#marlborough offers

[costreductionfirm]

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[on-a-lucky-tide]

Price visits Sweatbox in Soho and sees a Ghost.

(cw: oral sex, rimming, anal sex, gay sauna etiquette, sweaty gay men, repressed/closeted Price, bottom Ghost)

Price shut the locker with a relieved sigh and jumbled the numbers of the lock. He hadn't been to the Sweatbox in years but after that last spate of missions he was in desperate need of release. It had hit him at roughly 2100 that evening, a deep, keen ache in his gut and an itch beneath his skin.

He had shoved his feet into his boots and his desires had carried him to Soho. The bars were overflowing, the music loud and thumping. He paused outside the Duke of Wellington and hesitated in the doorway of the Admiral Duncan long enough to be jostled by two drunk boys stumbling into the night, but neither of the bars offered what he was immediately after. He would have to go through the song of dance of social interaction; buy drinks, dance, flirt. Price just didn't have it in him. Not anymore.

So he had trudged on; right down Wardour Street, his hands deep in his pockets; left down Great Marlborough Street, thinking perhaps if he could walk it off or thrash it out in the gym, then the ache would go away. It had been the emergence of a thickly muscled cub from Ramillies Street that had twigged the memory.

A sauna in Ramilies House and it was open twenty-four hours, seven days a week. It was tucked away behind Oxford Street, and he remembered that, in his youth, he had been excited by the idea of the average member of the public browsing the rails and shelves while thickly muscled men fucked each other raw barely two hundred yards away.

But now, he just needed to feel.

Price left the locker room and headed into the maze. It connected a number of saunas and it was in one of these that Price found his first liaison; a slim blond with a bright smile and a pretty little cock that fit perfectly in Price's mouth. Not quite enough, there was something missing, and Price nudged him away when a hand reached to squeeze his prick through his towel.

For half an hour Price sat in the heat and the steam, watching others arrive, connect, fuck and depart.

Connect.

That's what was missing. He wasn't looking for some whirlwind romance in a bloody sauna, but Price had always needed some form of deeper connection and understanding in sex. His first love had been a fellow rookie at the Royal Military Academy; it had been hot, heavy and swift, the connection built around raw desperation, exhaustion and a dogged will to succeed.

It had petered out the moment Price had graduated, the youngest officer to ever do so, and then been badged by the SAS. Since then, Price had tried to stick with like-minded men, men that understood him and the life. It was a fine line. A dangerous line. Especially before 2000 when being outed would have cost him a dishonourable discharge. Even now, the scars of those years, of Section 28, they stopped him from ever taking that step out of the shadows...

Fuck.

Price rubbed his hands over his face and left the sauna, resolving to grab a beer and then pick up the first pretty face who showed interest. He had a few hours to scratch this itch and make himself presentable for an online meeting. Better get to it.

The cafe was quiet; it was Sunday evening and most of the fun had happened the night before. There were only a scattered few men lounging on the sofas, chatting idly between bouts of touching and kissing, while porn played on the expensive-looking flat screens around the edge of the room. It was as Price marked the bar that he identified a sight that rooted his feet to the floor.

A broad, muscular back, an arm covered in skulls and miscellaneous battlefield imagery that was as familiar to him as the sight of his own damn beard in the mirror, and a balaclava'd head with a bit of fuzzy blonde showing at the scruff of the neck.

Price pressed his fingers into his eyes, pinched his nose, and then looked back to check Ghost wasn't a figment of dehydration or heatstroke from the bloody sauna. He wasn't. There he sat, calmly drinking a beer and watching a vintage porno on a nearby screen. His muscles were larger than even Ghost's standards, pumped from time in the gym, no doubt, and Price's prick gave an unhelpful twitch beneath his towel. At least some things remained constant.

There were two choices: Price could turn and walk away, which given the fragility of their situation here would have been the wiser option, or he could listen to the jittery excitement in the pit of his stomach and follow it to the bar.

His official report would have you believe Bravo Six to be truly peerless in issues of leadership, tracking and unconventional warfare, and then, in the small print, it would acknowledge his more than occasional frustration with rules and procedures. Tonight, he decided the small print would be well justified.

He slid into the bar stool at Ghost's side and folded his arms. There was a stillness to Ghost's posture now, replacing the relaxed fluidity of before. Price knew Ghost was regarding him, but in what way he couldn't be sure. Ghost, apparently reaching a conclusion, lifted his beer from the bar for another sip and Price watched his mouth more intently than he ever had before; lips gnarled by a deep, broad scar that bisected into a second on his jaw and neck.

"Sir," Ghost acknowledged, not taking his eyes off the television screen.

Heat balled in Price's belly. "Drop the 'sir', Lieuten--Simon. It means something else here."

"I'm aware."

Price nearly choked on his own spit. To cover the cough, he gestured at the semi-naked waiter and ordered himself a fifth of whiskey, and tightened his hand around it to keep it occupied.

"How long have you--?"

"Three hours."

Price squinted, and then realised Ghost was talking about his session in the sauna. "No, you muppet, how long have you been--?"

Even after all these years, sitting in a fucking sauna, Price couldn't say it.

Ghost had no such hang up. "Gay? Since I figured out what my dick was for." Notably, Ghost didn't return the question, which suggested he either wasn't entirely interested in the answer or felt like Price had overstepped.

Price stared at the whiskey in his hand, intimately aware of how hard he was getting under his towel, because his mind--so very fucking creative in the field--was now speed running all the ways he wanted to have Ghost, indulging in all those times he had pushed the fantasies down because leching after your straight junior officers was a one way ticket to personal hell. He wasn't entirely sure whether fucking your gay junior officer was any less self destructive.

"I've got a proposal," Ghost said, pushing his now empty bottle away. "I'm down to fuck, got one of the private cabins. It stays in here. Never leaves. We both get what we want."

There were so many layers to what Ghost was offering that it took Price a moment to parse them. The offer was clear as day, and Price knew he could trust Ghost's discretion; no one could keep a secret quite like Lieutenant Simon Riley. It was the, 'we both get what we want' part that left Price reeling.

Ghost reached over Price's lap and squeezed the length of his cock through his towel. Etiquette was clear in the saunas and Ghost's proposition couldn't have been more so. "First door on the right. Don't leave me waiting, sir."

Ghost slid from his stool, the towel sitting perfectly on the round curves of his arse, and disappeared into the maze. Price stared at the tumbler of whiskey in his hand and tried to reason himself out of making this mistake. It was no good; he was thinking with a different head that was desperate to feel Ghost's hand on it again.

Price knocked back his drink in two wincing gulps and grabbed a condom from the bowl on the bar. The maze was as calm as the cafe, but Price didn't pause to take in the ambience. If Ghost was following usual etiquette, his door would be open and there was a possibility that someone else would accept the invitation and Ghost would take the offer.

The door was indeed open, but the room was quiet but for the muffled sound of music. The sight that greeted Price as he stepped inside was something straight out of his wet dreams.

Ghost waited on his front, propped up on his elbows with his legs spread. The towel was gone and Price could see the elastic of a jock strap framing the two perfect curves of his arse. Between those thick thighs, Price could see the full swell of Ghost's sac, straining at soft cotton. Price knew Ghost was a work of art; he had admired his powerful body for years, watching it work in the gym and the field, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of Ghost like this. Spread and compliant, his body begging in the way he tilted his hips to expose his hole, muscular back shifting subtly.

"Like what you see, sir?" asked that low growl, and Price swallowed hard.

"Always have, Simon." The setting felt too intimate for call signs and honorifics. Price closed the door, declining any interruptions from others, and left his towel by it. The confession had just slipped out, but how could he not confess? He was about to worship at a truly special altar.

Ghost watched Price as far as he could without twisting, those long lashes low, until Price knelt on the foot of the bed. He was so hard, so fucking wet too, leaking like a virgin rookie panting in his bunk. Simon smelled of clean sweat from the gym and the shower he'd taken before, and Price crawled over his body to press his nose into those soft tufts of hair escaping the bottom of Ghost's mask; the line where Simon started.

His cock settled into the cleft of Simon's arse, and he didn't miss the way Simon spread his legs a little further and rocked up into the pressure of it. Fuck. Simon wanted it, wanted his hole filled, and it was Price's prick he was demanding.

Price left the condom on the bed as he worked his way down Simon's back, nipping, licking and kissing every peak and valley in its muscular topography. He was rewarded with a soft, panted groan when he reached the swell of Simon's arse and ended his journey with a gentle nip. "Spread 'em," Price demanded, finding his voice behind the knot in his throat.

Simon did so obediently, shifting to press the inside of his knees into the mattress, his body arching deliciously in a single, athletic curve that defied any doubt that a man of his size could be flexible. Price ran his nose over the soft skin, kissing a patch of freckles, before he pressed his thumbs into each cheek and spread Simon open. The first lap of his tongue made Simon choke on a gasp, and Price savoured that small victory; he was taking some control back.

Simon had been so calm at the bar, so completely unbothered, and Price had choked and stumbled like a boy. Now, with his tongue laving broad circles around Simon's rim, he knew he had gained ground back. Tactical warfare. The bristles of his moustache must have felt good, because Simon pushed back a little, betraying a budding neediness.

Price licked deeper, curling and writhing his tongue until Simon's pants were ragged, his hips bucking and jittering in an effort to stay still. Price took his time teasing Simon open, savouring each new twitch and noise he coaxed from the formidable body beneath him. When Price pushed his tongue deep, Simon finally relented. "Sir, John... Please."

That single word straining out in Simon's low, gravelly timber made Price's dick throb and he knew he'd done teasing. He lifted back to his knees and snatched the condom up just as Simon reached for a small tube of poppers tucked beneath the pillow. "I'll be gentle, Simon," Price said, tossing the foil aside as he wrapped up.

"No," Simon replied. "I want it hard, deep. Proper." Simon chucked a bottle of lube down the bed.

"Oh, fuck," Price breathed, gnawing on his lower lip. It took all his willpower to keep his hands steady as he poured some slick over his cock, and then warmed some on his fingers to tease around Simon's hole. He let Simon take a few breaths of his aid, watched those impressive muscles bunch and relax, before he slipped a finger in to the last knuckle. Simon's body opened so easily, almost sucked him in, and Price groaned low in his chest. "Fuckin' hell, Simon. You're made for this."

Simon grunted, rolling his hips back, his forehead dropping, and Price drew back to replace his hand with the tip of his prick. He was enjoying Simon's neediness, the way his skin shivered and his body opened itself so desperately, so he took his time thrusting in. With small, slow movements, Price enjoyed each successive inch he worked into slick, welcoming heat. He let the flare of his crown pop and catch on Simon's rim, enjoying the way Simon's body spread open around it.

It was better than he'd ever imagined, watching the sweat bead on Simon's back, feeling his body clench, listening to pants become low, tight moans of pleasure as Price finally worked in to the hilt.

"Ung, fuck," Simon huffed, fists clenching as he took another breath of relaxant. Price felt a swell of smug pride at the idea he was bigger than Simon's average and remembered what he'd been asked for. Hard, deep. Price slipped his hands beneath Simon's thighs to tilt his hips a little more, and set about finding a rhythm that would make Simon lose whatever self control he had left.

Price let his head fall back as he fucked into Simon with deep, hard thrusts. He found the right angle quickly enough, shifting a hand to press a palm to the small of Simon's back to keep him angled just right, and it was then that Simon found his voice. Each deep pound pushed a whimper or cuss from him, his head low between his shoulders as he clenched with each wet slap of Price's hips. Price found himself remembering those glorious tits of Simon's, always disguised by his tactical vest in the field, but perfectly framed in cotton during mess and down time.

Price drew out and hooked Simon's hip, flipping him onto his back. He didn't leave Simon empty for long, gathering muscular legs to his shoulders as he notched his prick against Simon's loose, greedy hole. Simon left one hand above his head, and circled his prick with the other, stripping it fast and hard with the same pace as Price's hips. Price spread his knees for purchase, chasing the building heat in his gut, coiling at the base of his spine, as he watched Simon's broad chest bounce, nipples pebbled, begging to sucked. "Fuck, Simon. Never thought I'd enjoy... your hole as much as this."

Simon didn't reply. He was too lost in the glorious burn of being fucked well. As he chased his peak, Price could hear him growl "yeah, yeah" under his breath, his free hand knotting in the sheets until his impressive cock finished in a hot load over his fist. His entire body tightened up, and Price fucked him through it, those pants turning into choked moans. Watching Simon unravel was enough for Price to find the edge, and he chased it to his own end, finishing deep in Simon and wishing the condom wasn't there. What he'd give to watch his claim leak out of Simon in the aftermath.

Price fell forward onto an elbow, his heart hammering in his chest. He had enough sense about him to draw out his softening cock, but not enough to prepare himself for the ragged lips that sealed over his and the eager tongue that swept into his mouth. Simon kissed like he fought; fierce, ruthless, single-minded, and Price moaned into it, before rolling off onto his back.

A few minutes of breathless silence passed, and then Simon grunted. "Only one?"

Price huffed an incredulous laugh. "Shit, Simon, let a man regroup."

Simon hummed and stretched with all the languid pleasure of a large cat sunning itself. "You've got a few more rounds in you yet, sir."

Turned out Price had quite a few more rounds in him. Half an hour later, Simon rode him, his head thrown back as powerful thighs fucked him down onto Price's prick, his hands behind his neck as Price squeezed his chest and teased his cock. Price took him again in one of the saunas, their skin slick with sweat, sensitive with heat. Price licked the drips from Simon's spine, grinding deep, barely withdrawing as Simon gripped the bench; Price made Simon shout his name that time. In between, Price gave Simon a massage and played with his hole, his balls, murmuring admiration and praise for the godly physique beneath his hands. They finished in the jacuzzi, Simon's mouth working down Price's cock as Price fingered him in slow, lazy thrusts.

They left the bathhouse in the early hours of the morning, and Price had begun the process of filing the whole experience into 'once in a lifetime' when Simon paused at the cusp of Oxford Street and glanced over his shoulder. "I'll be back next week." He pulled his mask down over his chin and disappeared into the pale early morning.

Price was already rearranging his plans for next Sunday.

[thedryswan]

It was, she reflected, one of the most insipid concerts of the season and she should be glad once it was at an end and she could call for the carriage without raising comment.

The refreshment rooms were as full as may be expected, most of the concert patrons feeling that a glass or two of Madeira wine would be a prerequisite for submitting willingly to the remainder of the evening's execrable programme.

Given the size of the crowd, it was no surprise that her elbow should be jogged by a passing gentleman who turned to her and apologised for the inconvenience.

"I beg your pardon, Ma'am." he offered with an elegant bow.

"With that voice and those manners, one must conclude you are a visitor from the colonies, Sir." replied Lady Hannah with a faint smile.

"Indeed. Captain Scott Tracy at your service."

"Tracy?" she thought a moment, "Ah, I believe you must be of the family that has taken possession of the house in Marlborough Square? I am Lady Hannah Rossall."

"Oh! Then it is at your comfortable home that we reside?" enquired Scott.

"One of them at least, and I cannot speak as to the comfort or otherwise, I never found it so. If my information is correct there are several of you, are there not?"

"I am the eldest of five brothers."

"Five? Heavens! What does your father find to occupy you all, you cannot all enter the church or the law."

... Tbc!!

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Ferrari Testarossa Spider, 1990, by Pininfarina. One of a handful of open-top Testarossas is to be offered at auction in November. Pininfarina made a spider for Fiat CEO Gianni Agnelli and several for the Sultan of Brunei but they also made a few "special production" cars for collectors. This one of those cars and what makes it truly special is that it has never been registered and has travelled a mere 413km. It has recently undergone mechanical and bodywork restoration and will be offered by RM Sotheby's at the Marlborough House Sale in London on November 5. The guide price is £1.4-£1.8 million ($1,600,000 – $2,050,000)

video here

auction listing

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Thanks for US schooling explanation. 

In UK, we do have P.E, but it’s not as detailed or developed like you describe in the US. 

P.E is so rudimentary that no one takes it seriously, and it focuses on very basic aerobics style exercise…all depends on programme P.E teacher devises. It differs from school to school. 

In private school, you might have P.E as an option, but more often than not, the school insists that each pupil takes up a sport or two. The people who are good enough to join house/ school sports teams are exceptional, but everyone in the student body will have a sports in their educational arsenal. 

Keeping this conversation with Kate, look at the sports page of Marlborough school. 

https://www.marlboroughcollege.org/co-curricular/sport/

Quote from website:

Sport is part of daily life at Marlborough. We strive for every pupil to participate actively and to have a truly positive experience, developing a lifelong interest in and lasting enjoyment of sporting activity that will foster good habits long into adulthood.

Our talented and dedicated coaching teams strive to create the best possible environment for pupils to learn with a judicious mixture of challenge and open communication. There are many opportunities for pupils to represent the College in teams across a wide range of over 20 competitive sports, as well as participating in frequent high-energy house competitions, utilising our outstanding College facilities.

List of sports on offer:

https://www.marlboroughcollege.org/co-curricular/sport/all-sports/

Athletics, Basketball, Cricket, CrossCountry,  Equestrian, Fencing, Fives, Football, Golf, Hockey, Lacrosse, Netball, Polo, Rackets, Rugby, Shooting, Squash, Swimming, Tennis, Water Polo. 

It’s impossible to be a coach potato in a school where you are required to take up at least one from the above list of sports. 

Other schools eg Bryanston and Milfields whose raison d'etre is sports rather than academics will have a longer list of sports for their student body to choose from. 

***********

This is very interesting, anon -- thanks for following up and sharing! But now I wonder if it’s a chicken or the egg kind of a situation. Is Kate sporty because of Marlborough’s focus on athletic enrichment? Or was Marlborough a much better fit for Kate because she was sporty to begin with?

And, ah, aerobics...any time we had a sub in middle school PE (grades 6-8/ages 11-13), they’d throw us in the gym with a Billy Banks Tae Bo video projected on the wall.

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. 

[rhysdarbinizedarby]

Rhys Darby dropped us a line the other day….want to WIN A DOUBLE PASS to his gig?? HE's COMING HERE IN JULY with Mystic Time Bird 🙂 LIKE this post, SHARE this post, TAG your funniest mate and let us know your favourite Rhys Darby moment! Offer closes Tuesday 18th @ 12pm - don't miss out!

Source: ASB Theatre Marlborough on Facebook (14 April 2017)

[lordoftheringsmusical]

Excerpts from the article:

The Watermill Theatre is looking for a sponsor or donor to help celebrate the environmental message at the core of its summer musical, a new production of The Lord of the Rings. This partnership offers a unique opportunity to partner with the theatre to reach thousands of people with a positive message about taking action to address the climate emergency.

The theatre plans to give audience members wildflower seeds to take home and create their own little corner of Middle-earth. Designed to highlight the importance of caring for our environment and protecting nature and wildlife for future generations, the seed packets will be handed to audiences as they leave the show. In order to realise this element of the experience, The Watermill is seeking a partner to fund or donate approximately 5,000 wildflower seed packets for The Lord of The Rings which runs for 12 weeks from 25 July.

[pcrfectstorms]

CLOSED STARTER for @berylcluster feat. remus & sirius

remus slinked into the gryffindor common room, the sun was barely up, and james alarm for practice still had a good forty five minutes before it would be waking the rest of his dorm room, he yawned, eyes still sleep hazed as he plopped down on one of the worn in couches, book bag hitting the ground with dense thud, reaching down to pull out a book, humaniod creatures and shapeshifters the title read, opening up to a page titled Shelliferous Drogodflikerous, hideous he thought, as he began reading. remus always struggled with sleep on the approach of the full moon, his bones ached as if remembering what was about to occur, his nerve endings fried and on edge at this stage of the lunar cycle, which often resulted in early mornings hauled up the common room or library while most of the rest of the castle slept.

he was so engrossed in the chapter he barely looked up when he heard the door of the common room open, eyes bright when they met with sirius who was the last person he expected to be up at this time of the morning - if you could even call it morning, "you're up early, pads. you feelin' okay?" he teases playful, tongue poking out between teeth. carefully placing his book mark in to hold his page as he set down his book in his lap, another yawn escaping his mouth. " couldn't sleep, hips achin' and my bloody shoulder, feel like an old woman -" he sighs, as he begins to explain, before sirius even asks, although it was common knownledge to the marauders that remus was a bit of an early bird. his eyes rolling as he reaches in his pocket to pull out a pack of marlborough reds, placing one between his lips before offering the pack out to sirius, lighting his own with his wand like professor Ferox has showed him how to do in third year -- not very professory of him right enough, but that was what made him remus' favourite teacher.

[lothiriel84]

That May Be Found, if Sought

AU. A slightly different take on the 'Margaret has no relation left in England who might take care of her after her father's death' scenario.

A North and South ficlet. Background John/Margaret.

It was over. There was nothing to be done but to own to his failure, and seek alternative arrangements for the comfort of those entrusted to his care. 

With a peculiar sense of finality, Mr Thornton closed the ledger and leant back against his chair. Thank God Fanny was taken care of; his only regret was that he would no longer be able to keep his mother in the same comfort that was owed to her age as well as in gratitude for the many hardships she had once had to endure for her children’s sake.  

As for Miss Hale, he would consult with Mr Bell as to what was best for her future. Surely Mrs Lennox was by now fully recovered from her recent confinement, and could be prevailed upon to welcome her cousin in her Corfu home; failing that, he knew Miss Hale had been corresponding with a relative of Mrs Hale’s residing in Cadiz, and it was to be hoped that this man, whoever he was, would think it his duty to provide for his young relation in her time of need. 

It had been a very peculiar kind of torment, living in such close quarters with the woman he loved for months on end, knowing full well nothing might ever come out of it. Much to his secret shame, he remembered doing his utmost to talk his mother out of the idea, only to discover her unmovably determined to abide by the word she had given to a dying woman, and see to Mrs Hale’s orphaned daughter despite her own strong reservations against the young lady in question.  

And so it was that Miss Hale had come to live with them at Marlborough House, like a ghostly Eurydice perpetually lurking at the periphery of Mr Thornton’s vision. He would not, could not look back at her; he loved her still, desperately so, and she was just as unattainable to him as on that day in the Crampton parlour, when she had let him know in no uncertain terms that she had always disliked him. It would never do for him to betray the full extent of his lingering affection; she was grieving, and a guest in his home – he was determined that she should never find out about his daily struggle with his own emotions, entirely inappropriate as they were. 

It had been exhausting, even more so than his losing battle to save the mill, and he had thought at times he might be driven insane with longing and despair. He had fought with all his might, against his own heart as much as the unmerciful numbers stacked in his ledger, and had ultimately failed on both counts.  

He would soon be out of business, and forced to send Miss Hale away, never to see her again. At his weakest, he had thought it preferable to the pain of being daily reminded of his unrequited feelings, of having to constantly check himself in her presence; now he knew there would be no greater punishment for him but to relinquish his role as Miss Hale’s protector, however unwilling taken upon himself at the outset.  

It did not matter. It was out of his hands now, and that was a strange kind of relief, in some backward sort of way. He ought to be grateful to Miss Hale for refusing his offer of marriage, all those months prior; it meant he was now spared from the indignity of having failed a beloved wife as well as his dear mother, and Miss Hale never needed to know the indignity of finding herself tied to a husband so far below her in all essentials.  

He would write to Mr Bell imminently, see to it that Miss Hale was taken care of. 

If only he weren’t so unspeakably tired. 

Finally giving in to the bone-deep weariness of body and mind alike, Mr Thornton laid his head on his arms, and slept. 

.

Margaret knew instinctually that something was very wrong. Mrs Thornton was not in the habit of showing her emotions any more than Mr Thornton did, yet even her proud, haughty demeanour could not conceal the depth of her concerns on account of her son.  

“Is it about the mill?” she ventured one evening as they were sitting in silence, both of them intent on their sewing. “I know I have no right to ask – indeed, you must think me most impertinent – I only wish to make myself useful, if at all possible.” 

Mrs Thornton regarded her for a long moment, though not unkindly. “I thank you, Miss Hale, but I fear there is nothing you or I could do that would serve. As it is, my son is already looking for another situation, and I have no doubt he will see to it that you are safely delivered in the care of your relations abroad.”  

For the first time since she had come to live in this house, Margaret could see right through the other woman’s stern facade, and her heart clenched in sympathy at the thought of all the hard times Mrs Thornton had had no choice but to endure. “I thank him, but I have no wish to quit Milton at present. I shall write to Mr Bell to make the necessary arrangements – he has ensured me time at time again that he would gladly assist me for my poor Papa’s sake, and I feel sure dear old Dixon would never think of deserting me in my hour of need.” 

The truth was, she had been too wrapped up in her grief at the time to oppose any plan that had been put in place for her future; Mrs Thornton, on her part, had assured her with some asperity that this had been her late mother’s wish, and that she hoped she knew better than to shrink away from her duty, however unpleasant.  

Margaret had not given much thought to the practicalities of living under the same roof with the man she had once bitterly rejected, and whose regard was now irretrievably lost to her. Once the initial outbreak of her grief had begun to settle into something more manageable, she had discovered just how painful his indifference could be at such close quarters, and lamented the loss of his good opinion nearly as deeply as she mourned that of her beloved parents.  

Oh, he was unflinchingly polite, and would invariably make sure her every need was met; but he would not look at her, as if ashamed of the foolish passions he had once harboured for her. Many a time she had wished herself as far away from here as could be, but now she did not think she could bear the prospect of being forever parted from him.  

“With your permission, I will go and write to Mr Bell directly,” she offered, scarcely waiting for Mrs Thornton’s acknowledging nod to slip out of the parlour and head upstairs.  

As she walked down the passageway leading to her chamber, she noticed the light filtering through the door of Mr Thornton’s study; she paused, listening for any sign of activity inside, her hand reaching for the doorknob almost of its own accord. 

.

A floorboard creaked under her step, and Mrs Thornton held her breath, dreading nothing more than discovery at such a time as this. Miss Hale, however, continued in perfect ignorance of her presence, intent on draping her own shawl around John’s shoulders – sprawled as he was across his desk, and fast asleep.  

“Would that I could do anything to spare you from this misfortune,” she heard the young woman whisper as if in prayer, and watched on in stunned amazement as the bold thing tenderly pressed her lips to the top of her son’s head.  

It had taken several months for Mrs Thornton to finally warm up to Miss Hale; she would now privately admit to misjudging the girl’s character at the outset, and had lately come to a begrudging sort of respect for her many qualities – all of that in spite of her lingering resentment for the pain she had once chosen to inflict upon her son.   

When all was said and done, Miss Hale was as loyal as they came, and had given proof of uncommon inner strength for a southern lass. Proud she might be, and far too strong-minded for her own good; but if her time in Milton had taught the girl anything, it was to do away with her many prejudices, so much as to make Mrs Thornton reconsider her own in turn. 

It had not been long into Miss Hale’s residence at Marlborough House that Mrs Thornton had begun to doubt all the aspersions that had been cast upon the girl’s character and morals. It had struck her then, that there could very well be a perfectly innocent explanation for the events at Outwood Station, and wondered that her son had not considered it, so taken with the girl as he clearly still was.  

Never had she more regretted the promise Mrs Hale had obtained from her, God rest her poor soul, than upon seeing her son retract into himself day after day, haunted by Miss Hale’s very presence in his home. Not once had it occurred to her that the girl might have changed her mind after all, now of all times as the mill had failed, and John’s prospects were irretrievably ruined in the eyes of society. 

As she quietly shut the door behind her, she marvelled at the caring look which had been plain to see on Miss Hale’s face, and it was with some considerable regret that she at last reached the conclusion that it would all be for nothing. Honourable man that he was, John would not offer for the girl again in his reduced circumstances, and Miss Hale could not remain indefinitely in Milton without the protection of either a husband or some family relation.  

The strikers ought to be happy now, she pondered bitterly. Her son had lost everything he had strived so hard for, and her heart sank at the thought of him having to pick himself up from the bottom once more, wondering how he would ever find the strength to do so this time. 

.

Mr Bell took a delicate sip of his tea, unobtrusively observing the mistress of the house as she instructed the servants to have their second-best guest room readied for the night. He could not say he was particularly fond of Mrs Thorntons’s authoritarian manner, nor of the sharpness of her tongue, but it so happened that she was a hardheaded woman and entirely devoted to her son, and he had come here prepared to trust her judgement on so delicate an issue as the one he had been called upon to settle. 

“I will be entirely frank with you, Mrs Thornton – I had been hoping the matter would sort itself out, so to speak, and I’m disappointed in the young people’s lack of initiative when it comes to our current predicament.” 

He did not squirm under her withering stare, but it was a near thing. “I expect this is the reason why you so readily agreed to the scheme, rather than making any real effort towards procuring a suitable establishment for your goddaughter in Oxford. I ought to have seen it at the time, though I must confess I did not think of it.” 

“Can you blame me for wishing to see the child more permanently settled, before I am made to remove myself entirely from the equation? My doctor assures me it is a mere matter of weeks now – and although Margaret is to be my heiress, it would have eased my mind to leave her in the care of an honourable man, such as I know Mr Thornton to be.” 

Mrs Thornton shook her head, and it struck him how changed she was from the last time he had seen her – more careworn, the weight of her son’s failure bearing down quite heavily upon her. “She would not have him, before, and he will not ask her again now that he is forced to give up his business. Had there been more time, perhaps – but surely you must see how Miss Hale is to benefit from the circumstances, and I hope I am not so bitter as to wish a future of poverty and drudgery on the girl, however mistaken I may have been on her character at the beginning of our acquaintance.” 

Placing the teacup back on its delicate saucer Mr Bell steepled his fingers under his chin, and when he spoke again, it was with a kind of slow deliberation. “Mrs Thornton, I have here in my pocket two letters – one is from your son, begging me to take Margaret under my care and see to it that every effort is made towards ensuring her wellbeing; the other is from my affectionate goddaughter, expressing her fondest wish to remain in Milton at present, as well as appealing to my generosity for anything that might be done to alleviate Mr Thornton’s present circumstances. And here I stand, holding their future happiness in the palm of my hand – I have the power to tip the scales one way or the other, though I am loath to use it without receiving confirmation as to whether the young people’s inclination lie in that same direction.” 

The ghost of a smirk touched Mrs Thornton’s lips, and then was gone. “You need not have wasted your time so. It is painfully obvious to anyone but Miss Hale herself that my son worships the very ground the girl walks on; as for Miss Hale, I fear she has got it into her head that John will no longer have her, and I would have long talked her out of this misapprehension, had it not been for the precarious state the mill was finding itself in.” 

Mr Bell sat back more comfortably in his armchair, quietly considering his options. “It is settled, then,” he announced with studied geniality, narrowing his eyes in expectation of the lady’s reaction. “I shall make the bulk of my fortune over to Miss Hale, and that includes all my Milton properties. I trust the dear girl will know how to make good use of her inheritance, and that you shall no longer need to worry about your future, Mrs Thornton.” 

“You must know my son has never taken kindly to charity, Mr Bell,” came Mrs Thornton’s pointed objection, which he all but dismissed with an airy wave of his hand. 

“I have every faith in my goddaughter’s powers of persuasion,” he stated, and made to take his leave for the time being. 

.

Higgins’ head shot up, and he eyed the Master with considerable interest. “The mill, you say? And the house, too?” 

“Yes,” Mr Thornton nodded, his gaze fixed on the machinery sitting ominously still all around them. “She’s a great heiress now, Higgins. I expect she shall have the mill up and running in no time at all – that list of hands you presented me with, you’d better give it to her, for I know she’ll not rest until she has given back work to the last one of them.” 

“What about you, then, Master?” Higgins prompted him, forgoing any attempt at subtlety. “What are you to do now?” 

“I shall remove from Marlborough House presently,” Thornton replied quite firmly, his mouth set in a grim line. “I am looking into a suitable situation for my mother, and in the meantime, I trust Miss Hale will be so kind as to let her remain in the house until satisfactory arrangements can be made.” 

Silence stretched on between them, with Higgins’ brains working furiously on the issue at hand. He knew well enough the Master wouldn’t take kindly on any interference on his part, but he was too fond of Miss Margaret to let matters stand as they were.  

“Why don’t you ask her again?” he spoke somewhat bluntly, braving Mr Thornton’s ensuing glare with perfect serenity. “Or do you think it an accident that the lass never asked to be shipped off to her brother in Cadiz?” 

“Her what now?” the Master nearly choked on the words, unobtrusively leaning back against one of the looms for support.  

“Him that came over before Mrs Hale died,” Higgins clarified, and had to make a conscious effort to suppress a smile as he spotted a familiar figure approaching with a quick, determined step. “You may ask Miss Margaret there, I’m sure she’ll not mind giving you all the details now that her brother is safely settled in Spain.” 

The alacrity with which Mr Thornton spun around spoke volumes of where his heart truly lay. “If you’ll be needing me, I’ll be in the carding shed, Master,” he announced, loudly enough for Miss Margaret to hear also. 

When he emerged half an hour later, he did so in as quiet a manner as not to disturb the young lovers, locked in a tender embrace that would swiftly become the talk of all Milton, were it to be noticed by anyone but himself. He was by now well enough acquainted with Mr Thornton’s character to trust him with Miss Margaret’s reputation, and as for the lass, he knew she would never consent to any true impropriety. 

Let the young people enjoy their happiness in peace, he mused to himself, even as he strolled out into the clear morning. His gaze was invariably drawn to the upper window at which Mrs Thornton was standing, looking down into the mill yard, and he made sure to touch his cap in a quick salute.  

Their eyes met in brief understanding, and he saw Mrs Thornton’s stern features rearrange themselves into something close enough to a smile. He walked on, whistling a familiar tune, and eagerly anticipated the moment he would be called to offer his most heartfelt congratulations to the new couple.  

[sewandbind]

Adventures in... lingerie making?

Yeah so at some point I thought, you know what I'm going to do instead of studying for my finals? Bra sewing. So I took a deep dive into bra patterns, underwires, lace and elastic.

There are a few patterns so many people rave about online, the Harriet bra, the Black Beauty bra, the Marlborough bra etc. There are so many small pattern companies specialised in lingerie patterns and it was a little intimidating when choosing one. They're also not cheap. A bra pattern is easily 15-20$ and I get why, but I'm a little cheap when it comes to patterns. This is however not a project I wanted to draft my own cups for. The Maya bra is a free pattern, but it's not a style of bra I wear often.

I don't have big boobs (I wear a 65D/30D) and like, a lot of the home-sewing bra patterns offer a lot of coverage and support. Which is great! But it's not what I wanted. So when I saw this nice plunging/push-up bra pattern, and people online were like "it's not a beginner friendly, buy when you have some bra-making experience" I went like "that sounds like a perfect pattern for me, a beginner". Of course I bought the paper pattern of the Merckwaerdigh PBH30. And the Cambia bra pattern because it intrigued me.

Then it was time to get lost in all the kinds of elastics and fabrics I would need. I caved and just bought a bra kit; shipping prices can variable and I didn't like the kits the Dutch sites offered. I did however like this black lace set by smallbobbins.be.

And then I started on a test bra, made out of some cotton voile and purple lace and lycra I had in my fabric stash. I had such a hard time with the instructions; even though they're available in mine and Merckweardigh's native language, this pattern is very... ehm brief in the instructions. Thank the gods for the wayback machine and clothing engineer's tutorial on how to insert the removable padding pocket. After that things made way more sense, but I still wrote my own instructions + illustrations (message me if you're interested). I decided halfway through my mock up, that I felt confident enough and that I would make a 'mock up' out of the bra set. I used a different piece of bra tule that was included (it was a shade lighter). The cup pieces were so small that I suspected I could make at least 2 bra's out of it if I threw some strap elastic, rings and sliders in that I already had in my stash. I ripped the hook and eye closure of a too small bra and reused it.

I made the B70, like the measurements table told me to do. I allowed myself some experimenting with a one-piece lace cup fabric (not my fave look). It went pretty well! Until I used a zigzag stitch to topstitch the power mesh to the picot elastic and the black thread on the beige power mesh showed all the missed stitches of my machine. It's not pretty at all. I hate ripping out seams that are positioned well, but I do want to redo this after I do some much needed maintenance and timing management on my machine, before I start zigzagging my 'official' version of the bra.

The wires, even though they're push up wires, are a little too big, but I've ordered shorter ones.

To mine and everybody's surprise, (no really, I was really surprised), the cups are... too small? Yeah not sure how that happened. I might be on my period, but even those measurements fall neatly in the "84-86 cm" measurement for the B70 cup. I'm not totally spilling over, but it's noticeable enough that some of my breast tissue is not in the cup before I did the swoop. Adding the little padding 'cookies' for some volume is making the problem a little worse. So I guess that means I'm making a C70 for my 'official' bra.

[dailyunsolvedmysteries]

Ben Smart and Olivia Hope: New Year’s Murders

Ben Smart and Olivia Hope, two young New Zealanders, disappeared in the early hours of the morning on New Year's Day, 1 January 1998. The two friends had been celebrating on New Year's Eve at Furneaux Lodge in the Marlborough Sounds with 1500–2000 other partygoers.  

 Hope had travelled to the lodge with a group on a chartered yacht, Tamarack, while Smart had arrived separately. At about 4:00 a.m., lodge bartender Guy Wallace drove Hope and Smart in his water taxi to Tamarack, where the pair intended to sleep. When Hope and Smart found there were no vacant berths remaining aboard Tamarack, they re-boarded Wallace's water-taxi. At the time, Wallace had three other passengers on board: Hayden Morresey, Sarah Dyer, and a single man who would become crucial to the police investigation. The single man offered the pair a place to sleep on what he said was his yacht. Wallace let Smart and Hope off with the single man at the yacht, and then dropped off the two other passengers at their bach. This was the last time Smart and Hope were seen alive.

Ben Smart and Olivia Hope were reported missing on 2 January 1998. Initially the Blenheim police treated the investigation as a missing-persons case, but it soon became apparent that the disappearance was suspicious and out of character for the duo. The investigation was named "Operation TAM" (short for Tamarack) and generated widespread interest from the public and media. The investigation was large in scope, featuring requests for information from the public, significant amounts of interviews across the country and months of extensive searches of the waters surrounding the Endeavour Inlet. Despite this, no bodies were ever found. 

With little to go on, police began trying to determine the identity of the unknown or 'mystery' man that offered Ben and Olivia a place to sleep on his boat. Police claimed that there were a number of descriptions of Scott Watson earlier in the night that were similar to descriptions of the unknown man. These descriptions depicted Watson as having a scruffy look that night, saying he had wavy hair, and needed a shave/haircut. However, a photograph of Watson, taken on the Mina Cornelia yacht where he partied before heading to Furneaux Lodge, shows him clean-shaven with short hair. ]Police quickly focused their investigation on Watson. Later in the investigation, Pope would say that Watson "stood out like dog's balls" and "had the right sort of agenda and pedigree", apparently referring to his criminal record. Watson had 48 criminal convictions at the time, mainly from when he was a teenager for burglary, theft, cannabis offences, two counts of possessing an offensive weapon and one for assault when he was 16. He had been imprisoned for two short periods in 1989 and 1990. Watson had seemingly reformed in his twenties, having just one conviction in the eight years leading up to 1998.

Water taxi driver Guy Wallace told police and the media that he had dropped Smart and Hope off at wooden ketch with two masts. He described the ketch as well-maintained, built of timber, with a thick blue stripe on the hull, and several round portholes with brass surrounds. Watson's boat, Blade, was very different to the one Wallace described; it was a 26 feet long, steel sloop with one mast, no portholes and did not have a blue strip. Witness to these events, Hayden Morresey, told the court that the boat he saw Olivia and Ben get on to with the unidentified man was not Watson's sloop, Blade. Police analysed thousands of photos taken on New Year's Eve and interviewed all of the boat skippers there but were unable to corroborate Wallace's reports of a ketch in the Endeavour Inlet that night. 

At the trial, the Crown also claimed that Police eliminated every one of the other 176 yachts identified in the vicinity at the time as the vessel which the two victims boarded after being dropped off by Guy Wallace's water taxi. Detective Pope stated that the police were fairly certain the ketch did not exist. However, a number of witnesses who came forward with sightings of a two masted ketch said their statements were not followed up or were told their information was not wanted. Former detective Mike Chappell, who worked on the case, later claimed officers were told not to follow up sightings of two-masted ketches. 

Despite the initial publicity and search for a two masted ketch, the police seized Watson's comparatively small sloop, Blade, and from then on focussed their investigation on him. Writing in North & South, investigative reporter Mike White said: "A public demonisation of Watson began, with police often doing little to stop rumours about him that began swirling". Rumours about the Watson family began to swirl in the small town of Picton, as well as in national media. Police obtained warrants to tap the phone lines of Watson and his associates from February until his arrest, an investigation known as "Operation Celt". Police recorded 70-plus hours of Watson's phone conversations and persuaded his former girlfriend to ask him potentially incriminating questions. At his trial, the jury heard 40 minutes of edited conversations. Watson was described by a police representative as "smug" during these conversations, but never said anything to indicate he was involved.

 Later, Watson would accuse police of influencing media coverage of the case suggesting he was guilty; he said the police followed and intimidated members of his family and alleged he had had an incestuous relationship with his sister. Gerald Hope, Olivia's father, has also asserted that the police deliberately leaked details of Watson's criminal history and were responsible for the unsubstantiated suggestions of incest. 

Guy Wallace also said he felt tremendous pressure from police and the media. He was interrogated by the detectives from Christchurch CIB who suggested he was somehow responsible for the disappearance of Hope and Smart. As a result of accusations against him by the police, some locals began treating him with suspicion. People he knew began to think he was guilty and shunned him. He said that in the initial stages of the investigation, the police were desperate to arrest someone, and it could easily have been him: "I know in my heart of hearts, if he [Scott] wasn't in there, I'd be doing time. It's just that simple." When the police turned their focus on to Watson, they showed him Scott Watson's photo at least three times. Each time he said Watson was not the mystery man he had served drinks to at Furneaux Lodge. In 2007, Wallace told investigative journalist Mike White: "I feel I've been shafted by the cops. As far as I'm concerned, Scott's innocent, always has been."

In 2015, Wallace told Stuff that for years afterwards, he was haunted by his involvement with the case, and that he felt responsible for sending Watson to prison. He said the case had a "huge impact" on his life. In March 2021, he died in a suspected suicide.

]On 20 April 1998, Wallace was shown a photo montage containing eight different shots. In one of these shots, Scott had his eyes half closed in the middle of blinking. The unidentified man on the water taxi had been described as having 'hooded eyes'. Based on this "blink" photograph, Wallace picked Watson as the single man on the water taxi. So did Roz McNeilly, the bar manager who had served drinks to the unknown man at Furneaux Lodge. Neither Wallace or McNeilly were shown the photograph of Scott Watson, taken on the Mina Cornelia yacht which shows him clean-shaven with short hair. Based on these identifications, Watson was arrested for the murders in the early hours of 15 June 1998, about five months after the pair were reported missing. Subsequently, both Wallace and McNeilly recanted and stated the police deceived them with the blink photo

Watson was convicted of the murders in September 1999 after an eleven-week trial and sentenced to life imprisonment with a minimum non-parole period of seventeen years. Watson told the jury "You're wrong" when the verdict was read out in court. In 2015 he said he never met Ben or Olivia and has continued to insist he is innocent since conviction.

[jomiddlemarch]

Each time you happen to me all over again, part II

“How unhappy she is, Countess Olenska,” Emma said, fiddling with the ribbon tying the end of her night-plait. It was scarlet, like a cardinal’s wing, far too gay for its purpose, but it had delighted Henry when he’d first seen it and so she’d resolved to use nothing but the brightest bits of silk ribbon she had in her sewing basket, however little it suited the propriety of a minister’s wife.

“She seemed cheerful enough at the dinner,” Henry said. “There was no shortage of smiles for the gentlemen, she was quite generous in that regard.”

“You are quite the dearest goose, Henry,” Emma replied.

“I feel you’re casting aspersions upon my character, though I must admit, it sounds quite nice when you do,” he said, hanging his frock coat up quite carefully. She’d finally mastered the ironing of it around the time they could well afford to hire a laundress and Henry hadn’t lost the habit of trying to minimize any wrinkles. He wasn’t so orderly by temperament, so she’d known he did it out of love for her, though the benefit to his cuffs and collars had been immeasurable.

“You’d say that even if I called you an abominable blackguard,” she said.

“I would if you said it like that,” he answered, smiling.

“How did I say it?”

“Adoringly. Adorably,” he said. She could not have anticipated how openly tender the stern and solemn Reverend Hopkins of Mansion House would be once they’d wed and she felt the sharpest pang of pity for the lonely Countess.

“She hasn’t anything like this, Countess Olenska” Emma said.

“I should think not,” Henry replied. “I’ve not got much in common with a wealthy Polish aristocrat.”

“She doesn’t live with him. If she loved him, she doesn’t anymore, but she can’t be with the man she does love most desperately,” Emma said. The loneliness of it colored her voice and Henry came over and sat beside her, taking her hands in his, unbothered by his untucked shirt, his bare feet.

“How are you so certain, my darling?” he asked. “I didn’t think you had any private conversation with her, for her to confide so in you.”

“I didn’t speak to her. It’s because I recognize her expression. I saw it often enough in my own looking-glass when we were in Alexandria during the War. After Ayres Farm,” she said.

“I was a fool,” he said softly. But there was no bitterness left in his tone. They’d finally gotten beyond that, though it had taken plenty of Henry’s self-recrimination, Emma’s exasperation, and Mary Foster sending over a properly baked Marlborough pie and Dr. Foster tucking in a bottle of French brandy accompanied by a short note Dose liberally.

“You were foolish,” she said. “And I was stubborn. But whoever Countess Olenska loves so devotedly must not be willing to see what he’s giving up.”

“You say willing. Perhaps he isn’t able,” Henry suggested.

“It must be a lack of will. She couldn’t love a man who didn’t understand who she is, what she offers. Nor could she be so attached to someone who’d be so bound to society’s strictures that he’d give her up,” Emma said.

“He might not be free,” Henry said. “He might owe his honor before his heart.”

“It sounds very well, but it’s sheer addle-pated codswallop,” Emma replied with alacrity, making Henry chuckle and then lift one of her hands to his lips for a kiss.

“I begin to think you have spent too much time talking with Jed Foster,” Henry said. “That sounds like one of his bon mots.”

“I shall tell him you said so and you’ll hear him shout down the house with his laughter,” Emma replied. “He’d agree with me if he saw the Countess. He had that same look about him when he thought he’d never be able to marry Mary, however much he tried to disguise it with his never-ending exasperation with Dr. Hale.”

“Perhaps you’re right. About the Countess and how Jed looked back then,” Henry said. “I can’t recall so clearly.”

“You can’t?”

“When I think back to those days, I only see your face, Emma,” Henry said.

There was nothing she could say in response, so she did what she must, drawing his lips to hers for a kiss.

[ladyimaginarium]

The sound of crickets chirping outside, Rosie's quiet snoring at the edge of her bed and the faint sound of whatever was playing on TV filled the atmosphere with a sense of peace that Clementine hasn't felt in weeks. Summer nights like this were cruel sometimes and the heat didn't make it better. Nothing was a bigger bitch than C-PTSD episodes at night, though, but Marlon is here, and he grounds her by holding her here with him in place, a cigarette in between his fingers as he exhales smoke away from her face. Clem breathes him all in, Marlborough reds, ashwood, the tide of ocean, the faint smell of his blood when he came to her house earlier that evenings because his mother's shitty boyfriend beat and kicked his ass out of his own house with his mother doing nothing, and with no one else home, she kept him here. Golden eyes flicker to the clock on her nightstand. 3:33. Her chin rests on his forehead while he buries his face in the crook of her neck.

Yet another week of exams was coming but right now that was the last thing on their minds. “Rebecca called me earlier today. Imma' babysit AJ in the afternoon while she and Alvin do their errands an' shit, then James wants to borrow me for another quick photoshoot and then get on Zoom to study with Aasim. You can come with if you want.” Clem offers, and Marlon chuckles lightheartedly. “Yeah. AJ'll wanna see Rosie, too, and we can't deny him that.”

Clem nods in agreement. Ah, yes, Rosie was a lovely service dog.

After a moment of silence, she murmurs, “I love you.” her voice is soft and hushed.

“I love you, too.”

And that was all they needed for tonight. Just each other.

[oz-the-hummingbird]

Frosty mornings in upstate NY

Just before Christmas we spent a few days around Woodstock, NY and the beautiful surrounding forests. This little hidden gem of an overnight spot offered misty mountain views of the Marlborough mountain range nearby. Chilly but pretty~

[cosmosim]

The Best Travelling Wine Tasting in Different Destinations

The best travelling wine tasting experiences take you to renowned wine regions around the world, from Napa Valley to Tuscany, Bordeaux to the Barossa Valley. These curated tours allow you to sample exquisite wines, learn from expert vintners, and explore stunning vineyard landscapes. Each destination offers its own unique flavours and winemaking traditions, creating a rich, immersive experience for wine lovers. Perfect for combining travel with a passion for wine, these tours are unforgettable adventures.

The Heart of American Wine of The Most Famous Wine regions in The World of Travelling Wine Tasting

Napa Valley, California, is one of the most famous wine regions in the world, making it a top destination for travelling wine tasting. With its award-winning wineries, scenic vineyards, and iconic Cabernet Sauvignon, Napa offers personalised wine tours and tastings. Visitors can enjoy everything from private cellar experiences to food pairings, making it a must-visit for any wine enthusiast.

The Historic French Wine Haven Known As History and Exceptional Blends of Travelling Wine Tasting

Bordeaux, France, is another prime destination for travelling wine tasting, known for its rich history and exceptional blends. This region produces some of the world’s finest wines, including Merlot and Cabernet Franc. Wine lovers can explore historic châteaux, participate in guided tastings, and immerse themselves in the deep-rooted French winemaking traditions that have shaped the industry.

Tuscany’s Chianti and Brunello Adventures Blend The Beauty CountrySide of Travelling Wine Tasting

For those seeking a travelling wine tasting experience with picturesque views, Tuscany is the ideal destination. Known for its stunning landscapes and delicious Chianti and Brunello wines, Tuscany offers tours that blend the beauty of the countryside with exceptional wine tastings. Visitors can tour charming vineyards, meet local producers, and indulge in authentic Italian wine culture.

Australia’s Shiraz Paradise is A Top Travelling Destination for fan of Bold with Travelling Wine Tasting

Australia’s Barossa Valley is a top travelling wine tasting destination for fans of bold, full-bodied wines. Famous for its Shiraz, this region offers intimate tastings at boutique wineries and large-scale vineyards alike. Travellers can take part in vineyard tours, barrel tastings, and enjoy food pairings featuring local Australian produce, all while soaking in the beautiful, sun-drenched landscapes.

A Taste of the Cape of South Africa, Introduces visitors of Travelling Wine Tasting

Travelling wine tasting in Stellenbosch, South Africa, introduces visitors to a vibrant wine scene known for Chenin Blanc and Pinotage. The region offers a mix of modern and historic wineries, stunning views of the Cape Winelands, and expertly curated tastings. The unique terroir and flavours make Stellenbosch a must-visit for adventurous wine lovers.

Argentina’s Malbec Mecca Its A Favourite Destination for Travelling Wine Tasting

Argentina’s Mendoza region is synonymous with Malbec, and it is a favourite destination for travelling wine tasting. With its high-altitude vineyards and impressive mountain views, Mendoza provides unforgettable tasting experiences. Visitors can enjoy vineyard tours, wine pairings with local cuisine, and learn about the region’s distinctive winemaking techniques.

The Sauvignon Blanc Star of Scenic Beauty and Excellence of Travelling Wine Tasting

Marlborough, New Zealand, is renowned for its crisp and refreshing Sauvignon Blanc. Travelling wine tasting tours in this region offer a mix of scenic beauty and wine excellence. Visitors can explore innovative winemaking practices and enjoy tastings that showcase the vibrant, zesty flavours that put New Zealand on the global wine map.

Conclusion

Travelling wine tasting across the world’s top regions offers a unique opportunity to explore diverse winemaking traditions, flavours, and landscapes. From the rolling hills of Tuscany to the sun-drenched vineyards of Barossa Valley, each destination provides a distinct experience. Whether you’re a fan of bold reds or crisp whites, travelling wine tastings allow you to dive deep into local cultures while savouring the finest wines the world has to offer. Each trip becomes a celebration of wine, food, and stunning views, making it an essential experience for wine lovers worldwide.

[courierduniablog]

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Comparing Courier Charges from India to New Zealand with Courier Dunia: Finding the Best Deal

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Real-Time Tracking: Take advantage of Courier Dunia ’s real-time tracking and tracing capabilities, allowing customers to monitor the progress of their shipments from pickup to delivery.

Customs Compliance: Ensure compliance with customs regulations and procedures. Courier Dunia ’s team offers guidance to navigate potential challenges and streamline the customs clearance process.

Proactive Communication: Keep open lines of communication with Courier Dunia , seeking assistance or clarification as needed and staying informed about any updates or changes to the shipment status.

Conclusion

Courier Dunia is a leading name in International courier service in India, offering exceptional reliability and efficiency for shipments to New Zealand. Their robust network and competitive rates make them a standout choice for both businesses and individuals looking to send packages overseas. With a commitment to customer satisfaction and a streamlined shipping process, Courier Dunia ensures that every International Courier in India is handled with the utmost care and precision, fostering smooth communication and timely deliveries between India and New Zealand.

From the bustling streets of India to the dynamic cityscape of New Zealand, Courier Dunia  facilitates seamless shipping, bridging geographical boundaries and fostering global connectivity. With Courier Dunia  as your trusted logistics partner, shipping from India to New Zealand becomes a straightforward and rewarding experience, paving the way for enhanced trade, collaboration, and exchange across borders.

FAQ

Are there any courier services near me in India to send parcels to New Zealand?Yes, Courier Dunia has a network of reliable courier services across India. Contact us to find one near you.

What is the efficiency of international shipping to New Zealand with Courier Dunia ?Our specialists ensure daily shipping to New Zealand from various locations, offering fast and dependable services.

Can I send a parcel from India to New Zealand?Yes, you can. Contact us for details on securely sending your parcel to New Zealand.

How much do courier charges from India to New Zealand cost?Costs depend on the weight and dimensions of your parcel. Use the online calculator on our website to get an accurate estimate of international courier charges.

5. Can I track my parcel after dispatch from India to New Zealand? Yes, you can. Use the tracking number provided to monitor your parcel’s journey on our website.