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nervousladytraveler · 4 years

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The Distance Between Us

A quickie, inspired by social distancing fanfic prompts courtesy of @jomiddlemarch This chapter contains: bleach, handshake, home, song, toilet paper, quarantine (soap, social, & kindness implied).

A/N: Covid-19 related, so if that’s too raw for you, I get it, scroll on by. Also “Do It Clean” is by Echo And The Bunnymen ℗ 1980 Warner Music UK Ltd.

Listen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wjbTCI8o0X4

Chapter One: Deep Clean

Ross Poldark turned the key in the lock then tossed his case inside ahead of him. He was exhausted. Tired of working fourteen plus hour days, tired of international flights longer than that, and most recently he’d grown tired of worrying about the uncertain state of the world around him. But whatever dangers he’d been exposed to over the past week, he currently showed no signs of illness, and most importantly he was home. Now he could self isolate, pour himself a nice single malt, and just be alone.

He stepped into the hallway of his flat but whatever comfort he might have derived from being in his own space was immediately deflated. The place reeked of citrus and bleach, sharp and cloying smells that tingled in his nose and caught in his throat. The windows in this high rise block only opened a few inches but surely the cleaning woman could have still managed that or thought to air the place out some other way? A fan maybe?

Of course she wouldn’t. Ross hadn’t much faith in Prudie, the woman who’d been cleaning his flat for over a year, and had grown accustomed to her shoddy work. The truth was he felt somewhat sorry for her. On the first day she arrived she spilled her life story--she worked long hours at crap pay to support an alcoholic husband. Ross suspected if he gave her a poor rating with the service who sent her, she might get sacked, so instead he said nothing. To his chagrin they interpreted that to mean he was satisfied and sent her regularly from that point on. But it mattered little. Ross lived alone and was generally a tidy person so there wasn't much she really had to do week to week. In fact he was somewhat surprised she managed to be as thorough as she had today. Then again he had put in a special order with the service for a deep clean.

“And she’s left the lights on too,” he grumbled. He moved further into the flat and saw they were blazing in all the rooms. That’s when he heard it.

“I've been here, there, everywhere

Here there nowhere

Iszy bitzy witzy itzy everywhere

I've been here and I've been there…”

A voice, high and sweet was coming from another room. Mostly on key, with only a little wobble on the harmony, that was immediately followed by a giggle then spirited humming.

Ross followed the song to the small but well-appointed galley kitchen down the hall. That’s when he saw her.

A woman, most certainly not Prudie, was down on her knees, wiping the sparkling tile floor, her backside facing Ross as he stood in the doorway. He felt a tinge of shame that his initial thought was that whoever she was, she had a rather attractive bum, noticeable through the jeans she wore. She had a tangle of red hair twisted back into a loose knot but a few soft curls had escaped and moved when she did. She had earbuds in which is why she hadn't heard him creep up on her but must have sensed she was no longer alone and turned her head with a start.

“Oh!” she said loudly, then promptly lost her balance and fell, the beautiful bum now planted on the wet floor. She yanked an ear bud out and stared up at Ross with wide, scared eyes. He noticed they were the same sparkling blue as the bottle of Windolene she was still holding.

“Sorry to startle you,” he said at once and stepped forward to offer her a hand, then stopped himself. He didn't want to sully her impressive work with his dirty shoes--and he had to get it through his thick skull that hand shaking was absolutely a thing of the past. “I’m Ross Poldark. I live here. I assume the service sent you?” he added, eyeing the red pinny she wore over a long sleeved black t shirt.

“Oh, Mister Poldark,” she said quickly and got to her feet. “So sorry, sir. We weren’t expectin’ you until Tuesday,” she said apologetically. “But I’m almost done and I can be out of here shortly…”

“No worries,” he tried to reassure her. “I had to cut my travels short because of the…”

“Yes, of course. Flights are all mostly cancelled I heard. You’re lucky you made it home at all,” she said, apparently no longer terrified he was an intruder. He was glad to see her smile, and curiously felt a warmth wash over him, a light relief that he hadn’t felt in days.

“You’re not Prudie,” he said.

“No, sir, I’m not. She was feelin’ poorly so she was told to stay home,” she explained.

“Prudie’s sick?” he asked, concerned.

“No more than a sniffle. Nothin’ to be worried about, I’m sure.” Now she was reassuring him. “I’m Demelza,” she added.

Ross recognised her accent the more she spoke. It had been a long time since he’d heard such rich Cornish tones, and he felt a homesickness he hadn’t experienced in years.

“Well, I’m sorry to have interrupted your work, Demelza,” he said and managed a smile. “I’m going to unpack and then take a hot shower. That is, if I won’t be in your way?”

“Oh, no sir!” she said brightly. ”I’ve already cleaned the bathroom. Deep clean, just as you requested. And you needn’t fret about running out of loo rolls, Mister Poldark--you’ve got plenty,” she winked playfully.

“Please, call me Ross,” he said. “Being called ‘sir’ just makes me feel old.”

“No one likes to feel old.”

She’d replied with such a knowing sigh that made Ross curious of her own age. It was hard to gauge. The shapeless pinny would make anyone appear frumpy, though her pretty face--completely free of any makeup--looked young. Perhaps she was a student who also did cleaning to get by. But she’d been listening to Echo and the Bunnymen, which suggested she might be older than he’d initially thought.

“Well it was nice to meet you, Ross. Welcome home.” She smiled again and Ross wondered how he might diplomatically arrange to have her as his regular cleaning woman, instead of Prudie.

----

Still knackered but nevertheless relaxed, Ross walked into the dim living room dressed only in a towel. He regretted leaving wet footprints on the polished floors but at least his bare feet were clean. He was finally alone and ready to bask in the solitude he’d been craving for days. The solitude that was necessary given his potential exposure over the past week. How many conference rooms and airports had he been in since last Thursday?

As much as he had enjoyed his brief encounter with the new cleaner, he regretted that he’d had any contact with her under these circumstances. But there was most likely nothing to worry about. She’d been wearing marigolds and he’d kept at least six feet away from her. Still, perhaps he should reach out to let her know the risks all the same. Would the cleaning service even give him her number? Most likely not but they could pass on a message.

He’d been around countless airport security agents as well, and then there was the taxi driver--so why did Demelza feel different to him? Was it that they were nameless or that he’d met her in his own home?

He poured the whisky he’d also been craving but before he took a sip, heard his mobile buzz.

Damn! This is getting very real, very fast, he thought when he saw the message that had scrolled across his screen. He took a drink, only now it wasn’t a sip but a hearty slug meant to offer some courage.

Then the doorbell rang, shattering the silence. It was unexpected and unwanted. He didn’t relish the idea of having to dress or see anyone. Well, whomever was calling would not be invited in. He was unwavering on that score.

Ross pushed the button on the video intercom system and was surprised, and also a little pleased to see just who had rung.

“Demelza!” he said and threw open the door without hesitation. So much for his resolution.

“I’m sorry, Mister Poldark..erm, Ross, so sorry!” She was near tears. He stepped aside to allow her in, carefully maintaining his distance.

“What is it? Are you hurt?” he asked, wishing he could touch her arm or even hold her hand to offer consolation. She was clearly distressed.

“The Underground. And the buses,” she began breathlessly. “All public transport has been shut down, and I...I don't have any way to get home. I was gonna start walkin’ but it’s so far, it would take hours. And then the streets were so empty and I just felt really...unsafe. I didn't know what else to do, where else to go...” Her voice wobbled and her eyes were wet.

“No, no. It was the right thing to do. Come in, please,” he said, then suddenly grew aware that he was wearing just the towel. That didn't seem to faze her though, she’d been so rattled, caught off guard by how suddenly things had shifted. And he had other news to share with her, another turn of the screw.

“Demelza, you are welcome to stay here. Well, I mean you have to stay here. There’s just been a declaration. We’ve all just been asked to stay home. Required in fact. All of us are..”

“Like under house arrest?” she cried.

“Quarantined.”

“Oh,” she said, still reeling from the shock.

“There’s only one bedroom--and only the one bed--but you can have the sofa,” he offered. “I need to be honest with you. I’ve just come from the States--the west coast--and so as a precaution I’ll need to keep away from you.”

She said nothing but bit her lip as she puzzled out her next move.

“But then again, you of all people know the flat is clean,” he tried laughing.

“Well, then,” she said finally. “I’d better go wash my hands.”

------

#deep clean #poldark fanfic #poldark AU #there's only one bed #marigolds #hand washing #eyes as blue as windolene #echo and the bunnymen #ross poldark #demelza carne

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istheresomebodywhocanimagine · 5 years

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Got Your Nose

anonymous said: Hi there!! Could you do an AU Roger Tayor fanfiction where he is a single dad and he meets the reader and really likes her and finally introduces her to his kid and she is so sweet with them and then eventually the kid ends up calling her mommy and just cute af fluff please and thank you??

(a/n: i’m so sorry i had to make the kid a girl. Imagining roger w a little girl just spoiling the shit out of her made my anti-kid heart swell a little bit. gif credit to @imladrs hehe ok time 2 code a website for class before it’s due woops)

“A surprise?! A puppy!”

“It’s not a puppy, sweetheart, it’s something better!” you heard Roger explain from the other side of the door, and you had to giggle as you listened for Camellia’s sweet little voice.

“Better than a puppy?” the young girl asked in disbelief, a small bit of attitude in her tone as you heard Roger laugh and walk towards the door. Suddenly, you were extremely nervous about all of this. It didn’t help that as they got to the door, Cam exclaimed, “Daddy, nothing is better than a puppy.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Roger dismissed teasingly, and you heard him pick up his daughter, making her squeal in delight. “Up you go, lovie. Are you ready?”

This was it. You felt your heart pounding in your chest as the front door unlocked, and you briefly imagined the worst case scenarios – Cam takes one look at you, decides you’re not interesting, and asks where the puppy is. Or she doesn’t even acknowledge you, or worse – she does, but she says she doesn’t like you.

Swallowing hard, you put on a smile as the door swung open. There was Roger, dressed to the nines in a simple t-shirt and track pants. His short but slightly curly hair was sleep-worn, and he looked very much like a dad today, which was not at all what he usually looked like. It was like seeing him again for the first time.

You remembered when you’d seen him for the first time. They were recording The Game in Munich, where you were visiting family, and you’d run into him by chance at a record store one afternoon. You were perusing the selections when you’d picked up an old Queen album, and a man nearby had scoffed at your selection – or so you’d thought.

“What’s so funny?” you asked, curiously watching the blonde who was standing around four feet away, holding a Jimi Hendrix vinyl. “Queen not your cup of tea?”

The man’s eyes were obscured behind dark sunglasses, unreadable – he didn’t remotely look like the last time you’d seen a picture of Roger Taylor, so it was no wonder you didn’t recognize him. You were admittedly a bit out of the loop, so the last time you’d seen a picture of the man in passing was years ago, and he was sporting a long, shaggy haircut and a lighter, bohemian-esque fit. This man was in a leather jacket and black tshirt, with a chunky chain necklace to match the wallet chain that was hanging from the belt loop on his jeans. His wavy blonde hair was cropped to a medium-short length, and it was unbelievably messy. There was an innocent look to his face, but a small smirk played at the corner of his mouth, as if he knew more than he let on.

“Oh, Queen?” he said, and you marveled at the Anglo-Cornish accent that pervaded the surprisingly mellow voice of someone who looked like they’d just stepped out of a Black Sabbath concert. “They’re all a bunch of cock-stars, really.”

“Ah.” You looked at the Queen II album cover in your hand, pointing to the one on the left (which you later found out was John) and looking at the man again. “He looks like a nice chap. Not bad looking either.”

“Oh, he might be the worst of them all,” he quickly replied, an impish grin sneaking its way onto his lips. “I’ve met them all. They’re insufferable. Don’t waste your time on them, gorgeous.”

“Really?” you asked, intrigued now and mainly ignoring his come-on. Although you weren’t sure whether you should trust a stranger’s word that they’d met such a big band, anything was possible. After all, you’d heard they were recording in the area. “Honestly? I don’t really know any of them. Usually don’t listen to this type of music.”

The toothy grin on his face was practically cracking his cheeks by this point, and you tried not to be too unnerved by this giddiness as he spoke. “The lead singer is a big drama queen, and that chap you pointed to? Right prick. Full of himself. The drummer might be the only one worse than him.” He chuckled, then shook his head and set the Hendrix album down, stepping just a foot or two closer and leaning against the stack of records next to him. “You said you don’t listen to this kind of music. What brings you over to this part of the store then?”

“Me?” you asked, almost confused that he was showing interest in your record selection. But you’d been chatted up in weirder places than a record store, so you played into it. “I usually listen to Stevie Wonder and the Commodores and Marvin Gaye, stuff like that. Just thought I’d change it up a bit, you know? I’m visiting an aunt here for a month or two since I just graduated uni, so I’ve got time out my arse for new music.”

“Uni? So you were a student. Where at?” he asked, moving his sunglasses to the top of his head. He had inquisitive eyes that were a shocking shade of blue, and he watched you patiently as he waited for an answer.

“London.”

“London, a lovely place. I’m actually from London myself, I’m also in the city visiting… What did you study at uni? Modeling?”

Scoffing at the notion, you were about to answer when a much taller man with a wild mop of brown curls approached the strange blonde from behind, clapping a hand to his shoulder and looking at you with curious eyes before looking down at the blonde. “Made a friend, Roger?” came the smooth, slightly lower voice of the second strange man, and you swore you’d seen his face before as he looked back to you again. After a quick glance at the album in your hand, he gave a quick chuckle and let go of Roger’s shoulder. “You going to buy that for her?”

“I was just telling her how the guitarist is a massive knobhead,” Roger replied teasingly, and you looked down to the album to be smacked across the face with the answer. The two men in front of you were right there, on the cover of Queen II, and you’d been sitting here like an idiot, not even realizing you were shooting the shit with one of the members of the band.

“Oh, eat a dick,” the man with curls laughed, shoving Roger’s head forward and grabbing the Hendrix album that he’d left sitting on top of other records. “Better have told her the drummer sucks something awful.”

A blush was quickly creeping up on your cheeks as you witnessed the interaction, not sure if you should apologize for not recognizing them or be thankful that he wasn’t offended. But Roger ended up being delighted to find a new Queen fan in you, and took down your number before he left with the man who introduced himself as Brian.

Roger ended up taking up most of your time in Munich after that, taking you all over the city on romantic dates, including a private boat ride up the river. Even once, he brought you by the studio for a brief visit when Freddie called him. You were ecstatic to see that side of the music industry, and you even got to meet John, who was amused to hear that you’d thought he looked nice on the cover of Queen II (Roger got an earful for that one later).

In fact, you spent so much time around him that you were upset when it was time for you to finally leave. But Roger promised he’d visit you as soon as they were done recording, and he did. He also said he had a surprise for you when he got back, and you were floored to find out what the surprise really was.

He had a 4 year old daughter from a previous relationship that he’d been dying to tell you about, and she was almost a carbon copy of him. Beautiful blonde hair, ocean blue eyes, and from what he’d told you, an attitude bigger than the Earth itself. But she was sweet as well, and she loved her dad dearly, just as much as he loved her.

“I want you to meet her,” he’d said one day, when you were both lounging on your bed back in London. He was playing with your hand, his head resting on your belly as he looked up at you.

“Meet Camellia?” You panicked a little, chewing on your lip as you ran a hand through his hair. This was a bit sudden for you, seeing as you’d only been involved together for around 3 to 4 months, but maybe he was just talking in the future. “When?”

“Tomorrow,” he answered quickly, an edge of excitement in his voice as he propped himself up on his elbows, one on either side of you. Oh, Jesus, tomorrow? “She’s itching to meet you. Ever since I showed her a picture of you on the river in Munich, she’s been wanting to meet ��dad’s girly-friend.’”

You cooed softly, smiling as he crawled to hover over you, trapping you down to the bed. “But Rog, what if she ends up not liking me?” you worried, reaching up to brush a stray hair from his forehead before pressing your palm to his cheek. He smiled affectionately, then pressed a quick kiss to the inside of your hand before nuzzling it.

“She’ll adore you, promise.” He then kneeled between your legs, pressing his fists into the mattress as he carefully lowered himself so he was laying on top of you, resting his head on your chest. You shifted a bit so he rested between your legs better, then began to brush your fingers back through his hair and ponder the idea a bit.

“Is she not with her mom tomorrow?” you questioned, furrowing your eyebrows as you stared at the ceiling. You couldn’t really pinpoint why you felt so overwhelmed by the concept of meeting Cam – it was possible that it was mainly because you desperately wanted her acceptance. Roger had quickly become a fixture in your life, and you were pretty fond of him. It would be horrible if the number one girl in his life decided that she didn’t like number two, which was you. You couldn’t even let yourself make Roger choose between the two of you – you’d have to leave him, just to make Cam happy. That thought scared you a lot.

“No, I gave her the next few days off. I wanted to spend alone time with the little bugger.” You could feel the rumble of his chuckle against your chest, resounding deep into your heart, and you smiled a bit as you shook your head.

“Alone time?” you repeated, and Roger laughed at your not-so-subtle prying.

“Alone time with you included, of course.” You raised an eyebrow, and Roger looked up at you, grinning before moving back up to support himself on his elbows again, giving you a quick kiss. “Baby, I swear. She will love you. I might have to beg her to spend time with me at the end of the day.”

And that was that. You’d agreed to come over in the morning, and now here you were, a fatherly Roger holding an energetic and curious young girl on his shoulders. She was peeking down at you over her father’s head, and he gave you a wide smile before looking up at Cam.

“Cammy, this is the lady I’ve been telling you about. Y/N, come in!” he invited, opening the door wider and stepping to the side as Cam never took her eyes off you. She had a devilish grin, much like her dad, and you smiled right back as you stepped inside, looking around a bit at the unfamiliar den area. “It’s a bit of a mess, sorry. Cam here has been a whirlwind this morning.”

“Have not!” the 4 year-old protested, plugging Roger’s nose as an act of vengeance. “You’re a whirlywind,” she taunted back, wiggling his nose and making him laugh as he looked up at her.

“Help, don’t let her take my nose!” he cried out in a melodramatic (and nasally) voice, looking at you as Cam giggled in pure glee and pretended to snatch his nose before he sat her back down on the ground and held a hand over his face. “Oh no, don’t give it to Y/N, I’ll never see it again!”

The reverse psychology worked remarkably well, and she ran straight over to you, handing you the invisible nose before running off and shrieking. “Run! Run!” You were absolutely dumbfounded by how flawlessly he functioned as a dad, so you stood there, smiling in awe at him for a second before remembering your mission. Smiling sheepishly, you pretended to put the ‘nose’ in your back pocket, then took off after Cam.

Roger’s laughter echoed through the den as he jogged after you two, and you found Cam peeking out of the closet in the hallway, waiting for you to come in. When you did, she pulled the door shut with a little struggle, and then shushed you quickly as you two crouched in the semi-darkness. “Daddy will never find us in here.”

“Good thinking,” you whispered, watching Roger’s shadows shift by under the door as he called out your names. You feigned handing her the nose, which she accepted with both of her hands. “Where should we hide his nose?”

“Let’s run and hide it in the backyard on the count of three,” she whispered back, listening as Roger’s voice got farther away. “One, two.. three!”

You threw open the door and she ran out immediately, her long, thin blonde hair flying out behind her as she came face to face with Roger, who was hiding just around the corner. He picked her up quickly, tickling her and eliciting shrieks and giggles that made break out into laughter.

“Where’s it at? I’ll tickle you until you tell me!” he laughed, moving her to his side and attacking her tummy with relentless tickles as she squirmed and writhed with laughter.

“Y/N has it!” she gasped out between laughs, and your jaw dropped as you realized she was even more clever than you’d anticipated.

Letting Cam down gently to the floor, Roger watched as she took off again, and you shrugged as he walked over to you and gave you a quick kiss on the forehead. “Good morning, love. Have you had breakfast yet?” His arms snaked around your waist, and he glanced behind him to make sure Cam wasn’t in sight before he stole another kiss, this one on the lips and far more eager than the last.

Pulling away before he got too into it, you smiled fondly and rested your hands on his chest, nodding. “I grabbed something on the way here, had to calm my nerves.”

“Nerves? Over her?” he gently teased, squeezing your waist and making you roll your eyes playfully. “Isn’t she a little spitfire? I’ve been chasing her all morning. Can’t wait for her to pass out in a few hours.”

“She is, she is,” you agreed, kissing him one last time before reaching behind you to take his hands and unwrap them from around you. He pouted a bit, but didn’t have time to complain, for Cam came back around the corner with a new game already in mind.

You spent the rest of the morning entertaining her and all her wild ideas. When she finally got sleepy just after lunch, Roger was more than happy to tuck her in for a nap. He quickly roped you into a cuddle session on the large recliner in his living room as soon as she was out, and you found yourself wrapped up in his toned, slim arms, your legs weaved together as you both talked about your first impressions.

“She’s so smart, like unbelievably clever.” Roger yawned a bit, stretching before wrapping his arms back around you and grinning, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.

He looked adorably sleepy, and his eyelids fluttered closed as he mumbled, “Don’t know where in the hell she got that from, because her mother’s no genius.”

“Roger, be nice!” you scolded quietly, Roger snickering to himself as he pulled you closer and buried his face in your neck. “She’s a brainiac, just like her dad.” Roger smiled against your neck, but only made a sleepy noise of contentment in response. Admittedly, you were getting a bit tired too, and cuddly Roger wasn’t helping as you felt yourself being lulled off to sleep quickly. “What if she wakes up while we’re still asleep?” you murmured, closing your eyes as you cuddled closer, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Trust me, she’ll get us up,” he muttered, and you wondered what in the hell that was supposed to mean before you quickly drifted off to sleep, content and warm in Roger’s embrace.

You found out what that meant. You were quickly jolted out of your sleep not even an hour later as Camellia pounced on the both of you, garnering a quick yelp from you and a groan from Roger as you both stirred and blinked sleepily. “Naptime’s over, let’s play house!”

This day quickly became a routine in the months that post-production of Queen’s album neared its close. When work would allow it, you’d find yourself over at his place, spending the day with him and Cam. She quickly grew attached to you, and Roger always told you how she lamented over your absence whenever you couldn’t make it. In fact, she had gotten so used to you being around that she’d accidentally let the M word slip one day, closer to Roger’s time to leave for tour.

“Daddy, no boys allowed!” Cam sassed, trying to shut the door to her bedroom as Roger peeked in at the two of you playing with her dolls. You were cross-legged near her dollhouse, and you raised an eyebrow before sticking your tongue out at Roger playfully. That got a laugh out of him, and he fought back to keep the door open just enough for his head to poke through as he begged Cam to let him in.

“Go away, boys have cooties!” you teased, and Roger shot you a devilish look as you grinned innocently and waved at him.

“Yeah, leave mum and I alone!” Cam added, and that brought you to a full stop as Roger’s face quickly softened. He looked at you with an apologetic look, but you felt a slow smile creep onto your face. If she thought of you as that important of a person in her life, you were more than okay with that. Sure, you weren’t anywhere near ready to be a mom, but the fact that she trusted and respected you enough to call you mom thrilled you.

Relief washed over his face as he realized you weren’t alarmed, but relief quickly turned to pain as he forgot to fight back against Cam’s incessant pushing on the door. His head was briefly squeezed between the door and the doorframe, and you couldn’t help but laugh as Cam giggled evilly at the look on his face.

Giving you a quick glance, he pouted, but there was an almost imperceptible smile hinting at the corner of his lips as he retreated. You watched fondly as he waved at Cam, who was peeking at him through the doorway, and she waved back before quickly shutting the door and starting to walk back over to you.

“Pysch!” Roger yelled not even five seconds later, opening the door and forcing his way into the room as Cam whirled around and immediately jumped on him. You laughed as he pretended to fall to the floor from her attack, letting her quickly take over the wrestling match.

Crawling over to where they were, you watched curiously as Roger whispered something in Cam’s ear. What were they planning, the little shits? You received a trademark devilish grin from the both of them suddenly, and you had no time to react before you were quickly overwhelmed, Cam shouting in glee as she tickled you and Roger held your hands above your head. “Get ‘er, Cammy! Don’t stop till she’s cryin’ for mercy!”

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#roger taylor x reader #roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #dad!roger taylor #dad!roger #queen imagine #roger taylor au #i named her cammy bc i love camellia flowers thank u #REQUESTS OPEN

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ajoraverse · 4 years

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I mostly just wrote this on a whim. Trotting out a couple of OCs from the 20-year-old FFV fic. Ben and Ridha versions 2.0, on the outside looking in and being concerned about Faris and Lenna’s relationship.

Also, it should be noted that Ridha was always meant to be intersex and had no real attachment to any gender. He just presents himself as male most of the time, but has no qualms with presenting herself as female either. Or androgynous. Really, they find this whole gender thing tired and unnecessary.

Ben’s accent is West Country/Cornish Tulish as a nod to Cornish being frequently pillaged for the infamous mass media “pirate accent”. I tend to use Scottish dialects for Carwen; in my ficverse the Highwinds migrated from North Mountain (north of Carwen) to the west (what would become Tycoon territory after Grandpa Tycoon annexed Tule and the surrounding areas to acquire the Wind Shrine) after the world split in two. The Highwinds still retain a bit of that north Carwen accent.

There are three things Ben does well: numbers, haggling, and keeping his best mate's secrets. It's the last what keeps him on his toes. Seems there's always some new secret he's finding out.

The bit about this lad he grew up with being a lass? Well, that checks out, he supposes. Faris was always a bit teazy about personal space and hiding to keep from being seen in the altogether, 'specially starting from puberty on. Certainly explains Faris' monthly absences as a deck hand and minching to the cabin more frequently as captain.

The long-lost princess bit? 'Twere proper comical. But Ben reckons it explains the way Faris gets all facety when she's right tired and slips into that snooty Tycoon accent of hers that he was never able to pin down as a child.

It's the bit about the sister that hauls his legs out from under him every time. He recalls the jokes made over royal families and their tendency for inbreeding. He recalls that more than a few of the eight-pagers from back in the day included right filthy cartoons about Faris and King Tycoon, shortly after the bold attack by ten united pirate captains against the Tycoon Navy. Faris had a good laugh about them back then.

Ben suspects she's not as likely to laugh about those types of cartoons now.

The subjects change a bit after Faris' identity as the long-lost Princess Sarisa came out, mind. Queen Tycoon being a sweet young lass, it's expected that the artists tend to be kinder to her than they were to Queen Karnak. Thing is, folks love a proper scandal, and Faris' history sets the imagination ablaze. More and more, Ben finds himself arguing that Faris would never touch the pretty bird like that. She's had choice aplenty, and for years she'd been a known womanizer. What'd she get from her own sister but her ruin?

'Twould bleddy 'elp if the cap'n weren't makin' a right cauch of it. Proper answer would be to just up and haul out. Disappear or something. Do what most sailors do and drown her feelings in spirits and opium. Faris opts to stay by the pretty bird's side, instead. Oh, she'll sneak out every now and then, but she always goes back. And she's good at hiding their relationship, but Ben knows Faris probably better than any man alive and can tell. Cap'n doesn't look at anyone else like that.

So Ben runs up the numbers in his head. Credit: the two met in adulthood, before they knew about their blood relations. Debit: incest. Credit: at least they can't have children. Debit: still incest. Credit: they didn't grow up together. Debit: royal incest, at that. He can count his justifications like beads on an abacus, but they're still all zeroed out by incest. What keeps the account in the black is that Faris is still a friend, and one who saved him and had his back often enough that he'll still defend her to the lathered carousers wagging their tongues.

It's that loyalty that brings him to Tycoon. He's a sound hand with numbers and Faris suspects some embezzling, so he'll just take a gander at the books and see what all he can find.

Ben turns up at the castle in the morning of the queen's dragon's first mating flight's underway. Now, he remembers something of Syldra's...whatever it's called when sea dragons go acourting...and it concerns him because Faris had always been extra teazy when that happened. Would lock herself in the cabin if it happened too far from shore, and in a room at the nearest inn elsewise.

While the guards knew him from his last outing here, they still watch his every step. Ben hardly cares--he'll not rob from his own best mate or her family, no matter his profession. Doesn't need to. In the interest of divorcing herself from her past and keeping her pretty bird safe, Faris passed her enterprises to him.

Once he makes it to the well-guarded room which splits to two doors, he finds that sallow-faced, red-headed cousin of the Queen standing watch at her door. The light from sconces does him no favors. Ben isn't quite sure whether more sun would do the boy any good, or just make him look jaundiced.

"The Queen will not be available today," the cousin says, hand tightening on his spear's shaft. There's a right peculiar trace of something else to his voice. Almost northern Carwenish under that Gentry Tycoonian accent everyone in the castle seems to speak.

"'Ere for the princess, lad. Faris anywhere abouts?"

The hand tightens at the shaft until the lad's knuckles show yellow in the light. "And you are...?"

"Ben Inomoto." Though he'd refrained from spitting in his palm before stretching out his hand, the cousin still eyes it dubiously. "Served as Faris' quartermaster for 'bout five years. Wasson?"

"You don't sound Istorian," the boy says. But he shakes his hand anyway, 'least before he pulls it away quickly.

"Pressganged into playin' Faris' minder when I was but a tacker meself." Ben has no regrets, not regarding that. Istory had never been a place that welcomed boys like him.

The boy nods, still looking a bit wisht. "I'm Ridha Highwind. Queen Lenna's third cousin on the father's side. The, ah, princess' dragon caught the queen's during her first mating flight. She will, um, likely be as indisposed as the queen for the day."

Now Ben isn't the brightest among the brethren of the Great Tycoon Sea, being as he'd grown up with Faris and never once noticed that she was a woman all along, but he can add up the numbers when enough of the variables are available. His voice drops low, quiet enough that he's sure no one else can hear him. "They're in there together, aye?"

The boy tries not to flinch at his candor, but he can't seem to stop himself. "I haven't seen the princess all day, even before the flight. It's not, er, advisable that the mating dragons' riders be, um, in the same space if they're not, ah, already romantically involved. Or so inclined."

Ben reckons one might hear a pin drop in the silence afterwards. Part of him wants to cuss up a storm, because this isn't helping. Part of him resorts to taking action to minimize backlash, instead. "Yer lookin' wisht, lad. Go rest. I'll keep watch."

"Thanks." The boy manages a faint smile and shoulders his spear.

The boy almost passes him on the way out, but Ben grabs his elbow to impart some words. "Unless someone gets hurt, whatever the queen and the princess do with each other is none of our business. Like your cousins? Don't say a thing against them. It'll be hard enough as it is."

"But, it's--"

"None of our bleddy business." Ben sighs and looks over the boy. Can't be more than a teenager. "Take 'e from an old queer, lad. The heart wants what 'e wants, and 'e'll listen to no talking-to."

Despite the nerves on full display, the boy snorts. "You don't look that old."

Ben smirks and waves him off. Almost lets the boy go completely before he minds why he's here. "Oh, send up the ledgers, would ye? Won't let the Cap'n find me takin' caulk when she shows 'erself."

Ridha waves in acknowledgment, leaving Ben alone to consider how to deal with this mess.

#fic:dragondance #only one person I know still around from the old days will probably recognize them haha #a side note: Ridha is magically sensitive and as such feels a bleedover effect of the mating flight and that's why he's peaky #also a nod to his original incarnation being sickly all the time on account of magic dependency #Ridha does not care what pronouns you use for him tbh #also: Ben is still that recurring joke pirate with a crush on the captain. in this incarnation the crush dies when Faris is outed #Ben is still ridiculously loyal though

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usstatesofsong · 5 years

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ESC 2019 Reviews - United Kingdom

Pre-Qualifier #4 - Michael Rice, “Bigger Than Us”

We’re finishing 2019 Eurovision reviews with the last three pre-qualifiers I haven’t yet covered: Italy, Israel, and - today, the good ol’ United Kingdom. Candidly speaking, the cynicism of the UK and their exaggerated rage against the Eurovision machine has proven difficult to overturn, so we’re gonna change it up today. Close your eyes and breath deep...

Okay. Tell us: what’s your idea of a rubbish song? Dancing Lasha Tumbai? Flying the Flag? Or even beyond Eurovision: the Bob the Builder theme? I Put The Lime in the Coconut and Drink It All Up? Okay - pick a song, then think about that song with all your might. What makes it rubbish? Is it the “look” of the singer, or is it everything musically? Next, I want you to think about your favorite song; any song or music. Any genre. Anything. Maybe you’re a classical music kind of fellow. Or maybe you’re a metalhead so you’d rather have a root canal than listen to Eurovision altogether. Lock that one into your mind, too. Got it?

Well, guess what? I agree. That first song really does suck. As for your second song, we Eurovision fans would LOVE to see classical or metal or reggae or funk or synth-pop or dream-wave or hardcore rap or R&B or punk or straight-up Cornish language folk music; whatever you wanna hear, Eurovision is fine with it. The UK is a freaking pre-qualifier!! You are automatically qualified to perform in Eurovision. You have earned that right.

...But the BBC can’t send your favorite kind of music to Eurovision, because they think you actively hate Eurovision. See, that wasn’t too hard to understand, was it? Everything sucks, right?

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Afraid of suckage, the BBC has to create the most platonic, likable, least offensive song possible that doesn’t get last place but doesn’t provide any hope for 1st. They contract non-English composers to help them out with songs. So, from Laurell Barker’s back pocket alongside John Lundvik (who’s performing for Sweden, mind you), we have the song “Bigger than Us.” It’s performed by Michael Rice, an X-Factor contestant and winner of the first All Together Now series. Both of those series suck, right?

He’s got a great, contemporary voice; he really does. He’s got a spunky and likable personality (and a heavy Cockney accent), and he genuinely loves having this opportunity. By all means, this should be the greatest year of his life. But you hate Eurovision, remember? Michael Rice sucks!

It starts out as a slow and gentle ballad, exploding into a larger-than-life chorus of bass drum claps, orchestral synths, and a lot of hooblah noises. It sounds great, and I love the gospel-like feeling of the final minute. But it sucks because it’s Eurovision.

Even the story of the music video is wonderful: a same-sex couple’s daughter finds friendship in a new school but her friend’s parents disapprove. They run away together and the parents are forced to reconcile differences to find their missing children. It’s bigger than them! Also how dare they show a same-sex couple on a family-friendly television show: let’s boycott! Didn’t you hear that Eurovision is in Israel this year?!

I have solved the UK Eurovision Algorithm. All you have to do is change your perspective on the collective world. Everything is easier now when you expect nothing because then you get nothing. It’s bigger than us? it’s bigger than you and me? Nah.

Have a fun Halloween.

My Rating: 6.5/10 Rank: 19th of 41

#united kingdom #michael rice #uk #esc #eurovision #eurovision 2019 #eurovision song contest #bigger than us

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musicplayperformance · 4 years

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Let Yourself Go: Ludo-musicality in the Roland TB-303

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By Illés Plompen

When I think of a ‘ludo-musical object’ (an object that contains elements of both music and play), one of the first things that comes to mind is the musical instrument, since the act of making music – whether alone or together with other people – always has a certain degree of playfulness to it. How this playfulness manifests itself really differs from genre to genre: in blues and jazz it is mostly in the act of improvisation; in classical it is in the way musicians react to the movements of the conductor; in pop and rock it is in the musician’s lively performance style and the way they interact with the crowd; and so on. This is obviously a very generalized, surface-level analysis of ludo-musicality in the performance of these different genres, but it shows that the concept of ‘play’ can be applied to music-making in a lot of different ways. Despite that, many would argue that it falls a little flat when talking about music that relies on ‘electronic instruments’, meaning things like synthesizers and drum computers, because these instruments allow you to play a set musical pattern at the push of a button. The concept of play would therefore not really apply, since you are mostly composing and arranging the music as opposed to actually physically playing it like you would on a traditional instrument.

I do not subscribe to this point of view. I think electronic instruments are just as ludo-musical as, if not more ludo-musical than, traditional instruments. It is just that the way you interact with these instruments is fundamentally different – something Mark Butler thoroughly discusses in his book Playing with Something That Runs (2014). <1> Because these instruments allow you to play the exact same pattern over and over again at the push of a button, they give you the freedom to manipulate the timbre via filters and effects, or even add new musical layers on top of it. Plus, these instruments allow you to create patterns that would be humanly impossible to play, opening up new possibilities in terms of tempo, dynamics, rhythmic complexity, you name it. Because of all this, new forms of play start to emerge. And if there’s one electronic instrument that exemplifies this best – both in terms of its practical use and fascinating, myth-like history – it is the legendary Roland TB-303 Bass Line.

The Roland TB-303 Bass Line (also known as the ‘Roland 303’ or simply ‘303’) is a bass synthesizer-sequencer, first released by Roland Corporation in 1983. Its rectangular shape resembles a modern-day computer keyboard (albeit much thicker and heavier) and its light grey colour, shiny knobs and playful red LEDs make it almost look like a toy. According to the owner’s manual, the TB-303 basically works as follows:

“In order to memorize a Bass line, divide it into each measure (pattern) and memorize one pattern at a time. Each “pattern” can remember various musical factors, such as ‘pitch’, ‘length of note’ and ‘accent’, individually. After memorizing several patterns, these patterns may be joined in order to produce the Bass line of a musical piece.” <2>

While this sort of digital sequencing technology seems simplistic, almost primitive, by today’s standards, creating and looping a rhythm or melody without first having to manually record or even play it was an incredibly novel idea in the early 1980s – an idea that has changed the way we make and think about music forever. And although Roland did not invent the synthesizer or even digital sequencing, they were one of the first companies to bring this technology to the masses, by making it affordable to people outside of the major label music business.

That said, the Roland TB-303 was a complete commercial failure when it came out and Roland decided to cease production of the instrument as early as 1985 (only two years after its initial release). And honestly, it is not hard to see why people initially weren’t taking to the 303: the synthesizer was meant to emulate the sound of a bass guitar and was mostly marketed toward solo-guitarists as a sort of imaginary bassist to play along to. <3> This seems almost too absurd to be true (especially in retrospect) because if you have ever heard a 303, you know that it sounds nothing like a bass guitar. The instrument’s strange, rubbery tone and synthetic timbre sounds more like a futuristic digeridoo than anything else! But, as author William Gibson first declared in his science fiction classic Burning Chrome, the street finds its own uses for things. And in 1985 – shortly after Roland ceased production of the TB-303 – a group of up-and-coming producers from Chicago by the name of Phuture would use the instrument to create one of the most important pieces of electronic dance music of all time, “Acid Tracks”. <4> <5>

To create the iconic bassline of “Acid Tracks”, Phuture used the TB-303 to make a simple, one-measure pattern of relatively high-pitched 16th notes, which is played in a loop throughout most of the track’s 12-minute runtime. While this is already a very strange way to use the TB-303 – since the octave-spanning, 120-bpm stream of 16th notes would be impossible to play on a real bass guitar – Phuture takes it even further, by constantly adjusting the knobs ‘cut off freq’, ‘resonance’, ‘env mod’ and ‘decay’ while the bassline is playing (see the image bellow this paragraph). As a result, the bassline has an everchanging timbre that, combined with the extremely repetitive rhythmic- and melodic pattern, makes it very hypnotic to listen to. This inventive use of the Roland TB-303 as a kind of squelchy arpeggiator instead of a real bassline synthesizer makes “Acid Tracks” a shining example of the experimental nature of the early Chicago house scene; one that planted the seeds for the acid-house revolution. <6> <7>

Because soon after “Acid Tracks” caught on in Chicago clubs like The Music Box, the sound of the TB-303 popped up everywhere: first fellow Chicago producers like Adonis and Mr. Fingers started using it; then came a whole wave of British house acts, making the 303 the defining instrument of a new style they called ‘acid-house’ (808 State’s “Let Yourself Go (303 Mix)”; New Order’s “Fine Time”; LFO’s “LFO (Leeds Warehouse Mix)”; A Guy Called Gerald’s “Voodoo Ray”; Orbital’s “Chime”); and by the late 90s, the 303 had become such a staple of dance and rave culture that it was used all across the electronic music spectrum (Daft Punk’s “Da Funk”; The Prodigy’s “Smack My Bitch Up”; Aphex Twin’s “Cornish Acid”; the list goes on). In his book Energy Flash (2013), Simon Reynolds described the ubiquitous presence of the 303 as follows: “[…] it’s like the wah-wah guitar: instantly recognizable, yet capable of infinite variations and adaptations, and forever drifting in- and out of fashion.” <8> What makes the typical 303-bassline Reynolds describes (also known as the ‘acid-bassline’) so addictive is hard to pin-point, but I would argue it has a lot to do with how well it complements the use of MDMA; electronic dance music’s drug of choice. Whether it is the continually evolving tone colour, or the repetitive, disorienting nature of the fast arpeggio’s: the sound of a 303-bassline has a very trippy, psychedelic aesthetic.

And I would argue this aesthetic also has a strong sense of ‘play’ to it, with the notes gradually moving up and down the scale and the person operating the instrument knob twiddling their way through a never-ending climax – it is like a child playing with their toys. And I think this playfulness also comes through in the strange history of the 303. The fact that a group of house producers discovered the untapped potential of some flopped piece of equipment by using it in a completely different context, says something about the playful nature of making music and creating things in general. It might not be as obvious as literally playing a guitar, piano, violin or any other traditional musical instrument, but it is playing nonetheless. And it’s a hell of a lot of fun!

<1> Mark J. Butler, Playing with Something That Runs, (New York : Oxford University Press, 2014).

<2> Roland TB-303 manual, 4. http://www.synthdiy.com/files/2013/tb303.pdf (consulted on May 11, 2020).

<3> Simon Reynolds, Energy Flash: A Journey Through Rave and Dance Culture, (London [New York]: Faber and Faber, 2013), 30.

<4> Geeta Dayal, Roland TB-303 in Grove Music Online, published January 31, 2014. https://www-oxfordmusiconline-com.proxy.library.uu.nl/grovemusic/view/10.1093/gmo/9781561592630.001.0001/omo-9781561592630-e-1002257226?rskey=0F2Q2H&result=1 (consulted on May 10, 2020).

<5> Although it would not be officially released until 1987, “Acid Tracks” was created and played in local nightclubs in 1985 according to the members of Phuture, producer Jeff Mills and DJ Ron Hardy, which would make it the first house track to use the Roland TB-303.

<6> Reynolds, Energy Flash, 31.

<7> Sarah Thornton, Club Cultures: Music, Media, and Subcultural Capital, (Wesleyan: Wesleyan University Press, 1995), 236.

<8> Reynolds, Energy Flash, 33.

#acid house #tb-303 #traxrecords

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joyflowerjournal · 7 years

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montpellier trip 23rd march- 31st 2017

thursday 23rd: we got on the national express coach at about half nine, mine and bea's parents waved us off and we moved to the seats with loads of leg room at the back of the bus. couldn't sleep much as it was really cold and it was very funny when i came back to the toilet to find some random in my seat! Friday 24th: we had breakfast (at 5:30am) and got on the gatwick express which was lovely and warm and i listened to dear evan hansen and slept which was so nice. then we sat around in gatwick airport for a while and i read the grim grotto. me and bea got lunch (at 10:45am) and i had spicy chicken noodle salad. we got on the plane and flew over beaches and the sea to land in montpellier and proceeded to get picked up by violette (told us to call her vi) who took us on a long car journey to her house listening to classical music. she made me a "chocolat" and we had butter biscuits and those pretzel shaped flaky biscuits and bea had orange juice. there were also chocolate covered nuts and sugared kiwi slices and marzipan fruit in a long box. then frédérique arrived and we drove back to her house and she showed us the apartment and our room and we met the colombian girl. i then had a shower and afterwards me and bea found a funny sex ed book which we translated and giggled lots at. for dinner we had an odd perfumed vegetable in tomato sauce and a flaky pastry salmon pie with leek, courgette and cucumber and for pudding we had little homemade chocolate puddings in cases. we all discussed brexit and the far-right and all agreed they were stupid. we gave frédérique her cadeaux and she loved the waitrose bag and all my presents and she gave me and bea each three kisses in the montpellian way. Saturday 25th: in the morning me and bea had coco pops and orange juice and i also had nutella blanc on a tartine things (biscuit toast). frédérique then walked us to accent francais where we met our group and we then walked to the shopping centre and bookshop and the arc de triomphe and saw all the neo-classical buildings and ran in the fountain. me and bea got Apple strudels from a boulangerie in the shopping centre (pentagone) and we also used the make your own orange juice machine in monoprix and bought some petit étudiants. for lunch our group went to a crêparie (the best in montpellier supposedly) and the waitresses pushed together all the outside tables and put on the heaters and we all had crêpes there (i had banane caramel). we then watched a man do a funny show in the square me and bea then went back to the bookshop with many layers, floors and rooms and i bought "culottées" which is a cool BD about cool women. i also bought a notebook and bea bought some books for her and her mum to read. we then walked back home but got very lost on the last corner and ended up walking around the area for about an hour and asking some people in shops but eventually by 7.00 we found our apartment. when we got home we ate fish with bones in and potatoes with vegetables and bread and for pudding we had strawberries in a bowl with nutella blanc and the cornish farings bea brought with her. we then went out with the colombian girl and frédérique to the theatre and as we drove through some tunnels to the little village i said that it's like that scene in intouchables and frédérique agreed. we watched the show which was amazing: the songs were so good and the actress (frédérique's friend) was very talented at playing the violin, guitar, acting and singing. afterwards we ate snacks like crisps and marshmallows and drank apple juice and peach iced tea in the foyer of the cinema and met some of frédérique's friends (many bisous x3) and then we drove home and i facetimed berry and mum as lisa just arrived. now we are going to sleep. Sunday 26th: me and bea got our own breakfast because frédérique's alarm didn't go off, frédérique said she loved my tights and that we dress "trèa anglaise" and then we left the house and walked through sunny quiet morning montpellier. there was no one around and we went inside the church to see a service happening which was nice. we then found a shortcut to the station and got catcalled/yelled at by 2 french men and bea stuck her middle finger up at them once we got on the coach who were waiting for us. our tour guide from accent francais for avignon told us about how much he loves bernie sanders and hates marie le pen "SHE'S A SNAKE!". we spent an hour driving through beautiful sunny french countryside and even drove through rochefort! first we went to le point d'avingon and our tour guide jean-paul played the song on his flute and made us all dance down the bridge! we saw ducks, the beginnings of he alps and a children's playground. afterwards we had lunch in the square of avignon in a little restaurant and there was a marathon going on. i had poulet frites and bea had fish soup (delicacy of the region). we then shopped in some little tourist shops and then went to the pope's palace where i chatted with moneeza and bea about the romanesque architecture. we saw a minion in the town square and also lots of confetti. we drove back on the coach to le point du gard where it was so hot! there were so many little fluffy seeds flying through the air which was beautiful. we walked along the bridge and around the site and jean-paul told us about the history of the bridge in his funny southern french accent "demen maten". we then drove back and i listened to blondie and read the grim grotto. me and bea walked home afterwards and sat on the terrace for a bit because it was still sunny and warm at 7pm! for dinner we ate a quiche that tasted like pasty and some lettuce salad. we drank fig sirop too and for pudding we had l'isle puddings with cornish fairings and fudge which we bought frédérique. after dinner me and bea watched "guess the age" which was a french game show in which the title is self explanatory. i then facetimed berry and lisa and spoke some french with lisa and lent her my pencil case. i then showered and me and bea discussed bea talking in her sleep last night and her alarm making me jump. Monday 27th: me and bea got up a bit earlier and got our breakfast on our own because frédérique went to work; we had some variety cereal packs alongside our usual food. we then left for accent francais and came into the lovely building that is accent francais and met our teacher aurélia. she made us do little introductions and we told her the month we were born and our star sign (there were 4 taurus people including me). we learnt how to faire la bise and how each region has a different number of kisses and also watched a funny english video about la bise. we learnt about stereotypes in france and compared them to some in england and during our 15 minute break me and bea looked in the little record/book/cd/BD store next door to our accent francais building. after our lesson ended we had a little tour of monpellier with jean-paul and some girls from las vegas and new zealand and a boy from switzerland. after our tour me and bea walked back home and on the way we bought smoothies/frozen yoghurt drinks (bea had berries flavour and i had mango flavour) and i watched the man mix the frozen yoghurt with mango sauce and chunks of mango and whizz them all together. it was really hot when we walked back and once we were home we sat outside on the terrace and had a little goûter of petit écolier biscuits and oreo chocolate. i read culottées and bea wrote her diary and bobby the little cat came and sat with us in the sunshine. frédérique brought out some apple and pastry to us and when the sun came in she gave us a red blanket. it was so lovely and warm and bobby was playing with the straw from my drink which was really cute. for dinner we had lobster soup with croutons and bread which was surprisingly really good. we ate with camilla (colombian girl) and frédérique got ready to go out to violette's house for dinner. she kept asking us which shoes and jacket to wear which was funny, and for dessert we had a huge apple pie which was so yummy. we chatted with camilla about disney films and how she was almost a mechanic but chose to be a doctor instead. after dinner she showed us (on her phone with the ute dog case) the trailer of a film about a french girl who sings but her family is deaf. afterwards me and bea read the bee movie fanfic and laughed so so so hard and researched bee anatomy which was hilarious. we then went to bed after i facetimed mum and berry (her and lisa were watching frozen). Tuesday 28th: bea and i woke up at 7:45am and got our usual breakfast and had a slice of apple pie with it. at accent francais (we walked with lila and some other girls half the way) we learnt about boules the game and la famille. we also did a presentation about english traditions in groups (i was with bea and ciaran and we chose guy fawkes night); other groups did cheese-rolling, netball and he royal family. we then got lunch and i went with lila and anna to polygone (the shopping centre) and bought some kind of long pain au chocolat from paul's boulangerie and lila bought a punnet of strawberries from a stall where the last showed us how to wear our bags so we wouldn't get pickpocketed. we ate lunch on the grass next to the fountain dans la place du comédie and bea, rebecca and ciaran got noodles and we all talked about our siblings and cousins. it was so sunny and lovely. we then went to the train station where i bought a 1€ french zine called jealouse and we got the train to nîmes, sitting on the top deck, and met the german garçon "marvin" who was on the tour with us. we walked around all the little streets in nîmes (i bought a chocolate egg for snuff) and saw lots of old roman buildings and gothic style churches, including the bull fighting ring where there are bull fights 3 fois par aneé and concerts/conferences the rest of the time. elena and i applied lots and lots of sun cream together. in our 40 minute break me, lila, rebecca, anna, bea and marvin got crêpes in the square and chatted in the sun about places in england marvin had stayed in. on our walk afterwards we saw men playing boules in the sun under the shade of the trees and jean-paul played a traditional boules song on his flute and tous les hommes joined in singing. we went to some beautiful gardens and on the way back to the train station we walked past a group of street dancing boys who jean paul impersonated by turning his cap backwards and doing funny street dance moves which was hilarious. marvin then played the broken piano in the train station and we got the train back to montpellier. i sat with rebecca, lila and next to anna and we ate fizzy worms and did sex quizzes in anna's cosmo magazine and laughed a lot. me and bea walked home afterwards (got asked by some random dude if we knew where a nearby tattoo parlour was) and once we got back we had a look at some of frédérique's games but then we had to have dinner. for starters we had yummy bread and carrot salad and for mains there was spinich and eggs and potatoes but i just ate the potatoes and bread. i also drank fig sirop with water. after dinner we chatted with frédérique about english vs french sayings eg. "oh my god" vs "oh mon dieu" and "ohlala" vs "wow!" and "yikes!" and also laughed a lot at the way google translate pronounced "sprain" and the way frédérique pronounced it. we then watched "la famille bélier" which was the movie camilla showed us the trailer of. it was so good! we ate peanut butter m&ms and oreo chocolate and all cried a bit at the end of the film when paula leaves her family. i then had a shower and me and bea worked out the timings to go to the cinema tomorrow after lessons. Wednesday 29th: me and bea had our usual breakfast with camilla and we chatted about how emma watson always has the same facial expression. we then walked to accent francais and it was very warm. we learnt about the conditional and and played a game where we had to describe people eg "si j'étais une fleur, je serais..." sl me and ciaran and alex wrote about jean-paul and his clothing habits/knowledge of l'occitane. two groups chose to write about bea, one group chose elena and one group chose me (see below) (also they chose Emma Watson as my celebrity). me, bea and ciaran chose to create a petit jean-paul (P.J.P) for our teleshopping product in the culture part of the lesson. for lunch we got noodles from the taiwanese shop where you choose what you want and watch them cook it in giant woks. we walked to some gardens and i ate with bea, ciaran, lila, rebecca and anna. we sat on the daisy covered grass (even though the signs said not to sit on the grass) in front of the lake with ducks and a turtle in. it was so hot and sunny and relaxing even if there were tons of midgies and me and anna made daisy chain necklaces and crowns. after lunch we visited a little cathedral and had to cover our shoulders and legs but we didn't. we then met jean-paul in the place de la comédie and walked with him to a little local food shop where we tried lavendar shortbread, apple juices with aniseed and other spice flavours and a red peach smoothie thing. i drank lots of glasses because i was very thirsty and had pretty much finished all the water that lila and i went into a restaurant to have our bottles filled up with. after our tasting session, me and bea went and bought our tickets to see la belle et la bête (we got student discount) and then posted her postcards in the post office and sat on the grass by the fountain in the sun for a little while because it was still about 20 degrees celsius. we watched the film in a very cool cinema where the toilets were next to the screen! the film was amazing (me and bea found it absolutely crying-with-laughter hilarious when belle gets knocked to the ground by the beast's snowball but no one else laughed) and so good in french because it's actually set in france! afterwards we kept singing the "gaston" song ("nooooooooo oooonnnnnnnnnnne..... fIGHTS LIKE GASTON") and walked back home. frédérique said we looked "trop mignonnes" and wanted to take pictures of us on the balcony while the sun was out. we then had a dinner of goats cheese on toasted bread with tuna and lettuce salad and then some of the quiche from the other night. for dessert we had strawberries and cornish fairings and some spanish dark chocolate fortune cookie kind of things. on tv they played a few seconds of "chanter les...." from les demoiselles de rochefort which i thought was funny. after dinner me and bea chatted for ages and i packed up my suitcase and we then read the lyrics of "gaston" like a poem which was funny. we talked about how i thought gaston was hot but she didn't. we then went to sleep. Thursday 30th: we had our usual breakfast but without frédérique and then walked to accent francais and had a lesson where we did our teleshopping presentations (we did petit jean-paul) and then learnt about internet and applying the conditional tense and watched/discussed the video for carmen by stromae which is about twitter taking over the world. at lunch we went to paul and i had a gourmandise and one of ciaran's strawberries when we sat on the grass by the fountain. on our way to polygone there was a stall with one super cute goat called britget and two little black pigs called romeo and juliette who were collecting for animal vaccinations and selling cough sweets so we stroked them and they were so fluffy and cute. we then walked to the train station where me and ciraran paid €0.50 to go to the toilet and then walked with bea to the bus station and got on the bus with jean-paul. it was very hot on the bus so i switched to the side with the shade of the coach and put my suncream on and listened to blondie. we then stopped for 10 minutes at some fortress but i stayed in the coach with the driver and closed my eyes. when we got to carmargue (sp?) we straight away got on a tourist boat (i sat with marvin the german guy and bea) and went on a very hot boat trip on the river/canal. we saw lots of cool birds, sweet little houses, boats, bulls and fish and the sun was blasting down on us throughout. we stopped off halfway to watch the bulls being herded by two people on horses and jean-paul said "young people, up here there is a grand view" so we watched from a little hill. we then took the same route back and i chatted with marvin lots about star signs, wearing glasses/contacts, english accents and autres trucs comme ça. when we got back we went into the little town with lots of tourist shops and found a nice cafe in the sun where i sat with bea, marvin, anna, rebecca and eventually lila when she got back from getting her ice cream which was "stingy" (word of the day alongside wet wipe) and didn't even come up past the cone which was hilarious. i had a sirop au lait with menthe flavour (everyone was so confused as to what it was) and bea had a coke and the others had crêpes. we found out that marvin DOESN'T LIKE CHOCOLATE and so we kept asking him stuff like "easter must be a sad time for you" and "what do you eat???" and we all said he is part of the 5% of the world's population that doesn't like it. we then met up with jean-paul and the group and walked on the pier down to the end where people were fishing on the rocks near the lighthouse. we climbed on the rocks and jean-paul told us about everything and then we walked back up to a little beach where lila and bea paddled in the sea and took pictures on bea's camera. anna was shocked to hear that marvin didn't like chocolate and said he was part of the 5% and marvin was like "does everyone in cornwall know this fact? is it something the cornish learn in their schools???" and we talked about eye colour and how mine were green and i was part of the apparent 2% and he looked right into my eyes which was cute. we talked about surfing in england and watersports and he said he wanted to come to cornwall and learn how to surf. we then walked back up to our coach and on the way back i sat behind marvin with lila, anna, rebecca, some other girls and ciaran and we all sang sk8er boy by avril lavine (song of the TRIP) and then complicated and then what the hell all by avril lavine. we also listened to september by earth, wind & fire and papaoutai by stromae (also song of the trip). when we got back me and bea started looking for a tobacco shop because at breaktime alex (only other boy on our trip other than ciaran) told us he bought cigarettes and alcohol in montpellier without getting asked for any ID and had been doing so in france since he was about 14. we found one quite easily that sold alcohol and chose the cheapest wine (€5) and handed it over to the lady at the desk who sold it to us and was like "merci, au revoir!" so me and bea held on tight to the bottle and ran out into the street to give each other a massive high five. WE JUST EXTREMELY EASILY BOUGHT ALCOHOL AGED 16 AND 17!!!!! we were so so so happy then we realised the bottle had a cork in the top so we ran into monoprix to buy a corkscrew opener for €5,50 and some crisps and then we walked home feeling very happy. we sat outside for dinner and had salad with yummy croutons and a courgette pie made with breadcrumbs and some rice too. for dessert we had yoghurt/apple compote (i had fig savour) and we chatted about camilla's family drama ("quelle drâme!") and frédérique's husbands/loves and children/grandchildren. she asked if me and bea had any "petit(e) amoureux(euses) and bea told her about her bf cameron and i said "j'aime les garçons et les filles mais non je n'ai trouvé pas qqn" and she said she is sure i will. we also had those funny dark chocolate fortune cookie type biscuits for dessert and when i held my hands out to have a biscuit she said "ohhh j'aime beaucoup quand tu mets les mains comme ça!" which was sweet. after dinner we did la bise and hugged and said goodbye and thank you and she said we were lovely sweet girls and she's loved having us here. we then sat in our room/on the balcony and ate our crisps (which turned out to be mustard flavour but still yummy) drank our bottle of wine which tasted bad at first but then the more drunk we got the better it tasted. i started off telling bea about how i never really get drunk easily but then when i got up to go to the toilet all my limbs were wobbly and i couldn't walk in a straight line and i realised I GOT PROPERLY DRUNK FOR THE SECOND TIME IN MY LIFE!!! we were rolling around on the floor and laughing so much and it was so funny and great; we couldn't believe that €2,50 worth of cheap french wine (we drank half the bottle each could get us THAT drunk! frédérique came out on her balcony and asked us if we were smoking and we said no but then we realised we were being quite loud so we went back inside and i had a shower whilst still very drunk and then we went to bed after bea told me the story of how her brother cracked his face open when they were little. we then went to sleep. Friday 31st: we got up at 7:45 (i was still a bit drunk and my head was all woozy and i couldn't walk straight) to have our last breakfast and then got our suitcases together and left for the bus stop. we hugged camilla goodbye ("i will say goodbye now because i am late!") and i put our rubbish bag (with our empty wine bottle in) into the rubbish bin opposite our flat. we got the number 7 bus to l'observatoire with our suitcases and saw lots of lycée kids on the way. we got to accent francais a bit late but carried our suitcases up (too) many flights of stairs and after searching lots, put them in a funny room. we then had our last lesson at accent francais and learnt about fashion rules in france (no 3 different colours and only supposed to show 2 out of 3 areas deemed risqué which were chest, legs and butt) and we also learned about different foods. at breaktime me and bea rushed to polygone to go to monoprix for fresh orange juice and buy pastries from paul. we then walked back to accent francais after looking at the farmyard animals again and continued our lesson and at the end they gave us certificates and we all took a big group photo. we then collected our suitcases, got the blue air tram with white birds on, got another packed bus and eventually arrivals at the airport. me, alex and bea sat on the terrace and i wrote this and then we boarded the plane and i read the grim grotto. our flight arrived 35 minutes early so we went into marks & spencer and bought food for dinner (i got a mango pot, coke and a chicken noodle salad) then me and bea sat on the airport floor and ate our mango. we then waited for our coach and imagined what would happen if jean-paul arrived with a "hello young people!" / "hello the cornish! / *flute playing sur le point d'Avignon song*. we then got our coach back to cornwall where i read the grim grotto, listened to the same 4 sufjan stevens songs for an hour and ate my salad. we stopped off for 45 minutes at taunton service station where i sat with ciaran and elenor and a few others and we drank coffee and made jokes about moneeza and becky and i played with elenor's bouncy ball she bought with moneeza's £1 from one of those kiddie machines. we then drove back to cornwall and i listened to the spring awakening obcr and then went to sleep until we reached bodmin where i listened to the whisper of the heart soundtrack until we were back in cornwall and mum picked me up from college.

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ladysima · 4 years

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Hello, my lovelies!

This time I want to introduce you with a book, that I read recently. I’m participating in a book blog tour with a bunch of other amazing book bloggers. If you want to check them out here are the dates:

The book I’m talking about is Midsummer Dreams at Mill Grange by Jenny Kane.

Synopsis

Thea Thomas needs to get away from her old life… and the interfering ex who won’t leave her alone. When she lands a job heading up the restoration of Mill Grange, a stunning Victorian manor in Devon, it feels like the perfect opportunity to start afresh.

What Thea didn’t anticipate was how hostile the volunteer team, led by the formidable Mable Hastings, would be about accepting new leadership. And with the deadline looming before the grand opening, Thea is in desperate need of more volunteers.

A broadcast appeal on the local news attracts the interest of arrogant but undeniably attractive celebrity historian Shaun Cowlson, who wants to make a TV programme about the restoration. It’s hard enough adding one more big personality to the mix – but then her ex turns up as one of the volunteers! What seemed like a dream come true is fast becoming a total disaster! Can Thea find a way to save the manor?

Extract

The meeting hadn’t started, yet no companionable chatter criss-crossed the table. The lemon cake remained untouched. Mugs of tea and coffee mugs cooled, un-drunk. The alcohol sat unopened. Thea struggled not to squirm as eight sets of eyes rested on her. Only Tina was smiling.

The faces of the volunteers – five women and two men – held an air of awkward patience which declared they’d listen politely, but then they’d carry on as they had before. With an encouraging nod from Tina, Thea cradled her coffee cup. Taking comfort from its warmth, she broke the uneasy silence.

‘First of all, I’d like to thank you all, not just for coming out this evening, but for everything you’ve achieved at Mill Grange over the past five years.’

Not allowing anyone the chance to comment, Thea ploughed on with a speech she’d been semi-rehearsing on and off since she’d arranged the meeting two days ago. ‘It’s incredible what you’ve done, and—’ seeing a flicker of objection in Mabel’s eyes, Thea hurriedly raised her palm ‘—I don’t mean incredible in a patronising way. You’ve had few resources, a limited budget and no training. Everything you’ve achieved has been for the pure love of it. I have tried to tell you how much I admire your work ethic and how much I can see you all care for Mill Grange…’

‘But?’ Mabel put down the tea mug she’d just lifted up with an exaggerated thump. ‘There is no but.’ Hoping her rising anxiety didn’t show, Thea continued to address the stony faces around the table. ‘Whatever I’ve done to offend you, I’m truly sorry, but we need to work together. We owe it to Mill Grange.’

‘We?’ Mabel’s eyes narrowed. ‘You turn up one day out of the blue, without a word of warning, and take over. How do you think that made us feel?’

‘What?’ Puzzled, Thea turned to Tina, who appeared equally baffled. ‘You didn’t know I was coming to work here?’

Mabel tilted her head to one side, clearly unconvinced that Thea hadn’t been aware she’d been a surprise to them. ‘We did not.’

Tina lowered her coffee cup from her lips. ‘You were sent an email, Mabel. I was copied in on it, so I know it was both sent and received. The chief trustee, Malcolm, fired it off to you personally as he sees you as the volunteers’ spokesperson.’

‘An email.’ Mabel spoke flatly as she looked down at her clenched hands, and Thea guessed that checking her email was something that rarely crossed the old lady’s mind. Taking the diplomatic path, Thea said, ‘Obviously it can’t have reached you, Mabel. The Internet is hardly reliable here. So, it appears I was thrust upon you without warning. But I promise you, I didn’t know you were unaware of my appointment.’ She looked across to Tina for confirmation. ‘To be honest, I was surprised a representative from the volunteers wasn’t at the interview.’

‘In normal circumstances they might have been. Perhaps because you came so highly recommended, they didn’t see the need this time.’

Thankful that most of the volunteers were beginning to look less hostile, Thea took a sustaining sip of coffee. ‘Maybe we can start again?’

The author

Jenny Kane is the bestselling author of several romantic fiction series. Her first novel, Another Cup of Coffee (Accent Press), was a Kindle bestseller. The final novel in this series, Another Glass of Champagne, was released in June 2016. Jenny Kane’s Cornish romance, A Cornish Escape, hit No.1 in the Amazon Romance, Contemporary Fiction, and Women’s Fiction charts, and was followed by a sequel, Abi’s Neighbour, Jenny’s seventh novel.

You can find Jenny here:

Twitter: @JennyKaneAuthor

Facebook: @JennyKaneRomance

You can buy this book here:

Amazon

Google Play

Kobo

I hope you will give this book a chance and enjoy a perfect summer read.

xxx

Simona

Midsummer Dreams at Mill Grange by Jenny Kane Hello, my lovelies! This time I want to introduce you with a book, that I read recently.

#book #books #chicklit #events #fun #hobbies #lifestyle #reading #review #reviews #romance

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maydanozolma · 4 years

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(mostly just jotting bullshit as I think of it, so wip)

name: geoffrey edmund snelling

past names:

gwɨroɣnọw/eirognous godric dean richard godric stroud edmund richard prescott

nicknames: geoff, twat, dickhead, joe if you want to go missing in the bristol channel

psuedonyms: royse grey

represents england, not britain or the uk. please don’t associate him with those sheepshaggers he has to share the island with. born near corinium dobunnorum (modern day circencester) in glouchestershire county on the western side of the country

sex/gender: male sexuality: demisexual biromantic with a preference for birds

age: idk he’s like 2100, old enough to have been born a celt to the dobunni tribe. he vaguely remembers the romans and looks about 30

height: suspiciously short (5'7") weight: not enough (162lbs), but still has a mean one-two from a few centuries of prizefighting/boxing

appearance: fc is burn gorman, so he’s kinda goofy looking

physical: mild pectus carinatum, pineapple allergy mental: depression, ptsd, misophonia phobias: fire, closed spaces and stupid people drink/drugs/smoke: yes/used to/yes

mbti: annoyingly intj alignment: lawful evil lawful neutral

religion: atheist disguised as a subversive anglican/catholic/whatever was popular at the time

languages: english, with proficiency in not using next-page translations for shakespeare and chaucer. natural accent is west country akin to that found in somerset, but has learned to adopt a more nonregional standard accent for avoiding the country bumpkin stigma and to use with non-native english speakers. can still read old and middle english, albeit slowly debatably fluent in french and german can read latin and greek because he’s a nerd can somewhat understand spanish, portuguese and dutch, but is terrible at speaking them. knows snippits of some common immigrant languages such as hindi, arabic and polish has studied welsh, cornish and scots, though not necessarily for practical use quenya

family: disowned wales, scotland, ireland etc, in some way or another

pets: a python named monty he keeps mostly to keep away his sister a lovely sheepdog

relationship status: lmao

residence: someplace in western england so tba, but does own a home in bristol which he usually rents out

personality: an ever-curious man who is wildly interested in just about anything from biology to physics to botany, and gets a good deal of pleasure at being able to share his knowledge and have an intelligent conversation with anyone willing to listen. from his own humble background from a rural region he understands that status does not make intelligence, and loathes willful ignorance. can come off as cold with his rigidity and objectivity in his decision-making, that coupled with his self-centeredness can make him appear extremely uncaring. a problem is less concerning if it isn’t directly affecting him, and he has a hard time believing that he’s wrong.

is quite an orator and has a razor sharp wit and humor to him, but can be civil when he needs wants to be. typically, that’s around the people he genuinely likes. can insult a man in such a long-winded manner that would leave most getting lost halfway through. has a vivid imagination fueled with a love for fantasy and science fiction, which he expresses through his penmanship; he’s been writing his own novels and short stories for at least two hundred years and has no intention on stopping

stubborn and fiercely independent since he was a youth, it was his cleverness and pragmatic streak that pulled him through social ranks and into the eye of those who could find use for what he was. he expresses annoyance and irritability best, garnering only ever a small circle of friends and even fewer whom he trusted to be any form of emotional crutch. he’s maintained a stiff upper lip through thousands of years of adversity and has yet to collapse for good, so why change now

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magicmenageriestuff · 5 years

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Top Cat – Hoyt Curtin

“The indisputable leader of the gang”

*Warning : Cat Porn*

Yes, that Top Cat. The wise guy cartoon alleycat from New York City with his gang always trying to get one over on Officer Dibble. It was a staple of my childhood in the 1960s and certainly contributed to my impression of the city where I now live. As did the music. Like many of Hanna Barbara’s cartoons – Huckleberry Hound, The Flintstones, The Jetsons – the music was composed and recorded by Hoyt Curtin, a Californian specialist in the punchy joyful bright slices of cartoon sound. Top Cat the Theme Music is only 42 seconds long and is thus the shortest piece of music in My Pop Life to date.

From the funky horn fanfare to the stuttering trumpet intro to the glamorous celebratory vocal refrain (which reminds me somehow of Isaac Hayes’ Shaft (see My Pop Life #60)) and the crisp xylophone punctuation, this mini cartoon symphony is a marvel of crushed sound & misheard lyrics.

Top Cat ! whose intellectual close friends get to call him T.C.

Strode right in, it’s whipping to see…Top Cat !

Hmmm. Well that is what I’ve always sung, from the age of five. Nonsense. Wait. OK according to the lyrics bible Genius.com (which is highly recommended by the way…) it is :

Top Cat ! whose intellectual close friends get to call him T.C.

Providing it’s with dignity…Top Cat !

I genuinely just found that out. Prefer my five year old version somehow. Anyway. The music always made me feel that it had been played on a single that jumped – we had some of these – a scratched record – where a groove was missed and the tune would jump forward 15 seconds. Somehow Top Cat does this in its second 20 seconds. Check it out – it is completely wild, and probably quite hard to play. It is a masterpiece theme tune to a masterpiece cartoon that ran from 1961 for only 30 episodes. Which were endlessly repeated.

Top Cat, Benny the Ball, Fancy Fancy, Choo Choo, Brain & Spook

The format was as follows – a street gang of cats living in dustbins by a fence eating fish-heads, and thrown-away fast food. Led by smart status symbol Top Cat – T.C. – Benny the Ball, Choo Choo, Brain, Fancy Fancy and Spook were all expertly delineated characters in bright colours and working-class NYC accents. Their enemy was Officer Dibble who was a human, constantly trying to foil their get-rich-quick schemes. I suppose there was a strong symbolic element here – a representation of the poor underclass, finding ways legal or usually otherwise to make ends meet. The voices were all superb. Arnold Stang was T.C.

Mimi, Roxy and Boy in Brighton : a very rare picture of them together

Back there in Sussex we always had cats – indeed apart from a brief spell at the LSE and a handful of years in Los Angeles, I have always had a cat, or two, or three. I believe them to be superior to dogs. They clean themselves. They bury their toilet. They give themselves their own status. They are spirit animals who give your home life and soul. When they die, I am bereft for a long long time.

My first cat was called Caesar, a big male tabby given to me when I was one year old. I remember burying him in the garden of our house in Selmeston when Dad was still at home, so I would’ve been seven or eight, and so would Caesar. Then we got white tortoiseshell Sheba and black & white Kitty Little. We also had dogs during this period of my youth – Corgis Raq and Bessie, and then Welsh Sheepdog Brutus who used to chase cars. When we became homeless in 1970 (see My Pop Life #84 ) I don’t know what happened to the animals. After nine months the family were re-united in Hailsham and I think Sheba and Kitty Little were still with us but this may be a feline hallucination. I’ll ask Mum. I have a memory of finding Sheba dead under the kitchen tap one school morning in Hailsham because she had eaten string and was trying to drink water to lubricate herself. Pets give you these horrific moments and even if they live long, they will inevitably die before you do. Certainly by the time Rebecca was born we had grey/white Lucy who lived a very long life and eventually died as Becky turned 18. Once I moved to London for university in 1976 there were no pets allowed in Halls of Residence beneath the Post Office Tower, however when I lived in Finsbury Park with Mumtaz in the early 80s we had Monty, another tabby, and when I left, in 1985, he stayed. Or did he? I think maybe he moved in with me for a bit, then went back to Mumtaz…

London 1990 – Honey, Hardy & me

In the mid-80s I got a flat in in Archway Road N6 and when Jenny moved in we got two beautiful Siamese kittens, Hardy and Honey.

Hardy and Honey, about six months old

Such beautiful animals, they both talked a great deal and were sweet companions. One night when we came in from a theatre show they were missing – then a small miaow led us to the top of the wardrobe where they were nervously looking down. Then a movement under the bed – a Ginger Tom ran out through the cat door into the back garden. He had bullied them. Eaten their food. Ginger Toms do that in my experience. Anyway a few weeks later the same thing happened. There Hardy and Honey were again, on top of the wardrobe. We had discussed what we would do if it happened again. Plan A. Jenny walked down to the cat door and locked it. Then the Ginger Tom (for it was he!) ran back there and got trapped in the bathroom (which was the back room due to the weird Housing Association conversion we were in). I ran a tap and filled a jug. Ginger Tom was hissing and growling and Honey had come down for a ringside seat and got trapped in the room. I tipped water onto the Ginger Tom’s head until he submitted, then finally opened the catflap and out he went. We never saw him again. Nor did Honey or Hardy.

Hardy in Highgate, 1992

When we went to Scotland on holiday once a year – a 12-hour drive up to the West Coast & the islands – we would take the Siamese with us. They would be locked in the cottage when we went for walks. I remember Hardy growling at the sheep one morning. When we were in Los Angeles Jenny’s school friend darling Betty would stay in our flat and look after them. We would go back and forth. Then when we returned from Los Angeles in 1995 we knew we wanted to move out of Highgate.

Honey got out the front door on the day we packed up the van to move temporarily to Kilburn and sometime that night got run over on that busy road. Heartbreaking doesn’t begin to describe it. I had to scrape her body off the road with a shovel and bury her in the back garden. I felt sick. Later we got another strange Siamese called Tia who never quite fitted in, never liked Jenny but used to swoon at me. Hardy and Tia came to Brighton with us but we were away so much during that period – in LA and elsewhere that we eventually gave them away to a lovely old lady who had just lost her two Siamese and needed some grown ones because she couldn’t bear raising another kitten. She would write to us about them every now and again which was lovely. They died there in the Sussex countryside about ten years ago.

Marvin aged 20 weeks

At some point in 2004 we visited Stockholm with Amanda Ooms and met her sister Sara who had helped Andy Baybutt and I with The Murmuration (see My Pop Life #87) and met her new kitten Otis. What a great animal! He was a Devon Rex breed, with only one type of fur (most cats have three : down, fur & guard fur) and he was super-intelligent and friendly. Bless Otis he passed away last week (Feb 2019) aged 15. Anyway we were ready to re-cat ourselves and decided to get a Devon Rex, then found Marvin from a breeder. Such a beautiful little boy he was, who would climb up from the ground up my legs, my body up to my shoulder and sit there. He lasted a mere 9 weeks before cutting his mouth on a wicker basket and getting very weak. We took him to the vet who did a blood test and told us he had a factor 8 deficiency which meant his blood couldn’t clot and a transfusion wouldn’t work he would never live a long life. That was simply awful. I held Marvin’s little body to my chest through the night listening as his breathing got shallower and shallower, stroking him and whispering love into his absurdly large ears until he gave a big sigh, a final tiny rattle and passed over. Jeez that was sad.

Chester

Eventually in April 2008 we decided to brave another Devon Rex and Chester arrived. What a cat he was. Like an old chinese man. Very communicative. Very funny. He would crawl under the duvet every night. After a year we decided to find him a mate. By then we’d found a breeder that we liked, Michelle on the outskirts of Sheffield, whom we’d dropped in on one day while visiting my dad who lives in West Yorkshire. Her house was full to the brim with cats, all friendly and smiling, purring and relaxed, draped over the furniture, window ledges, feeding kittens, greeting us. She had all the queens inside – about twenty five females, and all the males outside in the yard and a back shed.

Michelle’s queen Orientals

Devon Rex mum and smigel kittens at Michelle’s

Mimi’s mum, and, possibly, a very young Mimi

It is an extraordinary house. We saw the new brood upstairs of tiny little pieces of Russian Blue Cornish Rex fur and said we’d be back in 10 weeks for a girl. Mimi came back with us in the Jeep on the 200 mile journey and Chester fell in lust as soon as he laid eyes on her. We had to separate them for a few nights, then it was obvious (from the howling) that we would have to spey dear Chester. After that they got on famously….most of the time….

Chester, me, Mimi – late 2008

Mimi kitten with Chester aged 15 months

Despite this clear blow to the head, Chester was not very good at fighting

A very special animal, Chester also had a congenital problem, this time with arrhythmia – an uneven heartbeat. He died aged four while I was filming in Nashville and Jenny and I weren’t getting on. I flew back and we buried him in the back garden in floods of tears, his early death re-uniting us as a kind of awful sacrifice.

Mimi we felt was lonely then. We worried about her. Michelle heard about Chester dying young and offered us another Cornish Rex so I drove up to Sheffield again and came back with the most affectionate cat I’ve ever met – Roxy, a bonkers tortoiseshell female. Mimi hated her.

Roxy is a one-off weirdo. I would actually say she has special needs. In the nicest possible way of course. She loves to sit on a shoulder. Feels safe up there. Then she will purr and push her face into my beard, squirming with joy.

She would get out of the garden and wander down the road shouting at the top of her voice as if she was lost. People would pick her up and say hi where do you live? I could hear them over the garden trellis. We put a collar on her with the address and my mobile phone number engraved on it. One day, sitting in the Peace Statue cafe in Hove with Andy my phone went.

“Hello, do you have a cat called Roxy?”

“Yes I do”

“She’s in the hospital”

“OK thanks I’ll come and get her”.

Luckily I was on my bike and when I got home there was a nurse on my doorstep with Roxy and her winking eye, like butter wouldn’t melt. After three months, Mimi still hated her. Roxy tried to make friends but no. What to do?

Boy’s first night in Brighton – oh god, there’s two other cats here…

Get another cat! This time it was to Basingstoke and the last of a litter, a beautiful black Oriental. I met his father who was a Siamese and his mother who was a mushroom Oriental softie. Roxy swooned for the Boy as soon as she saw him. She licked him, chased him and bit his throat which was rather alarming. But that is what cats do when they play. She was teaching him how to fight.

She has taught him everything since. They sleep together, wash each other, play and fight together. Mimi kept her disdainful character intact, and when it was that we came to move to New York City, we brought Roxy & Boy with us and left Mimi in Brighton. Mimi is an outside cat, she was the queen of that hill in Kemp Town.

Mimi & Delilah-Rose, Brighton 2008

So we found her a home in Norfolk and later received some lovely photos of her looking very pleased with herself as a nine-year old girl’s pet and the only cat in the house (her one true desire).

Roxy we wouldn’t allow outside because she got lost every time, and Boy could take it or leave it – and he liked to bring back worms and slow worms (legless lizards) from outside and leave them – alive – in the kitchen. But we’d already decided not to let the cats out in Brooklyn because of

TOP CAT!

THE MOST EFFECTUAL TOP CAT !

The local alley cats here have thick fur because they sleep outside in all weather. They slouch and have scars and behave like tough guys. They are huge. They are contemptuous. They probably have leukemia. We imagined them meeting Roxy & Boy and speaking in Brooklynese :

“Yo. What’s your name – puss-in-boots? What you doin’ down here? Welcome to the hood. You is European?! Don’t make me fuck you up kitty kitty.“

Scarcely anyone in New York speaks like this anymore, they’ve all moved out to Long Island or Westchester, or Jersey. I mean it’s noticeable when you hear that Top Cat twang on the streets, like an endangered species. But I think the cats still talk like that even if the people don’t. The cats haven’t been gentrified yet (although there are gangs of “cat lovers” who go out and spey them and give them injections for leukemia). So Roxy and Boy stay in. They have space, pretend trees to climb, food, beds, water, toys, windows to look out of with sunshine coming in. Now and again Boy demands go out out onto the stairs so he can scratch the stair carpet. Actually he is very dog-like. He plays fetch and guards the perimeters. They are content. I love them with all my heart as I have loved all my cats, but maybe a little bit more. They are, of course, our little kids.

Mimi & Chester in Brighton

Boy & Roxy in Brooklyn

These are the two opening sequences I remember :

youtube

A sample of one episode ‘the maharajah of pookajee”

youtube

My Pop Life #215 : Top Cat – Hoyt Curtin Top Cat - Hoyt Curtin "The indisputable leader of the gang" *Warning : Cat Porn* *

#cats #Cornish Rex #Devon Rex #Hanna-Barbara #Siamese

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bimblingcat · 7 years

Text

Did you know…Kenneth Graham was inspired by his stay in Fowey in May 1907 to write stories in the form of letters to his son. These went on to form the ‘The Wind in the Willows’

Joyous Mr Toad

It has a certain wibbly-wobblyness about it

A cheky little harbour

Alien landing site

LGBTree

Maybe today they’ll have that portable walrus tusk polishing kit

Woof

The nice harbour man gave me permission to take photos on the jetty so long as I promised not to walk into the water.

buoy oh buoy oh buoy….no?

General niceness

Hard to take a photo around here without it having a lot of niceness.

There’s even niceness in the nooks and cranies

It’s pretty isn’t it. A pity the flowers got in the way of the shot of the bike

…and finally, Horatio Honda Transalp looking all butch and moody.

It’s morning and I don’t feel terrible. There are odd jiggly feeling around my stomach and again, that odd sense that I’ve done something terribly wrong but otherwise, I feel quite, quite dandy.

I thought I’d scoot off to Fowey today. The weather looks a bit grey and rubbish; the sun did just glimpse up between the horizon and the blanket of cloud but then slipped away again. Not that, that’s going to put me off. It’s around an hour and a half to Fowey from here, most of it on the dull A38 which I’d like to get out of the way as soon as I can. So the plan is: get a wiggle on, shove a coffee at Andy and then get on the bike and get going. Yeah….that sounds good to me.

Off to Fowey

I got Andy his coffee and woke him up. He looked startled and a bit confused like he’d woken up to me telling him I’d set fire to all his underwear. All went to plan and I was on Horatio and out down the Teign valley by just before quarter past eight.

The weather was still dull and overcast and it perfect for the dull hum and drum of rumbling down the A38. Stopped off at Ashburton to get some fuel and almost got run over by a woman in a 4×4 on the exit (she looked like she had things to go places to be, bikers to mow).

As I got through Plymouth the cloud started to slip away and a bright blue sky greeted me into the realms of Cornwall. The roads always look wider down here. Maybe it’s because they have fewer of them than Devon. It makes it easier for getting around and goes some way to explaining why the Cornish drive at silly miles an hour. I got cut up by a woman in a Renault at the roundabout and raced by a Tesco delivery van.

My internal satnav was in working order today and I found my way to the turning for Fowey without too much trouble. One of the benefits of the bike, especially in places like here, is that you can get down little lanes that other vehicles wouldn’t even try and consequently I found a little slot for Horatio next to the church. A friendly chap did advise me that a lot of cars manoeuvre about in the area so it might not be a great place to stop but I think I’ll chance it.

I was going to go and grab a coffee and chill out after the ride but when I got into the town the weather was too nice and the light too sweet to be ignored. Maybe BBC weather will be right and it’ll cloud over. I’d kick myself not to take some shots of the water with a bit of sunshine on it. I found myself near the Harbourmasters office and asked if it was okay to go out on the jetty. No one thought it was a problem so long as I remembered not to walk into the wet bets. I thought I could oblige.

I took a few shots of the boats and some postcard style shots of Fowey then bimbled back along the high street to the Galeon pub. They’ve got a deck at the back where you can sit and have a drink, look over the water and listen in to conversations that people are having on the boats. I’d get here in the morning if you’re thinking of coming down as it’s a bit of a draw to the tourists. The locals are more friendly and numerous first thing as well. There’s nothing like a proper Cornish accent to cheer you up.

Saw feet around Fowey

So, it’s Fowey, pronounced Foy (like ‘toy’) and not Fowey (like ‘Bowey’). I’m still thinking the latter in the same way that when I hear Chihuahua I still think Chee-hoo-ar-hoo-ar rather than Chewowa.

Anyway, I digress…I left the Galeon and turned left toward where they sell tickets for the ferry out of a small blue shed. I got a few shots with people in, which is one of the benefits of a wide angle lens and a camera that allows you to shift the focus. It’s like street photography but without the courage.

I walk up past the high street and see that they’re having a sale outside the church. There were clothes hanging in the tree and I thought I’d take a couple of shots. No one seemed to mind me rambling about. Out of the church, I picked up a narrow lane behind some houses where I got some shots of rooftops and seagulls. This is the coast…it’s almost obligatory to get at least one shot of a seagull. The sun was still playing nicely and it was turning out to be hotter than I had expected. My black biker jacket was doing a great job of soaking up the heat.

Down the narrow street and into a car park where I got a couple of shots of benches and some snatched people ‘accidently’ caught in the shot. Fowey’s a good looking place. But after a while, you start going blind from the prettiness. There is a lot of prettiness here. A lot of well turned out gardens perfectly painted walls…there is money here. I can smell it.

I turn back at the car park and head back toward town catching the odd shot here and there of things that jumped out of me. I hadn’t thought I’d taken that many but I got through a memory card and I’ve bagged almost three hundred shots today.

I come back up through the high street and take a guy’s advice from this morning to get food from the Quay bakery. I was lulled into a steak pasty and as there was a charge on purchases with a card under a fiver and so I ended up with some bread pudding as well. I pull into the shop next door for a Diet Coke and try to chat to the girl behind the counter. I think I must have made her nervous as she gave me ten pounds cash back and forgot to charge me for the coke. I did remind her…I’m good like that.

There’s an old workers education building down on the quay which I sat outside of and munched away on the pasty. It’s fun to watch people pass by and see if I can work out what kind of things they do for a living. Some guy with a jumper over his shoulder parking a Range Rover…something in property? Then two boys about fifteen come by and fix me with furrowed stares. They have that odd jauntiness that teenagers have as they fit into their growing bodies. They look like a pair of young pit bulls with itchy bollocks that don’t know how to scratch themselves.

Re-fuelled I head off in the other direction from the high street. There wasn’t much to shoot other than a wicker frog and some maritime red metal cylinder on legs that was some twenty feet tall…that was…interesting. I get toward the end of the road, past the Fowey Hotel and turn back on myself toward the church.

I came down a narrow pathway back toward the church and were I parked up Horatio this morning. I couldn’t resist taking a few shots of him even though it did mean laying down on the ground to get a good angle.

I was planning on heading home by around 2 pm so I went back into town for another coke only to realise that I really needed to sit down. I’ve come back into the Galeon for a coffee and a vype…and to scribble this down as well.

Fowey’s been nice. A bit too pretty for me but the locals seemed friendly, it’s not too huge and it’s managed to keep itself from being just another Cornish coastal attraction selling pasties and postcards.

I’ve got to head back up the A38 now….darn.

Home and it’s a wrap

A nice bimble back home. I got a bit distracted on the A38 and when I looked down I saw that I was clocking 90mph….oops. I’d just passed under a bridge where a police speed camera van was parked up. Luckily he was facing toward me and Horatio doesn’t have a number plate on the front so hopefully, I’m in the clear.

I get home and Mr Andy is asleep in his chair. The house is quiet so I fire up my computer and sort through my photographs for the day. I didn’t realise I’d taken so many. There were a couple of nice ones on there and I’m glad I took the chance of getting out and about in Fowey before the cloud rolled in.

Andy stirs and we set to having some of the Chilli from the other day with salad and some wraps. I plug my iPad into the radio and we listen to Mark Steele in Town. I really like his show and am a bit jealous of how well he manages to paint a portrait of what the places he visits are like. I wonder if he does it all himself or does he have some research bods flicking through the local papers?

With dinner out the way, I finish off sorting through the photos and have a look at the map to see where I could head to tomorrow. I fancy getting to somewhere I’ve never been to before…maybe Boscastle. All the batteries have been recharged, the visor cleaned off the memory cards wiped. I’m all ready for another little adventure. I’m getting to like this bimbling about. Would be great for the weather to hold out for the next couple of days.

I take a shower then watch a few bits on the tele: DashCam videos, a bit of old Top of the Pops from the 80’s….’I wemember…oh yes….I wemember’.

To Fowey… It’s morning and I don’t feel terrible. There are odd jiggly feeling around my stomach and again, that odd sense that I’ve done something terribly wrong but otherwise, I feel quite, quite dandy.

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