#play: the queen and the welshman

[dailytudors]

Derek Godfrey as Owen Tudor with Dorothy Tutin as Catherine of Valois, Dowager Queen of England 

BBC’s The Queen and The Welshman (1966)

[weclassybouquetfun]

The play's the thing (aka a look at some of James Lance's theatre roles).

OF KITH AND KIN

THE DEAD MONKEY

JEEVES AND WOOSTER IN PERFECT NONSENSE

CELEBRITY AUTOBIOGRAPHY

*A reading at Edinburgh Fringe where James read an excerpt from former Mr. Katie Price, Peter Andre's autobiography, Richard Burton's (which a reviewer said "Lance was brilliant as the libidinous Welshman as well as Eminem. It's the latter staging that Jason Sudeikis' uncle George Wendt performed, as well as SHRINKING costar Michael Urie.

More Roles

INGREDIENT X

PYTHONESQUE

What did the critics say, "James Lance juggles Eric Idle and Terry Gilliam and somehow manages to morph physically as well as vocally. A teeny hint of Frankie Howerd in his Eric Idle does no harm at all."

"The cast all have fine talents for mimicry, not least James Lance who plays a sleazily indignant Eric Idle, a laconic Terry Gilliam and a superior David Frost – occasionally more than one of them at once – to hilarious effect."

KALEIDOSHOW

ORDINARY DREAMS (with this TEACHERS costar Adrian Bower)

*Preview of the play.

Notice that he's wearing the same shirt and almost the same cardigan in the video and the after-party pictures that were taken a year apart. The two pictures were like looking at one of those "Spot The Difference" games.

PIRANDELLO'S HENRY IV

THE INLAND SEA

THE BACK ROOM

*Probably one of the first time he acted with Patrick Baladi who he he would go on to appear in NO HEROICS, SENSITIVE SKIN and TED LASSO.

If I had a nickel for every time James Lance played a gay Spaniard, I'd only have two nickels which isn't a lot but yadda yadda yadda.

QUEEN CHRISTINA

ELEGIES FOR PUNKS, ANGELS AND RAGING QUEENS

*James was part of the original company and played the role of Dwight.

GLEE's Kevin McHale played Dwight in a charity Zoom event and it was fitting because the casting note for Dwight read, " A typical, young, Broadway-chorus-boy type, Southern accent can work."

[invisibleicewands]

[...] Sheen—a man already well known for portraying real-life people onscreen—has outdone himself this year by playing two of the U.K.’s most famous figures, though the men in question could not be more different from one another. His leading role in the National Theatre’s Nye saw him transform into Aneurin Bevan, the beloved Labour politician who spearheaded the creation of Britain’s National Health Service and an icon to many throughout the United Kingdom. But for the actor, portraying the two men fairly close to one another led to the realization of some unexpected parallels. 

“It was interesting because I did literally go from finishing filming on this into rehearsing Nye,” Sheen tells Paste. “And so I was thinking about both of them at the same time, and it did make me think about the idea of the pursuit of power and the opportunities of privilege, and how differently you can use those things, and what you can put them to the service of. It was quite striking.” 

To say that portraying two men as different as Bevan (a Welshman from a Tredegar mining family) and Prince Andrew (the second son of Queen Elizabeth II) is a challenge feels like a massive understatement. But for Sheen, much of the work, at least from a character-building, was the same. 

“With Aneurin Bevan, there’s very little footage of him, so there was very little to go on,” he says when asked about his approach to playing two such very different men—with such very different legacies. “There’s lots written about him but very little to look at. And so piecing both of these characterizations together were very different kinds of processes. But I think what informs them both is—you’ve got to put your personal opinions aside, your judgments of characters you’re playing. Because, ultimately, you have to be looking out from behind their eyes and playing a rounded, complex character rather than an editorialized version of them.”

And to hear Sheen tell it, his performance—even when playing someone more like Andrew than Nye Bevan—still comes from many of the same places, both as an actor and an individual.

“[The performance] has got to be coming from somewhere. There’s got to be some compass that is guiding you in… I look for vulnerability, I look for contradiction. I look for when a person is getting in their own way, that kind of stuff. That’s my compass as an actor,” he says. “But then, there’s also my compass as a citizen, which you’re also putting into it. Your performance sits in the context of certain things you believe about the world and how things work in it. Inevitably, those two things, they’re sometimes the same compass and sometimes not. But they work the same for whatever character it might be.” [...]

“The car-crash nature of the interview itself and the memes that it feeds and the late-night chat show host opening monologue gags and all that sensationalized circus aspect obviously feeds our cultural appetites in huge ways,” Sheen says. “There’s a huge appetite for that. But the issues it also raises about privilege, exploitation, sex, and people in positions of power being able to silence people who don’t have a voice, it seems to explore a lot of areas we are culturally both fascinated and compelled by at the moment all in one story. Certainly, that’s what it speaks to for me.” [...]

“There’s been an ongoing debate, hasn’t there, about how you interview certain kinds of politicians and how difficult it has become to question certain kinds of people in positions of power and whether the media is somehow falling into traps being laid by those people,” Sheen adds. “That’s been an ongoing debate for about the last ten years or so, I’d guess. Particularly in the U.S., but also increasingly so in the U.K. as well.” [...]

“We’re used to the idea of politicians not answering the question and saying what they want to say regardless. But then, there’s a new wave of people who seem to have confounded a lot of journalists and sparked the debate of how you go about handling that,” Sheen says. “And [this interview] is an instance where someone voluntarily put themselves in a position of being exposed, and a journalist of great craft and skill did a masterclass on [how to do] that. I think that’s particularly… It speaks to something of now as well. That we will probably never see something like that happen again.”

[charlesandmartine]

Tuesday 17th January 2023

With the theatre as the main activity today, we thought it prudent to take it easy during the earlier part of the day. Seats were booked for this evening performance of Amadeus in the main concert hall of Sydney Opera House. Starting with pre-show cocktails and canapes we were to be treated to the acting excellence of Michael Sheen. Not to be confused with either Martin Sheen, nor Barry Sheene who is better known in motorcycling circles. It's the Welshman Michael, aka Tony Blair in 'The Queen' fame that we shall be watching

We thought a gentle stroll into the City for about 2pm, late lunch in one of those waterside restaurants on Circular Quay, people watching and keeping an eye on the ferries entering and leaving the quayside would be ideal. It promised to be a very hot sunny day, so not ideal for too much activity.

A quayside late lunch became a happy hour triumph since fish, chips and a drink were half price providing it was beyond the tonsils by 5pm. At the risk of indigestion, it was. Then a stroll in the relaxed atmosphere of Bennelong Point, so named after Woollarawarre Bennelong (c. 1764 – 1813) who was the original key holder for the site before someone decided he would like an opera house there. At least before any performance the original indigenous landowners are mentioned and thanked for their generosity.

We thought it would be a nice indulgence to have cocktails and canapes before the show, so we booked it with high expectations of plural ingredients. The lucky roll from happy hour was long over and the reality was a plastic beaker containing a Pimm cocktail accompanied by a solitary beef sourced, canape lonely in its plastic tray. All for 28 bucks a pop. I did enquire if there was more to follow, but was given a sort of look of antipodean distain. However, to partake in these small items, no matter how desperately wishing they might miraculously become like the 'loaves and fishes' and be transformed into a meal, out there on the Opera House terrace with the Sydney skyline, these simple items became all we needed.

Peter Shaffer wrote the brilliant play Amadeus in 1980. Briefly, it is about the intense rivalry between the two Italian composers, Antonio Salieri and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Salieri was in the post of Court Composer for Joseph II, Emperor, in Vienna when the young Mozart came to town as a guest of the Emperor. Salieri sets out to destroy Mozart, confessing this very early on in a dialogue with the audience. Whilst he clearly despises Mozart for his unique inspirational, genius, musical abilities he is nonetheless uncontrollably besotted with his music. As a devout Catholic he cannot understand the juxtaposition of how God can bestow such talent on someone who lives a life of debauchery. The whole thing does not end well; Mozart dies a pauper of kidney disease and Salieri attempts suicide with a razor, resigned to accept that his works shall be remembered purely as mediocrity.

What a play, and what a production!! Michael Sheen had a quality of Anthony Hopkins or Richard Burton in his powerful delivery of lines, booming out over the full chorus of Figaro, Magic Flute, or in the finale, Requiem. It was truly a night to remember and savour and we were indeed lost in thought as we spilled out into the balmy Sydney night, the lights of the towers of the CBD, the Harbour Bridge and the throngs of happy theatre goers. We made our way to the 173x bus at Wynyard for a quiet, reflective bus ride home.

[thisbluespirit]

The bells of Bermondsey rang solemn and slow as Katherine's body was carried in procession towards Westminster...  In the Abbey was the place prepared for her, beside King Harry, but before her coffin and effigy arrived there, her soul fled like a bird released from the fowler's net, and that human love which is stronger than death fled with it. Owen, riding, desolate, towards those two hills which men call the Gateway to Wales, was suddenly so conscious of that love that he turned and looked over his shoulder.  He felt it alight upon him and sink down into his heart, simple, tender, warm and faithful, and knew that it would travel with him to his life's end.

The Queen and the Welshman, Rosemary Anne Sisson

[theuniversitychallengereview]

UC 51.31 - Edinburgh vs Emmanuel

I was planning on writing this yesterday, but failed abjectly. I’m training for a marathon (yes, any excuse to get a mention of this out there), and have to do long runs on Sundays, in this case 29k. I got up nice and early with the idea being to have the entire afternoon and evening with which to delve deep into Edinburgh vs Emmanuel. But when I got home (following an emergency Subway on the way back) I collapsed on the sofa and legitimately could not get back up for the next six hours, at which point I went straight to bed. So instead I am doing this a full week after the episode aired, which always makes me feel like an especially big slacker (if I do it on the Sunday then its almost like it could have been planned, but doing it on the Monday before the next episode goes out? Huge homework in the car to school vibes)

In other news, I got a standing desk the other week, but I haven’t had the chance to properly test it out for actual work since then, so this will have an added portion of excitement (for me, only, obviously. For you lot there will be no discernible difference, aside from a vague sense of it having been written from a higher vantage point, perhaps).

Anyway, after Imperial’s stunning victory last week, Edinburgh and Emmanuel now had the chance to join them in the semi-finals. In the last blog I espoused a pseudo-complicated formula for predicting who would win between Reading and Imperial. Even without using it you can clearly see Edinburgh are the outstanding favourites for this match, with their winning scores being far higher than those of their Cambridge rivals. Although, as we saw last time out, my formula is far from infallible… 

Edinburgh captain Sundar kicks things off with ‘bow and arrow’, and they manage two bonuses on early 20th century novels (including one on ‘A Passage To India’, to which I am listening at the moment, and which made me double take when I heard Paxman say it. Sometimes I wonder how well I would recall information from the books I read, were I to hear a quiz question about them at some point in the future, so it's odd to experience it when it's still so fresh in my mind. Would I have been able to beat Jones to the punch on this answer had it come a few months down the line? A few years?).

Jones apologies to his teammates for negging the next starter, before Thatte buzzes in to pick up the pieces for Emmanuel. They only take a solitary bonus on poisonous plants, but this is good enough to tie the game, thanks to Jones’ incorrect interruption. Edinburgh hit back through Thomas, who corrects a spoonerism halfway through his answer of Alfred Russell Wallace. The Welshman Jones then makes up for his error with an early buzz on a starter about Wales, and Edinburgh extended their lead to forty five points going into the first picture round. 

The picture starter is on the French definition of an English word, loaned into the French language against the desires of the French academy. Sundar guesses baguette, and then Wrathall, brilliantly (especially given comments I made last week about contestants pronouncing French words in French accents) pronounces ‘sandwich’ in perfect French, much to the amusement of Paxo. 

Karunaratne buzzes in very early on the next starter, but has to abort his answer, because Paxman has already said ‘Richard Feynman’ by the time his buzzer had sounded. Its an unfortunate buzz, and would have been a brilliant answer otherwise, but Thatte is there once again to clean things up for Emmanuel. The Cambridge side suffer some poor fortune of their own on the next question, with captain Malcolm giving Mary Queen of Scots rather than Mary Stuart - she had guessed MQoS based on a clue about Elizabeth I, and in most cases that would probably have been acceptable, but at the very beginning of the question Paxman had mentioned that he was after the title of a play.

Neither side gets the music starter, giving Malcolm the opportunity to grab the ten points which had eluded her moments ago with the backup, on an Irish county. Pulinger knows that Mendelssohn had written some tunes about the moon - the theme of the bonuses - but unfortunately none of the bonus tunes are by Mendelssohn. 

Emmanuel took the next two starters as well to open up a sixty point lead, before Sundar gets his first starter since the opener to get the Scots back on track. Jones then takes the second picture starter in an incredibly perfunctory fashion, giving ‘Joseph Wright of Derby’ as if annoyed at how long the name was taking to recite. Thomas is first to recognise ‘poultice’, and a couple of bonuses on matrices bring them within five points. Another for Thomas, the only Scot on the Edinburgh team, gives them the lead, and he pumps his fists enthusiastically. Come on!! A hat-trick on flags made it a twenty point gap.

However, it wasn’t over yet. A neg from Jones, who sunk his head to the desk in despair, handed Emmanuel the initiative, and the opportunity to steal the lead back. Thatte, for what seems like the umpeenth time, capitalises on Edinburgh’s mistake, and a pair of bonuses snuck them in front with seconds remaining. 

No one seems to know the final starter on ‘interlingua’, and it looks like it is going to be dropped, but then… redemption! Jones, whose blunder on the previous question had handed Emmanuel a five point cushion, buzzes in with Peano (who was apparently a glottologist as well as a linguist) to beat the gong and claim the semi final berth. 

Rewatching this question with the knowledge Jones is going to buzz in is brilliant, because right up until the point he buzzes in it looks as though he has no idea, frowning and shrugging his shoulders, and even after he gives his answer he’s not convinced by it until Paxman tells him he’s right, at which point he claps his hands delightedly. 

When the gong sounds seconds later, the editors cut to a wide shot of the Edinburgh team, which I think was a great move, because you get to see just how far Jones swings back at the knowledge they’ve won.

Final Score: Emmanuel, Cam 145 - 150 Edinburgh

What a fab match that was - not quite a tiebreaker but by golly it was close. We’ve had a lot of those this series, with ten matches ending with fifteen or fewer points separating the teams (I had to recount that because I couldn’t believe there were so many, and indeed I was wrong, having originally counted to eleven, but ten is staggering too). 

I’ll see you some time this week for my review of tonight’s episode, which features St John’s and Trinity, both of Cambridge, as they seek to avoid elimination. 

[beardofkamenev]

As her son [Henry VI] was increasingly encircled by men, Catherine’s position grew more tenuous. It is worth stressing once again the anomaly of her situation: no other queen of England had been widowed so young and remained at court [...]. So long as she could play the part of maternal protector of the infant king, Catherine could be accommodated by— and made useful to— the existing structures of power without much difficulty. When she no longer fit that role, she became a more disturbing proposition, especially since if she contracted another marriage and had other children, she might endanger the paths of accession to the throne. In the mid-1420s, there were apparently rumors of her sexual involvements that played on these fears: one chronicle states that she was “unable fully to curb her carnal passions,” and another suggests that she contemplated marrying Edmund Beaufort, Henry V’s cousin. No contemporary source remarks on her alliance with Owen Tudor, a Welshman who had been an esquire of Henry V’s household, so it is unclear to what degree her affair with him was public. But by the late 1420s, she had apparently entered into a sexual relationship with him* that would, by the time of her death in 1437, result in four children and become an open secret.

Claire Sponsler, The Queen's Dumbshows: John Lydgate and the Making of Early Theater (2014)

* As I’ve said before here and here, while it’s technically correct that Catherine and Owen “entered into a sexual relationship” (they had children together lol), there’s no reason to believe that they weren’t also legally married. For one, Henry VI’s 1453 parliament unequivocally stated that their children had been “born within lawful matrimony in [his] realm”. An earlier contemporary source, the Welsh poet Ieuan Gethin, also believed that they were married, adding that he believed Owen hadn’t taken advantage of Catherine as she reciprocated his feelings entirely, and that there had been no sexual relations between them before Henry V died (although this last point was never disputed). It’s still possible that they engaged in pre-marital sex, but characterising their relationship as a purely sexual one isn’t entirely accurate. 

To be fair to the author though, her book’s primary focus is the literary works of John Lydgate, not on Catherine herself, so it’s not that serious an inaccuracy in context.

[isitstraightvodka]

25 “You’re mine. I don’t share” please :)

25. “You’re mine. I don’t share.” - doing this w ben!

One of the first things you noticed when you started dating Ben was that he tended to be quite posssessive. If he caught any other men looking at you, his arm would snake around your waist or his hand would rest on your hip, pulling you closer to him, he wanted to let them all know you were his and only his.

An occassion where this happened was at a friend's party,  that friend being Rami, it had been a while since all the cast of Bohemian Rhapsody got together so the "frontman" had decided it was long overdue for a catch-up. You walked in, hand-in-hand with your blonde lover, and immediately, another blonde came running up to you with a smile.

"There you are! You finally made it!" Lucy squealed, squeezing past a bunch of people to engulf you in a hug, all while having a drink still in her hand. Ben and her shared a kiss on the cheek, and his hand was still locked around yours.

"So happy to be here, Luce, we couldn't say no." You grinned, grasping Ben's hand a little tighter. He nodded in agreement, as the three of you engaged in conversation about what was going on in each other's worlds lately. 

The party was in full-swing, a selection of Queen's greatest hits playing from the surround system, you greeted people you recognised and smiled at others that you didn't know, you had missed this part of life, even thought you weren't one to be in full view of everyone and going to fancy events and parties, you still enjoyed it, and it was even better having Ben by your side. It was really nice to have a guy who had your back, held your hair back when you chucked up all sorts of alcohol into the toilet, took you home at the end of the night and told you he loved you, you felt special with him, when you were with him, you felt like the only girl in the world.

You'd lost track of how many drinks you'd had, or what time it was, but you were having a blast, sitting around the main table, taking another shot of vodka, the taste of it burning your throat, you coughed a little but you could take it.

"You're on a roll tonight, love."

"I'm having fun, Gwil, haven't gotten pissed in weeks."

"Well cheers to that!" The Welshman handed you another shot and the two of you threw it back together. 

A precious warm voice graced your ears and it was Lucy again, wanting to have a girl talk, and you couldn't deny her that, after all, both you and her were the girlfriends of two fabulous guys. Speaking of, as she led you to a velvet couch on the other side of the house, a large hand touched your wrist and you spun around to see the man you loved.

"Hey, baby." You giggled, your tone laced with alcohol.

"Haven't seen you much tonight."

"I haven't seen Luce or Gwil or any of these people in months, Ben, I'm going around, talking, having a good night, so should you! Where's Joe?" You looked over his shoulder but one of his best mates wasn't there.

"Probably competing with Rami over some drinking game, he will not stop going on about his damn perm, I thought we'd heard the end of that."

"Clearly not." You smirked, and that was when his hand now moved to your waist, above the slit of your skirt, his breath close to your ear, his body almost pressed flush against yours, leaving a familiar ache in your belly.

"So many people have been staring at you, you know I don't like that." His voice was so...deep, deeper than normal, so animalistic and aggressive, and to you, it was so hot, your knees began to knobble and your heartbeat increased. Your eyes glazed over, blurry from how much you'd drunk, but the warmth of his fingers kept you upright, his teeth grazing over the shell of your ear.

"You’re mine. I don’t share."

Your toes curled and that feeling in your pelvic area grew stronger, he pulled away to look at you, and his pupils were blown wide, lips wet and his teeth sinking into the lower one, a seductive smile just aching to come through. You could sense he'd been drinking as much, from the colour of his cheeks and the buttons of his shirt were almost completely undone, giving you a glimpse of his toned chest. Fighting back the urge to whine, you rested your palm where his heart was, and felt it beat, faster from your touch, you liked that. You liked that a lot. On your tiptoes, you pressed your mouth to his ear as your nails sunk into his hot skin.

"I'm yours, so show me when we get home."

There was the sound of Ben catching his breath, it brought a smile to your face, you knew you'd gotten him, you loved to tease, it was too much fun, even more when you were intoxicated. And just like that, you gave him a kisss on his jaw and winked before you went to find Lucy, leaving your boyfriend standing there, a heated mess.

prompt list

[dailytudors]

His [Henry VII’s] background was unusually complicated and the circumstances of his birth compellingly strange.

He was the grandson of Shakespeare’s ‘Fair Kate’, Chaterine de Valois, the wife of Henry V. This gave him royal French blood. On his father’s side, however, the antecedents were much less illustrious, for Catherine, left a widow after her husband’s early death in 1421, had, bythe start of the next decade, married again. Her second marriage, to Owen Tudor, a Welshman in her household, was kpet secret until she died in 1437. By that time, she had borne Owen four children and inadvertently complicated the politics of England during the long minority of Henry VI. The regency government for te young king was uneasy about the existence of half-brothers, especially ones linked to the French royal family at a time when England was in the process of losing its extensive empire in France. The two eldest sons of the unlikely alliance of a French queen and a Welsh squire, Edmund and Jasper Tudor, were removed from their father and brought up together at Barking Abbey in Essex. They did, though, find favour with King Henry VI, who seems to have been fond of his half-brothers, and as he began to make his own decisions, thei fortunes rose. In 1452, shortly before England’s descent into the beginnings of the Wars of the Roses, Edmund was made earl of Richmond and Jasper earl of Pembroke. The lands and prestige that went with these titles meant that the Tudors became persons of significance. Just one year later their position was further enhanced when they were granted joint wardship of the heiress of another great landed family with a doubtful past - Margaret Beaufort, the ten-year-old daughter of the late John, duke of Somerset, who had died in disgrace after a costly and disastrous expedition to France. But it was her surname, rather than her father’s failure, that made Margaret important. Aside from her wealth, her desirability lay in the fact that she was the great-granddaughter of John of Gaunt and had a potential claim to the throne of England herself. Not that this claim was without impediment, since the Beauforts were the offspring of John of Gaunt’s initially adulterous liaison with Katherine Swynford. Though eventually regularized, the relationship cast a long shadow over fifteenth-century England, since this ‘bastard’ branch of John of Gaunt’s line was not considered to have a rightful claim to the throne and Henry IV had expressly excluded his half-kindred from the succession ... Despite her proximity to the throne and the attractions of ehr wealth, Margaret grew up in a happy environment, among the children of her mother’s first marriage, the St John family, to whom she would remain close. But her childhood ended prematurely when Edmund Tudor married her as soon as she was twelve years old, May 1455. This was the legal age for females and Edmund clearly saw no reason for delay, though another year was to elapse before Margaret ceonceived ... Local grievances and the fact that the Tudors had briefly flirted with the Yorkists before reverting to full support of their half-brother made Emdund a target for the disaffected. Margaret was not with him at Carmarthen Castle in the summer of 1456 when eh was attacked by two thousand troops under the leadership of the duke of York’s men, Sir William Herbert and Sir Walter Devereux, and captured. Briefly imprisoned in the castle, Edmund was released but fell ill, probably with the plague, and never reveroerd. By the beginning of November he was dead, leaving Margare, who was six months pregnant, a widow at the age of thirteen. His insensitivity and callousness in impregnating her at such a tender age have often been criticized but we known nothing of their relationship. It is unlikely that affection played much part in it and Edmund clearly felt that the risks to his wife’s health, and that of any child she might bear, made it worthwhile ignoring convention. he obviously had not calculated on dying himself. This may seem like a sort of rough injustice but it left Margaret in danger. With winter settlng in and the political situation in Wales so uncertain, she could not retunr to her mother in England. Her own safety and that of her unborn child were at stake. She needed to be somewhere secure and as free as possible from teh threat of disease. It was now that Jasper Tudor, her brother-in-law, a man whow ould play a vital role in her future, came to the rescue. Margaret took refuge with him in Pembroke Castle and it was there, on 28 January 1457, that her child was born. he was named Henry, presumably as a sign of his Lancastrian birthright. His mother was still four months short of her fouteenth birthday.

- Linda Porter, Tudors vs Stewarts: The Fatal Inheritance of Mary, Queen of Scots

[adrenaline-roulette]

Hallow-Queen (Gwil)

I wrote three Hallow themed one shots back in October for the Boh Rhap cast (There was supposed to be a fourth, but unfortunately some things came up, and I was unable to write it. Maybe this Halloween I’ll finally get it done!?)

Anyways, there is a fic for Joe, Ben and Gwil

 Our third instalment, it goes out to my absolute favourite Welshman, time travelling Brian May Gwilym Lee!

Pairing: Gwilym Lee x Reader

Warning: Little bit of blood, and a minor injury, nothing graphic, and it’s at the very end of the story. 

You crank the wrench one final time, before pulling yourself up into a standing position, your hands firmly planted on your hips as you gloat over the newly assembled bedframe. It had taken you the better part of the afternoon to put the frame together, but it was now complete, and that knowledge filled you with a sense of pride. As you had assembled the bed, Gwilym had spent that time bringing in boxes from the truck you had hired for the weekend. After winning two out of three thumb wars, you had decided, as the victor, to stay put and do the manual labour of bed making, as Gwil was stuck with walking up and down four flights of stairs, carrying more and more boxes with each trip. You hear his grumbling from the living room, and turn away from the bed, there’s nothing more you can do with it now anyways, you’ll need help shifting the mattress on top of the frame. You follow the sound of your boyfriend’s grumbles, and find him squatting beside one of the sofa’s you had recently purchased, his hands buried behind the coffee table sat to the right of the sofa.

“Is everything alright babe?”

Gwil looks up and over his shoulder at you, the crease between his eyebrows softening somewhat once he see’s you. “Sorry Y/N, just trying to get this damned lamp to work.” He sighs, before falling backwards to sit cross legged. “I think the power outlet doesn’t work.”

You walk up behind him, leaning down and looking behind the table at the offending power outlet. “There’s one in the laundry that doesn’t work either. We’ll have to get an electrician in to check them out.” You sigh, pulling away to you no longer crowd Gwil’s space. He grins up at you, though shows no signs of standing upright, likely too tired from the long day you had both just endured. “Can you give me a hand in the bedroom?”

Gwil wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, a coy smirk gracing his lips. You can’t help but roll your eyes, reaching your hand down to offer him some help up. “I need help getting the mattress on the bed you idiot.” You chuckle, as his hand clasps around yours, and you brace yourself to pull him upright.

“You always ruin my fun.” Gwilym sighs dramatically, as he begrudgingly follows you into the bedroom.

“There will be no funny business in the bedroom until we have a fully functioning bed.” You deadpan, looking him directly in the eye, daring him to challenge you with a quirk of your eyebrow.

With a shrug, he follows you over to the mattress that had been propped up against the far wall, positioning himself at one end, as you do the same at the opposite. “All I’m saying, is that a mattress on the ground seemed to suit you just fine in college..” He trails off, not daring to finish his sentence when he spots the glare in your eyes.

“Gwilym Lee, either you help me set this bed up, or you will be sleeping on the couch for the unforeseeable future.” You don’t need to threaten him twice, and you grin triumphantly as he lifts his end of the mattress, just as you do the same, both doing a slow crab like shuffle towards the bedframe, before depositing the worn mattress onto it. “See, doesn’t that look so much better already!”

  Gwilym simply shrugs, before flopping over backwards, collapsing against the comfortable bed. You had both agreed upon moving in together, that there were certain items of furniture you would need to buy new, the sofas for example. As the one you had in your old flat was so horrendously stained, you could scarcely recall the colour it had started as. Whereas the one in Gwil’s flat had belonged to his flatmate,  and Gwil was hardly going to ask for it, especially with it being as old as he was at least. The bed on the other hand, you had both agreed yours was the most comfortable, and the mattress had the perfect indents for both of you now. Naturally, it had to come with you. Gwil fell into his indent, just as you did the same, grinning at the familiar comfort. You roll onto your side, peering over at the tired Welshman. “What do you think, is this good luck, or bad luck?”

Gwil turns his head to the side, smiling at you tiredly. “Come again love?”

“Moving in together on Halloween, do you think it’s good or bad luck? I’m thinking good.”

He pauses to ponder your question for a moment, then rolls to his side, coming face to face with you. “Well, I get to live with you, so I’d say good too.” He grins, stretching his arm out to reach for you, encircling it around your waist and pulling you closer. You happily oblige, and curl up under his chin, breathing in deeply, and find yourself being lulled to sleep by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “Do you know what time it is?” He whispers softly, his breath tickling against the shell of your ear.

The alarm clock you normally kept on your bedside table hadn’t been set up yet, as it likely sat in one of the moving boxes still. “No clue, my phone ran out of charge hours ago.” You hum quietly.

Gwilym nods softly, wrapping his arms closer around you, before the loud buzz of your intercom echoes from the kitchen. “Must be five…”

You pull away slightly to look up at him, his stubbled chin brushing against your forehead as you move. “How do you figure that?”

The intercom buzzes again, then a third time, whoever was on the other end was becoming more and more impatient. “We told the guys to get here at five, so unless we have some other unexpected visitor, then it’s five, and we now have company.”

You struggle to keep your eyes open, the exhaustion of your busy day hitting you now that you had finally stopped. “The guys?” You mumble, rubbing your palm against your eyes, and smearing your mascara.

Gwil rolls off the bed, smiling down at you softly. “Ill give you a few minutes to get moving, I’ll go let them in, before I’m assuming Joe, breaks the intercom.” He chuckles, the incessant buzzing having become a rather obnoxious background noise at this point. He makes his way through the apartment rather groggily, pressing the button on the intercom on the kitchen wall. “May I help you?”

There’s a few seconds of bickering, before the ever reasonable voice of Rami speaks up. “Hey mate, it’s just us. Sorry for the buzzing, you can thank Joe for that.”

“Ben was the one who was holding my hand on the buzzer!” Joe protests loudly, causing Gwilym to flinch away.

“No idea what you’re talking about buddy.” Ben replies, an audible smirk coming through.

Gwilym shakes his head, before pushing the other button, granting the group access to the apartment. “Come on up.” He turns away from the intercom, moving too quickly for his tired brain to keep up. He stumbles, and grabs onto the kitchen counter, knocking a glass of water onto the floor in the process. “Fuck. Y/N, can you get the door please!” He calls out, tiptoeing around the shattered glass, trying to recall where you had both agreed to keep the dustpan and broom.

You shuffle out of the room, the sweaty oversized shirt you had been wearing all day now replaced with a knitted sweater you had made. It had taken you nearly a year to complete, and had somehow ended up three sizes too big, despite you following the pattern precisely, though you were so proud of completing it, you insisted on wearing it as often as possible. The door swings open, and you’re greeted by Rami, Ben and Joe, all holding bags stuffed to the brim with goodness knows what. “Hello boys.” You grin, the sleepy feeling that had overtaken you moments before, vanishing at the sight of your friends.

Joe pushes in through the door, barrelling Rami out of the way to wrap you up in a tight hug, peppering your cheeks with kisses. “I must say Y/N, that is a fabulous sweater!”

You laugh in his harms, squeezing him back just as tightly. “Gwil hates it.” You had missed spending time with Joe, he always knew how to make you smile, and could lighten the mood no matter what.

“That darling, is because Gwilym has absolutely no fashion sense.”

“I heard that! And I don’t hate it, I just don’t much like the colour.” Gwilym calls from the kitchen, as he deposits the smashed glass into the garbage. Making his way out to the door to greet his friends.

“Now would likely be a bad time to tell you I’m making a matching one just for you.” You smirk, watching Gwil sigh deeply.

Joe moves over to Gwil, as Rami steps in, also wrapping you up in a hug as greeting, a broad grin showing off his pearly whites. Finally, Ben follows, slinging one arm across your shoulders, as he leads you both into the apartment, swinging the door behind the both of you. “Long time no see love.” Ben grins at you.

Out of all the BohRhap cast, you and Ben had become the closest, and you would often be found sharing inside jokes with each other at cast gatherings. As the others had ‘Adult’ conversations, you and Ben would be playing I-spy, trying to make the other guess something embarrassing. “Well that’s hardly my fault, you’ve been gone playing a big action star, Mr Michael Bay.”

Ben feigns hurt, as he releases his arm from around you. “Hey now, one of us has to bring home the bacon in this relationship.”

You tilt your head to the side, regarding Ben with a look of curiosity. “Ben mate, you’re in a very one-sided relationship with me, you know that right?”

Gwilym steps up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, and grinning at the blonde across from him. “Is Ben trying to cut in on us again?” He chuckles.

You can’t quite recall when this had all started, but at some point after Gwil started work on Bohemian Rhapsody, Ben had taken it upon himself to act as a better boyfriend for you, all in jest of course. The tabloids had gone wild when it had first started, the magazines all reporting that your relationship with Gwil was over, and you had chosen the much young Blond Brit to be your new Beau. Of course the paparazzi only saw what they wanted to see. They took photo’s of Ben picking up takeout for two from your favourite restaurant, then entering your apartment. What they never saw, was Ben exiting through the back, leaving you and Gwil to have a romantic dinner together, away from the prying eye of outsiders. You all played along with it, if Gwil way spending a day shooting, and Ben wasn’t needed on set, Ben would take you out to grab coffee, of course always grabbing a muffin to take back for Gwil. Though it was always Gwilym you went home to, and Ben would never try to change that. He had already self-appointed himself as wedding planner for the two of you.

“Wouldn’t dream of it mate.” Ben grins, as he follows the others further into the apartment, looking around the half-furnished home.

“Oh yeah, public service announcement! I just broke a glass in the kitchen, please everyone wear shoes if you go in there.” Gwil declares, everyone nodding their understanding.

Joe and Rami had set about placing all the bags the three men had brought on the kitchen counter, taking out their offerings of house warming gifts. “We figured you wouldn’t have had a chance to go grocery shopping yet, so we got you a few essentials to get you through for a few days. Plus things for tonight of course.” Rami grins, as he places a bottle of milk in the fridge, along with eggs, and places a loaf of bread in the pantry. Whereas Joe goes straight for the fun items. He retrieves two bottles of champagne, multiple packets of crisps, and Halloween candy.

“How much of this was Lucy’s idea?” You grin, taking Gwil’s hand in yours as you squeeze tightly, both of you thankful to have such caring friends.

Rami looks sheepish, before coming clean. “It was all her idea, except the champagne, that was all me!”

There was only one bag that had been left unopened, and Gwil raises and eyebrow at it. “What’s in that one?” He asks, causing Ben to sigh, and Rami to groan, before turning their attention to a grinning Joe.

“That right there, is the bag of shame.” Rami grumbles, as Joe reaches into it, wrapping his hands around a large object.

“We asked Joe to make a pumpkin pie, because pumpkins are all on sale at the moment, and he was boasting about having the best recipe for one.” Ben mutters, as he searches your cupboards for glasses of some kind. Ideally champagne flutes, but he would settle for red solo cups at this point.

With a triumphant grin, Joe pulls out an enormous pumpkin, cradling it happily. “I ran out of time to make a pie.” He simply shrugs.

“So, you decided to just bring an entire pumpkin instead?” You ask, clearly confused by Joe’s actions.

“I did, but I made it spooky at least!” Sure enough, Joe turns the pumpkin in his hands, facing it towards you and Gwil. And there on the front, in black marker, was a crudely drawn Jack o’lantern face.

“Joe, what the fuck are we supposed to do with the pumpkin?” You groan, pressing your forehead against Gwil’s shoulder, as he simply chuckles.

                                                                  *****************

 The five of you sat around the living room, all sharing out the greasiest Chinese food you had ever eaten. There were eight containers all precariously balanced around the small, glass coffee table, all slowly spilling sauce onto the old piece of furniture. Though you couldn’t bring yourself to care, the wine had been flowing freely, everyone saying cheers to your and Gwil’s new home, and at some point, Ben had started mixing the beer Gwil had in the fridge, with a bottle of vodka he had found in one of your packing boxes. Needless to say, none of you were in the right sober state of mind to chastise the others for being messy in your new home. You slowly pull yourself up off the floor, swaying on the spot for a few moments as your brain catches up with the rest of you. Gwilym looks up at you, a look of concern crossing his features, before you smile down at him, a silent reassurance that you’re okay. “Does anyone want another beer?” You offer, looking around at your bordering on drunk friends. Eagerly they all nod, and you smile at them all, stepping over Joe who was sprawled out on the floor, playing with the loose threads of the rug.

Making your way into the kitchen, you feel almost as if you were floating, the buzz the alcohol had provided you, enveloping you in a warm, almost fuzzy like feeling. As you dance over to the fridge, the music playing through Rami’s phone making you groove, you lift your foot as a sharp pain shoots through your heel. “Fucking hell.” You mutter, before carefully placing your foot back on the ground. You brush the pain off as an intense case of pins and needles, from having sat in one position for too long. Thinking no more on it as you retrieve five beers from the fridge, returning to your group, albeit a bit slower than before, and you avoid putting any pressure on your heel.

You settle down on the couch beside Ben, dangling your legs over Gwil’s shoulders after you distribute the cold bottles, passing around the bottle opener so everyone could access the amber liquid. Conversation flows freely between you all, everyone raising their voices so they could be the loudest person in the room, the assumption being, if you spoke the loudest then everyone would listen to what you had to say. This of course, had resulted in a screaming match between Ben and Joe. “Guys! Shut up! We want our neighbours to actually like us!” Gwilym yells, his voice booming over everyone else’s. Ben and Joe look across at him sheepishly, their faces bright red.

You lean forwards, pressing your chin against the top of Gwil’s head, occasionally dipping down to press a kiss against his dark locks. Each time you do, he grins softly, losing his train of thought mid-sentence. He often found you to be rather distracting, but always in a good way.

                                                                 *****************

Gwilym was talking with Joe about a match between the Yankees and Red Sox they had gone to see a few months back, when a cold drop of something liquid hit his bare knee. Perhaps it was your beer, you had been holding it just above him a little while ago, maybe you still were? He returned to his conversation, stilling as the same thing happened again, and then again. With a small frown, he looked down at his knee, his khaki shorts having ridden up slightly to expose the better part of his leg now. And there, right on his kneecap was a small pool of crimson. It took him far longer than he would care to admit to realise what he was staring at, blood, but not his blood? His gaze turned to your leg, your foot resting above his knee, your bare foot at that, and he put two and two together. Taking your foot carefully between his hands, he gently moved your ankle just enough to see the sole of your foot. Sure enough, there was a gash on your heel, where the blood had come from. “Y/N, you’re bleeding.”

The words Gwilym spoke were said so matter of factly, you didn’t bother to question them, instead you just agreed, because if Gwil said you were bleeding, then you supposed you must be. You turn your gaze down to your foot, which still sat cradled between Gwil’s large hands, calloused from the moving you had just completed. You could just see a small amount of blood that had collected on Gwil’s fingers, and all you could think about, was ruining the cream rug bellow you. “Don’t let that get on the rug.” You sigh, and Gwil just laughs, shaking his head softly.

Carefully he stands up, after untangling your legs from around him, much to your disappointment. “Stop pouting, we need to try and get you fixed up.”

The others seemed to register what was going on relatively quickly, and sprung to action as Gwilym made his way to the one of the boxes labelled ‘Bathroom’, he hoped there were tweezers somewhere in there.

Ben went about getting Ice out of the freezer, and placing it in a zip lock bag, wrapping it in a tea towel so it wouldn’t hurt your skin. Rami moved the food boxes off the coffee table, so Gwil would have somewhere to place everything once he returned, and Joe instructed you to lay down on the sofa, resting a pillow beneath your injured foot to keep it elevated. “I forgot to wear shoes I’m sorry.” You sigh, keeping your eyes on Gwilym as he makes his way back over to you.

Gwil chuckles as he lifts your leg, and rests it in his lap, sitting beside you on the sofa now. “It’s fine Y/N, I’ll punish you later.” He smirks, as he cleans the wound with cotton balls, dipped in saline solution, clearing the blood away from the cut.

“Oooh, that sounds kinky.” You grin, sucking in a sharp breath as Gwilym prods around the wound with the tweezers.

“Is now really the time to be flirting guys?” Ben asks in exasperation, he was used to the two of by now, and he knew you both liked to flirt as often as possible, but he hardly felt like now was the right time!

You shoot Ben a side glare, just as the tweezers make contact with a shard of glass wedged in your foot. “Ho fucking hell!” You cry out, gripping the back of the sofa until your knuckles turn white. Gwilym pulls away, a worried look crossing his features.

“Right then, I guess that answers that question then.” He musses aloud, as you all turn your attention to him. “Sorry love, we need to get you to a hospital.”

You nod your head in understanding, despite not actually wanting to go. You had to agree with him though, if there was glass in your foot, then the hospital was the best place for you. “I’ll call us an Uber.” Rami offers, before Joe jumps in.

“No, I will. Seeing as all I brought tonight was a bloody pumpkin, it’s the least I can do.”

“Yeah you lazy ass, you can get the ride.” You hear Ben tease, followed by the distinct noise of someone’s arm being slapped. You could only assume it was Joe who hit Ben, though you couldn’t be positive.

                                                                *****************

 The emergency department was packed with people in various stages of drunkenness, wearing all sorts of costumes. You felt sorry for the staff working tonight, you could only imagine how horrible working Halloween must been, you would surely see all matter of aliment. Gwil checked you in with the receptionist, who told him there would be a wait of at least an hour, as you sat with Ben, Joe and Rami waiting for Gwil to return. People had been giving you surprised looks, ever since you hobbled in through the double glass doors, Gwil supporting you as you made your slow way to take a seat. “What are they looking at? Never seen someone with glass in their foot?” You grumbled under you breath, earning a laugh from Ben, who was sat to your left.

“Love, I think it has something more to do with the fact that you just walked in with us…” Ben grins, as he takes his phone out from his pocket, as it buzzed with a new notification.

“Oh, of course.” You mumble, feeling oddly embarrassed. You often forgot just how famous these idiots you called friends, and your boyfriend actually were. To you, they were just regular people, but to everyone else here, they must look like deities! Gwil makes his way back over to you, and takes the seat beside you which had been left vacant just for him.

“They said there’s a bit of a wait, but they’ll get to you soon.” He smiled, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, as you looked down at your bandaged foot. The bag of ice Ben had prepared for you slowly melting under the bright lights of the emergency room.

All around you were people dressed up for their spooky evenings, and you couldn’t help but chuckle as you saw some of the people. There was a small child, who sat with his mother, dressed as the green power ranger who had someone gotten a plastic Jack O’lantern candy bucket stuck over his head. Carefully nudging Joe’s side, you discreetly pointed to the child. “Is that you Joe?”

“Fuck you Y/N.” Joe laughs, swatting your side playfully, his smile remaining plastered on his lips. As the night wore on, and more and more people checked in through the Emergency receptionist, you leant your head against Gwil’s shoulder, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep, though you knew you couldn’t, surely you would be called through soon?

You blinked your eyes open as a Nurse called out. “Y/L/N.” She requested, just as the phone’s around you buzzed, Ben, Rami and Gwil all taking them out to check for their latest notification. You felt somewhat left out, but seeing as your phone had been left at home charging, you could hardly check your own notifications. You followed the nurse into the treatment area, Gwilym staying by your side to help support you.

As you sat on the treatment bed, a Doctor came around to inspect your foot. Just like Gwil had done, he pressed around the wound, taking note of your reactions. “We’ll have to make a deeper excision to remove the shard of glass. Then have you stitched back up. Do you have any known allergies or reactions to anaesthetic?”

You answered the Doctor’s questions, before he moved away from your bed, to collect the necessary equipment to perform your minor surgery. “Hey, look at this.” Gwilym grinned, as he handed you his phone.

Gwilym had his Instagram open, and it took you a moment to fathom what you were looking at. “I’m going to kill him.” You sigh.

Joe had posted a photo of you and Gwil cuddled together in the waiting room, with the caption, @Y/N decided the best way to celebrate Halloween and her new apartment, was by buggering up her foot. Good one -_-‘

Gwilym wraps his hand around yours, grinning at you. “Hey, you should feel honoured. Rami thought it was important enough to log in and like his post!”

You roll your eyes, just as the Doctor returns, putting hand sanitizer on before slapping on a pair of gloves. “I change my mind about what I said earlier.”

Gwil looks at you curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Moving in on Halloween, I think it was very bad luck.”

“Maybe you’re just accident prone, and looking for something to blame that on?” You scowl at Gwilym sternly, earning you a hearty laugh from you boyfriend. “Alright fine, you’re right! It’s bad luck. We never should’ve moved in today!”

“That’s what I thought. Next year, lets go out for Halloween, that way there’s less of a risk of me hurting myself, yeah?”

“Either that, or you’ll hurt yourself worse.”

You pause and think over his words for a moment, nodding in agreement. “You’re right. Maybe we should just skip the entire day next year? Better to be safe than sorry.”

Gwilym leans against your ear, grinning coyly. “I can think of a few ways we can spend the day without really doing anything…. Or at least nothing to involves leaving the bed.”

My Masterlist

[hearts-hunger]

Funny How Love Is || bxjxg

Summary: After a long day of failed auditions, Joe can’t stop thinking how he’s never quite good enough. Funny how love is always there to drown out doubt and remind him of how loved he is, especially by his two boyfriends.

Pairings: Ben Hardy x Joe Mazzello x Gwilym Lee || poly!borhap boys

Genre: Fluff, slight angst

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: None!

A/N: Hello lovelies!! I promised I’d give you some fluffy bxjxg by the end of the day, so here it is! That pic of Ben and Gwil on Gwil’s insta got me so soft that it actually kickstarted my dumb brain into writing for them again, and of course I had to write Joe in too. I hope you like it! ♡

Joe didn’t know exactly what it was that had made his day so horrible. Maybe it was the traffic, which he despised but usually tuned out of by calling one of his boyfriends. Maybe it was the fact that his phone had died just as he tried to call, leaving him stuck in the motionless car with no distractions. Maybe it was the same five songs that every radio station seemed to play, those top hits that he liked to dance to when he was tipsy but really would be happy never to hear while sober. Maybe it was the words of the casting director that kept echoing in his head without anything to drown it out, repeating over and over choice phrases that he’d been no stranger to in his acting career. We just don’t think you’re right for the part. You’ve got some good ideas but we’re going in a different direction. Sorry, Mr. Mazzello. We’ll give you a call when we decide.

Yeah, he knew what that meant. He’d get no such call, he could guarantee. Maybe it was arrogant on his part, but he’d thought that after landing Bohemian Rhapsody, casting directors everywhere would be begging for him to come audition for them. He’d found it was kind of the opposite; no matter how much money Borhap had made, Joseph Mazzello still wasn’t a big name in Hollywood, and people were looking for big names. Names that had made it onto more than one A-list movie in the past two decades.

He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary - really, traffic was crawling, so he could have put the car in park - and took a steadying breath. One rejected audition didn’t mean his whole career was coming to an end. He needed to be patient. He needed to keep trying.

He needed to stop hearing that damn casting director’s voice on repeat, is what he needed.

He fiddled with the radio again, tuning it to the station that played oldies and actually played Queen pretty consistently. No such luck this time, though - David Byrne’s voice crooned out through the speakers in its clipped way, oddly grating to Joe at the moment.

He turned the radio off with a huff. “Yeah, I’m about to be a psycho killer if this traffic doesn’t start moving.”

He was ready to be home. It had been a long and disheartening day, and he was just ready to be home and lay on the couch in sweatpants and watch reruns of X-Files on Fox. Maybe have some wine, possibly take a long and boiling hot shower. Anything to self-soothe from having to submit to the mortifying ordeal of giving his all to an audition only to be rejected, yet again.

“Finally,” he muttered to himself as traffic began to move. He eased the car up to the speed limit after inching forward for nearly half an hour and felt some of the tension in his shoulders ease.

He got home over an hour after he said he’d be back, night starting to fall over Belgravia and easing the temperature down with a cool breeze through the darkening sky. Looking up at the second floor windows of the brownstone, he couldn’t help but feel comforted at the warm light spilling between the sheer curtains and onto the street below. Double checking the car was locked, he headed up the steps to the front door, straightening his shoulders so as not to immediately give away how tired he felt.

The sound of “Funny How Love Is” greeted him as he closed the front door behind him, drifting in from where it was playing softly in the living room. He put his keys and his wallet on the little catch-all table in the foyer as he closed the door behind him.

“Honey, I’m home,” he called.

“Oh, fuck you!” came Ben’s voice from the living room.

Joe gave a surprised laugh at the reply, a smile crossing his face for the first time all day as kicked off his shoes. He made his way into the living room and found Ben on the couch, intently playing Mario Kart.

“That’s one hell of a way to greet your boyfriend,” Joe teased.

Ben gestured hopelessly to the screen. “I was in first place and Toad ran me right off.”

Joe saw Ben was playing Rainbow Road, and he could understand his boyfriend’s frustration. “So, that wasn’t directed at me?”

Ben looked mildly panicked. “God, no, sorry.” He gave Joe a smile. “Hi, honey. I’m glad you’re home. Come here.”

Joe sat next to Ben on the couch as he paused the game, tossing the controller aside in favor of taking Joe’s face in his hands and giving him a few gentle kisses.

“There,” he said. “Better?”

Joe couldn’t help but smile. “Much better, thank you.”

He propped his feet on the coffee table and leaned his head on Ben’s shoulder, enjoying the closeness. “You can keep playing if you want. Gotta show Toad who’s boss.”

Ben laughed, a warm and comforting sound, taking the controller in hand again as he started another race.

“And if you can’t beat Toad on Peach Beach, I’m officially disowning you,” Joe added.

Ben snorted. “Okay, dad, thanks.”

Joe was content to sit in silence and watch Ben play, listening as he sang along with Queen in his warm voice.

“Funny how love is everywhere, just look and see,” he sang almost out of habit. “Funny how love is anywhere you’re bound to be.”

Joe closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief, sinking into the sound of Ben’s voice and the feel of his warmth. Ben was practically a furnace; he usually wore his dozens of soft hoodies not because he was cold but because he was a very tactile person, enjoying physical touch and substituting with sweatshirts when he couldn’t have any.  

“So… how did your audition go?” Ben asked as the track switched to “Seven Seas of Rhye”, distracted by the video game but still wanting to engage with him.

Joe started to say that he didn’t want to talk about it, but he was saved from answering Ben as Gwil appeared on the stairs. Gwil smiled as he came down to the living room with a hoodie in hand, the corners of his eyes crinkling behind his round glasses.

“Thought I heard you come in,” he said. “How was your day, love?”

“Fine,” Joe said, trying for nonchalance. “Do you have a headache?”

While Gwil usually wore his glasses closer to bedtime and both Ben and Joe adored it, thinking it made Gwil’s sharp-featured beauty look a bit softer, they’d also learned that he wore them when he got headaches.

“No, thankfully,” Gwil said. “But my contacts were bothering me a bit.” He tossed the hoodie to Ben, who paused his game to pull it on.

“I couldn’t find the one you asked for,” Gwil said. “So I just grabbed one of mine.”

Ben gave him a smile. “‘S perfect, love, thanks.”

Gwil watched Ben go back to the game with a gentle smile on his face. That was Joe’s favorite part of being in a relationship with the two of them, seeing how they looked at each other like they hung the moon.

Joe warmed as that same gentle affection was turned on him, Gwil studying his face with a shadow of concern in his own before holding his hand out to Joe.

“Come on into the kitchen with me, Joey.”

Joe sighed and took Gwil’s hand, standing from his spot next to Ben on the couch. He almost wanted to stay with the blonde, knowing that Ben wouldn’t ask him questions about his day while he was focusing on the game. Gwil, though, had no such distractions, and Joe felt the weight of his admittedly vague answer between them.

“Tea?” Gwil asked, filling the kettle at the sink.

Joe took a seat at the bar. “Sure. Thanks.”

“There’s dinner leftover if you want some,” Gwil said, setting the kettle to heat on the stove. “I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten, since you came home later than you said. I tried to call but it went straight to voicemail.”

Joe ran a hand over his face. “Yeah, my phone died right as I left and I got caught in traffic. What’d you make?”

“It was Ben, actually,” Gwil said with a smile. “Chicken parmesan. I can heat some up for you if you want.”

“That’s ok,” Joe said. “I might have some later.”

In all honesty he felt kind of queasy at the thought of admitting that he hadn’t gotten the job. He stared blankly at the kettle on the stove, the casting director’s voice kept ringing in his ears. You’re just not what we’re looking for.

“Joe,” Gwil said.

He looked up to see Gwil taking three mugs down from the cabinet. “Hm?”

Gwil’s smile was colored with a bit of sadness. “I asked you what kind of tea you wanted.”

“Oh, sorry. Um, whatever you’re having. I don’t care.”

That wasn’t necessarily true; Ben and Gwil both knew Joe’s favorite tea was Darjeeling, and Gwil fixed it for him despite his answer. Joe felt a strange kind of ache as he watched Gwil make tea for the three of them, humming softly to himself, wiping up a spilled drop of water with the sleeve of his cozy black sweater. It was the same kind of ache he’d felt before they were together, when he’d found himself wanting to be held and comforted by the tall Welshman but not knowing how to ask.

“Where’d you go?” Gwil asked, giving him his tea.

Joe drew his mug close. “What do you mean?”

“You were miles away just then,” Gwil said. He smiled. “Just wanted to see where you’d got off to.”

“Nowhere,” he lied, running a hand over his face. “Just tired, that’s all.”

Gwil looked like he was about to say something, probably pushing back on the “just tired” excuse, but Ben’s voice cut him off from the living room.

“Did you make tea?” he asked.

“Yes, love,” Gwil called back. “Yours is ready if you want it.”

A moment later, Ben came into the kitchen; he took a seat next to Joe at the bar, pulling the sleeves of Gwil’s hoodie over his hands.

“Thanks,” he said as Gwil handed him a mug.

“My pleasure,” Gwil said, leaning on his elbows on the counter close to them. He bobbed his tea bag a few times, the water turning a honey color as the herbal tea he always drank seeped in.

“Say, you didn’t ever tell me how your audition went,” Ben said, nudging his shoulder lightly against Joe’s.

“You were a little distracted,” Joe said, trying for a joke and also trying to avoid the question again.

Ben smiled. “Yeah, but now I’m all yours. How was it?”

Joe wrapped his hands around the mug, feeling the warmth of it against the sudden chill of anxiety that made its way through him. “Um...” He felt a vague fight-or-flight feeling kick in, and searched for a way to get out from under the question without it being woefully obvious.

“Yeah, I’ll tell you all about it in a minute,” he said, standing. “I’m just gonna… go to the bathroom real quick.”

Oh, good job, Joe. He mentally kicked himself as his boyfriends gave him looks that mixed confusion and concern.

“Is everything ok?” Gwil asked.

Joe rubbed the back of his neck like he did when he was nervous, immediately making himself stop as soon as he noticed he was doing it. It was his biggest tell when he was lying or upset, and if they hadn’t already seen right through him like he was sure they had, his hand on the back of his neck was a dead giveaway.

“Yeah, fine.” Again, he tried for a joke. “I had to pee before I left, and sitting in traffic didn’t do me any favors. I’ll be right back.”

Before either of them could say anything or he could embarrass himself further, he made his escape up the stairs to the master bathroom. He could have gone to the guest bathroom downstairs, but he wanted a whole floor’s difference between him and his boyfriends who were surely talking about him now that they were alone. He splashed cool water on his face, glancing up at his reflection; he was red-cheeked with embarrassment, and he only flushed deeper when he thought of going back downstairs again. They’d probably take the hint and not ask him about it again - doubtless they’d guessed he didn’t get the part - but he’d still made such a huge deal about it that they were sure to walk on eggshells around him.

As he turned off the faucet and buried his face in a towel, he heard quiet bickering coming from the other side of the bathroom door.

“He obviously doesn’t want to talk about it,” Gwil was saying in a hushed voice. “Maybe we should just let it drop.”

“Maybe something’s really wrong,” Ben insisted, his tone matching his boyfriend’s. “Maybe it hasn’t got to do with the audition at all.”

Gwil was quiet for a moment. “You don’t think he’d hide something important, do you?”

Joe could picture Ben shrugging in response.

“He’s been like this since he walked through the door,” Ben said. “I’m worried, Gwil. This seems like a lot of fuss for one silly audition.”

“I agree,” Gwil said. “But maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s something different.”

Joe sighed. Why couldn’t he have just admitted he didn’t get the part and gotten it over with? He felt bad that he’d whipped his boyfriends up into a state of panic with his behavior; he knew it was childish. To have to go and tell them that it was indeed just the failed audition that had gotten him this upset, and not some life-threatening news worthy of a whole charade like the one he’d put on, was nearly too much to bear. He couldn’t hide in the bathroom forever, though, and after a few steadying breaths he went out into their bedroom.

Ben and Gwil broke apart from where they’d been talking closely together on the foot of the bed, trying to act as if they hadn’t just been in intent conversation about him. He almost smiled as he shrugged off his jacket and went to hang it in the closet; it was a small comfort that they were as bad as he was at acting like everything was fine. He stayed in the closet longer than he needed to, trying to buy himself some time or wait for them to say something.

Their hushed voices started up again, and Joe heard Ben say he was going to ask.

Gwil took Ben’s hand as he stood, trying to get him to sit back down. “Wait, Ben, just - ”

“Joey,” Ben said in his regular speaking voice, the baritone colored with concern. He gave Gwil’s hand a reassuring squeeze before letting it go and coming over to the closet.

“Please tell us what’s wrong,” he said.

Joe brushed past him and went to take off his watch, setting it on top of the dresser. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said, feeling a flare of frustration. Why couldn’t they have just let it go?

“Come on, sweetheart, you’ve been acting out of sorts since you came in the door,” Ben said. “We’re just worried about you.”

Joe huffed and carded his hand through his hair. “Fine,” he said. “I didn’t get the part, but you already knew that. That’s what’s wrong. Now can we please not talk about it any more?”

The words tasted bitter on his mouth, and now that he’d said them instead of just implied them, they couldn't be taken back.

“So…” Gwil ventured, “it is just the audition?”

“What, that’s not enough?” Joe snapped. He didn’t like that he was talking to his boyfriends like this, but he couldn’t seem to get a hold of his frustration and shame.

“No,” Gwil said, a bit surprised at Joe’s tone. “I mean, not getting a part is never fun, sure. But you’re not usually like this about it.”

Joe gave a derisive laugh. “Yeah, because I’ve had so many failed auditions that we know how I’m going to react to them.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Gwil said, pained that he’d wounded his boyfriend further. “We’ve all had plenty of failed auditions before. What I meant was that even out of the three of us, you’re usually the one who takes it best.”

That was true, and it was probably most of the reason why they were pressing him so hard about it this time. Gwil would brood and mull over his audition for hours on end if he didn’t get one, trying to see what he’d done wrong; Ben could get downright sulky if he got turned down. Joe, though, was always the one to crack a joke, to say that he hadn’t wanted the part anyways, to say they were probably going to go with someone else because the industry had a thing against redheads. He’d rarely taken a loss like he had this one, and he didn’t blame his boyfriends for being overly concerned.

Joe ran a hand over his face, annoyed at the sting of tears he felt.

“What was it about this one that made it so hard, Joe?” Gwil asked. “I don’t remember you saying you wanted it that badly, but I’m sorry if you did and I forgot.”

“No, it’s ok,” Joe said tiredly. Truth be told he hadn’t been very excited about this part, but at this point he figured he’d take what he could get.

He almost laughed. Of course, he’d been scraping the bottom of the barrel and had still come up empty. That was par for the course, wasn’t it?

“I just…” He shook his head. “Maybe it’s time to throw in the towel, you know?”

Ben and Gwil both frowned, surprise and confusion warring for dominance in their expressions. Ben sat at the foot of the bed again next to Gwil, both of them waiting patiently to hear what Joe meant even as they worried over him. Gwil put his hand over Ben’s to let the younger man know that it had been good to get Joe talking about this.

Joe sighed. “It’s been months since awards season, and I haven’t gotten any jobs.”

“That’s nothing to worry about, though,” Gwil said. He gave a wry smile. “You don’t get jobs lined up like that unless you work for Marvel or something.”

“You did,” Joe protested. “Both of you got jobs as soon as you got off Borhap.”

“Not big ones, though,” Gwil said. “Top End’s only playing in Australia, for god’s sake.”

“And I’ll only be in Six Underground for ten minutes, tops,” Ben agreed. “It’s not like I’m headlining my own box-office hit.”

“Still,” Joe said, unconsoled. “They’re still jobs. You’re still actors that people want to cast. I’m just…”

You’re just not what we’re looking for, the casting director’s voice filled in for him. That had been the constant, through all of it - everybody else could get a job, but Joe was never what anybody was looking for.

He hung his head. “Maybe I’m just not good enough.”

If he’d expected wild protest from his boyfriends, he didn’t get it. For a split second he had the dreadful feeling their silence was agreement, but no sooner had the thought crossed his mind than he felt Ben’s arms around him, pulling him close. He let himself be held, burying his face in Ben’s hoodie.

“Oh, Joey,” Gwil said, running a hand over his back and gently kissing the parts of his face that weren’t hidden against Ben’s chest. “That’s not true and you know it.”

“Why can’t I get a part, then?” he asked, his voice muffled by the fabric of Ben’s hoodie.

Gwil sighed. “I dunno, love. All I know is that every one of those movies would have been lucky to have you. You’re incredibly talented, Joe. You just haven’t found the right part yet.”

“And everybody who said no to you has no idea what they’re missing,” Ben agreed. He pulled back to look at Joe’s face, brushing away the few tears that Joe hadn’t managed to keep at bay. “Okay?”

Joe nodded. “Okay.” He knew he wouldn’t be fully convinced until he landed another job, but for now it was enough to lean on his boyfriends’ confidence in him.

“Sorry about…” He sighed. “Everything. I should have just told you.”

“That’s ok, love,” Gwil said. He brushed back Joe’s slightly mussed hair. “Why don’t you have a bath, hm? Wind down a bit before bed, how does that sound?”

“Only if you two join me,” he said.

Smiles surfaced on both of their faces.

“I think that can be arranged,” Gwil said, at the same time Ben said “do you even have to ask?”

Ben and Joe got comfy pajamas laid out for the three of them while Gwil drew the bath, leaving the bathroom lights off. They came into the bathroom greeted by the scent of rose bath salts and the warm glow of the candles they’d bought for just this purpose. Joe wasn’t even in the bath before he felt the tension leave his tired body, his boyfriend’s gentle hands helping him out of his clothes and into the warm water enough to erase a lifetime’s worth of worry. Gwil got in behind him and Ben across from them, their legs tangled together in the middle. Joe leaned back against Gwil’s chest as Gwil comfortably wrapped his arms around him. Ben traced up and down Joe’s thigh with a gentle touch.

“Okay, Benny?” Gwil asked.

Ben smiled. “Perfect. Though you both owe me lots of cuddles when we get in bed.”

Both Gwil and Joe gave a soft laugh.

“Come here, you,” Joe said, leaning forward to kiss Ben. The feel of Ben’s mouth on his and Gwil’s warm hand on his back made Joe almost lightheaded with happiness. He rested his forehead against Ben’s for a minute, drinking in the closeness of the two people he loved most in the world, the two people who showed him tirelessly that he was good enough, even when everything else was telling him he wasn’t.

He leaned back against Gwil and kissed his scruffy jaw, feeling Gwil’s smile.

“Thank you,” Joe said. “Both of you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Gwil twined his fingers with Joe’s. “Lucky for you, you’re stuck with us.”

Ben took their entwined fingers in his hands and brought them to his lips, peppering them with gentle kisses and tracing circles over their knuckles with the pad of his thumb.

“Gwil and I love you so much, Joey,” Ben said against their hands. “You’re perfect, you know? Absolutely perfect.”

Joe’s cheeks pinked and he turned his face to hide against Gwil. Gwil chuckled and kissed his temple.

“It’s true, love,” Gwil said. “You are perfect. And pretty soon some casting director’s going to see that as plainly as we do, I promise.”

“I love you,” Joe said. That one was just for Gwil, and he knew it; he drew Joe closer and gave a sigh of contentment.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

Joe lightly nudged Ben in the ribs with his heel, drawing a giggle from the blonde as Joe had hoped it would. Ben was very ticklish, and his innocent laughter was one of the most beautiful sounds Joe had ever heard.

“I love you,” Joe told him. He couldn’t help but smile at Ben’s grin.

“I love you too, Joey,” he said. “Even more than Mario Kart.”

Gwil gave a huff of a laugh. “Charming.”

“It’s okay, Gwil,” Ben said. “I love you more than Mario Kart too.”

“Did I ever mention how irresistible your skills for romance were?” Gwil asked.

They all laughed and settled closer to each other, limbs tangled in the warm water, Ben’s skin fairly shimmering in the gold light, Gwil’s big hands belying their true softness as they traced over whichever parts of his boyfriends he could reach. Ben hummed “Funny How Love Is” in the companionable stillness, and Joe felt it was rather appropriate. Funny how love is everywhere, just look and see. Funny how love is anywhere you’re bound to be.

Even if he never got cast again in his life, he’d still gotten Borhap, and that was the only that mattered because it was what brought him to Ben and Gwil. Tomorrow brings love in the shape of things. Even if tomorrow brought audition after failed audition, it would still bring him another day with the two loves of his life. It would still bring him to loving and being loved in a hundred different ways by the two people who made everything right in the world, no matter what.

story taglist: @sunflower-borhap-boys @mimibarnes

forever taglist: @tv-saved-the-teenage-girl @dashlilymark @hazah

[heartofstanding]

Catherine de Valois novels

List of novels featuring Catherine de Valois. Some of them are not specifically about her but as far as I know she plays a significant enough role in them that she could be considered one of the protagonists  (e.g. Fortune Made His Sword is an exploration of Henry V but Catherine features as a major narrator).

Wife to Henry V, Hilda Lewis (out of print, no ebook)

The Queen’s Secret (Queens of England, Book 7), Jean Plaidy (in print, ebook available)

Epitaph for Three Women (Planateagent Saga, Book 12), Jean Plaidy (in print, ebook available)

Crown in Candlelight, Rosemary Hawley Jarman (in print, ebook available)

Catherine de Valois duology, Joanna Hickson

The Agincourt Bride (in print, ebook available)

The Tudor Bride (in print, ebook available)

The Root of the Tudor Rose, Mari Griffith (in print, ebook available)

Blood Royal, Vanora Bennett (in print, ebook available)

also published as: The Queen’s Lover 

The Forbidden Queen, Anne O’Brien (out of print, ebook available)

The Boy’s Tale (Sister Frevisse series), Margaret Frazer (out of print, ebook available)

The Lily and the Dragon, Dedwydd Jones (out of print, no ebook)

Minstrel for a Valois, Maureen Peters (out of print, no ebook)

Tudor Tapestry, Iris Davies (out of print, no ebook)

also published as: A Royal Ambition, Iris Gower 

The Royal Pawn, Antonia Ridge (out of print, no ebook)

also published as: The Thirteenth Child

The Queen and the Welshman, Rosemary Anne Sisson (out of print, no ebook)

The Bartered Queens, Freda M. Long (out of print, no ebook)

Fortune Made His Sword or Cry God For Harry, Martha Rofheart (out of print, ebook available)

The Queen of Falling, David Guest (in print, ebook available)

[ofgraveconcern]

16th September 1400, Welsh leader and resistance fighter Owain Glyndŵr is declared Prince of Wales by his followers, the last native Welshman to hold the title. The declaration leads to a war of independence against English King Henry IV, and English rule in Wales. Despite its initial successes, the rebellion ultimately is suppressed, but the legend of Glyndŵr is imprinted into the popular imagination. By 1409 the Welsh had lost all the territory gained during the rebellion, and Glyndŵr was last seen in 1412, despite pardons and a reward for his capture from Henry V. He is said to have died in 1415, although by this point he had become a folk hero with his return prophesied among those still willing to fight for him. At this point in history his mythical status endures him to a similar role to King Arthur. This is shown in Shakespeare’s depiction of Glyndŵr in his play Henry IV, where the Welsh Folk Hero is surrounded by magic and wild emotions, calling “spirits from the vasty deep". 20th September 1486, birth of English crown prince, and eldest son of Tudor King Henry VII, and Elizabeth of York, Arthur, Prince of Wales. Despite being propelled as the heir that would heal the country after the War of the Roses, and cement the house of Tudor; Arthur died in 1502, at the age of 16, from "a malign vapour which proceeded from the air." Also afflicted was his wife of only five months Catherine of Aragon who recovered. Following his death, Catherine was married to Arthur’s brother Henry in 1509, two months after he was crowned Henry VIII. In 1526 Henry wishing to divorce Catherine in favour of Anne Boleyn, began to believe that in marrying the wife of his dead brother, the marriage was cursed, and he would remain without a son. The resulting affair became known as the “King's great matter". On the same day a hundred years later, Anthony Babington instigator of the "Babington Plot", which aimed to assassinate Henry VIII’s daughter by Anne Boleyn Elizabeth Ist, in favour of her cousin Mary Queen of Scots; is hanged, drawn and quartered. #welshhistory #15thcentury #tudor #tudors #tudorhistory #history #historical #williamshakespeare #henryiv #owainglyndwr https://www.instagram.com/p/CFXCiCBgG_3/?igshid=1ffu8vkthq4mo

[pavspatch]

by DCN Jones - Memories of Mr Ashton United

THIS week’s Friday look-back is a little different. I’m aware I haven’t done much about Ashton United so this covers my memories of a man who played a significant part at Hurst Cross for many, many years — journalist DCN Jones.

 When all this is over I’ll find something useful to do with my time!

HIS full name was David Newhams Charles Jones but few people knew that. In the office he was called David or Dai. But it was as DCN Jones — the byline that appeared on thousands of match reports — that he was universally known.

If they have ghosts at Hurst Cross he’s bound to be among them. He covered the exploits of Ashton United for more than 60 years and he remembered them all: Dixie Dean, Stuart Diamond, the Halifax FA Cup tie, and like so many Robins fans of a certain age he had a fixation with Bernard Joseph “Barney” Daniels.

I shouldn’t really use the word “fan” with regard to a professional journalist, but although generations of Ashton directors might have struggled to believe it as he bent their ears, he really did love the club.

When I became Reporter Group sports editor, way back in 1987, he was constantly pushing Ashton’s case.

They made a useful start to the 1987-88 season and he took to describing them as “easily Tameside’s most successful club”, even though they were in the North West Counties League. That led to trouble with the blue half of town.

Thirty-odd years ago I didn’t realise how intense the rivalry was between the two Ashton clubs, especially as Curzon had made it into the new NPL first division and the Robins hadn’t. But more of that later.

My phone rang, it was Mr Curzon himself, Harry Twamley, and I was in for my first sports editor blasting. It didn’t help that at that point the Nash match reporter was a truly useless journalist. And I’ve known a few.

Harry ranted that his club weren’t getting the coverage they deserved. As a Northern Premier League outfit they were playing football at a more senior level than their neighbours. He finished off with: “DCN Jones sees everything through red specs. It’s about time there was someone at your paper wearing blue specs.”

The fact was, I was out of my depth. I’d only been a sub-editor for a few months before I was “promoted”. Rather getting the new job because I deserved it, I got it because I was just about the only person on the staff with any interest in sport.

When it came to writing, subbing and laying out five pages a week  — and within a three-day period — I was struggling badly. The group editor grumbled and shouted rather than encouraged, the photographers refused to help, and for the first month or so I was dealing with typewritten sheets of paper. My focus was on meeting deadlines, not dealing with DCN Jones’s eccentricities, but I couldn’t tell Harry that. In any case, I couldn’t have got a word in as he gave me both barrels.

Another of DCN’s bandwagons concerned the match ads that used to go on the inside back page. Some weeks we’d have quite a stack. He got it into his head that Ashton were always bottom of the pile and it wasn’t fair, as though being on top was some sort of advantage. It was untrue, and we showed him, but that didn’t stop him complaining.

He also told me that I should do back-page leads in rotation, giving prominence to a different club every week, irrespective of what might be happening in terms of cups, promotion, relegation or big matches.

However, his biggest beef was with the North West Counties League, and specifically its chairman, Eric Hinchliffe. This fixation, which lasted to the end of his life, stemmed from Ashton United’s failure to be accepted as founder-members of the NPL first division in 1987. What made it worse was that Curzon’s application was successful.

The Robins were one of many clubs wanting to make the step up to the new structure. To apply they had to resign from the North West Counties League. They did so only to be rejected because their Hurst Cross home was considered sub-standard. Naturally they went back to the NWCL, to be rejected on the same grounds. Hurst Cross wasn’t good enough for them either, even though it had been a few months previously.

DCN was absolutely livid. For some time it looked like Ashton would be left in no-man’s land without a league to play in. Fortunately, Tameside Council came to the rescue and built a new stand to replace the old pre-war wooden one and the Robins were back in business.

Whether Eric Hinchliffe, a Stalybridge man, really had a vendetta against Ashton United I have no idea, but DCN certainly believed he did. As far as he was concerned, Eric was punishing his beloved Robins for daring to have ambition. He never forgave and he never forgot.

Years later, in the midst of a match report, he’d suddenly stop recounting events on the field and start to lay into Eric Hinchliffe for almost destroying his club.

I have to confess that in my early days I used to dread DCN coming into the office with his reports because he’d always complain that I was doing something wrong — usually that I wasn’t giving Ashton the prominence they deserved.

It quickly got to the point that I’d see him through the window and disappear into the gents, circulation or the dark room, wait for him to pass, and then leg it to the shop and stay out till he’d gone. But as time passed we became good friends. I think we both won each other’s respect and he was very pleased with my coverage of Ashton’s quadruple in 1992.

DCN was a proud Welshman. He moved north from Carmarthen around 1929 and was still writing almost 70 years later. He was Reporter Group editor from 1952 to 74. The story went, and I’m sure it was apocryphal, that John Middlehurst died at his desk. DCN didn’t notice and was filling in his pools coupon, completely oblivious. When the truth finally dawned, governing director was so impressed that DCN had kept his head in a crisis that he immediately promoted him.

What probably happened was that DCN was the most senior journalist. That’s the way it used to work.

Another thing DCN never came to terms with was shirt-numbers and positions. It was by no means uncommon for him to criticise a number-11 for straying into midfield instead of sticking to his rightful place on the left wing.

Sadly, DCN’s skills began to desert him at the end. The quality of his reports declined and I used to wonder how I could gently ease him out without upsetting him. Fortunately, he made the decision for me.

Mike Cummings, an Ashton director, eased the blow by nominating DCN for a gong. I was pleased to write a letter of support and in 1996 he was awarded an MBE for services to journalism. Returning from his visit to Buckingham Palace he described the 63-year-old Queen as a super girl.

There’s another tale here. I heard that Tom Pendry, the Stalybridge and Hyde MP, saw the list and assumed David CN Jones was the same as David W Jones who’s still at the Reporter, now filling DCN’s former role as company fossil, and rang to congratulate. Jonesy told me he knew he hadn’t won an honour but I reckon he was crushed.

Look back through old Reporters and Dai Jones’s byline is everywhere “by DCN Jones”. The things he must have seen. The Ashton United games he must have watched.

When he died at the grand age of 89, at the start of 1999, he’d outlived his contemporaries so there were few of us at his funeral service at Ashton’s Albion Church.

But I’m convinced his lumbering tread can still be heard at Hurst Cross at the dead of night. If anyone deserved to have his ashes buried beneath the centre spot it was him.

Ashton United was his life.

[ourcuttlefish12]

St George's Day-Renaissance of National Pride

Most sovereign countries are proud to celebrate the national holiday. Visitors to the United States on the 4th of July will find it hard to miss the Independence Day street parade and fireworks. A similar national unity and joy scene can be seen in France on July 14 and St. Patrick's Day Ireland. But something similar will not happen when it is necessary to celebrate the celebration of St George, the patron saint of England, this Sunday. According to a recent survey, only 1 in 3 people in the UK know that April 23 is St. George's Day. This is an event that will be more honored in violation than compliance.

The City of London is working to revive St. George's beauty pageant, which was last performed in 1585 during the Good Queen Beth reign. People who can't attend or are too excited to attend this parade can visit the British Museum and quietly pay tribute to St George's painting where St George in Raphael kills the dragon. Time. Otherwise, there will be little sign of a crowd waving Union Jack, which takes place in a pub only when the British football team plays in the World Cup. Even this gesture was banned by law enforcement officers hired by the local council under the Dean because of the Welshman living nearby could offend.

According to a recent survey, the UK is the least patriotic country in Europe. National pride in 'this blessed conspiracy' is lower than any of the other nine countries included in the poll. Only one in ten of these proud races said they would rejoice the flag because of political doctrine and fear of racism. Patriotism is now a dirty word associated with fascism and saber-disgusting ginkgoes, but in fact, patriots live for the country rather than stab. The detailed description of Roger Scruton's book N Need for Nations is based on the love of places, the customs, and traditions of customs. Protect these good things through common law and common loyalty. For detail information visit st. patrick's day shirts.

We should be proud to be a member of the most exclusive club in the world. Margaret Truman has spoken similarly about a country that has a similar level of youth with the United States but does not fit the length and quality of British heritage. Regardless of race, British people can lead thousands of years of culture. They embrace towering figures such as Shakespeare, Ward Worth, Tennyson, Dickens, Samuel Johnson, Elga, and Bon Williams, and have a unique tradition of folk customs, music, art, poetry, and literature. They are good at sports, have a good sense of humor, are somewhat refreshing but stick their hair out and enjoy dramas like the dumb bonfire night party, fish and chips, archers, and the East Enders, which they ate from last week's newspaper. Neighborhood.

There is a real danger that we can sacrifice our pride in rushing like crazy to climb the globalization evil balance. The bigger and more imminent threat is that we can be attracted to a single-scale coalition of European nations and tempted to lose our freedom and sovereignty. Now Europe is a good place to visit for long weekends, but what do you have in common with people who do not share a language, customs, and lifestyle? British politicians who signed documents such as the Lisbon Treaty would once have been convicted of higher military forces. Even the relatively recent Treason Felony Act of 1848 is against the law to deprive or dispose of the queen from the established constitutional position. Obviously, this will happen if we enter the jurisdiction of the European president, not the British monarch. The action is still valid. According to the original Treason Act of 1351, all those convicted of such treason will be hanged. Now their punishment has been reduced to lifelong prison sentences.

You need to regain your national pride. Winston Churchill said: 'There are almost forgotten, almost forbidden words. The word is England. We knocked on the drums for England. We got a lot of our favorites. We like to be free. England is an island, and every Englishman is a whole island in itself. We are more eccentric than any country on earth. We are going easy. Our favorite word is 'live and live'. 'Make the most of bad things and better luck next time'. We also provide justice and fair play that can support and willingly support justice. French tennis player Jean Borotra was British

[nationalssquash]

2020 Masters : Semi-Finals

The Men’s 80s continues to impress.  Eighteen times champion and former GB star Pat Kirton took on Canadian Scot Vincent Taylor.  In a terrific game of great skill, Taylor won 3/1 – 11/9 in the fourth.

There was a shock in the 75s as four-time World Champion Adrian Wright (YKS) lost to Durham’s Ken Johnson in straight games, the first two being very tight.  He will meet Mike Clemson (YKS) in the final after he proved too lively for Scotland No 1 Ken Reid.  This was the only group England lost (to Scotland) in the Internationals so will be hoping for revenge this year.

The top two seeds perished in the Men’s 70s – to the 3/4 seeds.  Barry Featherstone (HPH) had two game points to level at two games each but went down 12/10 to former champion Ian Graham (SSX).  In the other half Larry Grover (HPH) continued his fine form from the South of England Open that he won.  He went two games up against former European Champion and Scotland No 1 Ian Ross only to be pulled back to 2 all.  He controlled the fifth with some lovely length to take the match 3/2 and book his first National final.

Mark Cowley (MDX) has won World, European, British Open and National titles.  Top seed here in the 65s was too strong for Masters Chairman Stuart Hardy (MDX) dispatching him in straight games.  Current National, Open and European Champion Steve Johnson (LNH) has been dominant in the group and seeded two here.  He had to battle to subdue a lively Simon Evenden (NHM) edging home in four.

The 3/4 seeds also prevailed in the Men’s 60s.  2018 Champion Allen Barwise (LNH) was 2/1 up against defending champion and Wales No 1 Jon Evans when the Welshman had to retire with a knee injury.  Former champion Jeremy Goulding (AVN) has had it over Durham’s Neil Harrison (known as Wonky Backhand) recently.  But today Harrison was inspired and won through a flurry of winners.

Former Army star Ray Burke MBE ended his great run in the semis finding the very talented Jon Foster (HPH) a step too far.  The Winchester star, Foster will meet Queens Club’s Alex Betts (MDX) in the final of the 55s after he ended a string of defeats (3 Regional Finals and the Jesters Championship) this season by Eamonn Price (HFD).  In a great game of all court Squash, Betts hung on to win in five grueling games.

Three of the four Men’s 50 semi-finalists were from Durham & Cleveland and they ended up with both finalists.  Top seed Yawar Abbas had the edge over the athletic Steve McLoughlin (HPH) and clinched the third 13/11.  Meanwhile Andy Cross confirmed his return to top form after a fallow period coming back from one down to beat Tim Clark 3/1.  Abbas and Cross have played many times and a good final is guaranteed.

Nick Wall (YKS) had a near disaster yesterday but survived 12/10 in the fifth, but today he was rampant taking out fellow Yorkshireman Matthew Stephenson in straight games.  Meanwhile Paul Boyle (BUX) the 2019 O45 Champion booked his final berth to defend his title beating Ashley Bowling (OFE) in three straight games.

In the Men’s 40s Nottingham club pro Nick Hargreaves took on top seed and former 35 Champion Darren Lewis (LEC).  Lewis displayed his full range of talents giving Hargreaves no chance to use his athleticism and was taken out in straight games.  Defending Champion Matt Marshall (BUX) faced Scotland No 1 Stuart Ayton with the Champion not having been very active on the circuit due to new baby commitments.  Ayton went two up but was hauled back by Marshall to two games all.  But it was Ayton who had the edge in the fifth 13/11 to book his place in the final.

The Men’s 35s is showing some very classy squash saw the top two seeds power through to the final.  Top seed and Army Champion Sam Miller (WKS) controlled the court beautifully against Open Champion and Surrey pro Phil Nightingale.  The Surrey man’s long reach was tested to the limit as he was forced to every corner of the court.  No 2 seed Phil Rushworth also of Surrey gave a master class against Norfolk star Jamie Goodrich and with a breathtaking display of shot making won through also in straight games.  Tomorrow promises a fantastic final between two superb players.

The Women’s 60s semis gave us two excellent semi-finals as a group with three World Champions would suggest.  Top seed Julie Field (YKS) squeezed home in five games against Jill Campion (MDX).  Then 2016 Champion Sian Johnson (Wales) had the same result against Karen Hume (KNT) recovering from 1/2 down to win in five.

In the 55s the top two came through but not without some excitement.  Seven-time National Champion Mandy Akin (KNT) lost the first and took the second 12/10 before taking control and winning in four against Jackie Gregory (ESX).  In the other semi Fran Wallis (LCN) took the first 15/13 against Cheshire’s Hilary Kenyon but lost the next three close ones.  In Mandy’s match she put an easy drop in the tin and called out “Finish it!”  The referee misheard and frantic explanations had the gallery very amused.

Andrea Santamaria (YKS) is European Champion and has three British Open and three National titles to go with a Silver Medal in the Worlds.  Top seed in the Women’s 50s she had too much for Izzy Bramhall (NOT) and now meets Nikki Fowler (CHS) who proved too strong for England Captain Rachel Woolford (WKS).

The Women’s 45s will see defending Champion Rachel Woodward (NOT) face No 2 seed Rachel Calver (LEC) in the final.  Woodward came through a tough encounter with Louisa Dalwood (HFD) taking the third 11/9 to go 2/1 up and then clinching the fourth.  Calver meanwhile dropped the first to the elegant play of Sarah Parr (BRK) but then firmly took control to take the next three.

The Women’s 40s was only a small draw but the excellent Lauren Briggs (ESX) already has World, European, British Open and National titles.  When she enters she is the favourite.  Joanne Hilton (DCL) played gamely but went down 3/0.  The final will be against Kate Bradshaw (CBE) who had a terrific match with Nicky Green (NOR) winning through in five competitive games.

Sarah Campion nee Kippax (CHS) has a great pedigree in the game and was a circuit player.  Top seed here in the Women’s 35s she dispatched Natalie Husdan (CHS) in straight games and in the final will pay Sarah-Jane Neller (ESX) who had a sterner test but a 3/0 win over Sophie Beake (BRK).

The finals will all be played at Nottingham Squash Club from 1020 hours on Sunday and there will be some fantastic squash stretching across all the age groups.  Spectators are welcome.