#coventry direct

[enchantingharmonyperfection]

[gracem12]

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[ganitsoni]

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[finexbright]

Getting to & from Wembley for H was a nightmare but it won't be like that for Louis or any arena show as only 25% or less of the number of people. It took me 3 hours to get home from Wembley instead of the usual 40 mins.

jesus i KNOW oh my god and despite figuring out a way to get out of there faster after experiencing the underground nightmare last year, it still took us so long to get out of there mostly because the internet doesn't work and the taxis on the road don't take you in because they're all waiting for surge pricing. but yeah! i think it'll be significantly easier for louis in london because last year despite his set ending much later because he had to stop the show thrice, i was still able to make it to my coach back home. the december shows were a nightmare because of the train strikes and the snow, but it wasn't really crowded at all!

[mygayshortstories]

Back before the days of the internet, when I was in my mid 20s, this was my first experience at “cottaging” in a public toilet, when I happened across Steve, a gorgeous 18 year-old, just ravenous for sex. But this turned into more than just a 'quick one'.....

Steve the Pipe-Fitter 

I had a day off from work and had gone out to Coventry to photograph the Cathedral, only to be met with a ‘no photography’ sign at the door, so I’d spent the rest of the morning taking candid photos of nice young men out in the sun instead. A bit frustrated, I got back to town about 2 o’clock.

Just under the pedestrian ramp leading out of the railway station were the public toilets.  I had heard about ‘cottaging’ and knew that this lavatory, being busy and anonymous, was such a place, so whether or not my subconscious was drawing me there today I don’t know but when I actually went down there, it was to pay a genuine call, so I duly paid and went into a cubicle.

The partitions between the cubicles didn’t quite reach the ground, so there was a gap underneath of about 6 inches. After a while, my curiosity got the better of me. Although I had never done it before, I knelt down on the floor and looked underneath. To my naïve surprise, a few cubicles away, a face was looking back in my direction. My reaction was instantaneous; I sat up quickly. However, my reaction had been so swift that I hadn’t had time to see who it was or what he looked like. For some reason though, I couldn’t pluck up enough courage to look again. I just sat there.

A short while later, I saw a young pair of shoes, at the end of jean-clad legs, enter the cubicle next door. I say ‘young’ because the shoes were new and smart, with a brass toe-strip, fashionable at the time. Clearly it was someone fairly young; probably no older than me, at any rate. He seemed to sit down but then do nothing else. I was curious and couldn’t resist the temptation, so I wrote on a piece of toilet paper, “How old?” and slipped it under the partition. The note was quickly taken up and was shortly followed by the sound of a match being struck. At first, I thought he was burning the note in disgust but then I realized that he was using the match to write with.

The note came back; “18” it read. I drew a rather deep breath. Now what?

I returned the note; “I’m 26 – can I wank you off?”  I remember thinking at the time that punctuation was probably superfluous under the circumstances and that a fairly basic vocabulary was more apt.

Another match was struck on the other side and the note came back, “Lend me your pen”. I realised that he must have seen my stainless-steel biro when I had slipped the message under the partition and I wasn’t yet ready to risk losing one of my 21st Birthday presents. As I had nothing else to write with, I returned the note saying, “No – you’ll nick it” and indicated that he should continue using a match.

There was now a bit of a delay and I figured I must have blown my chances. At best, he didn’t have any more matches. “And all for the sake of losing a stainless-steel biro!” I thought to myself as I sat there.

However, to my surprise, eventually another note came back giving his approval to my original request, provided that I agreed to “suck him off”.  Needless to say, I immediately indicated agreement and told him, “Unlock when ready”.  I flushed the toilet and opened the door.

As I emerged from the cubicle, I then thought, “What do I do if he doesn’t unlock the door and just leaves me standing there like an idiot trying to get in?” It was pretty busy outside, with people coming and going, people washing their hands or waiting for a cubicle and some even hanging around at the urinals. They may or may not have known what was going on but I knew I had to risk it and be quick about it. As I turned, I saw his lock click to ‘vacant’ and I pretended to put in a coin and entered the cubicle.

On reflection, my hasty action deserved to lead me into serious trouble but my limited experience knew no better. I don’t know who I really expected to find inside but for a start he hadn’t lied about his age. He was a fraction taller than me, lightly built with short dark hair and wearing blue denim jeans and a black leather bomber-jacket over a plain white ‘T’ shirt. But what struck me so overwhelmingly was his incredibly beautiful face. He had blue-grey eyes and soft boyish features, so clean-shaven that he looked almost as if he had never shaved and never needed to. I could hardly believe my eyes how gorgeous he was.

He also must have been reasonably pleased with me because, instead of just offering me his cock to suck, we both feverishly began undressing each other. We didn’t get far though, before we were both embracing, hugging each other tightly. This first embrace said so much without words and it seemed to last for ages; he pressed his whole body to me, burying his face against my neck, hugging me and kissing my neck. He smelt nice too; he was clearly wearing after-shave or cologne of some kind. Whatever it was, it was doing its job perfectly and I was almost overwhelmed. At best, on entering the cubicle, I had expected - I had hoped – for an ‘ordinary’ young man (like me) who wanted quick, impersonal sex but nothing had prepared me for this situation. He wanted – he deserved – far more than just a quick wank, that much was certain. Looking into those glistening blue-grey eyes, set beneath luxuriant dark eyebrows, I just cradled his face in my hands and gently kissed him on the lips.

At this point, I must have realised the danger we were both in; two men in a public toilet, half undressed and one of us under 21. I felt I had to get him out of there to somewhere safer – and a little more romantic. I whispered into his ear,

“You’re so gorgeous; what on earth are you doing here?”

He merely hugged me all the more tightly and then he kissed me for the first time; not a peck or anything half-hearted but a full-blown, sloppy kiss. Oh heavens!  His lips tasted simply delicious! Memories came flooding back of an 18 year-old boy-friend I had a few years back, as I began to melt against him. Again, I whispered to him,

“I can’t bear the thought of you being caught here. Can I take you back to my place? It’s not too far and it’ll be safer there.”

Much to my surprise, he readily agreed, just as we noticed someone spying on us from under the partition with the next cubicle. It was that face again – the one I had seen looking back at me under the partitions - only this time, he was right next door and had already noticed two pairs of feet where there should be only one.

My newly discovered treasure left the cubicle first, flushing the toilet for effect, and I followed after a moment or two. When I emerged at the top of the steps, I thought that I had lost him and that he had run off, but then I caught a glimpse of him disappearing into a telephone kiosk. I still wasn’t sure whether he was trying to avoid me but I briskly walked up to the kiosk and when he saw me, he came out. As we walked away together, he seemed more on edge than I had expected and he was nervously looking around at the people about us.

As we walked on, I managed to ascertain that his name was Steve and that he was, of all things, a pipe-fitter. To this day, I don't know if he was having me on and it was some kind of jok on his part but without warning, he suddenly hustled me in front of a queue and onto a bus. Rather taken by surprise, I fumbled for the fare he had paid and followed him upstairs to where he was sitting, looking intently out of the window. He then told me that we had been followed from the toilet and he pointed to a middle-aged, rather scruffy looking man in the crowd who I remember seeing earlier, loitering in the public toilet. It was ‘The Face’ from under the partitions again!

We stayed on the bus as it went around the City Centre; meanwhile, he sat there, pressing his leg firmly against mine. Even through my jeans, I could feel the warmth of his leg and this tenuous connection of our bodies passed an electric sexuality between us that was getting me highly aroused! The blood was pumping through my cock, tightly crushed inside my briefs, and there was an uncomfortable dampness developing in my groin as pre-cum oozed into my underwear as we sat there, our jean-clad thighs pressed warmly together.

By the time we reached the Town Hall, he seemed to be less nervous. We had lost our follower, so we changed buses and headed to my place. On the way, I tried to make ‘small talk’ and he responded chattily. He had a gorgeous Liverpool accent but said he lived locally. I learned that he had left his parents in Liverpool to find work and that he shared a flat not far from where I now lived, so he didn’t feel that he was heading into totally strange parts. The short walk from the bus seemed to take ages; my heart was beating fast and it was thumping into my throat. I was nervous that we might meet someone I knew; what would I say? But as it happened, we didn’t pass anyone.

He seemed impressed when I showed him into my flat and immediately asked how much it cost. Typical of a Liverpool ‘Lad’, I thought; winningly engaging but always straight to the point. I took his leather bomber-jacket, gave him a Coke and sat down on the couch, patting the seat next to me, indicating for him to sit beside me, which he did. As I put my arm around him, he responded straight away by doing the same and by snuggling up to me affectionately. I stroked his face and again told him how beautiful he was.

“Thank you,” he said with a coy grin. He seemed genuinely flattered.

As I moved to kiss him, he turned toward me and our lips met for the second time in a kiss of such tenderness, quite unlike anything you could imagine from an 18 year-old. His lips were full and his mouth tasted slightly of mint, as our passions roused and our tongues entwined. I began to realise that he may have been 18 but he was no novice. He certainly knew how to kiss, that’s for sure!

Eagerly, he following me into the bedroom, where I drew the curtains and closed the door. In the semi-darkness, we embraced again but this time, unlike in the toilet cubicle, we were safe and secure from prying eyes. Our whole bodies now pressing together, we kissed and hugged. He began to unbutton my shirt as I removed his t-shirt, revealing soft tanned arms and a strong chest delicately peppered with tiny hairs. Again we hugged, but this time our skins touched for the first time and passed bodily warmth between us. Feverishly, I unzipped his flies and unbuckled his belt but by now, we were both so desperate to get into bed that we both just dropped our jeans and almost leapt into bed, still wearing our underpants.

Under the covers, we fell against each other, skin against skin, and I felt the warm hardness of his organ against mine through our underwear.  Soon, however, the underwear was gone and we were fully naked, entwined, hugging and kissing in a heat of frantic passion. I could feel his organ, large and full, between our stomachs as I lay on top of him and he began thrusting upwards to me.

Looking back from today’s world of the internet and ‘porn on tap’, it’s difficult to explain but all this excitement simply proved too much for me and his eagerness tipped me over the edge; all my pent-up sexual frustrations rose within me and I came uncontrollably against his stomach and erect cock, hugging and pressing myself to him. As I clung to him, my orgasm enveloped my whole body, as my semen gushed uncontrollably in pulses between us.

I was mortified. While I did not count myself as promiscuous, I had ‘been around the block a few times’, so this sort of thing was not supposed to happen to me and I was embarrassed. I thought I had blown my chances and it was all over. Light-heartedly, I apologized and quickly mopped up the mess, as I didn’t want to disappoint him. But there was no fear of that; he rolled me onto my back and knelt astride me, holding his throbbing penis in my face, foreskin already drawn back in anticipation. Evidently, he hadn’t forgotten our bargain back in the public toilet!

I too had no intention of breaking our ‘contract’, so I eagerly took his throbbing tool in my mouth and began sucking and playing with it. He loved it. We rolled about in a number of positions, with me sucking him and tickling and licking his testicles; and him thoroughly reveling in it. But I had to keep resting my jaw; it was beginning to ache and juices were everywhere; he was a big lad for one so slightly built.

 “I’m a good stayer,” he joked, and he certainly was. I wasn’t about to give up either; he was 18, beautiful - and all mine. 

But eventually, I felt the tell-tale signs; now on his back again with me crouched between his baby-soft thighs, his organ in my mouth and gripped in my hand, his breathing suddenly changed and he began gasping and shuddering. Don’t you simply love that moment when a young man loses all self-control just before he cums? With a deep, hard gasp, he exploded into my mouth 3 or 4 times, great gushes of salty cum coursing through his organ and filling my mouth.

Some guys (girls too, I suppose) don’t like the taste of a guy’s cum, so they either spit it out or let it dribble back out of their mouth. For me though, the whole experience is a very personal one and while I don’t much like the taste, I feel that swallowing it increases that connection; it creates an even deeper bond between the ‘giver’ and the ‘receiver’. Besides which, having a man’s cum permanently inside me is very satisfying; at least it is for me, at any rate!  Consequently, as his throbbing cock subsided, I swallowed all of his slimy, slithery juices. His body then relaxing and exhausted, he breathed heavily.

“Jeez, I needed that!” he said, as we collapsed into each other’s arms, once again hugging and kissing.

At this point, I thought he would want to leave, his passion satisfied; but he hadn’t had enough, it seemed. We continued laying together, caressing and stroking, hugging and kissing, rolling about in loving passion the likes of which I had not felt in a long while. Occasionally, we would rest and just lay still in each other’s arms, softly talking, only to return to the hugging and kissing with renewed vitality. I complimented him on how passionate a lover he was. He liked that.

I said, “You’re not shy either, are you”, and he looked at me, slightly surprised, and replied, “No”, as if it had never occurred to him.

As we still lay entwined, without any warning he then said,

“Well, can I stick it up you then?”

Although the abruptness of his request came as something of a surprise, it was by no means out of character. He was direct and to the point. But I saw this as an opportunity, so in an attempt to persuade him to meet me again, I said I thought maybe we should keep that for another time. He didn’t seem to mind, except that now we began exploring each other’s bottoms.

As I played my finger around his anus, I realised that this was one of his weak spots, as it was mine in fact. He began groaning and he clasped my hand, pressing my finger into him. With the aid of a little lube, I began to finger-fuck him, massaging his prostate while he writhed about, groaning in ecstasy. For a few moments, I had his entire body sensations under my control (again) and I sensed he was going to let go again. I felt tremendous. But he had other ideas still in his mind because he gently pushed me away, grabbing the lube and following my example. Now he was the one who had me under his control and my mind soon changed regarding his request to screw me! He rolled me over and took charge.

I asked him to take it gently – he was only young and I wasn’t sure how desperate he might be. But I need have had no fears. As I lay on my front over a pillow, face to one side and one knee raised, he lubricated his now throbbing organ and my aching anus. He entered me just a little at a time, pausing when I asked, allowing me to relax. He wasn’t particularly well-endowed, as if that mattered, but he was fairly narrow too, so I was able to accommodate him with very little discomfort. However, his cock was quite long and it was terrific to feel his slender organ sliding smoothly in and out, upwards and inwards, rhythmically inside me, as he lay against my back with his arms firmly clasped around me. It was sheer bliss.

Eventually, he began thrusting in earnest, almost withdrawing in between his full, hard thrusts into me. In fact, he slipped out twice and got a bit flustered at nearly losing it – he was obviously getting near to his climax. I calmed him as he entered again easily, softly encouraging him to continue, and he began thrusting again, now desperately. As I felt his rhythm change, he thrust once or twice really hard into me as far as he could go and, reaching his climax, he grasped both my hands on the pillow and buried his face against my neck. I could feel him holding his breath, as he held absolutely still for a second or two; and then I felt his organ pulsing high inside me – 2, 3, 4, 5 times he came into me, my insides warmed by the love fluid flowing into me. Then he let out a gasp and I felt him relax his frantic grip of me, as he just lay there on top of me, his tool still slowly throbbing the last of his orgasm inside me.

Exhausted, his tool slipped out of me as he still lay against my back, sighing and breathing heavily. I sighed too – frankly, I had never had it so good!  As we rolled over into each other’s arms once again, I told him so and he was justly flattered. We must have rolled about kissing and embracing for quite some time until he finally asked if I had cum when he screwed me. I told him I hadn’t, although I had been pretty close, and to my utter amazement, he said,

“Right, well it’s your turn then – I’ll do you a blow job” and with the words, “Let me at it!” he climbed over in-between my legs and began passionately sucking my still hard penis and tickling my testicles with his fingers.

Frankly, I was speechless; this 18 year-old fantasy had just had two quite tremendous orgasms in the space and he was still as excited and, what’s more, he was interested in me. I wasn’t expecting any more than I had already experienced but I was ready for anything he was prepared to offer and I was enjoying every precious moment.

He didn’t move up and down on me much; instead, he teased me with his mouth and tongue, second by second, so slowly that as I felt myself drawing towards a climax, it was so gently and slowly done that the tension was almost agonizing in its pleasure. I began shaking what seemed like ages before I came but then I could feel the fluid rising in me, flowing on its inexorable path to the outside world. I clutched at his head, gasping for breath, and came like a small fountain into his mouth, pumping away while he eagerly swallowed every drop I gave him until I was truly spent.

I was still gasping for breath when he collapsed against me again, where he lay for another ten minutes or so until it was time for him to return to his own flat. We had been in bed together for nearly three hours and finally he was leaving. We dressed and tidied up and I asked if I could see him again. To this day, his reply still baffles me.

“What do you think?” he said.

I’ve often wondered at the double meaning in his response but at the time, I took it at face value, gave him my phone number and attempted to express sincere feeling to him as I showed him out to the road and directed him to his bus home.

A beautiful cheery face smiled back at me as I waved to him disappearing down the road. As I returned to my flat and closed the door, I was alone again and felt suddenly empty and yet at the same time rejuvenated. For me, nothing short of a fantasy had come true and it felt all the better for knowing that he had had a bloody good time too! Our afternoon had been filled with such intense passion that I thought, “Surely this was more than just another ‘one night stand’ encounter?”  But he never contacted me and I never saw him again. All I have is the memory; the image etched in my mind of that beautiful young man’s face, the warmth of his soft skin against mine and that incredible Thursday afternoon.

If you liked that story, please let me know - even post a comment under “ask me a question”. Or perhaps you’d just like to read another story?

Here’s an index of my other sordid tales, many of them taken from true-life sexual adventures of my own: Erotic Gay Stories Index

[boinkingbattlemechs]

Bushwacker

Originally a failed BattleMech concept designed to have a smaller forward profile, the Bushwacker would ultimately become a popular Clan Invasion era BattleMech in use within both halves of the Federated Commonwealth.

Under development on the cusp of the Clan Invasion, the ambitious and unorthodox design of the Bushwacker featured a low-slung and narrow upper torso to present minimal target profile to enemy units. Unfortunately this resulted in a complex and crowded internal layout, with the 'Mech's fusion engine's close proximity to the sensor and communication system resulting in electronic interference and system failures. Engineers were unable to overcome these issues, and the 'Mech seemed destined for the scrap-heap despite impressing evaluators with its design and capabilities.

The Bushwacker was ultimately saved by the Clan juggernaut following a successful Armed Forces of the Federated Commonwealth raid against a Clan Jade Falcon base on Twycross, FedCom forces securing a treasure trove of schematics and technical data on numerous Clan designs, including the Vulture. Though a more vertical design, the Clan OmniMech shared the same compressed volume issues, with the Clan engineers making several unusual decisions in its internal layout to alleviate the interference problem. With the TharHes engineers able to adapt the Clan solution to the Bushwacker, reconfiguring its internal structure, the 'Mech was given a second lease on life.

Full scale production of the corrected Bushwacker began in 3053 on Tharkad following the Truce of Tukayyid, though many FedCom units who served on the Clan frontlines received preproduction models during the initial invasion. This led to the 'Mech being most numerous on the Clan/Lyran Alliance border immediately following the succession, though by the conclusion of the FedCom Civil War the Bushwacker could be found in almost every first echelon unit in both halves of the Federated Commonwealth. For some unknown reason the Bushwacker has since become a favorite of MechWarriors in the Draconis and Capellan Marches of the Federated Suns.

With TharHes Industries badly damaged during the Jihad and Word of Blake occupation of Tharkad, the company was forced to sell off the Bushwacker plans to raise much-needed capital to rebuild its production lines. Purchased by Coventry Metal Works, the company used the specs to create the Gauntlet OmniMech, with modern Bushwacker models sharing a similar frame and various other components with it, allowing both CMW and TI to reduce costs for both designs through economies of scale. Though the OmniMech was intended as an exclusively Lyran design, the Bushwacker is not so restricted and is exported outside the Commonwealth, remaining popular within the Armed Forces of the Federated Suns even during the Dark Age era.

The Bushwacker has a top speed of 86.4 km/h and carries nine tons of armor. What the 'Mech lacks in protection it makes up for in range, using its speed to keep enemies at arm's length while using its slew of long range weaponry to slowly wear down enemies.

In an attempt to keep the enemy at as long a range as possible, the Bushwacker carries two Federated 5-Shot LRM-5 launchers. The LRM-5s give it the capability to give some indirect fire support as well as laying down minefields with specialized munitions. These are backed up by a BlazeFire Sweetshot ER large laser and an 80 mm Mydron Model B AC/10, which give the 'Mech a powerful long range direct-fire punch. A pair of Johnston Minigun machine guns are the only short range weapons carried by the 'Mech.

[c-rose2081]

Hey, I think you mentioned somewhere that Audrey either gave up her title as heir to the Auroria throne or it was revoked after the events of D3. So, is a certain overlooked cousin now in line for the throne? Or is she going with her boyfriend to be queen of the underworld? If it's the latter, who's gonna be the next ruler of Auroria?

Hi :)

Specifically in We the Anti-Hero’s Audrey abdicated her place as heir on her own accord, marrying Chad (who also abdicated) and choosing a career in law instead of being a Princess.

Technically, this does get Ariana a bit closer the throne. She is a princess in her home ‘country’ of Coventry, which is a smaller offshoot of Auroria with its own ruling family but still under the umbrella of High-Queen Leah. However, her placement in the hierarchy changed when her baby brother Adonis (the Sun Prince of Coventry) was born. Auroria is very traditional in its monarchy, and a boy/future king will always be first in line to the high throne despite age, as well as first in line for his own kingdom. So unless Aurora and Phillip have another child willing to take Audrey’s place, he’s now first for the throne.

Basically, Adonis being born bumped Ariana to the bottom of the heap in every direction (one of the main reasons her relationship with her parents is so splintered).

As for Hadie, he is and probably always will be a Lord of the Underworld, but never a King seeing as Hades is immortal. It certainly wouldn’t be surprising if Ariana chose to stay with him :) (that’s spoiler territory lol).

If Queen Leah does pass away, Aurora would still succeed her and become High-Queen, giving Adonis time to grow up and learn his trade, or for the monarchy to collapse and become a different form of government all-together (democracy, or perhaps just another part of Auradon’s umbrella rule under Ben and Mal). It’s hard to say.

[fizzyxcustard]

Covert Eyes (24)

Prologue| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6| Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: Spooks

Pairings: Lucas North x OC (Amy Holland)

Warnings: Stalking behaviour, anxiety, language, sexual references, angst, smut, heartbreak, gunshot wounds and recovery, abduction, hostage situation.

Summary: Lucas takes notice of a young woman, Amy, but his obsession and want to get to know her begin to spiral out of control. Amy is now working for MI-5, after being recruited by Ros. But will her involvement with Lucas cause even more problems and heartbreak?

When Amy's parents get involved, how will things pan out for Amy and Lucas?

Official soundtrack list:  here

Comments/Notes: If you wish to be tagged in any of my tag lists for fics or characters, please let me know, and stipulate what you want to be tagged in.

This fic does have an ending in sight...finally. :)

Feedback, comments and suggestions are always very valuable. My messages and ask box (including anons!) are open.

It had been a month now since Amy had returned to Coventry, and every day felt listless and lifeless. She’d had long conversations with Ros, who was technically her direct manager and would have been in charge of all HR work. Amy had explained everything and had been met with the words, “We can’t keep the position open for you for long. You’ll need to make a definite decision on this. You’ve been compromised in a serious way.” It all felt like it was her direct fault, the more that Amy mused on it. 

Amy’s brother in law had been kind enough to do a run to the flat back in London, taking a rental van, to pick up her belongings. Matt had been told what to pick up and Lucas had made himself scarce ahead of the visit after Amy’s notice. 

After Amy’s departure from the flat, she had not spoken with Lucas at all. The only communication had been through texts, and this was to organise Matt’s arrival for her belongings. Lucas had agreed to keep the tenancy of the flat in just his name. 

Furniture remained behind. But all of Amy’s personal items such as remainder of clothing, her television set and DVD player, books, ornaments and even some of her cooking utensils and crockery, came back to Coventry. The majority of it was now back in her old room. The guest bed that she had shared with Lucas over new year was now her bed, and opposite it on a small bookcase was her Samsung flatscreen television. 

The last month had been a whirlwind of feeling depressed, numb, anxious and angry. Most of her dreams were her sitting in a dark room, trying to scream, but no sound came. She often woke with a tension headache, and ibuprofen had become a friend of late. 

However, as Amy entered the fifth week of being with her parents, she noticed that her period was late. Normally she had been like clockwork, always being on time and maintaining the same number of days for the period portion of her cycle. Maybe the stress of all the recent upheaval had caused it? She was sure she had heard that before, that stress and anxiety could mess with menstrual cycles. Just to be sure, Amy made her way into town one morning. Partly she needed to get out of the house and breathe. Ever since being home, her parents had been overly generous with her and kept treating her like she was a child again, and it was beginning to make her uncomfortable. 

She used up all three tests, and all of them came back positive. Amy was pregnant. 

The realisation didn’t hit her immediately, and she sat with the thought for a couple of days, trying to comprehend what was happening. Finally, two days after finding out, she approached her mum. It was an overcast Saturday morning, and her mum was sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee. 

“Do you want me to get you a drink?” Sharon asked. 

“No. I…um…I need to talk to you about something.” Amy sat down opposite her mum and as soon as she looked into Sharon’s dark gaze, she broke down into tears. 

“Love,” Sharon cooed. She grabbed Amy’s hand from across the table. “You’ll get through this, darling. You’ll heal, I promise.” 

“I’m pregnant.” 

The words were like lead, heavy. Sharon was stunned, rendered rigid in her seat. “A…Are you sure?” 

“I took three tests and they all came back positive. I was on the pill, but you know they reckon it’s not one hundred per cent effective. But…I’ve wanted a baby for a while now. It’s just….why now? I need to tell Lucas.” 

Sharon’s eyebrows furrowed. “Amy, you need to keep as far away from him as possible.” 

“He has every right to know, Mum. I’m not going to keep him in the dark about it, and if he wants to visit…”

“No, Amy. I’m putting my foot down there. Before we know for absolute certainty that you’re pregnant, as tests can sometimes be wrong, say that you are…If you let him have any contact, think of the risk. I know you love him, but you need to let him go and make a life of your own with the baby.” 

Amy wept at the table, feeling so utterly consumed by sadness, frustration and confusion. “When will you and Dad let me have any control back?” she muttered. “You made me leave Lucas and now won’t let him have anything to do with his own child. When will you both allow me to actually make a decision for myself?” 

A flash of anger passed across Sharon’s face. “I know you, Amy. No one knows someone better than their own mother. You are besotted with that man. I don’t know what kind of hold he had over you…”

“Hold?” Amy asked, her eyebrows knotting. “He had no hold over me. He’s the only man I’ve ever truly been in love with.” 

“And you’ll find someone else.” 

“Mum, I can’t carry on with this conversation because I’ll say something I regret,” Amy spat. She got up and shoved her seat back, the wooden legs screeching across the flooring. Amy stormed to the doorway and then turned back, glaring at her mum. “Imagine being rock bottom, and you feel like no one would ever look at you twice. You know you’re not beautiful and there’s very little about you that a man would want, but somehow one man sees you. I mean he really bloody seesyou. And he finally helps you to see that maybe you’re not as bad as you always thought; he helps you to actually feel loved. Would you want to throw that away?” 

Sharon remained quiet, feeling a lump rise in her throat at Amy’s words. Of course she knew that Amy felt that way. She had seen it; the pain on Amy’s face, the loneliness in her posture, the desperation for love in her eyes. Sharon had felt all of that, too. 

***

Lucas was at work, sat at Amy’s desk when he heard his phone ring. Amy’s number flashed across the screen and immediately a whole array of emotions that he couldn’t fathom seemed to spread through his chest. His hand began to shake and he accepted the call, whispering her name. 

“Lucas. I’m sorry for bothering you. I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important,” she said. 

Her voice wrapped around him, holding him so snug.

“Are you alright?” Lucas asked, immediately concerned for her wellbeing. 

“I need to tell you something, and maybe it’s best we meet in person. Mum won’t like it, but I don’t care anymore. I’m sick of both of them telling me what to do…”

“Amy they’re keeping you safe. They’re not telling you what to do.” 

“Why are you siding with them? Am I that bad that you’d happily just see me leave and we never…”

“Amy, for fuck sake,” Lucas growled. “I am not going over this with you again.” 

“Okay, I’m pregnant. There you go! Happy? I’ll go and you never have to hear from me again.”

“Amy? Fuck….Amy?” 

The line dropped. 

Lucas’ head was spinning. He dashed out of the main office space and into a hallway, feeling heat rise high in his head. His heart was thundering so hard in his chest and he paced the same ten feet of hallway as he tried to call Amy again, but each time it just rang out and then went to her voicemail. 

Up in Coventry, Amy grabbed her handbag and stormed out of the house. She tried so desperately hard not to break into tears, but it was too much, and she sobbed in the middle of the street. With her back against a tree, Amy bent her knees and hung her head, sobbing. 

“Are you alright, dear?” a kind old lady asked, who was staggering past on a walking stick, while walking her small dog. 

Amy looked at the kind lady through tears and nodded her head. The lady’s dog, a little black and white Jack Russell terrier sniffed Amy’s feet, its tail wagging in curiosity and excitement. Amy extended her arm down and stroked the dog, while smiling. 

“See? He always has that reaction with people. He made you smile.” 

Amy finally gathered the small slither of strength inside her and continued walking, passing one last smile to the dog and his kind owner. Trudging up the street, Amy pushed the tears away and head towards the small bakery and café which was on the corner of a small backstreet which joined on to the main high street. 

The café was quiet, with the only sound being a radio playing from somewhere in the back room. Amy ordered herself a chai latte and a piece of lemon drizzle cake, then sat at the very back of the café, slipping out of sight. 

On her phone, Amy found ten missed calls from Lucas, and three text messages. With a sigh and a sudden snap of her frayed self-control, she called him back. 

“Aim, listen to me,” he begged frantically. “Please, angel.” 

Hearing him call her ‘angel’ brought forward those horrible tears again. 

“Why do you keep thinking I’m pushing you away because I want to? That’s the furthest thing from the truth. But a baby? Are you sure you’re pregnant?” 

“I took three tests and they all showed positive. Lucas, we need to be together. I can’t be a mum without you. Don’t make me do this alone, please. I need you.” 

“I know, angel.” He sighed loudly down the line. “Your parents won’t let me near you and the baby, we know that. And they have good reason.” 

“This is our future. Not theirs.” 

“I can’t risk the pair of you. I can’t.”

“So what are you saying? You’re abandoning me? You’re going to make me go to every scan on my own, bloat to the size of a whale and then give birth in agony, all on my own? Fucking hell, Lucas, I thought you were more of a man than that.” Amy was seething at his attitude. “You’re going to make me be a single mother?”

“Don’t you think I know what I’m saying, Aim?” Lucas growled. “Don’t you think I know that by doing this I’m making you go through it alone? But making you go through it alone will make sure you at least go through it and get out the other side alive.” 

“I hate you, Lucas. I never thought you’d be this fucking cold!” 

A lady with a severe bob placed Amy’s drink and cake down on the table, her eyes wide upon hearing her customer’s side of the conversation. 

“All anyone does in my life is control me, and I’m sick of it. You’ve made the decision that we can’t be together without even considering me at all. My parents have got me back at home, treating me like a pathetic child. No one will let me stand on my own two feet and make my own decisions.” 

“Because this is putting your life at risk, and now a child’s,” Lucas spat. “What kind of a man would I be to just let all these things keep happening to you? You’ve already been shot and taken hostage because of me and being connected to me.”

“And now you have a baby, Lucas. You don’t get to just walk away from that. I am not putting ‘father unknown’ on my baby’s birth certificate. I refuse to do that.”

“I’ll make sure you have enough money…”

“It’s not about the fucking money, Lucas!” Amy cried out. “I need you in my life. The baby needs you. Can’t you see that? I grew up with a dad, and I thank God every day for that. I can’t let my baby not have a dad. Lucas…” Amy began to weep. “I can’t carry on without you. Please. I still wear my engagement ring because I can’t face that this is over. It can’t be. Sarah and Simon got what they wanted: revenge. They wanted us apart, and they got that. They can’t hurt us any more than they already have.” 

“Angel, we can’t.” Lucas voice was quiet but firm. “You have your family who’ll look after you. I’ll come to the scans and birth, but we can’t be together again.” 

“Fuck you, then. Keep away. I’ll do this alone.” 

Amy threw her phone down on the table and sobbed. 

The lady who had served Amy looked on confused. “A…are you alright?” she asked. 

***

Lucas sat with his head in his hands a short while later, gaining the attention of Ros who came onto the main floor. She approached him and perched on the edge of the desk. “What’s going on?” she asked, folding her arms. 

With a sigh, Lucas rubbed his mouth with his hand and looked up at Ros. “Amy’s pregnant. I can’t put them at risk, no matter how much I want to be with her and raise the baby. I don’t think she realises how much danger I’ve put her in.” 

“She does. Don’t underestimate her, Lucas. In the little time I’ve known her, I can see that in her. And can I be frank with you? I think you see her as immature to a degree, but she’s got a wise head on her shoulders. Far more than you know.” At that, Ros was staring straight at Lucas. Her gaze was piercing. “You’re like a lot of others in her life and you’ve taken advantage of her people pleasing nature, but when she kicks back, you see her as immature and not knowing what she wants.” 

“No…”

“Yes. I’ve been in this job long enough now to know how people work. She’s let you take control for the entirety of the relationship and now she’s trying to do something for herself, you judge her as not knowing what she wants. You did it when we recruited her.” 

“But she did do what she wanted in the end,” Lucas argued. 

“With a little input from me, to try and help her make the right decision for her. Stop telling her what’s best, and let her make up her own mind.” 

Ros disappeared into a side office and picked up her mobile, calling Amy. 

“Hello, Ros,” Amy said softly. Then sniffed. 

Ros immediately knew that Amy had been crying. “Is now a good time to talk?” 

“Yes. I’ve just got home and I’m in my room out the way of anyone overhearing me.” 

“How are you doing?” 

“I’d be a complete liar if I said I’m doing well. I’m guessing you’re calling me because Lucas told you I’m pregnant.”

“You’re very perceptive,” Ros chuckled. “Yes, he told me. I believe congratulations are in order, despite the circumstances.” 

“Thank you. I’m still considering the position, Ros. It’d be unfair of me to come back and then leave again. Maybe now that a baby is on the horizon, it’d be best for me to re-consider any future with MI5.” 

“Don’t make a rash decision now. I know I said we can’t keep the position open, but there is the option of maternity leave and pulling that forward so you take leave earlier. Your role would only ever be analysis, so please don’t be concerned that field work might be something you’d have to do. Maybe we could have a face to face meeting in the next week or two. I can come and meet you so you won’t see Lucas.” 

“How is he?” 

“Quiet, although flies off the handle easily at times. Doesn’t like to be challenged. He misses you, Amy. He even sits at your desk and uses your mug.” 

“I miss him, too,” Amy whispered. “I wish he’d let me come back.” 

“Amy, you can come back. Your parents and Lucas don’t own you; you’re your own person. I know why he’s doing this, but he needs to give you control.” 

“Everyone treats me like a child.” 

Ros sighed. “I’ve noticed.” 

***

Follow Forever tag list: @lathalea @middleearthpixie @xxbyimm @meganlpie @linasofia @knittastically @asgardianhobbit98 @rachel1959 @luna-redamancy @mrsdurin @quiall321 @missihart23 @lemond57 @evenstaredits @catthefearless @glassgulls @sazzlep @court-jobi @heilith @albionscastle @for-fuck-sake-im-alive @absentmindeduniverse @bookworm-with-coffee @danzalladaggers @ourlonelymountain @phantomessangel @estethell @windb3ll @protosslady

[wonder-worker]

Margaret of Anjou’s visit to Coventry [in 1456], which was part of her dower and that of her son, Edward of Lancaster, was much more elaborate. It essentially reasserted Lancastrian power. The presence of Henry and the infant Edward was recognised in the pageantry. The ceremonial route between the Bablake gate and the commercial centre was short, skirting the area controlled by the cathedral priory, but it made up for its brevity with no fewer than fourteen pageants. Since Coventry had an established cycle of mystery plays, there were presumably enough local resources and experience to mount an impressive display; but one John Wetherby was summoned from Leicester to compose verses and stage the scenes. As at Margaret’s coronation the iconography was elaborate, though it built upon earlier developments.

Starting at Bablake gate, next to the Trinity Guild church of St. Michael, Bablake, the party was welcomed with a Tree of Jesse, set up on the gate itself, with the prophets Isaiah and Jeremiah explaining the symbolism. Outside St. Michael’s church the party was greeted by Edward the Confessor and St. John the Evangelist; and proceeding to Smithford Street, they found on the conduit the four Cardinal Virtues—Righteousness (Justice?), Prudence, Temperance, and Fortitude. In Cross Cheaping wine flowed freely, as in London, and angels stood on the cross, censing Margaret as she passed. Beyond the cross was pitched a series of pageants, each displaying one of the Nine Worthies, who offered to serve Margaret. Finally, the queen was shown a pageant of her patron saint, Margaret, slaying the dragon [which 'turned out to be strictly an intercessor on the queen's behalf', as Helen Maurer points out].

The meanings here are complex and have been variously interpreted. An initial reading of the programme found a message of messianic kingship: the Jesse tree equating royal genealogy with that of Christ had been used at the welcome for Henry VI on his return from Paris in 1432. A more recent, feminist view is that the symbolism is essentially Marian, and to be associated with Margaret both as queen and mother of the heir rather than Henry himself. The theme is shared sovereignty, with Margaret equal to her husband and son. Ideal kingship was symbolised by the presence of Edward the Confessor, but Margaret was the person to whom the speeches were specifically addressed and she, not Henry, was seen as the saviour of the house of Lancaster. This reading tips the balance too far the other way: the tableau of Edward the Confessor and St. John was a direct reference to the legend of the Ring and the Pilgrim, one of Henry III’s favourite stories, which was illustrated in Westminster Abbey, several of his houses, and in manuscript. It symbolised royal largesse, and its message at Coventry would certainly have encompassed the reigning king. Again, the presence of allegorical figures, first used for Henry, seems to acknowledge his presence. Yet, while the message of the Coventry pageants was directed at contemporary events it emphasised Margaret’s motherhood and duties as queen; and it was expressed as a traditional spiritual journey from the Old Testament, via the incarnation represented by the cross, to the final triumph over evil, with the help of the Virgin, allegory, and the Worthies. The only true thematic innovation was the commentary by the prophets.

[...] The messages of the pageants firmly reminded the royal women of their place as mothers and mediators, honoured but subordinate. Yet, if passive, these young women were not without significance. It is clear from the pageantry of 1392 and 1426 in London and 1456 in Coventry that when a crisis needed to be resolved, the queen (or regent’s wife) was accorded extra recognition. Her duty as mediator—or the good aspect of a misdirected man—suddenly became more than a pious wish. At Coventry, Margaret of Anjou was even presented as the rock upon which the monarchy rested. [However,] a crisis had to be sensed in order to provoke such emphasis [...]."

-Nicola Coldstream, "Roles of Women in Late Medieval Civic Pageantry," "Reassessing the Roles of Women as 'Makers' of Medieval Art and Culture"

[thestylesindependent]

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Directing the Crowd, Love on Tour: Coventry 2 via adorablharry

[brokenbluebouquet]

8/xx Gerrit van Honthorst, the Duke of Buckingham and his family, 1628, royal collections trust.

George and Kate had 4 children:

Mary Villiers (1622-1685) married 1st Lord Herbert, no children. Married 2nd James Stuart Duke of Richmond and Lennox - 2 children.

Charles Villiers (1625-1627) earl of Coventry. Died in infancy.

George Villiers (1627-1687) 2nd Duke of Buckingham married Mary Fairfax (Thomas fairfax’s daughter), no children.

Francis Viliers (1628/9 - 1648) killed in a skirmish at Kingston. Unmarried, no children.

Officially* there are no living direct descendants of George and Kate alive today. All members of the Villiers family are via George’s brothers and half brothers. The Fielding earls of Denbigh are the descendants of George’s sister Susan.

* of course given the antics of George and George Jr who knows what flotsam and jetsam is hanging around the gene pool.

[scotianostra]

December 30th 1915 saw the Cruiser Natal explode in Cromarty harbour, killing over 400 people.

HMS Natal on that fateful day was at anchor in the Cromarty Firth. Her Captain, Eric Percy Coventry Back, had allowed a number of the ship’s crew to take shore leave – many of them to watch, and play, in an inter-ship football match.

For some of his officers however, Captain Back had invited them and their wives to a film show on board. He had also invited a family friend, John Henry Dods – a former Scottish International rugby player – his wife Annie and their children Dorothy, Marcus and John. Captain Back’s wife (their own children were ill) and three nurses from the nearby hospital ship HMS Drina.

At around 3.20 pm the Natal was rocked by an explosion, followed by a further three blasts in short succession. Flames shot throughout the ship but the true seriousness of the situation wasn’t fully appreciated, with injured seaman were being sent to sickbay to have their burns dressed. Orders to flood the magazines couldn’t be carried out and although hoses were rigged no water was obtainable through the fire main system. Within three minutes of the first explosion the ship started to list heavily to port and after another two minutes, she had completely settled down with the forward end of the starboard bilge keel clear of the water.

421 men, women and children lost their lives in this disaster. The loss of the ship was soon announced to the press. Various photographs of the Natal, her crew and the ship’s cat (with the caption “Rudolph, it is feared, was on board at the time”) appeared on the front page of the Daily Sketch two days running. And although they attempted to notify next of kin as quickly as possible, the Admiralty was inundated with letters from family members of the crew.

Although not immediately ruled out, the idea of a submarine attack was soon dismissed. In order to carry out a torpedo attack, a U-boat would have needed to have passed two other ships: another cruiser and an even more tempting target – the battleship Emperor of India. Having talked to survivors personally, and from divers reports, Vice-Admiral Jellicoe was of the opinion that the foundering of the Natal was due to an internal explosion.

As was traditional in the loss of a Royal Navy ship, a Court Martial into the loss of the Natal was held at Chatham between 18th and 20th January 1916. As the highest surviving officer, Lieutenant Commander John Spencer Tyndall was the first to give evidence. He was in the Mail Office and in the immediate aftermath directed the crew to rig fire hoses. His testimony, along with that of others, in particular the divers William Russell and Charles Lambert, confirmed the opinion that the loss of Natal was due to an internal explosion caused by faulty ammunition. (The divers reported that the explosion had blown both sides of the ship bodily outwards)

Today, a buoy marks the spot where Natal sank – the remains of the wreck designated under the Protection of Military Remains Act 1986. Many of those who died are remembered on the naval memorials at Chatham, Portsmouth and Plymouth. Of the bodies recovered only 17 were identified and were buried in the local cemeteries of Cromarty and Rosskeen.

More than 100 years later their memory lives on in the local community, with a garden created in her honour at Invergordon, and museums in Cromarty and Invergordon remembering the sinking, a memorial in Durban was erected in 1927.

[ganitsoni]

White Quartz Kitchen Worktops: Pros, Cons, and Installation Guide

White quartz kitchen worktops are becoming a favorite in modern kitchens. They look elegant and are very durable, making them a top choice for many homeowners. If you're thinking about getting white quartz for your kitchen, it's important to know the benefits, drawbacks, and how to install them.

Pros of White Quartz Kitchen Worktops

Beautiful Look White quartz worktops give your kitchen a clean and sophisticated look. They match well with different kitchen styles, from modern to classic.

Very Durable Quartz is one of the hardest minerals, making these worktops resistant to scratches and cracks. This means your worktop will stay looking great for a long time.

Non-Porous Unlike natural stone, quartz doesn’t absorb liquids. This makes it resistant to stains from things like wine, coffee, and oil. It also means it’s more hygienic because it doesn’t hold bacteria or mold.

Easy to Maintain White quartz worktops are low maintenance. You only need to clean them with mild soap and water. There’s no need to seal them like you do with natural stone worktops.

Consistent Color and Pattern Because quartz worktops are man-made, they have a consistent color and pattern. This is great for large surfaces as it gives your kitchen a seamless look.

Cons of White Quartz Kitchen Worktops

Cost White quartz worktops can be more expensive than materials like laminate or wood. However, their durability and low maintenance can make them worth the investment.

Heat Sensitivity Quartz is heat-resistant but not heat-proof. Putting hot pots and pans directly on the surface can cause damage. Always use trivets or heat pads to protect your worktop.

Heavy Quartz worktops are heavy and can be difficult to install. Your kitchen cabinets need to be strong enough to support them. It’s best to have professionals install them to ensure everything is done right.

Not Completely Natural While quartz is a natural material, quartz worktops are made with resins and pigments. Some people prefer the completely natural look of materials like granite or marble.

Installation Guide for White Quartz Kitchen Worktops

Measurements and Planning Take accurate measurements of your kitchen. Plan where the sinks, appliances, and any seams will go. Good planning makes the installation process smoother.

Choose Your Quartz Slab Visit a showroom to pick out your slab of white quartz. Check that the color and pattern are consistent and that it matches your kitchen design.

Prepare the Cabinets Make sure your kitchen cabinets are level and can support the weight of the quartz worktop. You might need to reinforce them and remove any old countertops.

Professional Fabrication It’s best to have professionals cut the quartz to fit your kitchen. They will make the necessary cutouts for sinks and appliances and polish the edges for a smooth finish.

Installation Professional installers will bring the quartz worktop to your home and place it on your cabinets. They will secure it with adhesive and blend any seams for a seamless look.

Final Touches Once installed, the worktop will be cleaned and checked for any issues. The installers will make sure everything is level and aligned properly.

Conclusion

White quartz kitchen worktops are a great choice for any kitchen. They are beautiful, durable, and easy to maintain. While they can be more expensive and sensitive to heat, their benefits often outweigh these drawbacks.

For a perfect installation, consider hiring professionals like DialAWorkTop. They offer expert services and can ensure your white quartz worktop is installed flawlessly. If you’re in Hampshire, Oxfordshire, or Hertfordshire, there are specialized quartz kitchen worktops installers available to help. Just search for "Quartz kitchen worktops installers in Hampshire," "Quartz Kitchen Worktops Installers in Oxfordshire," or "Quartz kitchen worktops installers in Hertfordshire," and you'll find experts ready to assist.

[dartmoorsfinest]

[MASTERPOST] JOSH WIDDICOMBE: “NOT MY CUP OF TEA” (2025/2026 TOUR)

A masterpost of information related to Josh's upcoming 2025/2026 UK tour. Including pre-sale/general sale info, and venue information.

**THIS POST IS CURRENTLY WIP!!!!**

WAKE UP, LOSERS! Josh has announced his next tour for 2025/2026!

“Not My Cup of Tea” will be touring around the UK, starting this time next year! (September 2025-May 2026) His first tour since 2019!

BLURB: "Josh Widdicombe is back on tour, not again! By now he has almost certainly mastered the art of stand-up, either that or he has wasted the last 15 years of his life. Come along and decide for yourself. Expect it to be shorter and with lower production values than Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour, but funnier and with more references to tea."

---

Also, I’m sure this’ll be the FIRST LEG (ha!) of the tour, so hold onto your hats, he’ll likely come to a venue near you! Guessing due to Josh's popularity, thanks to Parenting Hell, demand for him will have gone up a bit since 2019. Good luck!

---

TICKET INFO/DATES, PRESS ETC, BELOW THE CUT.

TICKET ACCESS INFO:

PRICES: £31-£37 (according to the Liverpool Philharmonic, may vary depending on venue)

PRE-SALE INFO:

Pre-sale will be on Thursday 19th September (11am), while general sale will be the following day.

Sign-up to Josh's mailing list BEFORE 9am on 19th September for pre-sale access.

As ever, don’t stick with the big name ticket websites - try to stick to the venues themselves, as that's where most the allocation of tickets will be! (tour dates and more info below the cut)

I'm sure I don't need to say it, and it's probably unlikely, but obviously... DON'T BUY FROM RESALE WEBSITES (Oasis say hi!). Do you want Hillsy calling you a dick??

Ticketmaster UK

ATG Tickets (tend to have their own members pre-sale too)

AXS

KEY:

[TM] = Ticketmaster

Any direct venue links will have the date/venue name displayed as a link and highlighted in BOLD. Will be updated as soon as we know them!

----

2025 DATES:

SEPTEMBER Sunday 14 September: Canterbury, The Marlowe Wednesday 17 September: Bedford, Corn Exchange [TM] Thursday 18 September: King's Lynn, Corn Exchange [TM] Saturday 20 September: Fareham, Fareham Live [TM] Thursday 25 September: Swindon, Wyvern [TM] Friday 26 September: Eastbourne, Congress [TM] Sunday 28 September: Bournemouth, Pavilion [TM] Tuesday 30 September: Malvern, Festival Theatre OCTOBER Thursday 2 October: Hull, City Hall [TM] Saturday 4 October: Doncaster, CAST Sunday 5 October: Dartford, Orchard Theatre Wednesday 8 October: Guildford, G Live [TM] Thursday 9 October: High Wycombe, Swan Theatre [TM] Saturday 11 October: Cambridge, Corn Exchange [TM] Tuesday 14 October: Reading, Hexagon Thursday 16 October: Hastings, White Rock Theatre [TM] Saturday 18 October: Coventry, Warwick Arts Centre Thursday 23 October: Croydon, Fairfield Halls Saturday 25 October: Portsmouth, Kings Theatre [TM] NOVEMBER Saturday 1 November: Halifax, Victoria Theatre Sunday 2 November: Wolverhampton, Grand Monday 3 November: Llandudno, Venue Cymru [TM] Tuesday 4 November: Chester, Storyhouse [TM] Saturday 8 November: Exeter, The Great Hall [TM] Sunday 9 November: Truro, Hall For Cornwall [TM] Monday 10 November: Torquay, Princess Theatre [TM] Tuesday 11 November: Yeovil, Westlands [TM] Saturday 15 November: Buxton, Opera House Sunday 16 November: Scunthorpe, Bath's Hall [TM] Monday 17 November: Newcastle Upon Tyne, Tyne Theatre Tuesday 18 November: Stockton, The Globe [TM] Saturday 22 November: Stockport, Plaza Sunday 23 November: Blackpool, Grand Tuesday 25 November: Northampton, Derngate [TM] Sunday 30 November: Liverpool, Philharmonic [TM]

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2026 DATES:

FEBRUARY Saturday 28 February: York, Barbican [TM] MARCH Saturday 7 March: Douglas, Gaiety Theatre Thursday 12 March: Woking, New Victoria Theatre [TM] Saturday 14 March: Aylesbury, Waterside Theatre Thursday 19 March: Bromley, Churchill Theatre [TM] Saturday 21 March: Nottingham, Royal Concert Hall [TM] Thursday 26 March: Southend, Cliffs Pavilion [TM] APRIL Saturday 11 April: Ipswich, Regent Theatre Friday 17 April: Grimsby, Auditorium [TM] Saturday 18 April: Stoke-On-Trent, The Regent Theatre Sunday 19 April: Salford, Lowry Lyric Theatre [TM] Friday 24 April: Brighton, Dome [TM] Saturday 25 April: Oxford, New Theatre MAY Friday 1 May: Aberdeen, Music Hall Saturday 2 May: Edinburgh, Playhouse Sunday 3 May: Glasgow, King's Theatre Monday 4 May: Inverness, Eden Court [TM] Tuesday 5 May: Birmingham, Hippodrome Wednesday 6 May: Milton Keynes, Theatre Saturday 9 May: Swansea, Arena Sunday 10 May: Cardiff, New Theatre [TM] Monday 11 May: Cheltenham, Town Hall Saturday 16 May: London, Hackney Empire

----

PRESS:

British Comedy Guide

Beyond the Joke

Chortle

Eastern Daily Press (Norfolk)

Ipswich Star

Oxfordshire Guardian

[une-sanz-pluis]

The argument that the prince was attempting to achieve his aims by some form of coercion receives support from Walsingham’s description of the manner of his entry into London. There is, however, no indication of the precise composition of his band of supporters. Was it in any sense an army? It has sometimes been assumed that the prince was raising troops in the Midlands during June, and that his letter contains a positive admission that he was doing so. An examination of the text shows that this assumption is unwarranted. The prince claimed that he had been given permission to assemble a certain number of men; that he considered his allocation to be inadequate; and that he withdrew to Coventry to discuss ways of increasing his contingent. He did not, however, say that he actually levied the forces allegedly assigned to him. There are grounds for disbelieving at least some of his statements, but it does not thereby follow that the prince assembled an army either before or after his arrival in the midlands. It also seems significant that although Walsingham takes pains to describe the imposing nature of the prince’s entourage, he seems equally careful to avoid giving the impression that it was in any way military in character. His observation that it was a gathering ‘qualis non antea visa fuerat hiis diebus [such as had not been seen before in those days]’ cannot have been intended to suggest that it was the largest army seen in England in living memory. It is far more likely that he was inferring that no-one could remember seeing anyone enter London with a greater personal following. It seems best to conclude that while there may have been forces somewhere in England in June which owed allegiance to the prince, they did not play any direct role in the political crisis of that month. This conclusion obviously has some bearing upon the question of what the prince hoped to achieve by his show of strength. For instance, it militates against the claim that he entered London with the specific intention of forcing his father to abdicate. If he had been determined to make the king surrender the throne, he must have been aware, since the frustrations of the parliament of 1411, that he could not hope to achieve his aim without resorting to armed force. It is not likely that the prince would have attempted a military coup unless he believed that it was certain to succeed, and it therefore seems reasonable to assume that if this had been his intention, he would have come to London with an army so substantial that no chronicler who described it could have left his readers in any doubt as to its nature.

Peter McNiven, "Prince Henry and the English Political Crisis of 1412", History, vol. 65, no. 213 (1980)

[thoughtportal]

Whiteness riots have familiar features: police partisanship, local and national media fomentation, moral panics about crime and ‘race-mixing’, followed by calls for new criminal and immigration legislation.

The riots in Southport are just the latest flashpoint in a long history of British reactionary politics. In Fractured, Michael Richmond and Alex Charnley move away from the ahistorical temper of the identity politics debate, exploring how historical class struggles were formed and continue to determine the possibilities for new forms of solidarity in an increasingly dangerous world.

In this edited excerpt the authors explore the relationship between street racism and the modernisation of policing and immigration controls.

Conservative reactions to anti-racist movements are sensitive to temporal shifts in street protests and uprisings. The most dangerous point in a movement cycle is when things quiet down. State functionaries and journalists work hard to alienate the integrity of the utopian moment by generating debates that trivialise its political nucleus, while police move in to make arrests. Conservatives are aware of this and choose their moments carefully. The conservative claim that anti-racism causes racism (or makes racism worse) can be convincing because the state and the press personalise its causes. The pitting of opinions about ‘race’ at the national level creates hypervisibility for racialised people in schools, workplaces and streets. Those who ‘innocently’ identify with Britishness are painted as victims of anti-racist ‘race-baiting’, with many people of colour alienated by the direction this discourse takes, and the dangers it presents. State racism cannot proceed without this kind of maintenance, the ultimate goal being to enhance state powers over the organisation of workers and working-class communities more generally.

After Colston, we saw precisely how this happened. Within days, thousands of white supremacists gathered to protect a Churchill statue. Similar marches engulfed memorial squares across the country. In Coventry, a viral video showed a mass of white male and female football fans mobbing two young Black men. Dozens approached them, hurling glass bottles and racist epithets. When police arrived, the crowd accused one of the Black men of having a knife, even as weapons were visible in the hands of those crowding them. Cops moved in to arrest the two men. As part of the fans’ celebrations, BLM placards, left behind in the town centre from two recent multiracial anti-racist marches, were destroyed. Police later announced the incident wasn’t ‘racially motivated’. Two weeks later, ‘WHITE LIVES MATTER’ was scratched onto a hill in huge letters in a Coventry park, a video showed someone wearing a KKK hood next to it.

One year on, the government commissioned a race report to find out if there was really a racism problem in Britain: ‘In many areas of investigation, including educational failure and crime, we were led upstream to family breakdown as one of the main reasons for poor outcomes.’ The report found prejudice had statistically declined and that a ‘highly subjective dimension’ entered into ‘references to “systemic”, “institutional” or “structural racism” ’. The Daily Mail heralded the report: ‘Britain’s Race Revolution: Landmark report says UK “a model to the world” on diversity – and finds NO evidence of institutional racism.’ Other threats were detected, however,

A strident form of anti-racism … reinforced by a rise of identity politics, as old class divisions have lost traction … tend to stress the ‘lived experience’ of the groups they seek to protect with less emphasis on objective data.

The same oppositions between ‘identity politics’ and class, inculcated on the left for decades, were used as part of a government offensive. If anything was systemic, it was ‘anti-racism’, and with exclusionary effects: ‘the UK is open to all its communities. But we are acutely aware that the door may be only half open to some, including the white working-class.’ Whereas data on various ethnicities were compared, horizontally, and related to cultural or familial explanations, the ‘white working class’ was the only identity where systemic injustice could be explained. The report was launched with an almost trollish smirk from politicians. They searched and searched but no structural racism could be found in the data (except for a disregarded white working class). All this commotion and yet Britain was more inclusive than ever? ‘BLM’ was wrong to make British people feel otherwise. The report was immediately repudiated and discredited, even by some falsely credited as authors. But the government just pushed through the media cycle and pressed harder.

That same month, the Police, Crime, Sentencing and Courts Bill was proposed. This was an opportunity to rubberstamp the far right reaction to ‘wokeness’ with concrete legislation that could suppress future protest waves and direct action tactics. The bill had a broader outlook, however, threatening the very existence of Gypsy, Roma and Traveller communities, by awarding police – and landowners – new powers to criminalise trespass and seize transport, that is, homes. Digital surveillance powers were enhanced, stop and search, as well as legal barriers to protest, including ten-year sentences for vandalising statues. ‘Back to the 80s,’ wrote Liz Fekete, ‘into the kind of territory that led to … the 1981 and 1985 inner city rebellions, the 1984–85 miners’ strike, and the mass unrest that followed the introduction of the Poll Tax’. The Nationality and Borders Bill followed. It presented a heinous broadening of deportation powers. Clause 9 would allow the state to deport any of six million naturalised or dual national British citizens, ‘without notice’, if the decision corresponded with the ‘public interest’. Nisha Kapoor predicts, ‘disqualification from voting rights, the withdrawal of access to services and provisions – bank accounts, passports, driving lessons – already administered … in counterterrorism cases, may become more routine. And should citizenship deprivation come, offshore detention centres will be waiting.’ The verticalisation of far-right social media trends and mainstream policymaking deserves proper attention. Undoubtedly, fascism and electoral politics are aligning. The ramping up of state powers to police, prosecute, deport and brutalise, depends on money and media pressure organised through liberal, conservative and fascist elites. That being said, reasoning around these authoritarian turns can also be underwhelming when the charisma of authoritarians, or fascism more broadly, is isolated as the cause. Racist anti-immigration legislation has been built piece by piece, over time, by politicians of every stripe.

In his writing on the Notting Hill riots of 1958, Peter Fryer describes ‘thousands’ of whites storming migrant neighbourhoods. Rioters surrounded Black people’s cars, shouting ‘let’s lynch them!’ Tory and Labour MPs joined the press (and a returned Oswald Mosley) in calling on the government to halt ‘coloured’ immigration and demanding deportations. The Tory government’s solution to the unrest was the 1962 Commonwealth Immigrants Act, ending automatic right of entry and settlement in Britain for Commonwealth subjects. Labour initially opposed the broadening of controls, though largely based on a colonial sentimentality about ‘Mother Country’ duties and maintaining good trade relations with Commonwealth states. Harold Wilson embraced controls once in government,* further restricting ‘coloured’ immigration with a 1965 white paper. Labour’s 1968 Commonwealth Immigrants Act built on this precedent. It was rushed through amidst government fears Britain would have to accept all Kenyan Asians made stateless by an independent Kenya’s ‘Africanisation’ policy. Restrictions didn’t apply to white Commonwealth settlers, because these ‘patrials’, as they were called, could trace their family lineage back to British blood and soil. Jim Callaghan, future Labour Prime Minister, told Tony Benn: ‘We don’t want any more blacks in Britain.’ The TUC supported Labour policy throughout.

The historical mutability of ‘whiteness’ is concretely determined by the peculiarity of the given racial regime and the stresses of the historical conjuncture. However, over time, best practises and rules of thumb are distinguished and generalised. What we refer to as ‘whiteness riots’ are ‘sparks’ of violence, routinely followed by ‘race reports’ and legislative reactions, designed to impart control through indirect means: the market, but also courts, social care, schools, border forces, policing. 

Through these instruments of the liberal democratic state, in the name of equality, racism is not only preserved, but also formalised, nationalised and modernised. It is important therefore to apprehend racist street violence – and the infantilising, innocent register used to explain it – as structural, indeed, as bordering, an action that seeks to incite and lobby for state violence further up the chain. This is why Sivanandan made racism central to his analysis of fascism, rather than isolating the fascist as an egregious extremist: ‘We have fought the idea that racism was an aspect of fascism – our take was that racism was fascism’s breeding ground.’

Whiteness riots have familiar features: police partisanship, local and national media fomentation, moral panics about crime and ‘race-mixing’, followed by calls for new criminal and immigration legislation. They have also operated as significant flash points for constituting the public interest as white. Labour passed a flurry of laws in the 2000s. Help for asylum seekers was cut. New detention centres were built to buttress a new ‘biometric’ regime. Deportations, including charter flights, accelerated with claimants having no right to appeal until they had been ‘returned home’.

Enoch Powell personifies the psychodrama of Britishness. He was an early adopter of post-war immigration as a minister, who later mourned an English race contaminated and in decline. The post-war moment has ever since remained the freezing point for British imaginaries of the migrant – as nation-builder, or nation-destroyer. Powell framed the colonial anxieties of post-war liberal democracy in his 1968 ‘Rivers of Blood’ speech. It infamously depicted a foreboding future of racial role-reversal, of who would soon hold the ‘whip hand’. He referenced the murder of Martin Luther King Jr. and the riots that followed in the USA, warning similar would befall Britain unless immigration was halted. Powell’s dismissal from the Tory front bench for his speech was met with solidarity strikes by East End dockers. In an era when strike action was invariably economistic, a ‘political’ strike in support of a Tory politician was extraordinary. Over a thousand dockers and several hundred meat-porters from Smithfield Market marched to Westminster with signs saying: ‘We back Enoch!’ and ‘Back Britain, not Black Britain’. Harry Pearman led the strike, demanding a ‘total ban on immigration because there were enough already here’. After meeting Powell, he declared: ‘It made me feel proud to be an Englishman … We are representatives of the working man. We are not racialists.’ Powell’s popularity with a section of the working class, as Shilliam explains, is due to a perennial ‘defence of the ordinary, deserving working class as the white working class’. Tory legislation in 1971 and 1981,23 as well as its 1972 accession to what would become the EU, cemented Britain’s racist immigration policy.