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boxboxlewis · 9 months

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galex, only four beds, 2k

George said he would book the hotel room himself. Cara was busy, smoothing out the endless administrative details of George’s life, and it wasn’t work travel, anyway—just a little lads’ holiday with Alex, just a stolen slice of time out of time, away from it, in the hot summer weeks when Formula 1 held its collective breath and waited for the season to restart. A spur-of-the-moment thing, after Alex’s plans with Lily fell through. A lark.

Underneath all that was another secret reason for making the booking himself: a sly secret sideways reason. He called the hotel instead of booking online, to make sure they had the kind of room he wanted available. He barely let himself think about the call even as he was making it, most of his attention fiercely directed at the dense weave of the upholstery Carmen had chosen for the sofa he was sitting on. It had a subtle striped pattern, beige on beige.

They were going to Jersey, because neither of them had been, and because Alex suggested it as a joke and then it seemed funnier, somehow, than it should have: the idea of actually going there. “We’re going to lower the median age on the island by about twenty years,” Alex said, the day before they were due to leave, and George, who had looked up “tourist attractions on Jersey” to have in his back pocket in the event of just this sort of cold feet, said “They’ve got these tunnels from WWII, it looks quite neat actually. And you can windsurf.”

Alex raised his eyebrows and said, “All right, eager beaver.” George thought, without meaning to, of the first time he’d had sex with a girl, wanting to like it, for it to be good.

“I’ve got a deal with the Jersey Tourism Board, as it happens,” he said: the less insane part of him. “This trip is actually hashtag spon.”

Alex laughed, and didn’t suggest cancelling the trip.

They flew from Nice to Nantes, drove a rental car to St Malo, got a ferry to Jersey. “This is very Planes Trains and Automobiles, isn’t it,” grumbled Alex, even though Cara had arranged all the travel, in the end, and George did the driving.

“Oh, sorry, did you want me to teleport us?” George said. “Because I actually left my superpowers back in Brackley.”

“Oh, ‘superpowers’? Bit of a puffed-up nickname for the W14, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, sorry, remind me what you drive?”

They were still bickering as they walked into the hotel. It felt, to George, more like family than any of his own family’s carefully meted affection.

“Heya,” he said cheerfully to the concierge, “booking for Russell?”

The concierge typed something and smiled at them. “Ah, Mr Russell. Of course, sir. Let me get you checked in, sir.” Alex’s face was carefully blank, in a way that was very easy to read if you knew Alex at all, but George preferred this old-fashioned kind of service to what you got at more modern places where the staff all pretended to be friends with you. Although he turned down the porter who offered to help with their luggage; they only had backpacks.

Alex gestured at the wallpaper as they exited the lift and walked along the corridor to their room. “Bloody typical of you, Georgie. ‘I’ll pick the hotel,’ he said. ‘It’ll be fine,’ he said. And then you bring us to a place where they probably iron the fucking newspapers in the morning.”

“No, come on,” George said. He found the door to their room and slid the keycard in. The lock clicked satisfyingly and flared green. “It’s all iPads now, innit. They iron the iPads.”

As they walked into the room Alex started laughing, gratifyingly hard, and George basked in how well his iPad joke had landed. Then he clocked what Alex was looking at. The room was nice, spacious, big windows with a view out over the harbour, and—crisp white linens on the beds: all four of them. Four single beds, arrayed in a neat line.

“This is like the fucking orphanage in Madeleine,” Alex said. “Which two do you want, mate?” He was laughing again by the end of the sentence.

“I don’t—this isn’t what I asked for,” George said. What he’d asked for, very specifically, was a nice big room with a sea view and one king bed and no sofa. He picked up the handset on the desk by the window and called the front desk.

“Good afternoon, this is Reception.”

“Yeah, hi, Room 310. Erm, we have a bit of an issue, to say the least. There are four beds in here?”

“Let me just check your booking, sir. Ah, yes. I see you booked by telephone? And there’s a note here that you specifically wanted four beds?”

“No,” George said. He glanced over at Alex, who was definitely listening. “I asked for two beds,” George lied emphatically.

“I am most sorry for the inconvenience, sir.”

“Well, we just… we’ll need another room, that’s all.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, sir. It’s the Battle of Flowers this week; everywhere on the island is booked up.”

George dug the hand that wasn’t holding the handset into his pocket and pressed his knuckles into his thigh. “Sorry, the what? The what of what?”

“The Battle of Flowers? It’s—”

“Yeah, I don’t care, actually. I only booked last week, how could I’ve done that if everywhere is so busy?”

“You must have got lucky, sir. Perhaps there was a cancellation.”

George attempted to channel Toto at his most disappointed and scary. “Right. Right. So what are we going to do about this, then?”

“Don’t worry, sir, we’ll get this sorted for you.”

George put the phone back into the cradle. Alex was kicked back on one of the beds, feet dangling off the end. “You know,” he said, “I’m sort of regretting letting you do all the planning for this trip. You did get us return tickets, right? You haven’t signed us up for some sort of murder mystery tour with actual murder?”

“Ha ha,” George said, sitting on the bed next to Alex’s. “Didn’t see you offering to do any planning, did I?”

There was a knock at the door, and they exchanged a look. “This better be a complimentary fruit basket and bottle of champagne,” George muttered, and went to answer it. Two hotel porters came in: not bearing gifts.

“Hello, gentlemen,” one of them said. “Sorry about this mix-up. Right.” He gestured at his colleague, who nodded. Each porter seized a bed and with great stamping and flipping and manoeuvring got it wheeled out of the room into the corridor.

One of the porters stepped back in and touched the brim of his cap. “There we go, sir. Won’t happen again. Thank you for your patience, sir.” He stood looking at George, who looked back at him.

Eventually George said “Thank you,” sternly, so as to show he wasn’t the sort of person to stand for four beds in his hotel room.

The porter touched the brim of his cap again, and left.

“He wanted you to tip him,” Alex said, voice lazy. He hadn’t left the bed he’d chosen.

“Tip him?!”

“Mm. People tend to like that. Being tipped.”

George sat back down on the bed next to Alex’s. If he reached his arm out he’d touch Alex’s mattress. “Well, that’s rubbish, isn’t it. I’m not going to tip them for messing up.”

“The porters didn’t mess up,” Alex said. It was something he did sometimes, arguing a point just because he could, just to be a shit. George shouldn’t have found it attractive. He didn’t reply, and after a while Alex started laughing and said, “You do realise that, thanks to your phone call, we’ve now got one measly single bed each.”

“We could push them together,” George said, voice casual, as if it didn’t matter. “We could make one big bed. And then we’d both have more room.”

He watched Alex’s foot flex where it was dangling over the end of the bed. Up, down. Up, down. “Yeah, go on then. All right.”

It was harder to move the beds than the porters had made it look, but eventually they managed it, slotting the frames next to each other landscape-style, because they agreed that was likely to be more stable than having them next to each other lengthways. Then they went down to the hotel restaurant for dinner. The food was heavy, French but French through a time machine.

“God, I bet this was the height of fashion in the seventies,” Alex said, poking at his terrine. “The next time I suggest a holiday destination ironically, just whack me on the head, thanks.”

“I think it’s nice,” George said, and Alex snorted.

“You would.”

George gave him a look that said, he hoped, I’m not flicking a pea at you right now, but only because this is a quite a nice restaurant even though you’re being a dick about it.

Alex flickered his tongue out, and grinned at whatever George’s face did in response.

They went for a walk along the seafront after their meal. “Come on, this is nice, isn’t it?” George said.

“Eh.” Alex scuffed his foot in the sand. “It’s all right, I guess.” He knocked his shoulder into George’s. “Glad this one worked out, you know. After…”

It took George a second to realise Alex was talking about the holiday they’d planned together that Alex had bailed on because he met Lily. He laughed, too loudly. “No worries, mate, all good,” he said. He thought about asking how things were going with Lily, and then didn’t. “Shall we…?” he asked. “It’s getting dark.”

“Yeah, all right, wild child.”

Alex showered first. He came out of the bathroom in his boxers, towelling his hair. Long legs, long arms, his knobbly ankles and wrists, his big feet, his hands. “All yours, mate.”

George’s mouth was dry. “Yeah,” he said, “I’ll just—”

He jerked off in the shower, one forearm braced against the cool ceramic tile, the other hand furious and too-tight on his dick, the way he liked it. His orgasm was much more intense than he was expecting and he groaned aloud with it, too loudly, and then bit his lip as if that might suck the sound back inside.

“You alright in there, Georgie?” Alex called.

“Yeah, yep.” He dressed in briefs and a t-shirt, then took the t-shirt back off. It was warm, in the hotel room. Warm-ish.

Alex was lying on the beds, head cushioned on one arm. “You’ll go blind, you know,” he said, half-smiling. “You’ll get hairy palms.”

George thought for a split-second about denying everything but then tried a grin, awkward with it. “Come on, like you don’t do it.”

“Not usually in a hotel room with my mate,” Alex said lightly. “Question for you, Georgie: how many beds did you ask for? Real answers only, please.”

George settled himself next to Alex and shut his eyes. “One.”

“Uh huh. Because…?”

“Because I thought maybe if we had to share a bed we would.” George swallowed. “You would, maybe, you’d realise.”

“Realise what?” Alex said, very soft.

“Realise that you wanted me.”

“George.” George felt Alex’s hand brushing lightly over his shoulder, his chest. He tried not to breathe, in case breathing might make the moment stop. “What about Carmen?”

“She’s not—” How to explain everything that Carmen was not? He settled on “She’s not here.”

Alex hummed in response, and pinched George’s nipple. George yelped.

“Not going to ask me about Lily?” Alex’s finger was circling around George’s nipple, so delicate.

“I—I know she’s, I know I’m not,” George said, Alex’s fingertip trailing down his stomach, outlining his abs. “Look, she’s not here either, is she?”

Alex settled himself on top of George, the heavy mass of him pinning George down like a weighted blanket: but even better because George’s weighted blanket had never implicitly promised to fuck him. George hadn’t been pining for his weighted blanket for years. “What do you want, George?” Alex asked. “Is this a one-time thing? Get me out of your system? Or do you want something longer-term?” He kissed George’s neck, lighting it up, sparks straight to George’s dick. “Want to be my mistress?”

George groaned. “Let’s see how good your dick game is, mate,” he said, and grinned when Alex laughed.

“All right, you minx.” Alex ground his hips down against George’s. “Let’s see how well you take it.” He bit George’s lower lip and then kissed it, sweet and lazy. George bucked his hips up.

And then the second bed rolled away from the first, and George and Alex both fell through the crack between up and thumped unceremoniously onto the hotel carpet.

They sat in shocked silence for a moment, and then started laughing. “Right, ok, back to Plan A,” Alex said. “We’ll just share the one bed, I think.”

It was good with Alex, as it turned out: it was everything George hadn't quite let himself hope for, and the price of it was simply that now he was going to be wanting it, all the damn time.

it takes a village to raise a crackfic. thank you to beautiful geniuses @accio-ricciardo for chatficcing this concept with me, @ininininininstayoutstayout for crucial george dialogue thoughts, and @onadarklingplain for her incredibly kind and helpful comments!

#my fic #galex #there were only four beds #cw infidelity #(not between galex)#gr63 #aa23 #TOO MANY BEDS

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thewales · 1 month

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The Telegraph:

The Princess of Wales has not ruled out making a return to the public eye on Easter Sunday, when she could join her family for the traditional walk to church.

However, the Princess has made no final decision about whether she might join her family at the annual Easter Matins service at St George’s Chapel, Windsor.

A palace source noted there had been “no confirmation either way” and that anything else was speculation.

Kensington Palace acknowledged from the outset that when she is ready, the Princess may choose to disclose further details about her surgery and recovery.

But aides have also stressed that it is her own private medical information and will therefore be a matter entirely for her.

(…) She broke cover to be photographed next to the Prince of Wales in the back seat of a car as it drove down Datchet High Street, despite the fact that they were headed to different destinations.

Curiously, the Princess was en route to London for a private appointment but had apparently decided to travel with her husband, leaving her own vehicle to follow behind.

She is not expected to return to public engagements until the week beginning April 15 at the earliest, as the family takes a three-week break for the Easter holidays from March 22. The children return to school on April 17.

Full article

#brf #the princess of wales #duchess of cambridge #the prince of wales #prince william

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scotianostra · 4 months

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The 9th January 2000 saw the death of the historical novelist Nigel Tranter.

Tranter was the most prolific Scottish writer of all time, writing mainly factual and fictional books related to Scottish history, if you haven't read any of his work I recommend you do, the attention to detail takes nothing away from enjoyable stories. In my opinion the only other Scottish writer to come close to the volume and quality of work in this field is Sir Walter Scott.

His grandfathers were church ministers, but a great-grandfather invented the Tranter pistol. He was descended also from James Watt, inventor of the steam engine. He himself wanted to become a restoring architect, but the early death of his father forced him to stop studying. Instead he trained as an accountant and worked in the Scottish National Insurance Company. He served in the Royal Artillery during World War II.

Tranter went to George Heriot’s School in Edinburgh, which may have inspired his love of castles. His earliest writing on these was at the age of 13. As a boy he spent hours cycling to castles and mansions, and drawing them in meticulous detail, before going on to write about them in his first published book, The Fortalices and Early Mansions of Southern Scotland, 1400-1650, at the age of 22. This was followed by the five volumes of The Fortified House in Scotland. In later life he loved to take visitors out to castles and assisted many castle restoration projects in Scotland such as Fa’side.

He married May Jean Campbell Grieve in Athelstaneford Church in July 1933 and they had two children. He and May worked together on The Queen’s Scotland series, giving a short history of parishes in four Scottish regions until her death in 1979, when the project stopped.

Their son Philip was a climber, who sadly died in a car crash in 1966 on his way home from an expedition in the Dolomites. Tranter wrote No Tigers in the Hindu Kush from Philip’s notes.

Tranter saw himself primarily as a storyteller rather than a historian, and his first novel, Trespass, was published in 1937. Although criticised by some academic historians for writing fiction, he developed a huge new audience, who loved his tales of Scottish historical events and people. He wrote his fiction with increasing knowledge of Scottish history, introducing the subject to millions of people worldwide. From 1947 he decided he could earn a living by writing, and produced several novels for children, as well as adults. The Bruce Trilogy sold over 1 million copies and he had fan clubs in many countries. He also wrote Westerns, using the pen name Nye Tredgold.

Nigel Tranter received many honours and awards during his life, and was also actively involved in several organisations, including the St Andrews Society of East Lothian, Scottish PEN, Athelstaneford Flag Fund and the Saltire Society. He believed Scots should ‘be responsible for our own decisions’, and as chairman of the East Lothian Liberal Association for 15 years, he was part of the Scottish Convention, a cross-party pressure group set up to push for devolution. ‘We Scots are different, not better, but long live the difference’.

He continued to write into his 90s, starting each day with a walk across the wooden bridge at Aberlady Bay which he called ‘The Footbridge to Enchantment’. He was a familiar sight walking on the coast, stopping to jot down neat notes for his books on cards or even shells picked up from the beach. Some of these can be seen in the Tranter Museum, which is currently in Athelstaneford Parish Church. His last novel was Envoy Extraordinary. On his death thousands mourned and many friends and residents in the county remember him with great fondness.

Tranter and his family are buried in Aberlady Churchyard. There is a memorial cairn to him at the carpark near the footbridge which leads over to the nature reserve at Aberlady. The Scottish Castles Association have an annual Nigel Tranter Memorial Award in his memory.

There is a lot more on Nigel Tranter at the following link [http://cunninghamh.tripod.com/2001/index.htm](http://cunninghamh.tripod.com/2001/index.htm)

#scotland #history #scottish #author #writer #historical fiction

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beatlepaul4ever · 2 years

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Buskin with The Beatles FB page

This date in '68: one of rock's finest moments.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A_MjCqQoLLA

10 years later, in fanzine 'The Write Thing', audience member Sher M. of Brooklyn, New York, gave a detailed recollection of that historic promo shoot:

"It began the evening before when, at EMI, we were all given invitations by Mal (Evans) to attend 'a TV performance by The Beatles', as they worded it. But actually the key word on the priceless piece of paper was 'take part' in a Beatles performance. None of us had any idea what that would involve. Some thought we'd be on the popular English program 'Top Of the Pops' with the Beatles. 'Taking part' would have meant dancing on the show. That prospect was not exactly thrilling.

"Well anxious and excited, we met at Paul's house (Cavendish Avenue, just blocks from EMI) to wait for him to leave for the studio. The filming was to take place at Twickenham Studios. At Paul's there were about 10 people, including my three friends and I. Paul came out after a limousine arrived. He was with Nat Weiss, an American lawyer and associate at the time and friend of the late Brian Epstein.

"Paul was wearing a red velvet jacket. He held up the limo while we crowded around his side of the car. After a few minutes of autograph signing for some German girls, the car drove off with Paul waving to us.

"We made our way to Victoria Station. Apple was providing our bus transportation to the studio and back. A lot of the 'regulars' from Cavendish Ave. were already there. We all boarded the bus, about 30 of us now, and headed for the studio. We later found out that meanwhile The Beatles were filming the 'Revolution' promo film.

"When we arrived and ran up to the gate, I could hear John singing at the top of his lungs. Mal came over to us and said we'd be allowed in shortly. I heard John stop singing and then start again, trying to get the song perfect. It was unreal thinking The Beatles were right in the building, next to where we were standing. Needless to say, we were all nervous wrecks!

"Mal led us through the gates and took us to a cafeteria for tea and sandwiches, but we weren't very hungry. As we sat there, two more buses arrived with about forty more people. We were getting mad thinking there would now be a real mob scene. Finally, we were all led into a courtyard over which was a glass-enclosed walkway going from one building to the next. As we were standing there, James Paul McCartney himself comes walking overhead and, seeing all of us down below, he stops and waves. Never let it be said that Paul passes up an opportunity to ham it up a bit. We all started jumping up and down, going quite mad by then as the tension and excitement built.

"Paul ran out of sight and we (now about 50 people) were brought into the studios. (Mal Evans wrote in the Beatles Monthly Book magazine - Issue #63, October 1968 - that 300 extras were given invitations.) There were no Beatles in sight, but their equipment was on a small stage and a piano was put up there for Paul. We couldn't see much at first as there were a lot of cameras in the way.

"After the instruments were properly set up, in walked the four of them. I froze on the spot as this was the first time I'd ever been so close to all four of the Beatles at once. The Beatles went to the stage where John and George began tuning their guitars while Paul doodled on the piano. I was busy watching Paul joke around with John.

"John, Paul, George and Ringo then started jamming with hit tunes like 'Hang Down Your Head Tom Dooley' and other favorites. It was quite funny. I was able to make my way closer to the stage and happened to overhear George singing to himself, 'I Just Want to Make Love to You' by the Stones. I think he suddenly realized that he could be heard and stopped abruptly.

"A friend from Liverpool was onstage, who was quite drunk, wearing a flower behind each ear. He was cracking jokes and the Beatles laughed along with him until he started asking John embarrassing questions. The friend was completely soused when he turned to John and asked, 'Can I ask you a question?'. John nodded and there was complete silence. The friend continued, 'Did you love your wife?' John immediately came back with 'Not lately'. There was silence again after John answered, then Paul saved the day. Paul began playing the piano and said to John, 'What was your most embarrassing moment?' Everyone laughed and all was okay.

"The director told us we'd be singing the long ending with the Beatles and we practiced it once, with everyone running in to surround the small platform, nearly knocking over huge cameras in the rush. Well, we were told to cool it a bit, don't kill each other, we would all get pretty close to The Beatles without destroying the studio.

"We tried it again and it was less chaotic, although I was frustrated in my attempts to get over to Paul's side of the stage as the largest rush was in that direction. We practiced a few more times, still without filming, and I managed to get either on the stage on George's side or right in front. Of course, when we actually filmed I wasn't able to get as close as my two friends who managed to end up sitting behind George on Ringo's drum stand.

"What you ended up seeing on the actual promo film is the cameras backing away from the Beatles towards the end of the song and suddenly there are people there around them, but behind the scenes it was quite frantic trying to get the spot nearest the stage. It was a friendly competition, though, except one time Ringo nearly got knocked off his stand! Ringo laughed about it. After we'd filmed it once, the Beatles left to view it in their dressing rooms upstairs. At least, I thought they'd all gone out. I turned to watch the film on one of the monitors and there in the middle of the crowd were Ringo and Paul watching also.

"When George and John returned, we tried it again and again and... we actually filmed for five hours till it was exactly what the Beatles wanted. Let me stress that I'm not complaining! If they would've kept us there 50 hours, I wouldn't have minded. I never wanted that night to end. Each time the Beatles came back from viewing the film and decided to do it again, we all cheered!

"The best times were between actual filming when The Beatles would just fool around onstage. David Frost was to have the film on his show and when he mentioned them in the promo spot for the show we all cheered - but we weren't supposed to. So, later on, we found out from Mal, David would be redoing the promo clips with the Beatles there.

"Six of us decided to stay when the filming was finished. Everyone but us got back on the buses to London. It was about 11:30PM by now and we'd been there about six hours. Only The Beatles, Mal, David Frost and studio technicians were left after the buses had gone. It was the closest to being alone with the Beatles I would ever get. Frost's intro was re-done and, while he was talking, I stood alone on the side just watching. George suddenly looked at me from where he was sitting on the little stage and broke into this gigantic grin. One of the girls nearby said, 'Did you see the look he gave her?' I'd met George at his house three days earlier and obviously he'd remembered.

"The Beatles walked out to go to the dressing rooms and we went out with them. I asked Paul if we could all take a picture with him. He said, 'Sure,' and we crowded around him. I had my Instamatic camera which one of my friends grabbed from me and prepared to get a shot of us around Paul. Well, naturally the flash wouldn't go off. Paul took my camera, turned it around in his hands a few times and then said, 'Catch me later'. Paul ran upstairs and we sat outside waiting for them.

"I could see The Beatles in a little kitchen having drinks; Yoko was up there too and some studio girls. After about a half hour, Ringo came out with his chauffeur and said goodnight to us; not far behind him was George who smiled and got into his car. A few minutes later, Paul came downstairs and, as he stepped into the lighted doorway, I snapped his picture. He threw out his arms as if to say, 'Ah, you got me!'

"John and Yoko were right behind him and, as they came out, I got another pic of all three of them. They really looked tired and Paul said the film had come out great, giving me the thumbs-up sign when I asked him about it. They got into their limousine and Paul turned to wave at us out the back window all the way down the road and out of sight.

"That night heralded the end of my 1968 trip as I left two days later. It was surely a gigantic stroke of good luck and timing to have been a part of that historic night. I'll never forget it."

It would appear Hey Jude was filmed first, as Paul arrived in his red jacket, and he looks to be leaving in that purple t-shirt he wore for Revolution. I think this account and photos might clarify that it’s Paul wearing John’s shirt and not vice versa (I’ve often wondered which it was).

#the beatles #paul mccartney #john lennon #sharing clothes #hey jude #revolution

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beardedmrbean · 2 years

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ST. LOUIS – The man who shot and killed a retired police captain who was trying to protect a pawn shop from looters will spend the rest of his life in prison.

A jury found Stephan Cannon, 26, guilty of first-degree murder in July. Judge Theresa Counts Burke sentenced him Wednesday to life in prison without parole.

5 On Your Side's Christine Byers was in the courtroom during the sentencing and shared details on Twitter. Dorn's daughter, Lisa Dorn, said he was "murdered by the type of young man my father tried to save."

She went on to ask the judge to give Cannon life in prison as a birthday present for her father. His birthday is Oct. 29.

Dorn's son, Brian Powell, also spoke during the sentencing.

"I hope your eyes are woke. You still have time to get everything together and make amends with your maker," he said.

Dorn's widow, Ann Wood-Dorn, said her husband's murder triggered PTSD in her and she had to retire after 28 years.

“He became a victim of the very thing he fought against," she said.

At the sentencing, Cannon apologized to the family but said he is not the person who killed Dorn.

Cannon's attorney said he is not who the Dorn family described him to be and is not the person who shot Dorn. He said Cannon is a "loving father and a loving son."

Police didn’t have any forensic evidence connecting Cannon to the crime scene or getaway car, no murder weapon or any witnesses who said they saw Cannon fire the fatal shots that killed retired St. Louis Police Capt. David Dorn outside Lee’s Pawn Shop June 2, 2020.

One witness who drove the getaway car said Cannon was the man police identified as the shooter in surveillance images. A woman who lived with Cannon also identified Cannon from the surveillance images.

The jury took three hours to find Cannon guilty of six counts following the 3-day trial. In addition to the murder charge, jurors found him guilty of five additional charges including armed criminal action, first-degree robbery, two counts of armed criminal action and first-degree burglary.

The first-degree murder conviction carries a mandatory life sentence.

Dorn was killed during a night of rioting that followed protests over the death of George Floyd. Four St. Louis police officers also were shot that night, but all survived their wounds.

#nunyas news #not enough #but it's something at least

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cyarskj1899 · 1 year

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https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=pfbid023Sr3WbHh77hLeHGXhfSs8dV5149jwjNtNX6cA76zNhLc7aMKeKZFM7XH92SFf5Z5l&id=26423400230&mibextid=q5o4bk HOMELATESTCULTUREENTERTAINMENTBEAUTY/STYLEAWARDS SEASON 2023

LAW ENFORCEMENT

12 Incredibly Shady Things About the Tyre Nichols’ Investigation

Nichols' mother accused the Memphis PD of trying to cover it up.

Kalyn Womack

PublishedAn hour ago

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The first day the news broke about a fatal traffic stop in Memphis, we lacked proper details as to how Tyre Nichols ended up on a breathing machine over a DUI. Now, every news outlet is following the case as information from the police department and his family unravel the incidentfurther.

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CRIMINAL JUSTICELAW ENFORCEMENT

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thessalian · 2 years

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Thess vs Spoon Budgeting

I have no idea how I got through this week, but I got through this week. Even with the metaphorical kick in the face I got in the last fifteen minutes of my workday today.

But first ... this week. I made a discovery this week. Temp has got so, so much better at taking the long complicated bits of typing once in awhile. Goblin ... has not. In fact, most of the problem has been Goblin all along, which is why I’m kind of glad I only brought it up to Temp once. I’m probably not going to say anything about or to Goblin about it, because ... well, she’s a goblin. After her blowing up at me the other month when she kept insisting on giving me a solution to a problem I told her repeatedly that I did not have (she was giving me grief about not picking up the phone and apparently “I can’t hear it when it rings most of the time” equals “I literally cannot take the call”, even though I explained the whole thing to her in detail three times before I mentioned that she didn’t seem to be listening to me and she took that as an accusation like unto the direst insult), she’s mostly not talking to me beyond “good morning” when I get into the office (and an “Eugh, I won’t have that” the one time I made an effort to offer her some of the tasty treats I brought into the office). Anyway, point is that I don’t really want to awaken that beast even more. I don’t have the spoons.

Mostly I don’t have the spoons because the commute has been varying levels of insane all week. The 168 was hella unreliable for the best part of two weeks, and then yesterday the Stop Oil protesters decided to block off St George’s Circus, which prevents most of the traffic coming out of Elephant and Castle from getting to most of central London. Which means that it prevented most of south London from getting to most of central London. Which included my bus route. Which meant the Tube again, after a massively long diversion. And then of course, the route home was all about the bus driver going, “Hey, we’re throwing you off at Waterloo because reasons”.

Today ... well, I thought today was going to be okay because my usual “gets me to work just early enough to grab something from the corner shop and chill before I go in” bus actually turned up, and hadn’t quite left when my first bus pulled up behind it. Unfortunately, it was crammed to the proverbial rafters with what were pretty clearly secondary school music students, all carrying instruments, and seats were at a premium. I wound up on the outside of one of the two-people seats with a woman a bit larger than I am who was kind of lounging in the seat. I’m not judging for the large; I’m judging for the elbows, which she used to take up as much space as possible and jabbed me with more than a few times. Hell, when I’m sharing a seat with someone, I at least make an attempt to keep myself contained. So, yeah, the strain of trying to stay upright when we went around tight corners was pretty bad and on the whole, this whole week’s commute has been of the suck.

Which brings me to the metaphorical kick in the face. Scruffman knows full well how shitty the commute has been. He knows I wouldn’t be doing this shit if I didn’t have to. And I had a conversation with Temp just yesterday - right behind his seat, I might add - about how the work from home thing seems to have stalled because the person I was told to speak to directly has not responded to either of my emails. But at quarter to four, I get an email from him - an email forward from Head Honcho asking if my Access to Work was sorted and if I still needed anything for the work from home deal.

A note about the Access to Work thing: it’s not a thing I can actually do at this stage. The reasons are stupid, but they exist. I had to reapply because of increase in car fares as a result of ... well... *gestures at economic shambles*. Thing is, one of the things you have to do is ask for three quotes from car firms. So I went on one of those websites and got the quotes and they came up with a sort of budget for the year from that because I am supposed to pay at least as much as I would for a normal commute myself, and they make up the rest. So either I pay for the whole thing out of pocket and they reimburse me on receipt of a claim form, or I set up an account with a car firm and let them pay into that with my making up the difference. The problem is that none of the three car firms whose quotes made up my Access to Work allotment will open an account under those circumstances. As to paying for it myself and getting reimbursement ... it’s about £40 each way. That’s £320 per week, thus approaching £1300 per lunar month, never mind calendar month. I work part time. I can’t afford to pay them a month in advance and wait for reimbursement. And any firm that might open an account on that basis will probably be more expensive ... and y’know what? I don’t have the spoons for this, either. I can’t spend however long doing this kind of secretarial legwork. I already do that shit for my job. I’m already doing that level of chasing for the work from home thing they promised me nearly fifteen months ago. If I’m going to suffer depression, frustration, and a total lack of spoons, I want to know that’s what’s going to happen, instead of keeping getting my hopes up and then having to do the shitty commute anyway while trying to work it all out.

Not to mention ... it’s not just the fucking commute. The commute is bad, yes. However, so is the couple of hundred yard walk to a toilet, and the tea room. It’s the desk chair that’s still shitty despite being the best chair we actually have in the office, and the desk that’s just the wrong height for my personal ergonomic situation. (I have a high waist and my leg-to-torso ratio is a bit off as a result; it’s a thing.) It’s not having any space because Goblin keeps leaving her chair pushed out to smack against mine whenever she leaves her desk, and there’s no desk in the place that would be any better. It’s not being able to do a decent lunch. The office is not good for me. I have made that point to them countless times. Still I get this. Access to Work is not the solution here. Even if the car firms in my area weren’t being understandably leery about opening an account that would be paid by two separate parties.

The national news isn’t any better. Yeah, the chancellor got sacked. Thing is, a) that solves precisely dick because most of the policies that freaked everyone out so badly that it tanked the pound were the PM’s idea, and b) she’s put Jeremy Hunt into the role. Look, he was the health secretary for awhile, and kind of shat the bed at that, and he was the foreign secretary for awhile and didn’t do overly well there either and ... okay, the way in which he ‘did not do well’ is part of why so many people made so much about how Hunt rhymes with a specific bit of genitalia, if you get me. The only good news is that Truss had to scrap the planned cuts to corporation tax (which is why she sacked Kwarteng in the first place - he kept insisting that they weren’t going to do any U-turns on the mini-budget, even when they already did by keeping the rate of tax at 45% for earnings over £150k ... and also he’s being made the scapegoat). But at the moment, Truss still has no mandate, the entire country’s in shambles, most people are desperately calling for a general election because this is just getting stupid now ... and then there’s King Jug-Ears. I’m not much on the monarchy, as you know ... but the fact that she turned up to her second private-ish audience with the sovereign and the response she got from him was, “Back again? Dear oh dear. Anyway...” in the most passive-aggressive sort of way? It just warms my heart just a little. (I still want the whole monarchy to sod off, though.)

So anyway, weekend. I do have plans to start up my next project (flavoured lip balm), but only if I feel a little less like freeze-dried death at any point this weekend. I did stop at the big Tesco on the way home today and picked up some treats - steak, acorn squash, and some more fixings for the refrigerator dill pickles because I seriously did just devour the almighty hell out of the last ones and I require more. It’s nice that the fixings for, like, four jars of the pickles I like better cost less than one regular jar of what they call gherkins over here. And at least it’s not that much work. Boil a thing, let it cool overnight, pour over cucumber spears and dill and garlic, wait. ...As Tom Petty said, the waiting’s the hardest part. Anyway, not money I planned to spend, but things I sorely need.

#Thess has a day job #Thess has a commute #Thess on politics

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doingthedirtydishes · 1 year

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Moving to Europe during Covid-19; Becoming poor and homeless in New York City.

After the success of my first book, Unbreakable Mind, endless projects were offered to me but none were a good match. There were many extremely attractive proposals. One was a second book, traveling to ten cities in the world, writing from an injured person’s perspective; an additional for NYT, to travel to 52 countries in 52 weeks, in a wheelchair; and, yet another, to create a travel TV show – but not any were the right fit, not one idea resonated with my soul.

Which avenue to further explore remained unclear until one fateful conversation in early May. I was on the phone with a friend from Amsterdam, a Norwegian-Dominican up-and-coming rap star, David AKA Big Mill, and he had an idea to share. “David,” I asked, “let me guess, another TV show idea.” He replied, “Yes, but this one is distinct.” Well, it was unlike all prior options – different to the point where I loved it. It made sense; it clicked with me – it felt right inside.

The other missing pieces to the puzzle would fall into place shortly thereafter. The morning of the 14th of May, my birthday, for some reason I was nudged to write an old classmate and friend, Adam, now living with his wife and four-year-old in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. He was recently laid off as an AV Director, a high position in the non-profit world of museums, now in search of a project to develop. I shared my idea for a new travel TV show with him and the rest is history.

After a seven hour conversation, going over every detail possible for how the project could ostensibly work, determining key people and positions needed to make a production company and TV show successful, and agreeing on a pilot location abroad (Amsterdam), we were off to the races. Since Covid-19 has affected so many business-people and investors globally, we were unable to raise the necessary funds. All agreed, signing on to the project on a shoestring budget.

One week later, with all airplane tickets and hotels reserved, my wheelchair supercharged by Gary Gilberti and his amazing team at Numotion Mobility, we were set to start filming pilot footage in Amsterdam in July and August. As I already live part-time in Amsterdam, I was planning on moving to Europe for two to five years. With everything [assuredly] in place, and not being a fan of storing items that others less fortunate could better utilize, especially during a global pandemic, I decided to give away my home, car, all my belongings to those in dire need.

What type spiritual person or leader would I be if I did not practice what I preached, helping others in life anytime one is able, truly living out the words I guide and ask of others to live, if I cannot do so myself? There was no need for me to store away furniture, clothing and other household items while others in my immediate presence were suffering from the current health and economic catastrophe. For two weeks friends and strangers came and took what they wanted.

Everything was going fine, just as planned. My home was donated, flights ready, bags packed and ride to airport sorted. Before flying out to Europe I planned to spend four days in NYC with an old friend, Georgie-boy, who lives across the Hudson River in Jersey City. George is an old and dear classmate from my irascible undergraduate days at Rutgers College; also the General Counsel for our production company. He has a thriving law practice in nearby Newark, NJ.

It was great to be back in NYC, my old stomping grounds in the late 1990s. There is nothing like “The City” – one of a kind, no other place like it on the planet. We spent an afternoon sunning on the spacious waterfront in Hoboken, NJ, a nice day playing Frisbee in Central Park West, eating amazing Mamouns Falafel and Prince St. Pizza in Greenwich Village. Though it was expected to see murals and damage from prior fortnight’s rioting, it was eerily strange in person.

It was Sunday, a day of respite before flying to Europe on Monday. George and I spent the day having a relaxing lunch at Iberia outdoor café in the Little Portugal section of Newark, NJ. The next morning we were up bright and early, soon off to the airport. When we arrived at Newark International Airport it was nearly empty. There was not but one person at the check-in counter – moi. The Delta terminal was empty. It was June 15th and Covid-19 was in full effect. Wow!

Having never seen such a normally super busy airport terminal this empty in my life, it did not give me pause. George, on the other hand, had a different feeling, and decided to stay with me until I was ticketed to board. After finding a way to get my heavy bags checked in with no fees I thought we were on plan. Then a hiccup: “Sorry Mr. Quigley, you are unable to board the flight to Amsterdam. Dutch Immigration in Holland is denying you entry without proper permission.”

Well, that was a first, and not only a huge surprise but a major setback to a monumental project. Oh shit! What do I do now? Thank goodness Georgie stayed with me; and thank goodness he was able to put me up at his place until this mess was all sussed out. It was an absolutely horrid situation; and to add salt to the wound, I was right smack in the middle of a Covid-19 USA EU political Visa predicament; whereas the EU would review country entry list every two weeks.

George was gracious enough to see me through the immediate emergency until it began looking like my delay would be a bit longer than originally anticipated. The EU placed a travel ban on Americans’ travel to Europe. And it would not be reviewed again until July 1st. My new ticket was issued for a direct flight from JFK, NY to Amsterdam, Holland, July 1st. This being the case, and since George had a life to live, I moved to a Hilton close by to JFK airport in Queens.

What started as a journey by giving away all my belongings in order to chase a dream project and move to Europe was swiftly turning into a situation that could easily result in me becoming poor and homeless in NYC. Hotels are not cheap in NYC – nothing is inexpensive in the Big Apple – you pay through the nose. The costs were quickly adding up and what small financial safety net I had set aside was speedily disappearing. I could not last long in a hotel in Queens.

The hotel itself was of no help to my stress and anxiety levels. They had me on the sixth floor, all the way down the hall, in the far corner, in a room that was a very tight fit for a wheelchair, and could only be reached after struggling down one hundred twenty feet of carpet. As if that was not enough, one week into my stay the GM, Tracy Kass, awoke me early in the morning to inform me I would reach my 14 day hotel stay limit after this registration renewal, and she was calling to inform me they could not extend it any further. I was astounded, appalled. Unbelievable!

Miss Kass, later when challenged, changed her story, informing me I did not let her finish, she had more to say on the call – that there was, in fact, no 14 day limit. Three days and three voicemails later, and no reply arrived from the normally overly pugilistic General Manager. Only once it was elevated to Hilton Honors corporate office level did she return my call. This was after numerous emails asking her to send me a copy of the policy. She refused. It does not exist.

Upon complaint to NY State AG, their attorney replied that I did not let her finish, that it was actually a 28 day limit. That is total utter bullshit! Firstly, then why call me only after seven days? Secondly, I met two people outside the hotel who received the same inhuman treatment. Thirdly, all her staff, including her Director of Operations, apologized profusely to me in person for her insensitive, cruel call. It should be noted that all other staff were caring and supportive.

Later that week, while in the bathroom, the grab-bar broke off from the wall while attempting a toilet transfer, sending me straight onto the hard tile ground, injuring my neck and back. Do you think the hotel or GM did anything to help address the issue, let alone make some changes to mitigate a more comfortable stay? No! The room was a disaster for a wheelchair user. My stay in Queens was quickly morphing into its own mini crisis. I was stuck in a cement jungle without any stores. I had only one friend to assist me – Sunita in Boston. Hilton corporate has yet to reply.

With every door opening but quickly closing, I was running out of viable options, rapidly. The immediate future looked grim. Running out of money (and patience), with no home to move to, with no home to return to, life was proving overly difficult. It allowed my mind to get the better of my heart, lulling it into anxiety, sadness and no hope for the future. Life was grim; I was not a happy camper. After nine years of struggle, I figured this project would run smoothly. Silly me!

After time searching deep inside, meditation and prayer, chats with mentors, close inner-circle friends and spiritual advisors, I decided that I would face the universe’s tests head on. It was time to truly practice my words – taking my hands off the wheel of life, as the universe has it under control. It was another example of ‘Doing The Dirty Dishes’ of life – the Buddhist principle that if you want to get anything done in life you first must put in your effort, getting your hands dirty.

In May, when the project began coming together, one night while deep in meditation, an angel came to me and told me: “Steven, after 46 years of white-knuckling the wheel of life, you can now finally remove your hands [from the wheel], let go, give up control of life (as if you ever had any in the first place) – the hardest lesson for most to learn, aside from reaction and attitude, or living through love – I am now at the wheel, in full control. Wake up each morning and relax. Forget about your past; do not worry for your future; live in the present moment – the now.”

It all sounded great until I awoke on June 15th, only to be denied entry to a plane that represented my life’s work and dreams. Or did it!? What was the universe trying to tell me through stranding me in NYC? What was the lesson? It did not come at first, but it did not take long to figure it out. The universe was sending me bigger struggles to overcome. Why? 1.To truly test if my hands were off the wheel of life, wholly trusting in the universe 100% ; and 2. At length, it still had to break and broke me before my dream could be realized. I am grateful to both my teachers, the universe.

Three days later a friend from Portland Maine came down to NYC to rescue me. As soon as I stepped into her car I felt an immense 800 lb gorilla freed from my back. Off to Maine.

To be continued….Click here to read part II.

Travel Blog: Click here.

Spiritual Blog: Click here.

Book: Unbreakable Mind. (Print, Kindle, Audio)

Doing The Dirty Dishes Podcast: Watch or listen to episodes and subscribe: Spotify, Apple Podcast, Buzzsprout. Also available on Google Podcast, iHeart, Tunein, Amazon Alexa and Stitcher.

Doing The Dirty Dishes YouTube channel – watch and subscribe.

Social Media links: Twitter, Instagram and Linkedin.

Travel Blog links: Covid-19 stranded in NYC JFK and Maine – also travel stories on Ireland, Spain, Sweden, Belgium, Iceland, Colombia (Espanol version), Amsterdam, Germany, New Hampshire, TN and NYC.

Personal Website link where you can also find my book, photos of my travels and updates on current projects.

Thank you for your love and support.

#steven quigley #steven quigley blogger #Unbreakable mind book #doing the dirty dishes #steven quigley writer #SCI travel #Steven Quigley author #doing the dirty dishes travel #doing the dirty dishes spiritual

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chrysocomae · 2 years

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Polish magazine Wolna Sobota interviewed Igor Volobuyev, the Gazprom exec that fled Russia to fight for Ukraine. I found it illuminating for how Putin plays his game on the elite particularly Europe. Putin's supreme skill at manipulation caused a deep sickness to humanity. Link to the source in Polish at the end of the article written by Viktoria Belyashin.

- Chrysocomae

In 20 years at Gazprom, I have not met many people who blindly believe the Kremlin's narrative.

Igor Volobuyev, a senior Gazprom manager who fled to Ukraine, is interviewed by Victoria Belyashin.

Viktoria Belyashin: In an interview you said that you had to wash away the "Russian past".

Igor Volobuyev: For me, leaving Russia and the whole life I built there for many years is penance. I left because I wanted to be honest with myself. Today I have nothing. Neither foreign bank accounts nor real estate. Today I am 50 years old, I have lived a life, quite a good one. And now I have nothing.

You were born in Ukraine, but spent most of your life in Moscow. Have you now returned to your homeland?

- I came back to share the fate of my people. Many Ukrainians have lost everything: their homes, loved ones, and often their lives. I am not their equal, but I want to be alongside them.

It is now very difficult to enter Ukraine with a Russian passport. How were you checked?

- I cannot disclose the details. It was not easy. Many people helped me. Not because they think I am a good person. I am useful. Many made it clear to me that even the fact that I am talking to you now and revealing the truth about the Russian regime is an important task that can help Ukraine.

You have Russian citizenship.

- But I have always felt Ukrainian. I came to Moscow to study in 1989. I graduated from the Oil and Gas Institute, but I didn't want to work in the profession. Initially, I started working as a journalist, quickly got accredited by Gazprom, and after a few years I was offered a job within the company's structures. So I stayed in Moscow, for more than 30 years. I worked at Gazprom and later at Gazprombank for a total of 23 years.

The move to Gazprombank was not a promotion for you, was it?

- I treated it as an exile. I was transferred because of my Ukrainian roots. In 2014, I took part in the so-called peace marches, actions against the war with Ukraine, organised by the oppositionist Boris Nemtsov. In my car, in the place where many Russians hang St George ribbons, I hung a ribbon in the colours of the Ukrainian flag. I also put a sticker on the car saying 'I am Ukrainian. We are not enemies'.

At the time, I was head of Gazprom's PR department. I never hid my views at work. When my colleagues asked me what I thought about, for example, the Maidan, I always answered honestly and emphasised the independence of Ukraine. I was not afraid to say that what Putin was doing was a crime and that he was leading Russia into an abyss.

What were the reactions?

- Some people objected, said that I allowed myself too much and that I must have forgotten where I work. But such people are in the minority, even in a company like Gazprom. In more than 20 years of working there, I haven't met too many people who would blindly believe the Kremlin's narrative. Therefore, many understood me perfectly. Because most Russians realise that Russian power is criminal. And that what Putin is doing is terrible, harmful and dangerous, above all for the citizens of the Russian Federation.

The vast majority are simply afraid. For over 20 years Putin has done enough to drive people into the tarmac, to reassure them that they have no rights.

Have those who hold high positions say anything today?

- They - nothing. The higher a person is, the more each word will cost them.

You were transferred from Gazprom to Gazprombank because of your Ukrainian roots. But that isn't how they justified it?

- It is apparent that you are used to democracy. In Russia, people are fired 'for their beliefs'. One day the management called me into the office. I was told that they knew that I was 'not with them' and therefore I could no longer work at Gazprom. However, they offered me a transfer to Gazprombank, stressing that I would not be dealing with particularly serious things there. So it is difficult to speak of repression, I was immediately given an alternative, but the message I got was clear: "We know you are not loyal".

It is not uncommon for large state-owned companies to employ former functionaries from the structures of the state power.

- Gazprom is no different. Of course, these people do not wear uniforms and epaulettes. Everyone knows that someone is an ex-military officer, but they do not talk about it. I know that there are people at Gazprom who used to work with Putin in the KGB. I will not name names, but these are people who are said to have been 'sent from above'. Nobody hired them. Putin chose them. Such people, even though they hold high positions, usually do not know much about the job and even profane it.

How?

- For example, one of the vice-presidents, who served with Putin, sometimes spoke such nonsense at press conferences that if he didn't have his back, he would have been fired long ago.

What tasks do these people have?

- The main task of most is to receive a very high salary and live a very lavish lifestyle. But not only that. And this does not apply only to Gazprom. In most large state-owned companies there is a so-called "superintendent", an FSB functionary who holds a civilian position, such as deputy director general or board member, whose duties include keeping track of what is going on in the company. We are dealing with a state in which Chekists still hold sway.

I understand correctly that for at least eight years you were actually forbidden to be Ukrainian in your job, but you nevertheless continued to do it?

- I find it hard to explain, it was easier for me to leave the country than to think about it. For the last eight years I had a hole in my heart. It was a conflict of interest. My work contradicted my beliefs. Today I think that every person has a limit. When he reaches it, he understands that he can't go on like this any longer.

I wanted to leave earlier, in 2014. Even then, after the annexation of Crimea and the outbreak of war in Donbass, I understood that Russia had no future. I cannot say why I held back for so many years. These were family matters that I don't want to talk about publicly.

Putin is not only about the war in Ukraine. Have you been disturbed by what has been happening in Russia over the years - persecution of the opposition, repression, human rights violations and the eradication of democracy?

- Until 2013, I lived in the belief that Putin was ok. I was loyal. And propaganda worked on me, I had no need to look for alternative sources of information. I remember that when I came to Ukraine in 2008, turned on the TV and saw the Ukrainian version of the war in Georgia, I was shocked. But I didn't really care either. I knew nothing about Georgia, it didn't concern me, I didn't wonder whether this Saakashvili is a fascist, as Russian TV said, or not.

It was only when she touched on what was close to me, started telling me that the Ukrainians were persecuting the Russian-speaking community in Ukraine or that the people on the Maidan were bribed and base, that I felt anger. After all, I am a Russian-speaking Ukrainian! So are my family and friends living in Ukraine. And no one has persecuted anyone! I saw Maidan with my own eyes, I know people who were involved in the fight for freedom, I knew that no one was paying them for it. Then I felt cheated.

How is it possible that you did not realise this beforehand?

- It is also difficult for me to understand. Because it seems that all these years I didn't know what country I was living in. I was asleep, like many Russians today.

The war against Ukraine is not only about military action, but also about information wars, which have been going on for many years, aimed at discrediting Ukraine in the international arena, and about the so-called gas wars.

- The aim was to prevent Ukraine from pulling out towards the West. In fact, Gazprom has little to do with business; it is above all a weapon of the Kremlin, which it uses to subjugate or punish anyone.

An example?

- Let us compare gas prices at the end of the year in Poland and Belarus. Poland, which has always referred to Russia as a threat, was selling 1 000 cubic metres of gas for around USD 850, and Belarus for USD 30. How else can we explain this? It is not the distance or the cost of transporting the gas, it is a stone's throw away.

How was this policy discussed within the company?

- It was clear to everyone that decisions are not made by us, but in the presidential administration.

You were also involved in these wars. What tasks did you have?

- Unfortunately. The first 'gas war' took place at the turn of 2005 and 2006, when Yushchenko appeared, announcing that Ukraine was taking a course towards the West. And the second in 2008 and 2009, in reaction to the NATO summit and the war with Georgia. My job was to reassure Europe that the Ukrainian system was failing, that the pipes were rotten and that rebuilding the system was too expensive and easier to abandon. I developed theses that Ukraine has no money, Ukraine is stealing from us. We created an image of Ukraine as an unscrupulous buyer and a partner that is better avoided.

We managed to make Ukraine discredited in the eyes of the world as a reliable supplier. Gazprom has contributed greatly to this. Thanks to this, the decision was made to build gas pipelines that bypass Ukraine: Nord Stream, Turkish Stream, Nord Stream 2. Ukraine was deprived of its status as a transit country.

Who coordinated this?

- We received all orders from above. Instructions were received by the chairman of the board, Alexei Miller, who has contacts with the Kremlin.

During the second 'gas war' everything was led by Alexei Gromov, who was then deputy head of the presidential administration. To this day he is a grey eminence, managing Gazprom's information policy. I guess it's enough to understand how it worked, if on the strips of state news agencies TASS and RIA Novosti, there were statements by Gazprom representatives that no one at Gazprom knew about. A spokesman told me that he read on the strips statements he had never made.

Are you aware of your responsibility?

- I know that it is double. I worked doubly hard for the Russian authorities because I am Ukrainian.

Have you kept in touch with the Ukrainian part of your family all these years?

- Very regularly. Several times a year I would come to my hometown, visit my father, my family, my loved ones.

What then changed in February?

- When this full-scale, completely crazy, medieval war started, something inside me broke. That day, from the very morning, friends and acquaintances from all over Ukraine were writing to me. I did not recognise these people. They called and, in terrified, hard-to-recognise voices, said basically one thing: 'do something!' They said they were killing them.

I was born in Ochtyrka, a town 50 km from the Russian border that was invaded by the Russians at the very beginning of the war. One of the settlements was almost completely razed to the ground...

How did you feel?

- Disgusting. Because I was aware that I was living so well in Moscow, and I was looking at photos and videos showing what was happening in Ukraine. Not footage of journalists or politicians, but of my family, so it didn't occur to me to question this content. And many wrote to me directly that they were ashamed of me, that they felt disgusted with me. In one message, I read that if I don't do something, I will no longer have the right to say that I am Ukrainian and that my hometown is not Moscow, but Ochtyrka.

I realised that I could no longer go to that job, say hello to those people, smile and then watch the war on my mobile phone, like a terrible film, pretending that it didn't affect me.

I needed a few days, but I chose my homeland. I packed my bags and flew out of Russia on 2 March. At the time, my father was hiding from Russian bombs in an unheated basement and later evacuated to Slovakia. And he never did any reproach to me.

You did not inform your employers of your departure.

- I did not fire myself, I did not give notice. When I left the country, I was vice-president of Gazprombank, my duties included promoting the bank's industrial assets.

Did they contact you afterwards?

- I have not been in contact with anyone from Russia since I left. I have talked to people from Russia who have also left. But with those who are in Russia, I don't talk.

This year alone, four top Gazprom executives have died in mysterious circumstances.

- For the Russian authorities to kill a man is normal. It has been so for years.

I don't believe they committed suicide. Vladislav Avayev was the first vice-president of Gazprombank. Nobody knows exactly what he did. But he should have had access, for example, to the account details of VIP clients, to information about their income. In my opinion, he knew too much or said something unnecessary. Such deaths will happen again and again.

You know a lot, too, and you're still talking about it to the media. Are you afraid?

- I know they can get me anywhere. But I also hid in Russia. I couldn't look in the mirror, I was ashamed. In Russia, it's hard for those who act according to their conscience to live, because the system does terrible things to them and everyone knows that it can do whatever it wants to a person. But if you oppose it, at least you live in harmony with yourself.

And what can you say about former Western politicians who have found warm jobs at Gazprom?

- The term "Schroderisation of Europe" is popular with us. Please understand, for the Western political elite, Putin is a devil who is very good at tempting. The space for corruption to flourish was enormous.

Why have you only now decided to leave your job?

- For the time being, they didn't take me into territorial defence, they said there was no need yet to mobilise people like me. In the first days of the war I saw pictures of queues to military offices. I understood that even people without combat experience were ready to grab their weapons. I understood how solidary Ukrainians are today. I hope to be able to stand with them in one line. Until Ukraine is victorious, I will not leave it.

You came to Ukraine to fight.

- Think about what you would choose if you had to choose between your family and your homeland. Can you find the answer today? I have not been able to for all these years.

Source in Polish

#kremlin #russia #ukraine #war in ukraine #vladimir putin #europe #russian invasion of ukraine #gazprom #russian propaganda #russian imperialism #ruschism #україни #Россия #stop putin #putin

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tlonista · 2 years

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Blood and Blue Diamonds: Chapter 2 Notes

I promise every chapter isn't going to have this much rambling about LA history, but I've got some random references in this chapter that bear explanation!

Early 20th-century LA’s equivalent of Piltover's "founders” were basically three guys: General Harrison Gray Otis and Harry Chandler, the duo behind the early Los Angeles Times, and William Mulholland, the man who designed the Los Angeles aqueduct system. My early drafts made Heimerdinger a stand-in for Chandler, because Chandler effectively ran LA for years and the Times (fictionalized here as the Los Angeles Enterprise) had Piltover Academy-level cultural influence. But I couldn’t go through with it for two reasons.

The first reason is that Chandler was too much of an utterly selfish bastard to match Heimerdinger’s altruistic (if not particularly effective) efforts as a political figure. Thanks to Chinatown's fictionalized version of LA history it’s fairly well known that Chandler helped orchestrate an underhanded plot to buy up dry land in the San Fernando valley for cheap and then make the city route water through it for the aqueducts, destroying the livelihood of an entire community to make a secret trust of LA rich people richer. Somewhat less famously, he helped brutally crush the LA labor movement and was an outright eugenics proponent in the years before World War II. Not a Harry Chandler fan here, folks, not sure how much clearer I can make it.

The second is that Heimerdinger’s combo of science and politics has legitimately more in common with Mulholland. Mulholland was a self-taught engineer who shaped LA in a tangible way but was part of the power structure that made people like Chandler rich, and while he wasn’t precisely forced out, he left his position as head of LA's Water & Power department stricken by regret after the (genuinely tragic) St. Francis Dam collapse of 1928. (To be clear he was in his own way just as much of a ruthless bastard as Chandler and readily participated in the whole aqueduct scheme, and while Heimerdinger’s flaw is his overcautiousness, Mulholland’s undoing was that he was incredibly reckless as a civil engineer.) I sort of already wrote Mulholland into a My Chemical Romance fanfic last year, but I can’t stay away from the guy.

I swear this is all sort of relevant to the fic, and if you’re interested in the real history, Dennis McDougal’s Privileged Son and Marc Reisner’s Cadillac Desert are the source for a lot of the background detail.

Other than that — for quite a while this draft just had “ARE RADIOS A THING” noted around Jayce driving home late at night, but I got lucky because the first 24-hour broadcasting started — in Los Angeles — in the 1920s. I would later learn that stations sold blocks of late-night or early-morning airtime to Mexican American broadcasters, although a lot of them were apparently pulled after anti-Mexican sentiment grew during the Great Depression, so I’m on thin ice with this one. Anyhow Jayce is listening to a 1930 corrido (a narrative song style popular during the period) called “El Lavaplatos” or “The Dishwasher,” to which you can find the full lyrics here and listen here. As noted in the bibliography, my background for most things Mexican American/Chicano in this story is George Sanchez’s Becoming Mexican American: Ethnicity, Culture and Identity in Chicano Los Angeles, 1900 – 1945.

After all that I was afraid I’d still have to scrap it if car radios hadn’t been popularized yet, but Motorola 1930, baby! Saving throw passed. Then I wondered if you could install one in a Ford Phaeton (a Phaeton being sort of the 1930s version of a sports car) and just gave up exhausted.

#arcanoir

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kweeen-decon · 2 years

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first day on the job // 2.23.2022

So, I recently got a job as a crime scene decontaminator in mid-February and let me just start off by saying that within the short period of time btwn training & actually going on a job has been amazing! I was so excited to just land this job considering I've been into crime related stuff since I can remember; I'd always wanted to be a pathologist but med school was too intimidating for me, so I ended up getting a BA in Criminal Justice. In preparation for a first clean up job, I had to drive to St. George to get fitted for my respirator. The drive from Vegas to St. George alone was amazing filled w scenery & landscape so beautiful & w a few prerolls packed for the drive, it truly was lovely. So after getting my respirator, literally 2 weeks later, I got the call from my boss that there was a house to be clean in St. George; suicide, gunshot. I had a two hr drive ahead of me but I was ready; to me that was perfect so I can mentally prepare myself. I left Vegas around 9:30 am and got to the house about 12:40 pm (there's an hour time difference btwn Vegas & Utah just fyi). As if this day wasn't exciting for me already, I grew up in a desert so this when I say this, I say this as if a child says this: it began to snow as I entered St. George & when I got out of the car to the house we needed the clean, it was still falling and I have never seen snow falling from the sky before; IT WAS SO MAGICAL! I had to contain myself bc I didn't want to seem insensitive considering the line of work I'm doing, however, I will end that thought with this, I knew right then that it was going to be a great day. After the snow show, I found where I was supposed to be & when I say I was nervous, I was NERVOUS. I had no idea what to expect other than a person who had committed suicide. The area in which John Doe killed himself in like a garage but indoors; it was home to the family's extra fridge, extra dry food storage, and the home of all the guns & ammo. The person who took their life was about 80 years old w quite a few health issues & didn't feel that they had a good quality of life, so he ended it. Personally, I can understand how someone would go to this extreme, for a lack of better words, when dealt a shitty deal like that. When I saw where the biohazard was, I started to calm down a bit since it wasn't as gruesome as I had thought. John Doe took his life w a .22 so the spatter wasn't extreme & the pooling wasn't as bad either. Luckily, since this was my first clean, I had other co-workers there to help guide me on what to do; the training videos are helpful as hell but with work like this, its easier to learn by actually doing in the moment. In this case, watching can be just as helpful. As my team members helped clear the space in the room so that we can get a detailed clean, I went to the bathroom to fill our solutions; we have Indicator, let's us know what is actually blood so we know exactly where to clean, we have Enzyme, which when sprayed on blood (wet or dry) helps lift the blood off the surface for a more detailed clean, we have Disinfectant, for obvious reason, & lastly Odorizor for more obvious reasons. After I got our solutions made up, I was able to get really hands on and help clean up the actual scene. My fellow teammates had to leave for whatever reasons but that just meant the work was all mine now; I spent the last hour of cleaning by myself, dealing w the detailed scrubbing. After about 4 hours of cleaning the house, the job was finally done & then came the hardest part, well for me. I hate confrontation but I'll be your support if need be, so when we're done w a cleaning, my boss usually does a walk through w the family to give them reassurance of any and all blood being gone from the scene & we answer any questions they may have. The worst part for me, however, is one of the most important parts to the ppl we come in contact w bc at the end of the day, we helped them, to the best of our ability, to make that house a home again by cleaning out the grim history that may have taken place.

#crime scene #decontamination #biohazard #death #prayfordeath #crime scene cleaners #desert decontamination

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renuauto · 2 years

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Is It Worth Investing In Auto Detailing?

The experienced auto dealers in St George, Utah describe auto detailing a process of preparing your vehicle for its best possible condition. It mainly involves cleaning the exterior, interior, and suspension of your car. It will even include polishing wheels, washing and changing seats, cleaning windows and windshields. It may even involve getting rid of rust from metal parts such as headlights or side mirrors and possibly painting them to make them shinier.

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scotianostra · 1 year

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On 11th of April 1951 The Stone of Scone, the stone upon which Scottish monarchs were traditionally crowned, was found on the site of the altar of Arbroath Abbey.

It’s always good to get details from the era in posts, this is a contemporary newspaper report of the event.

Three and a half months after its removal from the Coronation Chair in Westminster Abbey early on Christmas morning, the Stone of Scone was to-day deposited in Arbroath Abbey in Scotland. Three men drove up to the abbey and carried the stone, which was draped in a St. Andrew’s flag along the main aisle before laying it at the high altar, on the grave of King William the Lion of Scotland.

The stone was handed over to Mr. James Wishart, custodian of the abbey, who remained with it until a detachment from Angus County Police took possession. Afterwards it was removed to Forfar, where it lay in a locked cell at police headquarters for the night. On top of the stone two unsigned letters were left: one addressed to the King and the other to the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland as “successor to the Abbots of Scone.”

The letter to the King read:

“Unto his Majesty King George VI, the address of his Majesty’s Scottish subjects who removed the Stone of Destiny from Westminster Abbey and have since retained it in Scotland, humbly showeth.

"That in their actions they, as loyal subjects, have intended no indignity or injury to his Majesty or to the Royal Family.

"That they have been inspired in all they have done by their deep love of his Majesty’s realm of Scotland and by their desire to compel the attention of his Majesty’s Minister to the widely expressed demand of Scottish people for a measure of self-government.

"That in removing the Stone of Destiny they were restoring to the people of Scotland the most ancient and most honourable part of the Scottish regalia, which for many centuries was venerated as the palladium of their liberty and which in 1296 was violently pillaged from Scotland in the false hope that it would be the symbol of their humiliation and conquest.

"That the stone was kept in Westminster Abbey in defiance of a royal command and despite the promise of its return to Scotland.

"That by no other means than the forceful removal of the stone from Westminster Abbey was it possible even to secure discussion as to its rightful resting place.

"That it is the earnest hope of his Majesty’s Scottish people that arrangements for the proper disposition of the stone may now be made after consultation with the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland who as successors of the Abbots of Scone are its natural guardians.

"That it is the earnest prayer of his Majesty’s loyal subjects who have served his Majesty both in peace and war that the blessing of Almighty God be with the King and all his peoples so that in peace they may enjoy the freedom which sustains the loyalty of affection rather than the obedience of servility. God save the King.”

The letter which was addressed to the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland asked that the representatives of the Church should “speak for the whole people and arrange with the public authorities in England that the Stone of Destiny will be retained in Scotland.”

wo Arbroath town councillors, Mr. D.A. Gardner and Mr. F.W.A. Thornton, both of whom are prominently associated with the Scottish Convention movement, were waiting at the entrance to the abbey when the three men arrived. Mr. Thornton helped them to carry the stone in, and Mr. Gardner went to Arbroath police station to inform the police that the stone was lying in the abbey.

Mr. Wishart, who is 63 and has been custodian at the abbey for nine years, told a reporter that the men got out of the car and started to take a heavy object from the back seat. Councillor Gardner came up and said: “Is that the Stone of Destiny you have?”

Mr. Wishart said that Mr. Thornton and three men carried the stone on a wooden litter up what used to be the nave of the abbey between the ruins of the pillars. “They laid it at the three stones which marked the site of the high altar. They carried the stone in a reverent manner, their heads were uncovered, and it was a solemn and impressive little ceremony. The men shook hands with me and wished me the best of luck and then went. As soon as I knew that the Stone of Destiny had been placed in my charge I locked the gates.”

Mr. Wishart said that the three men were “young well set-up lads,” but apart from that he was unable to give a description of them. The car was big and dark-coloured, but he did not note the registration number. “I have always told visitors that one day the Stone of Destiny would come to this historic spot,” he said, “and I am glad that my words have come true.”

On 13 April the Stone was returned to Westminster Abbey.

A wee bit history behind the stone, the first Scottish monarch to be crowned atop the stone in the 11th century, with John Balliol the last King to use the stone on Scottish soil in 1292.

In 1296, the stone was captured by Edward I as spoils of war and taken to Westminster Abbey. On St Andrews Day 1996, the Stone of Destiny was legally returned to Scotland with a ceremony and celebration befitting its status. Since that day, it has remained within the confines of Edinburgh Castle alongside the Honours of Scotland. Thousands lined the Royal Mile to see the stone escorted from the Palace of Holyrood House to the castle.

#scotland #scottish #scottish icon #stone of destiny #stone of scone #history

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if-you-fan-a-fire · 6 months

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"Murder Trial At Kamloops Assizes," The Inland Sentinel (Kamloops). October 27, 1913. Page 1 & 4. ---- Only one criminal case remained upon the docket at the Kamloops Fall Assize when the Judge took his seat this morning, but it was the most serious of all those set down for hearing at the Court being the charge of murder against John Lynn. The offence itself was committed on July 9th of the present year at the Queen's Hotel, since destroyed by fire, and the victim, was a lumberman named Joseph M. Pickering.

Jury Sworn. The following jury was sworn to sit upon the case: Messrs. J. Tunstall (Foreman); J. Morrison, A. H. Sandborn, A. T. Ball, Wm. Burriss, G. L. Rimington, E. J. Riley, T. Gregory, G. Hepburn, R. G. Riddick, R. Barrett and C. C. Clark; and the first witness heard was Dr. J. S. Burris.

Medical Testimony. The medical testimony given by Dr. Burris was as to the nature of the victim's injury which he described as a bullet wound from the left chest, through the heart, pulmonary vein, and aorta. The bullet had almost severed the sixth back rib, and had lodged near the scapula. Death from this injury said the witness, would be almost instantaneous.

Arrest of Accused. George Rothnie, Chief Constable of the Kamloops City Police force was next questioned, and he detailed the story of Lynn's arrest.

Early in the afternoon of July 9th a message was received at the Police Station to the effect that a murder had been committed at the Queen's Hotel, and the Chief hurried by motor to the scene, where he found a man lying dead with a bullet in his left breast just over the heart.

After a search for the prisoner the Chief received information that a man answering to his description was in hiding under the raised wooden walk leading from the Main St. to Hill St. beside Mr. Harmon's blacksmith shop. He proceeded there and when a sliding door giving ac- cess to the place of concealment from the shop was, opened, leaped in and covered the accused with his revolver.

The prisoner, who gave no trouble, was taken in a car belonging to Dr. Burris to the Police Station, where he was cautioned..

On hearing the caution he said, "Oh, I know all that stunt."

He was then informed that he would be charged with a serious crime, whereupon he asked: "Is he dead?"

"Yes," replied the Mayor who was present.

"I'm glad, of it," burst out the accused. "I'm sorry: I did not get return on a few more of them. They would have got it if they had not got away."

Chief Rothnie concluded his evidence by declaring that a revolver was found upon Lynn loaded in four chambers, and with the shell of a recently fired cartridge in another chamber. The revolver, he said, was in effective working order.

Further Evidence. Orie Johnson, the next witness, repeated the evidence given by him at the preliminary hearing to the effect that the accused joined Pickering, himself, and another man named Armstrong on the street, and accompanied them to the Queen's Hotel. After some drinking witness left the bar and sat in the porch of the hotel. Shortly afterwards he heard the noise of a scuffle, and later on a shot after which Lynn came out with a nickel plated revolver in his hand. As he passed out of the door the accused remarked, "He got what he was looking for."

Counsel's Remarks. During his evidence Johnson stated that as, they were walking towards the Queen's Hotel, Lynn observed to him that Armstrong and Pickering were "a couple of live guys." Johnson replied, "Yes, I don't suppose they are dead," and Lynn then asked if Pickering had any money, to which witness replied in the affirmative.

Mr. A. D. MacIntyre, acting for the defence, asked witness when he invented the story of this conversation, whereupon His Lordship took exception to the form of the question as implying that Johnson was not telling the truth.

Mr. MacIntyre declared that this was his intention, and His Lordship suggested that it would be well to ask the witness questions and to comment, if comment seemed necessary, upon his replies.

The witness denied that the story was an invention, and declared that he had not related it at the preliminary hearing because he was not asked about it.

The Court adjourned at 12.30 until 2 p.m.

#kamloops #murder trial #murder #shot to death #shooting affray #armed with a revolver #bar fight #ex-convict #assizes court #john lynn #crime and punishment in canada #history of crime and punishment in canada

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