent report for this region, $1,500 per month is well above the median monthly rent of $1,170 for a two-bedroom apartment in the city of Philadelphia.

But it’s a figure that remains well within reach for a two-income household. Two individuals who each made just $27,000 per year, for instance, would end up spending one-third of their income on a two-bedroom apartment renting for $1,500 a month. We searched using a rent range $50 a month on either side of that figure and came up with many listings.

So for you young Millennial couples carrying huge student debt loads, for single people willing to hook up with a roommate, or for singles and couples doing a good bit better than our pair above, there are plenty of nice apartments for rent that you can move into for reasonable rents all over this city. We even found some nice ones in popular, close-in neighborhoods. Generally speaking, though, at this price, you’ll find nicer apartments, and even houses, the further out you go from Center City.

3725 Manayunk Ave., Wissahickon (above) | 3 beds, 1 bath, 1,110 square feet, $1,550 per month. Contact leasing agent about pet policy.

We lead off this roundup with the nicest of the houses we turned up in our search. This one’s a classic midcentury Airlite rowhouse in a great location: Wissahickon is the unsung gem of a neighborhood that’s wedged in between East Falls, Manayunk and Roxborough and convenient to all three. This house recently got updated with a new, modern kitchen and bath. It has two spacious bedrooms and a third that makes a good nursery. There’s room for relaxation and entertainment both indoors and out: it has both a large living room and a large deck in back of the dining room. It also has a one-car garage in its basement.

3725 Manayunk Ave., Philadelphia, Pa. 19128 [Daniel Gelb | E Marketing Real Estate, LLC, via Zillow]

Photo via GoldOller Real Estate Investments

The Avenue at East Falls, 5450 Wissahickon Ave., East Falls | 2-bed, 1-bath, 825-square-foot apartments available for rents ranging from $1,204 to $1,591 per month. Cats and small dogs welcome; contact leasing office for details about pet policy.

The new owner of this midcentury modern apartment complex on the East Falls side of the Germantown/East Falls border gave it a top-to-bottom makeover over the last year that upgraded both its units and its amenities. In its central courtyard you will now find a fire pit, an outdoor kitchen, a fountain and a swimming pool. Inside, you enjoy access to a 24-hour fitness center, a community kitchen, a game room, a business center, a study room, a resident concierge and several local convenience businesses, including a dry cleaner; a deli will join the lineup soon if it hasn’t already. The units themselves have open-plan living/dining rooms and modern kitchens, plus plenty of large windows that let in light and let you take in the view – the higher up you go, the better it gets. You’re very close to both the Central Germantown shopping district, including a supermarket, and to Regional Rail service to Center City from Queen Lane station. If you need to keep a set of wheels, you can also rent a parking space.

The Avenue at East Falls, 5450 Wissahickon Ave., Philadelphia, Pa. 19144 [GoldOller Real Estate Investments]

Photo via Zillow

2237 N. Front St. #2, East Kensington | 2 beds, 1 bath, 1,000 square feet, $1,500 per month. Cats and small dogs welcome.

Want easy access to the restaurants, bars and nightlife of Fishtown and Northern Liberties, but don’t want to live right in the middle of it all? Want to be able to hop on the El to enjoy a night on the town downtown? This all-new bi-level apartment is the answer. It’s outfitted with oak floors, triple-pane windows, the latest energy-efficient appliances, ductless heating and cooling, and laundry facilities in your sleek modern kitchen. And it’s just a block from York-Dauphin station on the Market-Frankford Line. What more could you ask for?

2237 N. Front St. #2, Philadelphia, Pa. 19133 [Nick Skari via Zillow]

Image via Zillow

770 S. 6th St., 2nd Floor, Queen Village | 2 beds, 1 bath, square footage unavailable, $1,550 per month. Dogs welcome.

You’ll have to look long and hard to find a two-bedroom apartment that’s been recently updated, is in great shape, has some very nice amenities (including a deck and a dishwasher in the kitchen), and is located in one of the most sought-after neighborhoods in greater Center City. Want your kid to attend Meredith School but not ready to plunk money down on a house or condo? This is your alternative.

770 S. 6th St., 2nd Floor, Philadelphia, Pa. 19147 [Owner identity cloaked via Zillow]

Image via Zillow

1000 Mt. Vernon St., Apt. 1, West Poplar | 2 beds, 1 full, 1 half baths, square footage unavailable, $1,500 per month. No pets.

This is one of two units in a brand-new building that’s off the beaten path but close to lots of things. Spring Garden Street and its quirky shops and eateries are two blocks to your south, and the Divine Lorraine is three blocks to your northwest – it’s just a few blocks further north on Broad Street to the Met from there. If you attend or work at the Community College of Philadelphia, you most likely won’t find anything as nice for rent this reasonable anywhere near it. A stylish modern kitchen and bathroom come with this apartment as well.

1000 Mt. Vernon St., Apt. 1, Philadelphia, Pa. 19123 [Kapsule Management via Zillow]

Source: https://www.phillymag.com/property/2018/12/19/apartments-for-rent-1500-a-month-in-philly/