#christmas hotel derby

[herbertwest]

idk how serious you were w that post, but here are some things to do in Louisville (source: grew up near there)

- walk across the walking bridge. stand in the middle of the bridge and you can be half in Kentucky and half in Indiana

- look at cool old houses in Old Louisville

- go on the Belle of Louisville, a historic steamboat

- if you’re there around Derby (in May), there are also associated events leading up to it, like Thunder Over Louisville firework show and and the hot air balloon race

- seasonally, go to the Galt House hotel to look at the giant gingerbread house. Light Up Louisville is when they turn on the big Christmas lights display in the park. Lights Under Louisville is where they have Christmas lights in a cavern underground you can drive thru

- there’s always the basic bitch stuff like bourbon tasting and horse races too. the Kentucky Derby Museum has a history of horse racing which is kinda cool even if you don’t care abt going to the actual races.

- then also they’ve got a zoo and an art museum and science museum and history museum and stuff too, just typical city things

This is actually super helpful, and now I kinda want to visit Louisville

Thank you so much! In addition to being very interesting, now two of my characters can go on something both of them would very much claim wasn't a date in Louisville (but we know better)

[aghotel]

Escape to Winter Magic: The Ultimate Guide for Derby Winter Travel

As the air turns crisp and the holiday season unfolds, Derby transforms into a winter wonderland with enchanting and exciting activities for everyone to enjoy. From mischievous elf trails to captivating theatrical performances and immersive experiences, there is something for every age and interest. Discover the joy of the winter season with our curated list of activities for Derby winter travel and unlock a world of winter joy and wonder.

Winter Stories at AVP Theatre

Enter the enchanting world of our Magic Storybook, where a captivating fairy and mischievous puppets bring charming winter tales to life. An interactive and laughter-filled show for the whole family, this theatrical performance is sure to leave you with warm memories of the season. Learn more about the event here.

Tree of Light at Derby Cathedral

Discover a serene escape from the holiday hustle and bustle this Christmas at Derby’s enchanting Tree of Light, nestled within the peaceful embrace of Derby Cathedral. From December 6th to January 5th, gather for moments of reflection, sanctuary, and the warm glow of light. Experience the true essence of the festive season in this tranquil setting. Learn more about the event here.

Northern Lights at QUAD Gallery

Experience the awe-inspiring Northern Lights at the QUAD Gallery, where cutting-edge lighting, projections, and sounds transport you into an ethereal ambiance. Capture Instagram-worthy moments or simply bask in the enchanting display. It’s a mesmerizing experience that adds a touch of magic to your winter evenings. Visit QUAD Gallery’s website to lean more about the show.

Cathedral Quarter Ice Rink 2023

Whether you’re a skilled skater or just trying to stay on your feet, the Cathedral Quarter Ice Rink is the perfect Christmas treat. With a covered rink, a viewing platform, and festive music, it’s an ideal spot to enjoy the holiday season with friends and family. Don’t forget to treat yourself to a steamy hot chocolate or warming mulled wine afterward. Book your tickets here.

Mercia Marina Village & Park

Situated just outside Derby, Mercia Marina offers 24 acres of wildflower lake surrounded by 50 acres of beautiful landscapes. From countryside walks to relaxing boat tours and breathtaking cycle routes, the marina has something for everyone this winter. Explore retailers, boutiques, and galleries, creating lasting memories in this picturesque setting. Learn more this winter adventure spot here.

Cinderella by Annie Siddons

Embark on a thrilling theatrical adventure amidst the picturesque Derbyshire countryside with Cinderella, presented by Annie Siddons. This festive production promises a delightful show where daring to dream takes center stage. Ideal for the whole family, Cinderella invites you to immerse yourself in the magic of the season. For more information about the show and to secure your tickets, visit Derby Theatre.

Naughty Meg and the Christmas Elves

Experience the magic of Christmas with the return of Naughty Meg and The Christmas Elves by The Babbling Vagabonds. Born in a storm, Meg is the naughtiest girl in the world, causing havoc wherever she goes. This Christmas, she upsets the Christmas Elves, and war is declared. Join the adventure filled with laughter and joy. Find out more about Naughty Meg and The Christmas Elves at Festive Derby.

Festive Derby Food on the Market Place

A winter excursion is incomplete without indulging in delectable treats. Head to the Market Place and treat your taste buds to a variety of culinary delights. From traditional German sausages cooked over an open fire to loaded fries, crepes, and waffles, the on-site food vendors will satisfy all your festive cravings. Plus, you can enjoy your food inside the warmth of the tipi. Learn more about the culinary offerings at Festive Derby Food on the Market Place.

Visit The Stuart Hotel

After a day filled with winter delights, retreat to the cozy embrace of The Stuart Hotel in Derby. Whether you’re exhausted from the day’s adventures or seeking a relaxing getaway, The Stuart Hotel offers the perfect winter retreat. Take advantage of the Winter Warmer Offer, which includes a one-night stay, Full English breakfast, a welcome snack pack, early check-in and late check-out, and complimentary parking. Book your winter warmer stay now.

Derby is truly a winter haven with a range of activities that cater to all tastes. Whether you are a fan of theatrical spectacles, delicious winter treats, or immersive experiences, Derby winter travel itinerary has something special in store for you this winter. Embrace the season’s magic and create lasting memories with friends and family in this enchanting city.

Love to travel? Discover and book your perfect trip with local insights, travel guides and destination inspiration from AG Hotels Group. Sign up for our newsletters, here.

[thestuart01]

Christmas Parties 2021 at Derby Midland Hotel

During December you can enjoy a traditional Festive Fayre Lunch or a delicious dinner in the XS Restaurant during the christmas parties occasion choosing from the celebration menu or the a la carte menu. We are looking forward to welcoming you on Christmas Day when you can relax and let us do the work. Thanks to our city center location, The Best Western The Stuart Hotel is one of the most superbly placed hotels in Derby.

[halfmoondaze]

I want another enemies to lovers

The Strangest Effect

Today Y/N was attending the Kentucky Derby, being close friends with Druski and Urban, but this meant she was also stuck having to hang out with Jack. 

The three of you were staying in the same hotel, with you having a separate room were Jack, Urban and Druski were staying. You were currently putting your accessories when there was a knock on the door. 

“Come in” you yelled thinking it was Urban. 

To your disappointment, it was only Jack. 

“Are you planning on finishing anytime soon? We are going to be late” he said in annoyance. 

You rolled your eyes. 

“I needed help with my dress” you said referring to the zipper. 

You attempted doing it yourself once again but to your surprise, Jack didn’t hesitate before walking closer to you and help you out. His fingers got ahold of the zipper as he began to slowly zip it all the way up, while you starred at him through the vanity mirror in front of you. 

As soon as he finished, he looked at you from the mirror reflection of the mirror breaking the spell. You immediately looked away and muttered under your breath a quick ‘thanks’ before gathering the rest of your stuff.

“I’ll be on the hallway” he said in a low voice before exiting. 

Once you arrived at the event, Jack separated fom the rest of you as he took some pictures at the red carpet and did some interviews.

The place was packed and all eyes were on Jack. He had brought everyone to The Kentucky Derby. His parents, Clay, DJ Drama, Bryson Tiller, Druski, and many others. Not being so close to Jack, you almost felt out of place. 

Hw was glowing. Thos was a side of Jack you rare get to see. It was almost endearing to watch. Like a child on Christmas morning, Wait…what the fuck was she saying? For a moment she swore she almost sounded like she was falling for him…weird. 

As Y/N’s first time attending the Kentucky Derby, she enjoyed the experience, even though it wasn’t really her scene, but there was something about being around an atmosphere  of excitement that made the whole thing worth it. 

The following day, Urban had invited Y/N and Jack for lunch together, in hopes to ease the tension between the two of them, as it was starting to get awkward for the rest of them. 

Jack opened the front door to find Urban standing in front of it. 

“I guess is just going to be me and you. Y/N said she wasn’t feeling really well” 

“Yea right” Jack said rolling his eyes before waking past him to his SUV, encouraging Urban to follow hi. 

On the drive to the restaurant, Jack couldn’t stop ranting about Y/N, which was making Urban become annoyed at him. 

“Dude, are you changing the topic anytime soon? I swear you haven’t stopped talking about Y/N since we left your house” Urban laughed at him. 

Jack realized he was right and decided to just turn on the radio to forget about it. 

“You guys should just kiss already” Urban muttered laughing. 

Jack responded to his comment by giving him a death glare before putting his eyes back on the road. 

One night, Urban invited Y/N over to get together at Jack’s house. Not wanting to make a big fuss about it, she decided to join them considering she didn’t have anything interesting going on. 

“Y/N” Jack said surprised to see you as he opened the front door. 

“Um…hi, Urban invited me over” 

“He did?” 

“Yeah…this was stupid, Ill just go” 

Y/N turned around to walk away but before she could Jack stopped her. 

“Wait” 

She turned around. 

“Urban forgot to mention you were coming, but he hasn’t arrived yet. You can stay and hang out if you want” Jack said almost in a timid way. 

Wait, was Jack nervous? Y/N thought to herself. 

“Ok…” you said walking inside. 

Jack was clearly not himself tonight. As he seemed distracted and not confident at all which was rare. 

Jack and Y/N sat on the couch watching a random film. But it seemed like none of them could concentrate on it and there was this undeniable tension in the air.  

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked suddenly. 

“Sure” you responded hoping probably a drink would ease the awkwardness. 

And this is how you and Jack ended up getting tipsy and sitting in a corner in the living room laughing at the most random things. 

“Are you serious?” you said almost breathless from laughing too much.

“You bet” 

As soon as the laughter dies down, they fnd themselves lost in each other. Jack starts leaning in to kiss Y/N and Y/N does the same. 

In that moment, laughter can be heard from the hallway along with the sound of footsteps. Urban had most likely let himself inside with some friends. 

Jack stands up and reached for her hand. 

“We should go downstairs” 

“Yea” she said taking his hand as she stood up.  

It has been a week since Y/N and Jack’s last encounter, and they were actively avoiding each other. Everyone at their circle soon catch on to it and wouldn’t stop teasing Jack about it. 

During that time, Jack attempted to text her several times, but he would always end up erasing the message before he could hit ‘sent. This was new to him and he was having a hard time navigating through it. But soon enough he grew impatient and decided to just confront you. Which is why he was now in the front of Y/N house talking himself into just ringing the stupid doorbell.

“Ok” he whispered to himself before ringing the doorbell. 

After a few minutes you opened the door. 

“Jack, what are you doing here?” Y/N asked surprised by his sudden visit. 

“I just wanted you to know that I don’t hate you. I don’t know why I even treated you so bad all this time. I think growing up I always had this crush on you but I didn’t know what to do with myself about and instead of just being a man about it and say it, I would just be mean to you. And I guess I never find a way to act on it so I remained acting the same way. And I came to realize this the last time he hung out” 

You were speechless. 

“Jack…I don’t know what to say” 

“You don’t have to say anything, I just wanted you to know that I don’t hate you. I could never hate you” he said before turning around and walking away. 

“Jack wait” 

Jack turned around and stood there in shock as he felt your lips touch his. Eventually leaned into her and out his hands on her waist as he kissed her back. 

After a few minutes the both of you broke the kiss. 

“Can I take you out on date and officiate this?” 

You giggled at him. 

“Yeah, I like the sound of that”

[spotofimagines]

Rivals Last ~ Jadon Sancho

A/N: So I had this in my drafts before he signed with man united but that's fine, we move, we adapt. A third piece for the @footballffbarbiex summer challenge. Hope you enjoy it :)

Warnings: none - reader is female

Summary: You love both your brothers dearly, but being in the football world with them can make some things a little complicated.

gif by @archivesbvb - gif by @ermuellert - gif by @italynt

Being a footballer meant living in a special world. Being in a footballing family meant living in a special world too. Being the younger sister of Lucas and Theo Hernandez meant living in a really special world. But nobody told you just how crazy it would be for all three of those things to apply to you.

You truly love watching your older brothers play football. They teach you something new during every match you see; even though you play as a striker, their movements and handling of the ball always inspire you to play better. After all, it was their defensive skills that helped you become a good goal scorer growing up since they never let a tackle go unchallenged in the park and you had to find out how to manoeuvre around them. A lot easier said than done.

Currently Lucas is signed with Bayern Munich. In his time there so far, he has learnt the heritage, history, and importance of wearing the badge and defending its honour in every match they play, especially derbies. Having supported Lucas, it quickly became easy for you to support Bayern Munich too and celebrate their victories like it was your own team. You'd always managed to do it with the clubs both your brothers played for, letting the atmosphere of the fanbase carry you away.

You have just finished your second season in England with Manchester City women's team. You'd settled in nicely now, having learnt a lot of the English language and culture already. The experience was made so much easier because of the help given by your welcoming teammates and the staff that translated things into French and Spanish during your first months there.

Fans were a little disappointed during the 2019 summer transfer window when it was confirmed all three Hernandez siblings would be leaving Spain to play separately in England, Germany and Italy, joking that no one could know what might happen with you all so far away. However, to you, it made things easier, as Lucas and Theo would stop making so many awful jokes about each other's clubs, only to join forces to diss your club even more afterward. Now the only connection you have to the clubs you all play for is the want for your sibling to win with them. And it is a great feeling. A welcome change of pace.

But no new change to your life felt as good as your blossoming "relationship", situationship, whatevership, you have with Jadon Sancho.

It all started with you flirting back and forth on social media, which turned itself into countless hours of DMs no one else could see. You congratulated his goals and he congratulated your wins. All the light-hearted teasing and the warm-hearted compliments stayed in your own little bubble. The only thing peeking out was your silly inside rule that if you were going to comment on a post, it had to be emojis only, stretching to a few words if you really couldn't help yourself - but it would earn you taunts from the other for the rest of the night.

Some eagle-eyed fans noticed how you'd been liking each other's posts every time they appeared for a while now, but it just added to the fun and thrill you got from flirting with him so much.

You weren't meant to be forming a bond with Jadon. He played for your brother’s rival. He was supposed to be the enemy. Someone you should dislike with a snap of your fingers. Certainly not a boy to fall for like you have.

You couldn't help yourself. Lucas and Theo had helped you since you moved to England by being the steady rocks they always were, cheering you on from afar. Your new teammates had helped you since you moved to England by introducing fun things for you all to do together and taking you under their wings. But Jadon had helped you in a different kind of way. He gave you a new kind of comfort and reassurance when you talked. He became someone to turn to with all your interesting news and your curious problems. He told you the good places to visit around the city that he remembered from his time there and taught you English slang to make your teammates laugh. You spoke three languages to varying degrees now, and you'd managed to pick up more German vicariously through Lucas in two years faster than Jadon had done living in Germany in four years, so you'd clue him into rude German phrases you had asked Lucas about, alongside the French and Spanish swear words he used more often than English ones now when you text. 

Even though a language barrier comes up once in a while, you have both learnt behaviours from each other and crave the contact you share. Jadon was starting to drop everything to send replies to you, a change his teammates have noticed and jokingly mock him for. Little did they know the unknown girl they joke he is smitten over is the sister of their rival.

Theo is the one in your family you usually tell about the boys you go out with; boyfriends and dates have been shared with him since you were 13 and doting on your first crush. He does the same with his girlfriends; asking advice and telling you more than you need to know at times. So, when you all went home for a bit of family time around Christmas, nothing could stop him from noticing the tell-tale signs that you had something going on. He already figured out through persistence that it was another player you were getting involved with, and his insistent questioning hasn't stopped in his search for who the player is.

But you keep it hidden from Lucas, and you don't know when you'll tell him. He has been your protector since you were kids, comforting you on sad nights when no one else was there, teaching you little secrets about how to navigate through the world, he even punched a boy who teased you once at school. The idea of telling him you were chatting romantically to another player would be trouble enough, but telling him it was a Dortmund player might just end up in another schoolground incident. You hadn't wanted Theo to know for fear he'd go dishing your dirt to Lucas, but he discovered it on his own and there was nothing you could do.

Who knows what might become of this thing you have with Jadon, and lord knows your eldest brother owns a hard as nails death stare that just might do Jadon in, but for now you actually quite like having the secret. A little mystery tucked away up your sleeve.

The rush you always get when Lucas calls your phone as you're typing a text to the Englishman,  feeling as though the first words from the other end will be shouts of how he knows everything and he'll never speak to you again for keeping it a secret, fills you with dread at times. But it never is the reason he calls, and it turns out he is just making plans or has something funny to tell you. But the way your heart thumps as you go back to texting Jadon, that is part of the chase you have to admit you enjoy.

Hardcore fans online have noticed the past few months that when you do interviews in English, the odd slang term comes up during jokes - terms you hadn't used before and stem more from London boroughs than northen towns - so speculation of how you'd learnt these things easily coincided with dating rumors.

Lucas had seen the speculation online; seen fans trying to put your interactions with the Dortmund player together through both your instagram stories and comments and the tweets you both had liked about the other. Lucas had even grown suspicious of the little questions you asked him about Germany, German phrases and his lifestyle there, not knowing why you would need nor want to know those things. But Lucas doesn't believe it. He knows that you know better to mix with a Dortmund boy.

Sometimes an older brother just doesn't get it quite right…

Soon, the chance will come to really see if your connection is something you can build on. Jadon's new signing with Manchester United has been confirmed and he will be moving back to England. It is a great opportunity to get to see him more often, rather than the odd rendezvous point or clandestine trip during small breaks in the season. You'll spend more time face to face instead of over the phone. You'll get to wake up in his bed and him in yours, without needing to sneak away from hotel rooms afterwards. You'll maybe even get to go on a proper date, just the two of you, where you can flirt across the table your joined hands rest upon. Hanging out with Jadon won't be the first time you've spent time together in person. However, getting a full day with only the two of you where you won't have to pretend you hardly know who he is, and you won't have to pretend your eyes aren't meeting across the group of people you're in - it fills your stomach with knots and butterflies.

A certain pressure has fallen off you now Jadon has no growing rivalry with Lucas, but not completely. You won't be able to take back the way their teams made the other feel in the past, but the fact there won't be more of it next season comforts you a little. The biggest thing that will hold you back from going public before the new season starts will be the media, but that is an issue you can't even begin to worry about yet. You are too caught up in the excitement of being in the same town as Jadon to care. Rumours are spinning crazier than ever about you two as some of your liked tweets about his move got reposted by sports pages and fan blogs - now joking about him being your rival instead of your brother's - and yet it didn't stop you, no longer all that bothered about keeping a low profile now you both will be living away from Lucas. If he gets mad, all he will be able to do is shout down the phone, and whilst you never want that to happen, you know the time to flourish with Jadon and capitalise on the foundation you have already built is better than ever, brothers be damned.

There are big changes coming for the both of you, yet one thing will remain the same no matter the outcome of your relationship. You can't quite stop being football rivals.

[blinder-secrets]

Lion Tamer - part 8

one | two | three | four | five | six | seven

3,270 words, mild nsfw

ao3 link

It was late when you left, but London didn’t seem to follow time in the same way that it did elsewhere. There was no slowing in the approach to midnight. No sign that things were about to be wrapped up, shut away. The pavement outside the club Arthur had chosen was as full as the inside, just as loud, just as unruly. You would’ve had to queue if you weren’t with him. Fuck, you’d have turned around and left altogether if he wasn’t attached to your palm. You weren’t used to the noise, to the heave and pull of bodies. It would’ve been unbearable without your anchor.

Arthur, however, walked through it like he knew where he was going, like he was put together in the midst of it, made of the racket. He’d insisted he’d never been but his shoulders parted the crowds easily, footsteps sure and keen, hand wrapped tightly around yours the entire way. He didn’t stop until you were by a table near the front of the stage — one that had been cleared and emptied quickly, frantically, like you were unexpected but valuable all the same.

‘Here, love,’ he said, holding the chair out for you.

‘Thank-you.’ You sat down quickly, eager to be out of the way. The band at the front were mid-set, already roaring, the audience loud and pulsing with alcohol. ‘This is…’ There wasn’t a word. You felt like your mind was rattling in the bend of the nearest trombone.

‘I know,’ Arthur finished, though you’d barely begun, and dropped into the chair beside you. ‘Nothing like this in fuckin’ Small Heath, is there?’

You snorted. ‘It wouldn’t survive if there was.’ The gold would tarnish before it could even be appreciated. ‘Is this what they’re all like?’ you asked, cringing at the volume you had to speak to be heard.

‘Nah, nah,’ he shrugged, ‘just the expensive ones.’ His eyes were on the table, his hands reaching for the small card that sat in its middle. He took it all in like it was Christmas, sank into his seat like he was home. Shoulders softened, angled down, his breathing deep and satisfied. He looked happy, brand-new. His knee fell against yours as he settled. ‘What d’you want?’ he blurted, squinting at the writing in his hands. ‘Somethin’ to drink?’

You didn’t realise you were smiling until it curved your words into a purr. ‘You pick, Arthur. I don’t mind.’

The tone pulled his gaze to you. ‘What?’ He flitted over you quickly, like he was worried you’d done something and he’d missed it. ‘What is it?’

‘You look happy,’ you told him, laughing beneath it. ‘I like it, that’s all.’

He was flustered for a moment. ‘Well, I am happy,’ he said, gruffly, like the sentiment had to be bracketed with something rugged. ‘Bloody happy.’

‘Good. Me too.’ You laughed. Your hand fell away from where it’d been propped under your chin, and went to cover his. The back of his palm was warm, familiar, his thumb lifted to rest over your fingers. ‘Go on, then,’ you pushed, ‘order us something.’

He nodded, smiling, and looked back to the card. He didn’t let you pull your hand away. ‘There’s a poet on next,’ he said. ‘You like that stuff, right?’

Deja Vu. That’s what it was. That’s how he looked at you, that’s how it felt. That’s why you were giddy. It had happened before, all of it, it was youth repackaged and polished into something new. The two of you were exactly the same as you’d always been, except now you’d lived some. Now, you’d realised it was worth trying. Cherishing. You were teenagers without the wanton carelessness, without the desire to stay free and untethered, without the need to ask, but what’s next? What else is there? Where do I go when you’ve left?

You knew the answers now, you’d worked it out.

What came next didn’t matter; everything that was worth having was already there, already found. If you’d rushed, it wouldn’t be so sweet or so certain. You didn’t need to ask him to know he felt the same.

The food they served was small, and designed to be eaten between the pinch of two fingers. He’d picked a few plates to share and you had passed them to each other like you were critics, commenting on the crumb of the biscuits, the seasoning of the fish. You’d laughed and drank, and talked about everything from everywhere, until you were so looped up in each other that his thoughts seemed to come from your head directly. You were talking like you read each others mind, like you’d opened the gate and welcomed him in. Take a seat, Arthur, stay, stay and make it your home.

Eventually, the bar had emptied. The acts had ran their course and people were left dancing to nothing in the space between the tables, with just drink and lingering-energy to keep them upright.

‘Let’s go back,’ you said to him, when you were slouched in your chair with his arm over your shoulder. ‘I can’t stand another thing.’ The room was spinning, swaying, dipping in and out of your head like you were a buoy and he was the tether beneath the waves.

He nodded, his reaction lagged slightly. His fingertips ran up and down your arm. A rake through the leaves, a farmer laying tracks. ‘My head’s in the fuckin’ bin,’ he said.

‘It’s not.’ You turned and put your palms to his cheeks; it would have been sweet if you weren’t so clumsy, so counter-balanced by the gin in your system. ‘Your head’s right here on your lovely shoulders.’

‘Like your book,’ he slurred.

‘What?’

‘You’re gonna say it, you used to.’

‘Say what, Arthur?’

His brows pulled together. ‘The thing,’ he rambled, ‘about your books. Bout me.’

‘You remember that?’

‘Why would I fuckin’ forget, ay?’ He leant away slightly, drifting like the tide, before coming back. Closer. His skin ran hot under your hands. ‘Nicest thing anyone ever told me,’ he said.

And you loved that, and your heart grew so tight in your chest that it might’ve broken free, might’ve pushed through the alcohol, and the ribs, the flesh, so tight that he should’ve felt it; because he was close enough, because he leant forward and you didn’t stop him. You just held his face, his gaze, and he was so warm and so him, that you kissed him.

You kissed him, you kissed him.

His moustache was rough, scratching. His hands dug into your waist like he was pawing for air, like he wanted more of you and you were willing, so willing to give it. When you came away to breathe, he chased you, stupid grin on lips that you had finally tasted. They were sweet. It was alcohol and cigars, and not an ounce of bitterness, not a drop of anything other than him, him just to the core, him and his lips and his breath and his tongue pushing through to meet yours. Christ, Arthur. Christ, you thought, that’s it then. That’s what it’s like.

‘Wanted to do that forever,’ he said, dripping the words down your chin. He pulled back enough to look at you and then kissed you again like he’d left it behind. ‘Took us bloody long enough,’ you thought, but he said it at the same time, words from your head and into his mouth in the same second.  

‘I know,’ you agreed. You were panting so heavily it didn’t even feel like breathing, it felt like storms, like curled winds rutting against each other. ‘Why didn’t we…?’ You couldn’t finish the sentence. Your hands clung to the back of his neck like you were falling. ‘Kiss me again,’ you said, ‘please.’

He did. He kissed you there, in the club, and again in the car on the way to the hotel. In the lift, in the hallway by your room. He kissed and kissed and kissed, and you thought for one, hopeless moment, that maybe you were dreaming, maybe you were asleep in your bed at home, but then he said, ‘I feel like I’ve won the fuckin’ derby,’ against your neck and you laughed so stupidly that it made him pause.

‘What?’ he asked, frowning and smiling at the same time. ‘What’s funny?’

He was over you on the bed, the front of his hair flopping down to cover his brow. You, you thought, you with your hair and your muscles and your lips on my throat like I’m edible.

‘Nothing, nothing.’ You’d gotten drunker somehow. He was more lethal than the cocktails, more dizzying. ‘Can we just,’ you stuttered, ‘just, I don’t know.’ You laughed, and sighed, and then dropped your palms, limp, from his back onto the mattress. ‘I think I’m going crazy from all this kissing. I feel like a kid.’

He barked a laugh, grin mirroring your own, and then rolled off you like he agreed. He fell onto the bed beside you, bouncing it with a groan. ‘Who needs fuckin’ snow, when you can have this,’ he said, chest puffed. Boasted upwards like the ceiling was taunting him. He glanced at you once, then again, and then sighed with a quiet, ‘Fuck me.’

‘I don’t think I can,’ you joked. You could barely handle the kissing.

‘Ey?’

‘What?’ He’d heard you well enough. You flashed him a smile that should’ve been coy but felt wild instead, unmanageable. ‘I didn’t say anything,’ you lied.

‘Is that right?’ He was nearly smiling himself. His gaze fell to your lips before the thing could set. ‘C’mere,’ he said.

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘No,’ you insisted. ‘I’m having a breather.’

He laughed again and shook his head in the fond way. He was back to looking at the light fitting when he spoke again. ‘Y’know,’ he started, ‘I thought I’d missed it with you, thought I’d let it all slip away between my fuckin’ fingers.’

You’d thought the same, you’d just never acknowledged it. You set your eyes on his profile, on the angle of his nose against the light from the window. Without the gas-lamp outside, he’d be invisible, lost in the dark. You don’t even know what time it was.

‘Everyone knew it would happen,’ you mused. ‘We’re the last to realise, I think.’

It seemed stupid now, utterly ridiculous that you would be anything other than this. The line between you had been crossed, no not crossed, it had been shattered entirely, torn up and thrown in the Thames. You didn’t ever want to be just friends again. There was no reason to draw the line back to where it had been.

‘Not everyone,’ he muttered, voice dropping slightly. ‘Tom couldn’t work you out. Think he thought you was after money, or something. Not,’ his hand lifted, gesturing in circles to the air above him, ‘y’know, not this.’

‘Tommy knew,’ you said, before sense had caught up to your liquored words. ‘He asked me if I wanted you or him.’

‘What?’ His voice soured sharply. ‘He what?’

You’d done it, you’d ruined it. ‘Don’t worry,’ you told him quickly, ‘it wasn’t serious.’

He sat upright, turning and blocking the amber glow from the window. ‘What did he fuckin’ say?’ You couldn’t see his face, couldn’t make out his expression, but the words were hard, pointed. He spat them out, crystal clear through the haze. ‘Ay? The fuck was that?’

‘Arthur, it was just—‘

‘You tell me, tell me now.’

You scrambled into a sitting position. ‘It was just that, just some stupid mind game to see…’ To see what? You’d never even decided yourself. ‘I shouldn’t have brought it up, alright? I’m drunk, it doesn’t matter.’

‘Matters to me,’ he bit back. Then he sank slightly. Less angry, more hurt. You pulled toward him, shifting onto your knees to meet him in the middle, to tug at his shirt like you were lamenting.

‘Arthur, baby,’ you said, and his head picked up at that, lifted with the endearment. ‘It’s just what he’s like.’

He grumbled. ‘No fuckin’ excuse.’

‘I know. I know.’ You climbed your palms up his chest until they were on his neck, your thumbs rubbing circles into the stubble beneath his chin. ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed,’ you started, tone serious but as light as you could allow, ‘but, well, he’s a prick, Arthur. He just says shit and leaves the rest of us to deal with it.’

His hands stilled your wrists. You just about made his iris’s out in the dark. ‘What did he say?’ he asked slowly, his words firm enough that you couldn’t bat it away like before.

You sighed. It didn’t matter, it really didn’t matter. After the night you’d had it was almost laughable to think about; if you could go back in time, you’d tell Tommy outright how stupid he was to even suggest it. ‘He asked if I was serious about you,’ you offered Arthur, ‘and I told him yes.’

He twitched his head to the side. ‘Don’t lie to me.’

‘I’m not.’ It wasn’t fully the truth, but it wasn’t so far from it that you felt guilty. ‘He asked, very rudely, if I was ever going to sleep with you.’

‘You said—‘

‘Arthur,’ you interrupted, snapping at him. ‘Why does it matter what he said, when my answer was yes? That I chose you?’

And you always had; you always would.

‘Let Tommy play his little games,’ you continued. ‘You have me.’

He groaned; the noise slipped out of him, strung out of his mouth like the whine of an injured animal. ‘I’m getting sick of hearing his fuckin’ name,’ he said, and you knew he meant from you, from your lips. It came out and sat between the two of you like chainlink. ‘I never know what to bloody think.’

You laughed dryly. ‘That makes two of us.’ You touched his face, brushed his cheek, felt the line of his moustache. ‘I’m sorry,’ you said. ‘I didn’t mean to spoil this.’

‘You haven’t.’

‘I feel like I have.’

With a sigh, his arms wound up around you, bringing you close and onto his lap once you’d pulled your legs through. ‘So, I have you, eh?’ he asked gently, close enough that you almost felt the rumble of it in your chest. ‘You’re all mine?’ He held you like a prize, inspected you like he did with everything he loves; noted the details like he would before, when he drew horses, and people, and everything else that he thought was beautiful. 'Isn’t that something,’ he commented. Quiet, just to himself.

You toyed with his collar. ‘Didn’t you know that already?’

There wasn’t an answer. Instead, he kissed you roughly, like he was suddenly desperate for it, and the pair of you melted backwards into the sheets. His hands were on your neck,  then along your ribcage and down, down, smoothing down until they hit the soft dip of your waist, the curve of your hips. He squeezed you there, pushed you flat, held his thumbs to your hipbones tight enough to pinch the skin.

‘Can we?’ you asked, surprised that it came out so steadily. So calmly. You twisted your hand into the top of his hair and watched his gaze lift, scorching into your own.

‘You want to?’

You nodded, humming. You had never imagined you could, never imagined you actually would, but now it seemed easy. Natural. You let a smile fall into place. ‘But,’ you teased, not meaning it in the slightest, ‘I might change my mind if you keep me waiting any longer.’

He didn’t hesitate; he met your lips again, hungrily, careless in a way he wasn’t before. His hands went into your hair and then it was your turn to drop, to explore.

You ran your fingertips along the line of buttons down his chest, pulled them apart and away from each other slowly, like you had the time. Because it was London, because it was the two of you, and nothing else, and time had been left back in Birmingham with the smog. His shirt fell open; you dragged your nails down his ribs, his stomach, over the straight hair that scattered from his navel. When your hands found the fastening of his trousers, he pulled back to pant against your neck.

His lips went against the skin clumsily, dragging heat and lust over the goosebumps. ‘I want you,’ he said between breaths, ‘so bad.’

‘I know.’

‘But.’

You undid the fastening, slipped a hand between the cotton.

‘But,’ he rasped again, stilling you, ‘I don’t think I can, love.’

‘What?’ You pulled your hand back. His head dropped until his hair brushed your collarbone, his chest heaving into yours. ‘What’s wrong?’ you asked.

‘Been a long day,’ he said, pushing the words into the space between your breasts. ‘I’ve drank a lot.’ He kissed your shoulder, your earlobe, then pulled back to face you remorsefully. ‘I don’t think I can,’ he grumbled. He looked between you, down at himself, and then back to explain. ‘It won’t, you know, well.’

‘Oh.’ The meaning clicked and you felt yourself melt with relief. It wasn’t you, then. Wasn’t serious. He was sweeter every day, every moment. If you told anyone about the Arthur you knew, the one straddling you with shame printed onto his features, they wouldn’t believe you. They’d say you had the wrong man entirely. ‘It’s fine,’ you told him earnestly. ‘Don’t worry. It’s okay, we can just sleep, Arthur, really.’

He smiled and brought your hand up to kiss the palm. ‘Too good to me,’ he said.

‘No one’s too good to anyone,’ you said back.

‘Here.’ He dropped your hand again, pulling close to kiss beneath your jaw. ‘Just cause I can’t,’ he whispered, ‘doesn’t mean…’

‘Arthur.’

His lips dripped down your neck, your chest. His face lost itself in the fabric of your dress as he bunched the skirt up and out of the way. You felt your breath flush once, twice, three times out your mouth as he rolled the wool of your tights to your knees, his hands firm and certain. Positive of their mission. Your cheeks grew hot, firecrackers snapping across your skin, down your legs. Lighting in your blood like he’d timed it all. He was saying things into you, against the silk, his voice low and rough, but you could hardly hear him through the thumping in your ears.

‘Arthur,’ you breathed, sounding as desperate as you felt, ‘you don’t have to.’

His nails caught the skin on your hips as he tugged your underwear down and then you stopped lying to him, you stopped acting like you didn’t want it. Your hips lifted to meet his mouth, but he pushed them back, held them down. You rolled your eyes to the ceiling, squeezed them shut as his moustache brushed the inner portion of your thighs, as his hands put your legs flat to the bed.

‘Let me take care of you,’ he said, or you thought he did, because it had all begun to swirl into one roar of noise, one rush of heat and feeling from your head, through your heart. It flooded you and it was him, all him. He had possessed you. Taken your brain and turned it to mush.

You pulled the sheets into your fists and let him unwind you, let him pull you apart.

Arthur, you moaned, Arthur, you thought, Arthur. Arthur.

Read part 9 >>>

____

taglist: @peaky-arthur @theshelbyclan @woeisbutwoe @random-stupid-stuffs @murderousginger @sanktaalinaa @the-panda-man-stole-my-soul @inceptenet @isaiahdurag

[electricsoftparade]

Tour Diary (Pt.1) by Fuchsia Days

(At the urging of a couple of folks, I've decided to resume my tour diary proper... might as well, given I'm doing so much traveling.... haven't done this for a fair few years so forgive if the writing is clunk-laden at first... first chunk covers the last *bit* leading up to this tour beginning...)

October 2021 - 10th April 2022

A month or more on the road, with shows selling out and being added real time. The displacement began in earnest last year, October, just weeks after my dad's first stroke. En route to Mary's in brown-leafed Tufnell Park I get the call. Filling in for most of December on bass with The Twang. Count me in, I can move whatever I have in the diary and make it work. I do. Just two days after my dad's funeral I'm back in Birmingham for a brief skip through the set and we are off - Stoke, Derby, Sheffield, Nottingham.... Twang Heartland. All roads lead back to Birmingham though, and on the 19th we return to a brimming Academy. 3,000 braying lunatics. With crowds like this you sort of transcend everyday concepts like musicianship or tightness and enter a realm where you effectively cannot fuck things up. It's bizarre. The energy carries you and band along. Things are smoothed and helped enormously by various aspects - the ongoing and unfailing family of the group themselves, and their total focus and commitment to the gig night after night. It is entirely a pleasure, especially in the wake of a Wake. Relief in form of brotherhood and connection to other humans. I am grieving still.

We part ways and London is shelved until the new year. I return home for a subdued and odd Christmas, our first without Graham.

Come January and I realise I am now in five or six concurrent projects. I said I wouldn't do this again, but rent needs paying and I feel like I'm in a good place. It's all manageable if I look after myself. January to March is largely spent painting at my flat, with intermittent trips to London for various rehearsals with The WAEVE and recording/mastering with Maven Grace. MG have sort of made Abbey Road their second home, so we hunker down in their annex space when we can and continue work on album two while album one is mastered upstairs. I know the Jets tour is coming in April so I figure I need to take time out in March if I'm going to mentally be able to do this. I need time to process. In the end I cancel about two weeks work. In return, the universe serves me an eviction notice, Covid and an empty bank account. In the wake of last year's losses my heart rate barely lifts. I just don't care. Money comes and goes. I refuse to actively think about it, much less stress.

Early April comes quickly. "How are we a quarter of the way through 2022???" says everyone over 35. Months are years-long when you're 14 or 15. Nowadays a single painting can lose me a week.

We enter into rehearsals proper for the tour, and the group kindly puts me up in a hotel in West London, just a short bus ride from the studio. We click almost straight away, no drama, just a solid few days spent focused on our own bits and listening to one another, knocking the set into shape and finessing sounds. Mornings I get coffee or food in Acton. More memories of my dad and half-forgotten stories of his grandparents. The streets gleam in the bright spring sun and I remember how much the displacement of touring suits me. The constant tourist. Always arriving or leaving. Living out of a bag. I have that chip and never lost it. Covid tried to beat it out of me but it's back, stronger than ever. Evenings I walk at a snail's pace back along Uxbridge Road, barely a nip in the air, looping through Acton Park then up to Ealing Common. I resolve to move my things back to my dad's house when I return home and split my time between various places until estate and probate are established. Oh the sweet bureaucracy of death. Takes your mind off things. That will do for now.

Norwich

Ah, the Waterfront. Last here in 2008 with (British) Sea Power on the Do You Like Rock Music? tour. Drumming in lieu of a back-fucked Woody. Good times. We soundcheck and cross the river to scope out a pristine red-brick Bella Pasta precinct of deathly nothingness. Wholly evoking late-stage capitalism and the oncoming apocalypse, these places are identical wherever you go. It's no slight on Norwich to call it dreadful. It's the same everywhere. To unearth the living soul of a place you must veer away from this hell. We cross back over and immediately bump into Jordan, one of my oldest friends from Brighton. He and Holly (both Fiction Aisle-ers in their time, bass and clarinet respectively) moved here a year or two back, and have quickly made it home. He delights in elaborating on the history of the place as we navigate winding streets and crooked Tudor overhangs. In a small ale pub we have a meandering chat over halfs of black beer. Jordan knew my dad extremely well over the years, from childhood up until his death. It's odd. You'd think it would sting to bring this stuff to the surface but it doesn't. If anything it makes my own memories of him sort of clarify, like the butter un-melting in those Adam & Joe Show idents (if you know, you know). Death does funny things, one of them being that the brain goes fully fight or flight. Through introspection and recollection we slow down and that fear of recalling memories fades and we can start to connect with the person in totality - their whole life and being before us, framed and finite. You can't do that when someone is still around.

Glasses drained, we amble back to the venue, where the room has filled and supports have done their thing. In no time at all it is 9pm. A group hug (which will on later shows evolve into a group hum) galvanises and connects us before moulds are buried deep in ear canals and the booming intro music announces our arrival. A few steps up to the stage and we are bathed in white noise and screaming lights for the next hour and a half. Sweet silence. It goes in a blip and before we can say I Love You 500 times we are back in the dressing room, back in the van, back to the hotel, late night TV, dirty head on starched sheets, bed, sleep. Elbow have a rule that they never come offstage and analyse a show they just played. Leave that for tomorrow. The beauty of this is that come tomorrow you've forgotten all the niggles that you might have brought up and the experience has smoothed into memory now. And besides, it's a new day and you've a million new things to think about. It's a wonderful rule. Works every time.

Tomorrow, Cambridge.

📸: Barr Street, Birmingham, March 2022

[sadaboutniall]

something about you;

introduction | masterlist | tag | wattpad

Thirteen. March, 2012. 

Niall can’t sleep. 

It’s three o’clock in the morning and he’s fucking exhausted and he’s in New York and he can’t sleep. The day’s been long: an early wakeup call, a never ending album signing at a mall somewhere in New Jersey, a long drive back to the hotel. He spent a few hours fucking around with Louis afterward, playing FIFA, eating pizza, just generally chatting shit and he’d felt fine, mostly, just tired, until now. 

For the most part, the homesickness thing hasn’t really gotten to Niall over the past two years—at least not the way it gets to Louis and Zayn and even Harry sometimes. He doesn’t spend hours curled up in his bunk on the bus on the phone to home, doesn’t feel like he needs things like Barry’s Tea or Club chocolate bars to Tayto crisps to remind him of what he left behind. He loves Ireland, of course he does, but he loves adventure, too—he loves the wide, open roads of American highways, the constant hum of New York City outside his window, the unmatchable energy of screaming fans everywhere he goes. It feels like he’s made a good trade off, if he’s honest—he had to lose to gain, but, most of the time, he doesn’t feel like he’s lost all that much. 

But today was St. Patrick’s Day. All day he’d fielded questions about Ireland: about what he misses, what his favorite slang words are, what he wants to do whenever he goes back next, as if he even knows when he’ll be able to go home again. By the middle of the day it felt like someone was banging him over the head with a hammer, shouting at him to miss Ireland, think about Ireland, call home to Ireland. 

And then there was a girl. She was one of the last ones in line for the signing and couldn’t have been older than six, long blonde hair, a shy look on her face. She clung to her mom’s leg and looked up at the five of them with wide eyes, like she couldn’t quite believe they were real, and when Louis asked for her name she whispered ‘Isla,’ standing up on her tippy toes to watch Louis scribble it onto her copy of the album. 

Bang, Niall felt, hammer over his head again. Bang, bang, fucking bang. 

And now he can’t sleep. And he can’t stop thinking about it. And St. Patrick’s Day is technically over but he feels weird, antsy, a little clammy. He wants to take a walk but not through the city, his only option right now—he’s thinking about backroads in Mullingar, overgrown fields and muddy ground along the canal. He needs to move: to jump, to run, to do something that isn’t laying on his back in a hotel bed and staring at the ceiling. 

He needs to talk to Isla. 

They’re not talking anymore. It was an on purpose decision, one they made together a few weeks after the breakup, when he’d called her in the middle of the night to tell her about a movie he’d just watched and she told him this had to stop, told him it was too painful to keep talking the way they used to, told him they had to take this break up seriously, if that’s what he really wanted. 

They’d drawn a hard line in the sand then: no talking except for birthdays, holidays, and emergencies, and all conversation had to be strictly platonic. Isla’d offered to write up an official contract for them both to sign, Niall’d told her it wouldn’t be binding until she actually got accepted into law school. She’d laughed and hung up on him, and that had been the end of it, really. He hadn’t even had time to see her over Christmas, because he was only home for three full days. 

And so, when Niall does crack at 3:47 in the morning New York time, he shouldn't be surprised that Isla answers the phone with simply, ‘are you okay?’

‘Hello to you too,’ he says, warmth immediately pooling in his stomach. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Why are you calling me, then?’ Isla sounds a little tired and Niall does some quick math: 8:47 am in Ireland, on a Sunday. ‘This is a breach of the contract.’ There’s a smile in her voice, one Niall matches instantly. 

‘Is not. St. Patrick’s Day is a holiday.’

‘That was yesterday,’ Isla says, feigning annoyance even though Niall can hear her laughing. The sound of it melts over him like a duvet, warm and familiar. Safe. ‘And it doesn’t count.���

‘Why the fuck doesn’t it count? It’s our country’s national holiday, it should count the most.’

‘You don’t live here anymore,’ a rustling sound, a chirping bird. Isla’s outside. ‘It doesn’t count for you.’

‘I respectfully disagree, barrister,’ Niall settles down a little more comfortably in bed, imagines Isla’s smile. ‘As a citizen of the great nation of Ireland and a budding national treasure I retain all my rights to—’

‘Shut up,’ she laughs. ‘What do you want?’

‘Nothing, really,’ Niall admits, shrugging his shoulders even though Isla can’t see. ‘Couldn’t sleep, thought you might be able to bore me to death.’

‘Time’s it for you?’ Niall hears a gust of wind down Isla’s end of the phone, bites back the sudden urge to ask if she’s wearing a jacket. 

‘Uh, nearly four in the morning. I’m in New York.’

‘Sick. Have you eaten one of those massive hot dogs?’

‘Yeh, first day we got here,’ Niall laughs. It had been one of the first things he and Liam did. ‘They’re so good.’

‘You there for a few more days? Hasn’t your mam got cousins in New York? You should call round.’

‘I did, saw them the other day. The kids are super cute,’ he ignores the stirring in his stomach, the way it gives him butterflies to know that Isla remembers these kinds of things. This is strictly platonic. He carries on, ‘don’t want to talk about me, though. What are you up to? Sounds like you’re outside.’

‘Observational,’ Isla laughs, and Niall imagines her giggling in the early morning sunlight, March frost curling in the air. ‘I stayed over at Emilia’s last night, just came out in the garden to take your call since she’s still asleep.’

‘Oh, did ya? Girls’ night?’

‘No, bit of a party, actually,’ Isla says, and Niall hates how it clangs in his stomach, hates how he still feels left out knowing that his friends are having fun without him, that life carries on when he’s away. His life now is more exciting than he ever could have imagined—yet somehow the thought of his mates drinking cans in Mully’s basement without him makes him jealous, makes him forget about just how much he dreamt of what he has now. ‘Everyone was here.’

‘Ah, what was the occasion?’ Niall tries to keep his voice light, not like he’s digging. ‘Paddy’s Day, or?’

‘Yeah, Paddy’s Day. And celebrating, too.’

‘Celebrating what?’ Niall feels suddenly like he’s missed something. 

‘Uh, me,’ says Isla, sounding a little embarrassed, and a little confused. ‘I, erm. I got into King’s College last week. The law program.’

It feels like he’s been in a car, going 75 miles on the freeway, and had to slam on the breaks. It feels like whiplash, like falling on his face, like that hammer from earlier, bang, bang, fucking bang, life goes on without him. ‘Isla,’ he manages to say, deep breath in, deep breath out, ‘what the fuck?’

‘Sorry?’ she asks, confused. ‘What do you mean what the fuck?’

‘You didn’t tell me?’ He tries not to sound angry, accusatory, but there’s a feeling he doesn’t recognize bubbling over in his stomach. The fact that something like this could happen in Isla’s life and he didn’t get to be a part of it makes him feel like someone else. 

‘Niall, we agreed—’

‘This counts as an emergency,’ he insists, sitting up in bed. He feels cold all of a sudden, like he wants a blanket, or her body, on top of him. ‘Isla, holy shit. I’m so fucking happy for you. I mean, I knew you’d get in but still, fuck, I can’t believe this is happening.’ It’s not a lie, the fact that he’s happy for her. But, he thinks, a rank feeling he doesn’t like still curdling away in his stomach, it’s not the whole truth. He should’ve been there with her when she got in. He hates himself for not. 

‘Thanks,’ Isla’s smiling, birds singing in the distance. Niall imagines her with her face turned toward the sun, her eyes closed, her arms wrapped around her body. He imagines her in his Derby jumper, the one he’d left in Mullingar for her to keep. ‘It’s a crazy feeling, isn’t it? I guess both our dreams have come true in the end.’

‘Yeah,’ Niall says, a tight cramp forming in his stomach, a lump pressing against his throat. ‘I guess they have.’

He can think of at least one dream of his own that hasn’t.

####

taglist: @stylishmuser @thicksniall @stayclose-holdsteady @niallhoranruinsme @ajayque @flickerswinehouse @1dfangirls35 @crocodileniall @halfpinthoran @awomanindeniall @booksncoffee

join the taglist here

[longeyelashedtragedy]

keep calm if zenit doesn't take a nap our elderly artem will die again. the derby is ahead, spare ur nerves

ok good point...i hope he rests well, celebrates a happy christmas, has a relaxing wank or two, maybe visits deki in croatia ;) dej’s hotel is probs closed for tourism in the winter, they could have the whole place to themselves...

(but first...the derby) 

[workingclassdad]

Being a parent and a person. Part 2.

I never intended to write a part two to my previous post, but following certain events at the weekend, it seems quite necessary. 

Never have I wanted to punch a complete stranger square in the throat as much as I wanted to on Saturday night. 

Connie’s parents visited us for the weekend, which was fantastic. We hadn’t seen them since the weekend before Christmas, so it was lovely to catch up and even lovelier for them to spend some time with their granddaughter. 

We grabbed a spot of lunch at a little pub called The Telegraph - it seems we only really go there when they come to visit. That’s not on purpose, it just works out for us with the location of the hotel they usually stay at. It’s become a bit of an unintentional tradition. 

Of course, Marla was with us. We had a healthy supply of milk and nappies too - isn’t it crazy that we parents can bring that stuff out with us!? 

At around 4:30pm we headed to a Wetherspoons. There are two in Derby - one which plays music and is quite lively, and another which plays no music and is mostly frequented by people - like us - who just wanted a quiet drink and a catch up with friends / relatives. 

We had a great evening. Marla slept through the whole thing. Were it not for the pram, you wouldn’t have even known she was even there. That was until we stood up to leave. 

It was around 6:45pm and some absolute cow (there’s another C word that I would prefer to use for the woman) decided to loudly pass comment about “bringing a baby here” at such a time. 

Excuse me???

It wasn’t even 7pm. It was only just starting to get dark outside. 

Marla wasn’t bothering anybody, she was asleep. 

Now we’re parents, are we not to leave the house? 

What fucking business is it of hers anyway? 

Even the woman’s partner / owner looked embarrassed. Much like a dog owner who’s mutt had just needlessly snapped at somebody’s ankles. He was mortified. He’ll tell himself that it’s unlike her, but he knows in his heart that she’s done it before, and she’ll do it again. 

It’s probably for the best that she be put down. 

Steve out. 

[aghotel]

Winter Whispers: Enhancing Your UK Adventure with Savvy Travel Tips

As winter envelops the United Kingdom in its chilly embrace, a vacation to this enchanting region promises a magical experience brimming with festive cheer and stunning countryside. To ensure your winter retreat is a seamless, tranquil escape, consider this carefully curated collection of winter travel tips and hacks tailored for navigating the captivating landscapes of the UK.

Layer Up for Comfort: Prepare for the ever-changing whims of the UK’s winter climate by mastering the art of layering. Start with thermal undergarments for a warm base, layer with a cozy sweater, and top it off with a waterproof, windproof outer layer.

Weatherproof Footwear: Shield your feet from the wintry rain in the UK by choosing footwear that not only offers warmth but also boasts waterproof capabilities. Go for insulated and waterproof boots to keep your toes toasty and dry throughout your winter adventures.

Balanced Itinerary: Craft a well-rounded itinerary that blends indoor and outdoor activities. Explore museums, galleries, and historic sites during cooler periods, reserving outdoor adventures for sunlit moments.

Opt for Public Transit: Navigating wintry UK roads can be challenging. Opt for public transportation—trains and buses equipped with heating provide a comfortable and efficient means of exploring the country.

Indulge in Hot Beverages: Combat the chill by immersing yourself in the UK’s hot beverage culture. Whether it’s a classic English breakfast tea or a velvety hot chocolate, savoring a warm drink not only provides comfort but also lets you partake in the delightful tradition of British warmth.

Plan for Reduced Daylight: With winter comes shorter daylight hours. Plan your activities thoughtfully by seizing the early hours for maximum sunlight and saving evening strolls for well-lit locales.

Prepare for Rain: Alongside cold weather essentials, keep a compact umbrella and a waterproof jacket handy. Given the UK’s penchant for drizzly days, being prepared for rain ensures you can enjoy outdoor activities without getting drenched.

Immerse in Winter Festivals: Embrace the festive ambiance by attending winter festivals and events. From Christmas markets to seasonal celebrations, these gatherings enchant with their magical atmosphere and offer a unique glimpse into the warmth of UK communities during the colder months.

In conclusion, your winter expedition in the UK promises festive delights, historical wonders, and nature’s breathtaking beauty. Armed with these winter travel tips and hacks, you are ready to extract the most enchantment from your winter escapade. Embrace the brisk weather, indulge in the warmth of local generosity, and weave a tapestry of enduring memories.

AG Hotels Group provides top-tier hotel accommodations and exceptional guest service at affordable prices. Our hotels are strategically positioned across the UK in key gateway locations including London, Manchester, Derby, Blackpool, Huddersfield, Chorley and Peterborough to name a few. Our hotels are managed by a team of highly entrepreneurial, talented, and driven professionals who tirelessly work to ensure every hotel stay is a truly special experience. Book your stay at AG Hotels and enjoy a cosy and relaxing winter break with comfy rooms, hot breakfast and delightful dining.

Book direct for the lowest rates: www.aghotels.co.uk

[thestuart01]

Looking for the Perfect Festive Celebration for Christmas 2021?

Book your festive celebrations with our one of our Christmas Parties or New Year celebrations at Best Western The Stuart Hotel in derby.During December you can enjoy a traditional Festive Fayre Lunch or a delicious dinner in the XS Restaurant during the christmas parties occasion choosing from the celebration menu or the a la carte menu. We are looking forward to welcoming you on Christmas Day when you can relax and let us do the work.

[loki-suggestion]

I was tagged by @worstlokisuggestion to do the “7 facts about the mod” thing (thank you)

I randomly met Shia Labeouf in a hotel 8 years ago

I have a scar on my thigh where my dog tried to hump me, and instead, clawed my leg

My car’s name is Stormbreaker

I like to go to metal concerts and flirt with the guitarists from the crowd. This has worked 4 out of 4 times and I have a couple guitar pics and a sweaty towel as proof

I have an unironic thing for Thanos and not one of my friends have let me be free of my sin

I’ve performed in both Disney’s Christmas parade and the Kentucky Derby parade

I was supposed to perform for a major league baseball game but blacked-out right before entering.

[roberthunter62]

Mezzanine by Massive Attack

From the basement to the mezzanine. All the places I’ve lived, all the places I’ve slept. 

Lived:

In a council flat in Derby

In a council house in Doncaster

In two council houses in Worksop

In a semi-detached in Anston

In an RAF home in Valley

In a prep school in Trearddur Bay

In a house in Wirksworth

In a house in Neufinsing, in a couple of flats in Munich

In student halls in Exeter, in two student houses in Exeter, sandwiched by

A flat in Vienna

In Chesterfield and Leeds (three houses)

In two flats in Barcelona

In student family accomodation (a house) on Warwick university campus

In a house in Arboçar

In two flats in Girona

In a house in Llagostera.

Slept:

In a train corridor in Italy

In my boyhood bed when I was no longer a boy

On the 28th floor of the Hilton in Tokyo after an earthquake

Sitting up on intercontinental flights

In an apartment with views to Manhattan

In thin single beds in old-fashioned hotels

Through a sweaty, airless night at our rented accomodation in Bordeaux.

In a well-appointed cave in Santorini

On a tatami and rolled out futon in Kyoto

Alone in some tiny dark flat in Minsk

On a pile of duvets on the floor, before the bed was delivered

With earache at my nana’s, on christmas eve

Without pyjamas, for longer than I can remember.

And today, woke myself snoring next to the woman I love, and therefore tried to stop myself snoring, only to find myself woken again by another rasping honk.

[traveltrainsandcoffee]

THE FFL 2020/21 END OF SEASON REVIEW

The 29th season of FFL and the first one to start during a global pandemic. The season before had been totally normal till February and nothing like normal after that. That season didn’t finish until August. No Euro 2020 and a September start to the new season. As we approached the start of the football season it looked like Coronavirus was in decline, number of cases and deaths were dropping very low and life felt a bit more normal, we had no idea of the real world horrors that awaited us all.  That being said the 2020/21 season was unique, for all the wrong and some right reasons. During the August break there was the Messi saga. Harry Maguire had been scraping with the Greek police. Foden and Greenwood, while on England duty had broken Covid rules and got caught sneaking a couple of Icelandic girls into their hotel room,

The season started much later and as I got my last ever EMR HST for a day at the seaside the last few teams started to flood in. Michael Dymond was last in, would the champions’ league winner feature in the new season. League champion Steve Tatham was among the favourites to do well, along with FA cup winner Matt Wheeler.  Jackie knight had been the golden girl and challenged right up to the last game, could she challenge again? Could the big guns of Mullin and the Hawk get back to winning ways after a very disappointing season in 2020. As per normal the Team Aroma girls tried to make some very strange picks, including Hansen, Beckham and sadly retired Aroma’s own Leighton Baines. Kev Dillon shocked the world and picked Liverpool Players. Following in father Danny and Uncle Marc Lawson’s footsteps Anton joined our league. Andy Flanagan almost did a Stuart Pearce and forgot to pick a keeper. All of these issues fixed for the deadline and 33 teams started the league. With no city or Utd playing in week one the normal Bennetts Shield and Champions league had a delayed start.

As I travelled home on the train from Skegness, there was a feeling that this could be a strange season. Leeds ran Champions Liverpool very close in a high scoring game. Pam Taylor, Team Aroma and Anton Lawson were the early pace setters. The first weekend of October saw the Bennett’s Shield and the start of the Champion’s league. The weekend will be remember as the one where Man Utd conceded 6 and Liverpool 7. In the lowest ever scoring match Steve Tatham beat Matt Wheeler by 1 point to win the Shield. This was the only bright spot for either of them all season. A week later and one of the most controversial moment of the season. In a very fiery Mersey Side Derby Pickford and VVD both went for the ball. Pickford’s challenge would change the season for Liverpool. VVD wouldn’t play again all season. Souness called it an assault, he’d know all about that. Pickford got deaths threats and for the rest of the season everything was Pickford’s fault. Bale return to the premier league, but too late to make anyone’s teams. By the end of the month Mark Taylor was top and so were Everton.

The pandemic hadn’t gone and cases were starting to rocket again, by early November the UK were in Lockdown 2. Football did continue, but behind closed doors and with fake crowds. The very busy fixtures and players coming down with Covid meant that players were dropping like flies. This hurt the FFL managers as much as their Premiership counterparts. Defending Champions league Champion Michael was out the Champions league at the first group stage, along with Steve Tatham, Disco Lee Ritchie and Jackie Knight. By December Taylor was top and Taylor was bottom, sorry Dad. With some matches being cancelled due to the virus there were delays in the champions’ league. The pubs in Lincoln stayed closed, we were out of Lockdown 2, but into tier 4. Pen points were rolling in everywhere with so many players missing. It was already looking like a very low scoring season.

The Christmas number one was The Hawk, with Kieron 2nd and Mark Taylor 3rd. It was a very strange Christmas, Boris had promised a nearly normal one, but the emergence of a new variant from Kent quickly ran through the country like wildfire. The government promised a 5 days of Christmas, but quickly tried to stop this. Unfortunately nothing could stop the full force of this second wave. 40k, 50k even 60k new cases in one day and up to 1500 people dying per day. The UK death toll quickly passed over 100k. Lockdown 3 started and this was going to last much longer than 2.  It was a very difficult and dark winter, the second wave was far deadlier than the first. The one bit of hope came in the first use of vaccines. Could these Jabs return life to normal?

By mid-January The Hawk, Kieron and Mark were top 3, but now Vicky Phillips was starting to challenge. The Champions league second group stage fixtures were still delayed, due to covid, but the FA Cup cut off point saw Danny Lawson and Jackie Knight just make it at the expense of Robyn Stanney. Vicky Phillips was now up to 3rd and in her best season. The champions’ league Semi-finals finally took shape. Kieron would play Stally and The Hawk would play Mark Kiszka. In fact both Kieron and The Hawk were looking at possible trebles.

By mid-February and Kieron had an 11pt lead over the Hawk, with Vicky 3rd and Mark 4. Kieron would play Vicky in the FA Cup semi-final. However in the Champions league Stally beat Kieron over two legs and Mark Kiszka beat the Hawk. Things were going wrong for the Hawk, out the FA cup and now out the Champions league, plus a 13 point gap to lead leader Kieron. Kieron was on for the Double and would play Danny Lawson in the FA Cup final. Kieron was looking good, but pen points and missing key players made it far from certain. Road maps out of lockdown were now being talked about. Case numbers were dropping, but still so many people dead, over 120k. The roll out of the vaccine was bringing hope that an end was in sight.

Early April and over two legs Stally won a record 4th Champions league. Once again Mark Kiszka just missed out again.  Kieron was still top, but much closer, with The Hawk right on him. Cup finalist Danny Lawson was in contention too. Suddenly and out of the blue the future of football as we know it came crashing down.  The so called big 6 in England joined Spanish and Italians in a break away super league. For a short time it really looked like the end of Football, but a fan backlash, backed by ex-players and even the government challenged this. A very quick and embarrassing U-TURN saw the clubs plans fall apart. The Super league was hopefully dead and gone.  By the end of April only Kieron and The Hawk had passed 200 points, but were miles off Kieron’s 414 world record.

May the 1st and FA cup final weekend, Kieron v Danny. I even got the coolest man in football (James Richardson) do the preview and since outdoor hospitality was now open we did this over a cappuccino in Aroma. Man Utd were due to play Liverpool, but a mass protest against the owners and the super league brought chaos. Fans even got inside the stadium and onto the pitch. A protest also took place outside the players hotel. The match was cancelled and our FA cup was abandoned. A week later and the FA cup final took place. Both teams were missing Aubameyang  so Greenwood came in for Danny and scored, Aguero for Kieron. If Aguero had slotted his penalty away, Kieron would have won, but a terrible so called Panenka cost him dearly. As a result the scores were level and it went to a Tie break six. A goal from Dallas and a clean sheet from Alisson won Danny Lawson his first trophy since 2001. Worse would come for Kieron, with Man City winning the league and resting Ederson and Pope being injured  Kieron started getting penalty points, Even when Ederson returned, his defence didn’t. Allisson scored and this added to the Hawks total. Very quickly The Hawk passed him and both Mark’s closed the gap.

Leicester City won their first ever FA Cup, beating Chelsea in front of some fans. Yes limited crowds were now back, the vaccine programme was making a difference, even I had my first jab, but the emergence of a new variant from India was starting to threaten the return to normal.

Final week of the season and The Hawk was clear of Kieron, Mark Kiszka and Mark Taylor.  Senol Durmush, Tappy, Jackie Knight, Goodo and Oliver Taylor-Yassin were battling for the final champions league spots. Lee Ritchie and Chris Geoghegan were trying to avoid the wooden spoon. Penalty points had completely derailed Kieron’s season, at one point he was on for a possible treble, but not anymore.

The final Sunday saw The Hawk increase his lead and win his first ever FFL Title. Kieron Mullin ended with nothing. Mark Kiska came third and Danny Lawson came 4th with the FA Cup. Mark Taylor 5th and Vicky Phillips 6th. Senol Durmush, Jackie Knight and Pam Taylor took the final champions league spots from Tappy, Goodo and Ollie.

Thank for another great season of FFL, it’s the 30th season next time and I look forward to this, but before then its Euro FFL this summer, can Flynny defend his title?

Final thought.  Is it really all Pickfords fault?

MT

[sadaboutniall]

something about you;

introduction | masterlist | tag | wattpad

Six. November, 2008. 

A week and a half into November, the calm, cozy, comforts of autumn in Mullingar begin to give way to winter. The weather bites more every day as the temperature falls, the wind picks up, and the nights stretch longer and longer. People are beginning to talk about Christmas—mam has already called to ask if he and Greg are going to come over on the 24th or the 25th, and at least one store in town has put up their lights already, even though Mullingar’s official tree lighting ceremony isn’t until the first weekend of December. 

Still, autumn clings on. Niall can smell it in the air when he leaves school on a Tuesday afternoon, backpack slung over one shoulder, chilly air flooding his lungs. His cheeks flush from the cold almost as soon as he steps outside, a bright red to match the color of the few leaves that still linger on the trees. The school yards are golden in that way only autumn brings—cold but still lively, bursting with color and excitement before winter zaps it all away. 

Mully’s with Emilia but Niall’s taken to enjoying his walks home alone these days. Sometimes he listens to his iPod, imagining himself singing Viva La Vida on stage, or Hotel California. Other times, he just lets his mind wander—thinks about the songs he’s writing, the places he’d like to travel to, the people he’d like to meet. It gives him time to feel like he’s anywhere but Mullingar—like his life is one that’ll make an impression on the world beyond his tiny hometown, beyond the streets and the skies and the stone walls he knows so well. 

Most days, he doesn’t see many people along his route, which is why he’s surprised, that Tuesday, to turn the corner and see a familiar figure a few feet ahead of him. She’s walking with her head down against the wind and her hands deep in her pockets and Niall doesn’t really have control over his inhibitions, it’s almost automatic for him to call out, ‘Isla! Hey!’

She turns around, wind whipping her hair backwards into her face and it’s like a shot from a music video or a rom-com, one of those moments where everything slows down and the only thing in focus is the person the main character is falling in love with. Isla tucks her hair behind her ear as her eyes light up, autumn sunlight glinting against brown irises, and she waves her other hand in greeting. 

Niall picks up into a slight jog and Isla waits for him to catch up to her, her smile soft and sweet, her dimples prominent. Once he’s at her side he slows down, and they fall into step with each other as Niall catches his breath. 

‘Where are you headed?’ He asks, as soon as he can speak without breathing too heavy. 

‘I’m babysitting today,’ Isla looks over at Niall, still smiling. ‘The O’Hagan’s little boy, Aiden.’ 

‘You babysit for the O’Hagans? They’re right around the corner from me,’ Niall can’t put his finger on why it feels so weird not to know that Isla’s been spending time so close to him. 

Isla hums a response, a pretty sound that makes Niall think about writing a song. It would be gorgeous, he thinks, the sound of her hum layered under his singing voice. Isla carries on, ‘usually in the evenings and sometimes on Saturdays, but they need me this afternoon, too. Aiden’s a sweetie, and it’s good money.’

‘For sure,’ Niall nods, hitching his backup up as it starts to slide down his shoulder. ‘You can head into Dublin and go shopping, like.’

‘I could, yeah. Been saving it, though,’ Isla hesitates for a minute, like she’s nervous. Niall’s quiet, and then she carries on. ‘I know it’s stupid and so far away but if I want to be able to go to uni in London… I mean, I don’t know if I’d get in or anything, but I need to have money saved up for a flat and stuff.’ 

‘London?’ Niall feels shaky at the idea of Isla so far away. At the idea of Mullingar without her. At the idea of her getting out of this place before him. Niall knows his uni prospects aren’t great, and, without a miracle, there’s no way he’d be able to afford to move to London. He’s trapped here for the rest of his life, the way his whole family has been for generations. It’s an idea he’s never been fond of—but it feels so much worse without the thought of Isla by his side. 

‘I know it’s stupid,’ Isla says again. ‘But I’ve already saved almost 400 euro from babysitting and birthday money. Plus my communion money, which my parents put away for uni, too. If I actually manage to get an acceptance anywhere… I think I can afford to do it.’

‘It’s not stupid,’ Niall rushes to say. ‘And neither are you, Isla. There are millions of unis in London, you’ll definitely get in somewhere.’ 

Isla’s quiet for a few moments and they keep walking together, their shoes crunching over fallen leaves, Isla’s uniform skirt fluttering in the chilly wind. Niall’s eye catches on the flash of skin just above her knee and it hits him that she’s worn her knee high socks today instead of the tights girls usually wear when it gets cold. He lets his eyes trail up her body, slowly, and he lands on the way her arms are crossed over her chest tightly, her lips pressed together from the cold. Something tightens in his stomach. 

‘Are you cold?’ He asks, although the answer is obvious. He realizes it now: the apples of her cheeks are flushed pink and she’s shivering a little, only wearing her school sweater. He can’t believe he’d been so oblivious. 

‘It’s okay,’ Isla tightens her arms around herself. ‘I overslept this morning and I was rushing. Couldn’t find my stockings and I forgot my fecking coat. Bit of an eejit when I’m tired, really.’ 

‘You’re fucking freezing,’ Niall doesn’t let himself hesitate. He stops walking and drops his book bag to the ground before pulling his grey Derby jumper off over his head. Now he’s in just his school sweater, but he doesn’t mind. ‘Isla, it’s like 8 degrees out. Here.’

‘No, what, Niall,’ she shakes her head, but Niall can tell she’s freezing. She’s staring at his jumper, practically shaking. ‘Now you’ve got nothing.’

‘I’m a lad. Lads run warmer than girls, here, take it. Plus, if you catch a cold out here then Aiden will catch one too.’ 

Isla hesitates, but when she reaches out to take the sweatshirt her hands are shaking, practically purple from the cold. In his chest, Niall’s heart pangs pathetically as he watches her slide into his clothes. She looks like something Niall’s seen in his dreams. 

Niall’s so skinny that his hoodie actually looks a little snug on Isla, but she’s grateful nonetheless, and Niall can’t help his fluttering stomach when she tucks her chin against her shoulder to hide a shy smile. He wants to see her like this all the time: in his clothes, in front of everyone. Or, he thinks, a sudden flash of something embarrassing in the pit of his belly, just for him, tangled in the sheets of his twin-sized bed, just his sweatshirt, nothing else. He feels bad thinking about her like that, shakes the idea away as quickly as he can. 

Isla asks about his plans for the evening and he tells her about how he’s part of the starting squad for Friday’s football match, for the very first time. They talk football as they walk: Isla about Arsenal, Niall about Derby, and she teases him, bangs her shoulder against his as they joke, tilts her head to give him smiles that make his chest warm and his stomach stir. He hardly even notices when they round the corner to the O’Hagans, doesn’t put two and two together until Isla puts her backpack down to take off his jumper.

‘No, no,’ Niall stops her, hand coming out to rest on her arm. They both still, wide eyes, shaking hands. ‘Keep it. You can give it back to me tomorrow.’

‘Niall.’

‘It’s fine, Isla. You’re cold, and Aiden’s gonna want to go to the park, probably. I’ve got a million more jumpers at home.’ He means it, the logical reasoning—but he also likes the thought of her in it, even when she’s not with him. 

‘Thank you,’ she says, quiet. Now that he’s standing still, Niall realizes how much the temperature dropped while they were walking. He can see Isla’s breath as she talks. ‘The, uh. The uni I want to go to in London… it’s King’s College. Their law program.’

‘Shit,’ Niall lets out a low whistle. ‘That’s brilliant, Isla.’

‘I don’t know if I’ll get in,’ she says again, and it makes Niall want to scream. ‘I just… I haven’t said that aloud to anybody yet. Not even my mam and dad. I just… just wanted to say it. To someone.’

‘You can say anything to me,’ Niall’s freezing, but he doesn’t dare move. ‘Anything.’

Isla presses her lips together and then opens her mouth. She takes two deep breaths, eyes locked on Niall and he can feel it, can almost hear what she’s about to say—what he so badly wants her to say. He thinks he could throw up from how badly he wants it, from how close they both are to it. 

A gust of wind blows Isla’s hair back into her face and Niall doesn’t stop himself this time. He reaches out gently, tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear. It’s soft and sweet and he lets his fingers trail down gently, his thumb tracing the outer shell of her ear. Isla’s hand, freezing cold and shaking, grasps Niall’s wrist and they stay like that for a quiet minute, the sun setting around them, eyes locked on each other. 

‘I know,’ is what Isla says eventually. It’s so quiet, just for him. ‘I know I can. Thank you.’

And then she drops her hand. And he does too. And Niall is frozen to the ground as he watches her pick her bookbag back up, throw it over her shoulder, and turn to walk up the path to the O’Hagan’s. When she reaches the front door she turns back around one last time, a soft smile, a sweet wave, and then she lets herself inside and Niall’s still there, freezing and on fire, his heart battering against his ribs like it’s never done before. 

####

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