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Nostalgia on the Second Month Part One
>> Saturday, January 27, 2007
It was bound to happen. The sleepless nights, stressful work days, irritability, longingness, regret and wonderment--it can all be summed up in one word: menstruation.
Got you there! Seriously, it's homesickness. I admit it. Today I feel homesick.
Two months. The fun's over. I've exhausted all there is to see in my guide book and tourist mode just doesn't work anymore. For the past few weeks I started to feel more and more local each day. And each day the chats with my friends became less and less. Now, I just feel empty.
So I thought I'd feed my misery by listing some things that I miss most. And it starts with...
- You, yes you. I miss you.
- I miss waking up late in my own room and knowing that even if it's already 10AM it doesn't matter because I am my own boss and I won't have to make up lame excuses why I'm late.
- I miss waking up early and cooking breakfast.
- I miss singing in videoke bars.
- I miss singing in the bathroom.
- I miss dancing when I'm alone in my room.
- I miss Coffee Crumble at Bo's.
- I miss driving.
- I miss cruising.
- I miss my CDs, VCDs, DVDs....and VDs (hahaha I'm kidding!)
- I miss piracy.
- I miss Spike and Tiny.
- I miss the fact that I can go where I want to go at any time without worrying of getting lost.
- I never thought I'd say this but I miss doing big cart groceries and yes, every week.
- I miss the food. Oh the food.
- I miss Bacolod, my friends there and the food. Oh the food.
- I miss seeing regularly dressed people.
- I miss wearing shorts to work.
- I miss my computer and all the necessities that I have already installed.
- I miss editing videos.
- I miss video production work.
- I miss the creative rush.
- I miss my nephew.
- I miss meeting my friends and talking over coffee.
- I miss durian.
- I miss turo-turo or point point.
- I miss each little aspect of my life in Davao, from my favorite Pink Panther to my loved ones, because all these make up one thing I miss most...
- I miss my home.
Enough. I can go on forever and if I don't stop soon it's really going to fall and if you can still remember before I left Davao, I promised not to cry again. OUT.


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Click to view any of the CAFR reports listed below:

subset: commoncrawl


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text: First-graders at Hellenic American Academy in Lowell recently completed a project on animal habitats. They were assigned either an ocean, desert, wetland or forest, and they had to create a diorama using objects from nature to make it look as realistic as possible. Above, with their projects are, from left, Melchizedek KeoVann, George Grillakis, Nicholas Gannon, Kerhon Pol, Sophie Calas, Leylah Pichardo, Madyson Valencia, Aggelina Paraschou, Brayden Soberanis, Alexandra Stathopoulos and Joshua Bouzerdan. COURTESY PHOTO


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The Mars TilesAugust 10, 2017 at 7:36 am | Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments
Tags: fiction, imagination, mars, NASA, paranoia, sci-fi, science fiction, Short Story, space, speculative fiction, Story
While sitting on the toilet of my rented worker's cottage last Saturday night, I became aware of something that had been staring up at me for months. My floor tiles are not rectangles of slate. They are in fact textured photographic plates of the surface of Mars, coated with a protective epoxy resin. Though I find it more exciting to have images of Mars on my floor than common slate, I can't imagine that the arrangement is permanent. Further, I feel strongly that my new awareness has placed me in danger.
It was late and I was drunk. To prevent the toilet from spinning, I was rocking and trying to focus. My gaze eventually fell to the floor, whereupon my disinhibition allowed me to penetrate the tiles' disguise. Heedless of time, I stared in wonder at spectacular canyons, towering volcanoes, dry ocean beds and massive craters. The detail was incredible – superior to anything that's been on TV. The planet looked like a raw, early Earth. But that comparison falls way short of the truth. Mars is so much more… epic. It's maddening; the words don't exist to describe what I saw. How can they, until we've been there to invent them?
At first my discovery seemed accidental. Then I recalled a prelude. I was surprised on viewing the cottage for the first time. It had just been renovated and I'd been impressed by the ancient, polished bedroom floorboards and the sheer indulgence of slate through the rest of the house. I remembered thinking, 'who lays slate in their lounge, kitchen, bathroom and toilet – especially in a rental property?'
Then there was my criticism of the renovations after moving in. They'd looked fantastic during the agent's tour, but fell apart under scrutiny. Doors had been badly rehung; the paint had drips and bristles and many floorboards were cracked, pitted and badly filled. Shabby work; except for the tiles. They had been immaculately laid. The other renovations seemed desperately ham-handed in comparison, as if seeking to draw attention from the perfect floor.
Finally, there was the anvil. I'd picked it up at a garage sale, since it looked like the one in 'The Road Runner Show'. While hefting it though the house, I tripped. Fifty kilos of hardened steel plummeted pointy-end first into the lounge room floor. I should say onto the lounge room floor, because the anvil not only failed to shatter the tiles, it didn't even mark their clear coating. It actually bounced twice before coming to rest.
That my tiles are textured photographic plates of Mars makes sense of the foregoing phenomena. They have been hidden in my home. By the Americans. In a place the rest of the world will never think to look. Until it's safe to retrieve them.
After my discovery, I began to feel frightened.
The tiles had been laid immediately prior to my tenancy. Was I their unwitting guardian? I thought back to my tour, how the agent had drawn me away from the meandering competition to say she liked me and would put three ticks on my form. Though unemployed, I beat fifteen other applicants. Had she selected me because I was too stupid to notice the plates? Or was I someone who on recognising them, would realise the importance of keeping the secret? When I summoned the courage to ring her this week, I was told she'd been transferred. They wouldn't say where. Since then I've received notice of an inspection that wasn't due for five months. They're coming tomorrow.
Yesterday I found one of my rubbish bins smashed. The old security door I'd propped against my rear lane entrance had fallen. Yet there's been no wind. I suspected a burglar, but nothing was missing.
It's now Friday night – almost a week since my discovery. I've just spent an hour taking Polaroids of the tiles. None has come out properly, though all the lights are on. Only those taken near the skirting boards bear any resemblance to their subject. The walls are crystal clear, but there's only black where the tiles should be. I tried to chip a piece off one of them after I ran out of film, and nearly brained myself with my mechanic's hammer. It bounced back with more force than I'd put into the blow. My telephone has rung three times. Each time I've picked it up, there's been silence. I put my answering machine on and there hasn't been a call since. 'Skat', my cat, refuses to come inside.
I'm writing this because I feel too foolish to tell anybody. Reading it over I feel better, since it all sounds like crap. Dave, my best friend (my only friend) is coming over. We'll get pissed and I'll read him this and he'll laugh himself silly. The night is very quiet. A van has pulled up; I can see it through the gap in my curtains. White Mitsubishi: nothing threatening about that.
Ah, here's Dave, running up my stairs. I've got to go.
They say I look good for 35.
I'm 31.
Still, I know I've been here a while. I have injection scars on both arms. I'm fatter too.
Dave came to see me today. He's still my best mate. I couldn't help myself – I had to ask again what happened, even though it meant loss of privileges. They had him out of the booth before I'd even finished my sentence. Poor Dave. He only ever gave away that one morsel when he first saw me here. He was rattled and I was together enough to exploit that. I've never hurt a living creature in my life. If there's only one thing I know for sure, I never touched Skat. I saw the look in Dave's eyes though. He believes them, whatever they told him. The Americans. So why does he keep visiting?
Maybe he feels guilty about living in my old house. It's all open plan now, apparently. The owner gutted it after the fire. The floor's been carpeted. Whacko; it'll be warmer in winter.
I get 'New Scientist' in here with the staples removed. The other month they ran a Mars special. I leafed through it till Mills snatched it from me to make hats. I didn't bother chasing him. I'd seen all the pictures before.
I look forward to bath time. They let us lie as long as we want. Until the water gets cold if we like. I enjoy floating and staring at the ceiling. Just the other week, I noticed patterns in the flaking paint above me. I thought I saw a huge blueprint, covering the whole room. I have a theory, but the ceiling's too high for me to test it. I'm going to have to wait until one of the paint flakes falls. This will be difficult, since I only have a bath every third day. So I've decided to map every flake. I'm going to start soon. That way, I'll see if any are missing each time I come here. If I wait long enough and no paint flakes fall, I'll know they're not really paint flakes. Then I'll find a way, somehow, to get up to that ceiling and find out what's really going on in this joint.
Pic by NASA.
Brought to you by Imagine Day the book.
DogwoodMay 7, 2017 at 8:45 am | Posted in Article | 2 Comments
Tags: botany, dog, doggie, dogwood, fun, humour, imagination, pet, photo, taxonomy, tree, writing
Depending on interpretation, dogwoods are classed in up to ten subgenera.
The Australian Dogwood (Cornus canae) is a particularly resilient member of the genus.
It can generally be distinguished by its inconspicuous flowers
and distinctive
Brought to you by Imagine Day the book.
Spotting the hitJuly 9, 2016 at 8:15 am | Posted in Short Story | Leave a comment
Tags: Australia, color, colour, death, imagination, life, paint, photo, photography, Story, tree, yellow
The dribble of doom …
This little tree did it hard.
Drought killed it outside while critters gnawed within.
Curling bark and chomp trails tell the story.
Now a nice council person has sprayed the tree with the yellow spot of death.
Soon, a woodsperson will be along to cut it down.
Its replacement already incubates at bottom left.
To the right, what might have been.
Life's tough.
Live it while you can.
Brought to you by Imagine Day the book.
The Kombi-van rail cannonMay 3, 2015 at 7:21 am | Posted in Short Story | 2 Comments
Tags: Australia, fiction, friendship, humor, humour, imagination, imagine, imagining, Kombi, Melbourne, politics, satire, Short Story, speculative fiction, tram, Volkswagon
Three couples sprawled around the lounge, digesting pasta. Wine lapped at tilted rims as wreaths of smoke cruised into guttering candles, spread against the ceiling and descended. Fairy lights completed the scene.
'Let's go out!' cried Yvonne.
A shudder swept through the others. Liam, the host, shot a visual plea to Neil.
'Now now, sugar.' Neil stroked Yvonne's long hair. 'We've got everything we need right here. Liam and Sylvie have created a lovely environment for us; why not relax and enjoy it?'
Yvonne tossed her head. 'Because I think we should all go out. Club Foramen is only 600 metres from this ashtray. We're young and it's only 10:30. We've gotta live, before it's too late! Come on; let's hear some sounds and see some cats! Whatta ya say?'
Ever the diplomat, Sylvia calmed Liam with a caress. 'I'm easy; what does everyone else think?'
Yvonne leapt up and gazed into each face.
'I do not mind,' pronounced Ulrik. 'I will go if every body else wants to go.'
Sonya patted his thigh. 'That's my boy; two shots of Finlandia and you're anyone's. What the hell, we never go out.'
Liam baulked at leaving the cocoon he'd so carefully constructed. 'It's your night folks, but may I remind you we have entertainment here.'
'Guitars and PlayStation?' retorted Yvonne.
'Yeah!' chorused the boys.
'No way. You guys can do that anytime. Tonight's a celebration.'
Ulrik looked up. 'Of what is it a celebration?'
Yvonne whipped a quarter ounce from her jacket and tossed it to the floor. 'Of the biggest goddamn joint you ever saw in your life!'
Liam leaned forward, beanbag balls streaming like tadpoles under his thighs. 'Ahem. This er, hmm. This could well alter the fabric of the entire evening.'
'So we're going to experience the greatest girl-band of all time?' said Yvonne.
Sylvia's eyes sparkled. 'I'm in.'
'Me too,' said Sonya.
'I also think it would be fun to go out maybe,' said Ulrik.
Neil looked hurt. 'How long've you had that ganjar, Sugar?'
'Doesn't matter, baby,' sang Yvonne. 'All that matters is we're gonna get out and get it on.'
Liam fondled the baggie. 'Get me the scissors, Sylvie. There's something I must do – for all of us.'
A chill wind whipped through the railings. Liam swung from the door and let the bright stars careen around him.
'Come on, you old bugger!' said Neil. 'Come away now.'
The others fell against each other in baseless mirth. Liam crashed down the steps and they set off raggedly, reflections dancing in a glittering alterworld.
'It is nice to be outside; fresh,' observed Ulrik.
'Too right, Vegemite!' said Yvonne.
The Dane frowned. 'I am sorry? What is that?'
The group cobbled a questionable explanation and Ulrik again lamented that their history could never be his, no matter how he studied the language.
Yvonne raced like a sprite among the puddles. Neil lit a cigarette and ambled after her and the two embraced in the brash night. The others followed suit, savouring their own styles of intimacy.
Eventually they reassembled at a tram stop, their destination visible through sprays of barrelling taxis. Naked bulbs festooned the venue, pulsing counterpoint to the muffled boom within.
Liam signalled for silence. 'Well, this is it folks … '
'Over the top,' added Neil.
'Yes, quite. On the advice of the young and feisty Yvonne here, we are about to enter an alternate dimension, replete with alcohol and very loud music.'
'Yyyay!' said Yvonne.
Liam grinned. 'I want us to form a cosmic circle, to unite our groovy energy before crossing over.'
'Unreal,' slurred Sonya, missing Sylvia and Ulrik's outstretched hands.
Liam guided her back. 'Is everyone ready?'
'Then let us clasp fingers, close eyes and meditate on this moment before it is lost forever.'
Sonya giggled. 'Oummm.'
Another taxi roared past, leaving an uncanny quiet. The ring of revellers listened. The silence continued – palpable; like air conditioning shut down.
Sonya opened her eyes. 'Sh*t! The place is deserted!'
The street was indeed empty. All noise had ceased, no vehicles approached and light rain had begun to fall, transforming the scene into a surreal tableaux. The six stood in awe of the strange aberration in such a busy district.
'It is an omen!' proclaimed Liam. 'The stage is set; a sign imminent! We must wait and watch.'
'I'm getting wet,' said Sylvia.
'My love, that is of no import. In any case, I presage that this experience will be brief. Just hold for a moment more and believe!'
'All right then.'
Neil lifted his long arms. 'Whence shall come this sign, Master? From the sky?'
Yvonne leapt onto a bench. 'Yeah, from the sky?'
Liam gazed along the glistening tram tracks, listening like a blackbird. 'Nay, children; not from the heavens. The sign shall issue from the earth. Hark! It approaches even now!'
At first there was only silence. Then a lone light materialized. It grew slowly, but remained too dull to belong to a modern vehicle. The collective expectation of a motorcycle faltered as the engine's staccato identified it unmistakably as a Volkswagen. At last the image resolved into a Kombi-van. An ancient, dilapidated Kombi-van, with one headlight.
'Behold!' cried Liam. 'The messenger!'
'Hurrah,' offered Ulrik.
The group gazed at rusty panels, faded flowers and dribbling slogans. The streetlights splayed over filthy windows, rendering the driver invisible. The rotting muffler vomited detonations as the van shuddered past on the slippery rails, a scrap yard its only credible destination.
Liam stepped into the street to witness the van's departure. Sylvia spotted a phalanx of traffic and pulled him to the safety of the opposite footpath. The others followed. As the van disappeared, the spell dissolved and the street came back to life.
'Well?' said Neil.
'It has begun,' intoned Liam.
'What has?'
Liam's face was deadpan. 'The Kombi-van rail cannon.'
'What is that?' asked Ulrik.
'I don't want to talk about it.'
Sonya punched Liam lightly in the chest. 'Oh yes you do. You're going to explain to my boyfriend, in simple terms, exactly what just happened.'
'I cannot.'
'Bullsh*t, man,' said Yvonne. 'You got us into this space. What was the bloody sign?'
'There was no sign; I was mistaken.'
Neil approached Liam from behind and put him in a headlock. 'Are you sure there was no sign, cobber?'
Liam looked at the ring of expectant faces. 'Very well. Release me, oaf, and I will reveal all inside the beauteous Club Foramen.'
They entered the dark, smoky space as the headline band came on. Pushing through bodies, Yvonne navigated closer to the stage, trailing the others behind her. The musicians tested their instruments, then launched into deafening orbit.
The lead guitarist was elf-like, her legs clad in velvet. A mesh top sat over a yellow brassiere. Over this hung a large flannel shirt, tied at the waist. Her hair was fastened with camouflage netting that trailed to the stage. A hand-rolled cigarette rode her tiny mouth, twisting as she wrung the neck of her Rickenbacker.
Behind her stood an Aryan percussionist. Her face shone as she thrashed her drums. Tattoos flexed and a thonged top strove to contain her as her arms fell in king hits.
To her left stood the bass player; tall and thin with angular face. Sheathed in a cat suit, her only adornments were a gold link belt and a spider ring that flashed and scuttled over her fretboard. She stood with one leg forward, regarding the audience with faint disdain – occasionally favouring the drummer with an undertaker's smile.
The singer pranced and posed like a demented bride; prowling the stage in taffeta rags. With wild hair reaching for the rafters, she taunted the crowd, raged against them, lifted them and lay them on her lyrical bed. On her feet were silken points. In moments of complete incongruity, she interspersed her base gyrations with perfect pirouettes.
Spellbound, Yvonne and her girlfriends barely registered the boys' retreat.
Snooker balls clacked over burn-pitted baize, the music blunted by connecting doors. Neil set three glistening beers on the tiny table and took a stool.
Liam drank deeply. 'Thanks, man.'
'Enjoy it, friend. You'll not get another till you explain the Kombi-van rail cannon.'
Liam smiled. 'That old chestnut. Surely you don't want to hear about that?'
'I certainly do want to hear about it,' said Ulrik.
'Shoot,' ordered Neil.
Liam massaged his eyes, triggering a head spin. 'Under democracy, issues can be debated ad nauseam, increasing the time it takes for government to act.'
'What is "Norseum"?' asked Ulrik despondently.
'Bear with me man; I'll recap. This delay frustrates all players and infuriates the public.'
Neil took out his cigarettes. 'I'm with you.'
'Good. Now, a perennial threat to democracy is that discontent over inaction can lead to such disaffection that the system is rejected in favour of anarchy.'
'Of course,' mumbled Ulrik, staring at the filthy carpet.
'To neutralize this threat, our government has created the Kombi-van rail cannon.'
Neil regarded Liam narrowly. 'Go on.'
'The Kombi-van rail cannon is designed to break deadlocks in the sort of drawn-out debates that really get people's goats.'
'Reconciliation, euthanasia, injecting rooms, the Republic.'
'I see. And how does it work? Exactly.'
'Well, simply put, each party to a debate constructs a blockhouse to protect a carton of eggs. They then attempt to destroy each other's installations with Kombi-van rail cannons. The last side with an intact egg wins the debate.'
Neil took a long drag. 'Are you trying to tell me that what we saw tonight was … a projectile?'
Liam sipped his beer. 'Precisely.'
'You Australians are f*cking crazy,' spat Ulrik. 'I am going to the band.'
Neil ignored him. 'How come we've never heard about this bold new concept?'
'The government wants to enrage the media, to maximise subsequent coverage.'
'How come you know about it?'
'It was trialled successfully in Chad and our government loves benchmarking. The signs have been there, for those who know how to look.'
'But, why Kombi-vans?'
'Symbol of the people. Worked for Hitler. Did you see the detonator on the bonnet?'
'No,' said Neil, with heavy sarcasm. 'And I suppose the windows were treated to stop us seeing inside?'
'Bloody oath! Imagine the panic if people realised they were pilotless.'
'Of course! Why do you think it's called a rail cannon?'
'So it goes on … rails, does it? On our tram lines, to be precise.'
'So, what if one of these vans hits a f*cking tram?'
'Impossible; they're launched according to timetable. You'll only ever see 'em late at night. That's the best time.'
Neil crushed his butt. 'You're full of sh*t, man; I don't believe you.'
Liam stared at him. 'Why not? You think our government isn't capable of something like this?'
A minute passed.
'All right smart arse; why haven't we heard an explosion?'
'Two possibilities. One: we're in a club with the loudest band in the world. Two: the van hasn't reached its target yet. That line runs as far as Kew, you know.'
'My parents live in Kew!'
'So you believe me.'
'Of course I bloody don't! In any case, I'd know if a blockhouse had been built there.'
'I wouldn't be so sure, mate. Who can tell what they're building these days, once those hoardings go up?'
'Do you know the location of any of the blockhouses?'
'No. But I'm confident at least one will be fairly pinpointed by morning.'
Neil drained his glass and scowled.
Liam stood. 'My shout?'
'For the moment, you bastard. But this discussion is far from over.'
Brought to you by The Feisty Empire.
Shane the slugJanuary 28, 2013 at 7:41 am | Posted in Short Story | 4 Comments
Tags: home, humor, humour, imagination, limax flava, Short Story, slug, wife
Feisty and Fon married and bought an inner-city cottage.
It was warm and humble, with hand-made bricks, a kitchen fireplace and 13 types of vermin.
Though these were not evident until some time after the auction, Feisty calmly resolved to combat them by humane, environmentally responsible means.
As it turned out, this was not always possible.
When a plate-sized huntsman spider in the bedroom ignored his well-reasoned arguments, Feisty persuaded Fon to take the only remaining course of action.
She smashed it with one of her Doc Marten's ten-ups, on the understanding that he would handle all similar transgressions by reptiles and tigers.
The next day, on their walk, Fon tested Feisty's resolve by shouting 'Snake!' and leaping into his arms. He immediately rushed towards the indicated area.
'What the hell are you doing?' shrieked Fon.
'I'm gonna club it to death.'
'What with?'
'Your Reeboks.'
Fon struggled to her feet in disgust. 'That's not what I had in mind.'
Despite her best efforts, Graham the Jack Russell terrier failed to impact the mouse population.
She lay snuffling for hours in the pot cupboard (and once accidentally overnight) as a robust clan devoured box after box of poison.
Feisty bought a mousetrap and experimented with cheese, salami and corn chips.
Only when he tried pre-softened Kit Kat fragments did he meet with success.
The victims stared bright-eyed up at him in a highly unsettling manner, strengthening his resolve to encourage Skat the cat to take a more active policing role.
Though she toyed mewing with the tiny corpses hurled on the roof, she steadfastly refused to source her own.
It was a wet autumn. As the house gradually slipped into the ancient sewer beneath it, cracks opened in the walls.
Worst affected was the shower. Week after week, Feisty watched the tiles diverge, until one night he found himself gazing right through the ceiling at the evening star.
'This is crap,' he observed to Fon, who vehemently agreed.
'I hate the mould. It's gone out of control since the recess broke. We've got to get it fixed.'
But they'd spent all their money on furniture and celebrating.
The toadstools appeared shockingly, literally overnight. Pale and spindly, they felt horrid even through the wads of toilet paper Feisty used to pluck them. When flushed, they spun lazily to the surface and clung to the bowl.
'Jesus,' moaned Feisty. 'This wasn't in the brochure.' He lifted a broken tile to reveal rotting wood smothered in more fungus. Then a huge, febrile centipede shot out and reared angrily, startling him into the shower door with a crack.
Swearing and trembling, he fetched his silicone gun and glued the tile fragments to the best of his modest ability.
Though this worked for a while, the mould became worse than ever.
The couple took it in turns to scrub, but the stains went too deep. Soon the shower resembled a gritty wire-frame model of itself.
When it seemed it couldn't possibly get any more hideous, the slugs arrived.
Commuters on two train stations heard Fon's scream.
Feisty flew from their bed to find her rooted to the spot, clad only in her sparkly shower cap. Through chattering teeth she wailed, 'Feisty, there are f*cking SLUGS in our shower!'
Feisty followed her bloodless finger and recoiled as four of the fattest gastropods he'd ever seen pulsed nonchalantly across the walls and floor.
Losing all sense of karma, he mounted the cubicle, reached in and turned the hot tap on full. Aiming the showerhead like an Indonesian water cannon, he blasted the writhing intruders onto the drain hole and into oblivion. He then hosed the surfaces repeatedly as Fon regained sufficient motor control to retrieve her robe and retreat to the kitchen.
A few days later, two more slugs appeared. Ashamed of his former reaction, Feisty gingerly plucked them with disposable chopsticks and threw them in the garden. They returned the following night. And the next.
He didn't want to kill them, but could find no merit in allowing them to stay. Then, completely by accident, he encountered an enchanting article on slugs in New Scientist.
A naturalist in ever-damp Sydney, on observing three species of slugs in his shower, had discovered that they loved eating mould.
Through a series of experiments, he had even determined that the Great Grey Slug (limax flava) exhibited the optimum combination of appetite, light aversion and territoriality.
He provided a ceramic oil burner, to which his 'leotard' of slugs returned every morning. In return, they cleaned his shower nightly – growing up to nine centimetres long in the process.
'No f*cking WAY!' replied Fon to Feisty's carefully worded suggestion.
To her eternal credit, she eventually capitulated under his intensive lobbying and agreed to a trial.
Elated to at last be dealing with critters in an holistic, non-violent fashion, Feisty installed his own oil burner and waited for results. Sure enough, the mould began to recede, particularly in wet, hard-to-get-at places like the door tracks.
Though the switch from daylight saving caused several fatalities, the program proved a success. So much so that during one full moon, a baby slug appeared.
Feisty was amazed to find that his revulsion had turned to acceptance.
Fon was markedly less enthusiastic and declined his invitation to name the new addition.
'How about Séamus?'
'I don't care.'
'I don't care, Feisty.'
'Simon, then?'
'I really don't give a damn what you call it. I am not bonding with the slugs the way you obviously are.'
'Yes; Shane. Fantastic! Shane the Sh*t-eating Slug. That's the one; let's run with it, shall we?'
Feisty regarded her narrowly. 'You're not just saying that? You really prefer Shane?'
Fon unmuted the TV and concentrated on a 'Toilet Duck' ad.
'We're the germy germs, under the rim … '
Feisty stared at the screen, and was struck with a sudden thought. 'I wonder if they really could be trained to clean toilets.'
He jumped up and ran an eclectic keyword search on Google, only to stump it for the first time ever.
'Trial and error it is then!' he declared excitedly.
Brought to you by The Feisty Empire.
Pic by SleetDro.
Sole trader Christmas partyDecember 18, 2012 at 5:48 am | Posted in Short Story | 2 Comments
Tags: business, christmas, crazy, humor, humour, imagination, office party, party, satire, Short Story, small business, sole trader, xmas
I work alone from my home office. Running your own business is great, but it can make you a bit paranoid.
Last year was tough and, as my only employee, I really carried the can.
When December came, I felt a party was needed to reward effort and boost morale.
I asked for volunteers to form a committee. Naturally, I was the only one who gave a damn. After squabbling over the budget, I decided not to allow partners.
I couldn't agree on a venue, so opted to have the party at the office. I did the invite myself, after the printer said he couldn't be bothered with such a small run.
The name tags didn't take long either.
The RSVPs came back straight away, with 100% acceptance. I took it as a good omen.
I ordered light beer (someone had to look out for company liability) and a variety of appetisers. Even those horrible spurty asparagus vol-au-vents that burn your mouth.
I sourced a Portaloo in case there was a queue.
Anyone who's organised a party knows what a time-consuming and thankless task it is. My sole reward for chairing the committee was that I got to choose where I sat.
I'd booked a limo for the night, but was the only one to cough up his share. It cost a fortune, since some idiot got the address wrong.
I arrived late because I didn't want to be uncool. Even so, the cook, waiter, barman and DJ were the only people present. They seemed to be having a pretty good time.
The smoke, strobes and balloons were disorienting. I put up with it, recalling that I too had been young once. I'd authorised a taxi voucher, so I figured it was safe to have a tipple.
The barman gave me a drink with a funny name. It didn't taste like beer, wine or orange juice.
The theme was Fun with Fur. I was disappointed when I saw another koala in the bathroom. Whoever it was must have also been upset, since they stayed there all night and wouldn't talk to me.
The DJ refused to play my request, so I went outside to join the party games. I might be the boss, but I'm not aloof.
The limbo competition was a dead loss and blind man's bluff took forever, but I won every other event except the three legged race (there were odd numbers).
The dinner was fine, though the Christmas crackers were impossible and some prankster rearranged the name cards. I ordered chicken but got beef and no one would swap. That's gratitude!
In my speech I thanked everyone for coming. Despite having the best sales figures, I didn't get a bonus; I'm so tight.
I did a quick change into Santa; I don't think anyone realised it was me. Kris Kringle was a giveaway, but at least I got what I wanted. I even won the door prize.
The dessert wafers were so small, the waiter put two of them straight on my tongue. I left the party an hour later so as not to cramp my style.
Once I was gone, I really cut loose.
I did a skit taking the piss out of the boss. No one laughed – out of respect I guess. When the DJ played Time Warp and Nutbush City Limits, everyone danced in time.
I fired up the jukebox when the DJ left, but someone chose the same song seven times. I quite like the Nolan Sisters, but I felt for those who didn't.
I tried a conga line but it didn't catch on, so I grabbed the company video camera.
I couldn't find anyone to film except the koala in the bathroom, who also happened to be filming.
When the hired help had gone, I went outside for a ciggie. No one would let me back in and I had to smash a window. The cops came; then the fire brigade.
Some fool had butted out on my tree fern.
At least there were no gate crashers.
Now I always front for work no matter how much I've drunk but I almost couldn't face myself the next morning.
No one offered to help clean up and the only bright moment was when a bunch of thank-you flowers came.
You put these parties on and people make a mockery of them. Next year someone else can organise the damn thing.
Come to think of it, I might even take myself off the guest list!
Brought to you by Imagine Day the book.
Bondage Bear – A True StoryDecember 14, 2009 at 2:59 pm | Posted in Short Story | Leave a comment
Tags: arm band, bear, fashion, fetish, fiction, humor, humour, imagination, imagine, imagining, leather, retail, shop, Short Story, Story, teddy
It was a slow, hot day in the shop. Bec and Feisty waited for customers. She was used to it; he was out of his mind with boredom.
Bec wandered to the street display and retrieved the belt basket, which was almost empty. Feisty looked in and spotted a dozen spare keepers. He pushed two onto his fingers.
The leather was dark and fragrant, crossed with stout twine stitches bitten, no doubt, by some impoverished piece worker.
'Cool loops,' enthused Feisty, who was very easily amused.
'Why'd they send us so many spares?'
To Feisty, everything had a message – sometimes obvious, often oblique. The best were those he invented: 'omens of the highest order'. He resolved to divine the message of the spare leather loops.
'I'm going to divine the message of these spare loops, OK Bec?'
'Go for it.'
The toilet was even hotter than the shop. Tripping an angry dispersal of fat blowflies, Feisty dropped his jeans and sat in the oppressive fug. Perspiration dribbled down his back. A zephyr checked itself at the window.
Why send spares? Those poor buggers only make eight cents a day. Quality control? Sabotage? The desire to create an illusion of prosperity in the minds of Westerners. Now there's a theory!
'Additional loops? Of course Sahib, we have many, many loops; a veritable cornucopia of leather fragments for your utility and pleasure. Here, take some! Take 12! And go with God…'
Feisty daydreamed until, too soon, it was time to return to work. He'd determined the reason for the loops' arrival. Now, how best to employ them?
A stock cabinet stood at the top of the stairs. As he chose paperweights to replace the morning's sales, Feisty spotted a teddy bear jammed at the very back of the lowest shelf. An old, old stock item. Reverently he withdrew the bear and took it downstairs.
Bec moved the limbs and cocked the furry head. 'Yeah we got 'em years ago, but they didn't go. We had a sale.' She sat the bear on the register. 'They're from India.'
Feisty regarded her narrowly. 'India? Are you certain?'
'Yeah; says on the tag. See?'
Feisty clutched the bear dramatically, fingers plumbing humble kapok filling. Then he took a leather loop from his pocket and examined it minutely. 'Do you know what we're going to do, Rebecca?'
Bec fanned herself with a greeting card and grinned past her chewy. 'I cannot begin to imagine.'
'We're going to use two of our spare belt loops to create a wondrous product from this unpopular plaything. And do you know how we're going to do it?'
Feisty seized the bear and threaded its arm through a loop. Crooning with satisfaction, he slid it to the bear's shoulder where it rode snugly amid the fur. With mounting enthusiasm, Feisty repeated the process with the other arm, then stood back and gestured wildly.
'Behold, Bec! I give you… Bondage Bear!'
Bec snorted, first in disbelief, then with reluctant approval. The tawdry gewgaw had indeed changed into something novel. She picked it up and felt the… arm bands. A butch teddy with a fetish.
'Hm. Hm. Very good.'
The weekend ground on. Feisty's interest in Bondage Bear waned. But not before he'd explored every positional permutation. On finding the composite discarded by its creator, Bec put it in a dim corner and forgot about it.
It was a slow, cool day in the shop. Bec and Feisty waited for customers. Both were used to it. A strange man entered – strange even by the shop's standards.
He towered over the counter, bones prominent at selected chakras, jester suit tattered under diaphanous sarongs. His feet were curled and petrified.
He greeted the shop assistants with rabbit teeth and one good eye, while the other took a crazed, milky inventory. Then he made for the dim corner and retrieved Bondage Bear.
'I've just got to buy this.'
Bec looked sharply at Feisty, but on seeing him stunned, held fire.
Feisty recovered quickly, to enjoy the rarest of retail triumphs. 'Will that be cash?'
'Yes thanks.'
Bec shook open a plastic bag.
'Lord no! Bondage Bear must be wrapped thus!'
So saying, Feisty put the bear into a kneeling position and trussed the arms behind it with a rubber band. The customer nodded. Feisty snipped a corner off the bag and tied it firmly over the bear's head with raffia. Bec watched, mouth agape.
The strange man placed his purchase carefully inside a knapsack and beamed. 'I'm so pleased I found this.' And he swept away into the dusk.
Bec and Feisty gazed after him.
'What, in God's name, is he going to do with that thing?'
'It's not a thing, Bec. It's Bondage Bear. Don't worry, his mystical hand-tooled Indian arm bands will protect him.'
'Bullsh*t; our belts are made in Sydney.'
Feisty froze, a horrified expression on his face. '…I see.'
Bec glanced at her watch. 'It's five-thirty; better bring the stock in.'
Brought to you by The Feisty Empire.
Death & The Afterlife – Frequently Asked QuestionsOctober 5, 2009 at 12:28 pm | Posted in Article | 3 Comments
Tags: afterlife, belief system, construct, death, destiny, edutainment, fate, god, heaven, hell, imagination, immortal, oblivion, religion
Mine is not a Catholic heaven. Mine is a composite of the finest elements of many creeds, combined with desire and imagination. It took three years to create. I carry it with me always. It calms me like no other theoretical construct, reducing my fear of death and giving me a heightened appreciation of life. I figure it's worth describing before I die.
Q. 1 How does one gain access to heaven?
The route to heaven is reasonableness. Those who live reasonably are treated reasonably when they die. This is fair, since reasonableness is seldom rewarded in life.
Reasonableness does not equate to mediocrity. It is a virtue as accessible to the anarchic bohemian as to the corporate executive. It means giving things a fair go. It means travelling through life without shafting other people or the environment. It means being gracious, hard-working, honest, generous, positive and grateful – not all the time, but wherever possible and according to ability.
Few can identify with martyrs and saints. Better a world of reasonable folk than one perfect person to every thousand arseholes.
Reasonableness permits redemption, since it is reasonable to suggest that destructive behaviour can be reconciled over time by constructive behaviour. The rule of thumb is to over-compensate. And given the uncertainty of life, it's best to atone as quickly as possible.
Cooking with gas are the reasonable, for they shall get a fair go.
Q. 2 How does one deal with bereavement in heaven?
When the dead arrive in heaven, most nurse crushing feelings of loss – for their own lives and for the people and things they have left behind. The Time Elasticity Rule offers relief. In heaven, time is malleable; decades can be compressed into moments.
Most newly dead elect to fast forward eighty years or so. As a result, they are reunited with loved ones moments after their own arrival. Surrounded again by friends and family, they can better come to terms with what has happened.
For others, the grieving process is too important to gloss over. They quietly sit out their time at normal speed, waiting for those dear to them to arrive, one by one.
Yet even for the purists, grief fades faster in heaven than on Earth. This is largely due to the staggering variety of exciting activities on offer.
Q. 3 How does one avoid boredom when one is immortal?
Entry to heaven necessitates deification. But immortality is no fun if there's nothing to do. Heaven's Edutainment System is the last word in sophistication and flexibility. Because information and novelty excite humans, few are immune to its attraction.
The System makes virtual reality look like Snakes and Ladders. It employs the universe as a setting and time as just one of an infinite number of parameters. It is the mother of all role-playing games.
Yet this description is flawed, for what occurs in the System is real. In short, it allows an immortal to assume any form, in any time, in any place, for any period of time, with any degree of self-awareness and extraneous power.
The awesome power of the System is best illustrated by example: An immortal is chatting with friends over coffee. An argument ensues over the navigational prowess of the Laysan Albatross. Rather than check the facts manually, the woman decides she'd rather experience life as a seabird first hand.
She elects to return to Earth in the 16th Century as a day-old chick on Cape Verde Island. She sets self-awareness to cut in immediately prior to her first flight, but grants herself no extraneous powers. The weeks pass. The woman is the albatross. Only when she flings herself from the nest does she realise she is a returned spirit. Now she can really enjoy learning to fly.
She wheels and dives, revelling in her power. She discovers how to make incredible journeys, drinking sea water, sleeping on the waves, and chasing the ships of Magellan. After thirty years, she is drowned in a storm. At once she is back at her coffee. She relates her marvellous adventure to her friends and wins the argument hands down.
One man is so impressed, he decides to play the role she has just vacated, with a different choice of parameters. He is gone from heaven for an instant. Later, the albatross couple adjourn and compare experiences long into the night, replaying and reliving their favourite parts on the System.
From a tsetse fly on a rhinoceros, to a child at Joan of Arc's execution, to a crater on the third moon of Jupiter. Nothing is impossible. There is enough to do and learn to fill eternity. Which is handy.
Heaven has everything for everyone.
Q. 4 How can somewhere so crowded be any good?
Some imagine that heaven is bursting at the seams, since everyone who has ever lived a reasonable life must be there. This is a fallacy. Heaven is not crowded, because only a fraction of those who have walked the Earth were on their first time around. The rest were immortals on safari, seeing what it felt like to live as a mother, or a farmer, or a refugee, or… whatever.
The beauty of the System is that when an immortal elects to experience a whole-of-life adventure with full realism, there is no need to create a new mortal on Earth. Imbued with the essence of his or her chosen vehicle, a 'tourist' is indistinguishable from the real thing.
People who feel they have met each other before may well be highly sensitive yet non-self-aware immortals on separate real-time adventures. It makes more sense for an immortal to experience many lives than for a mortal to struggle through just one. It keeps the numbers down in paradise.
No one likes a crowd.
Q. 5 How does one know if one is already immortal?
One of the most attractive aspects of heaven is that any of us could already be immortal. When adventure parameters are set to full realism, there is no awareness of immortality until death. You yourself could be an immortal, touring your life.
Those questioning the attractiveness of an adventure with full mortality need only consider the futility of playing cards for matches. Playing for keeps is infinitely more exciting.
The possibility that we are here voluntarily, free to return in any form once we die, makes the prospect of death less frightening. If everything we love is already in heaven, what have we to lose? We are able to enjoy every second and fibre of our existence free from concern about the hereafter, since we may well already be there.
Even if we are not yet immortal, we become so at death, provided of course that we have lived reasonable lives. The pain and suffering of our existence become as important as the joy and ecstasy, since they make for a more holistic life experience. And any unpleasantness becomes more bearable when it is known to be of finite duration.
However you look at it, you can't lose.
Q. 6 What if one does not value immortality?
For heaven to claim universal appeal, it needs to offer something for the nihilists.
Some people maintain that on dying, they will simply want to stay dead. Since the success of heaven does not rely on everyone 'getting with the program', oblivion is a viable option. If, after a cooling-off period and comprehensive System demonstrations, the dead are not impressed by deification, they can forfeit their afterlives and disappear utterly and for ever. Few do.
Would you?
The Latex BeanbagsAugust 31, 2009 at 2:28 pm | Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment
Tags: beanbag, design, fashion, humor, humour, imagination, latex, science fiction, speculative fiction
Wolfgang was a tall, rangy homosexual who spoke with flamboyant gestures and a heavily contrived German accent. His acerbic wit could slice the knees from anyone foolish enough to consider him a stereotype.
He was into latex, but not in the biblical sense. Despite looking and acting like one, Wolfgang really was an eccentric and innovative fashion designer. He did all his own work, jealously protecting his exotic techniques. He worked exclusively in latex and had repeatedly pierced the membrane of accepted thought on its use.
In Wolfgang's hands, latex swooned and surrendered its deepest secrets. It danced for him, happily assuming the appearance of any fabric he cared to nominate, from lace to hessian.
One spring, Wolfgang was suffused with two urges, one of which was to create something truly new in latex. After much deliberation, he decided to construct a set of beanbags. He told his hetero friends, Rodney and Susie. Wired into their Friday night cocktails, the couple embraced the idea and threw in their own thoughts. Most Wolfgang rejected as passé or unviable. A few, however, entered his fertile mind and began incubating.
It was Saturday. Wolfgang bid his hosts a shaky farewell and returned to his studio. He slept for most of the day, rising as an alien orange moon clambered into the dusk, an hour ahead of schedule. The designer looked up bleary-eyed from his basin. The cratered disc filled his window, commanding him to work. The tides in his brain surged. He towelled himself dry, snatched a handful of sweet biscuits from the packet beside his shaver and stumbled into his workroom.
Four hours later the studio was alive with the stench of latex. Faint from fumes, Wolfgang cut and bonded the freshly prepared fabric in a trance. Above hundred year old slate, the moon kept up an even, insistent pressure. It dandled its servant from silver wires, guiding Wolfgang's hands with supernatural precision. He had become a conduit, and pure inspiration flowed through his abused veins.
The possession continued until the moon sank beneath cold sheets, drawing comfort from the night's mischief. The sober sun took charge, pouring light over the prone form of Wolfgang, slumped amid three perfect beanbags.
Susie opened her door to three huge tumours. She gasped, then realised they were the beanbags Wolfgang had threatened to construct. Laughing with embarrassment, she invited him in.
'They're marvelous, Wolfie! How'd you manage to knock them up so fast?'
Wolfgang smiled. 'I vas possessed, darlingk. You haf no idea vat it vas like. I verked like ze demon all night. I just hat to show you zem. I em fery prout.'
The beanbags were indeed handsome. One was a dappled military farrago of four earthy colours. The others were of the same design, but employed only two of the hues of the first. One was olive and russet, the other brick red and ochre. The members of the set complemented each other perfectly.
Susie ushered Wolfgang to the terrace. Rodney stood in long grass before an ancient lawn mower, worn components strewn over sun-warmed concrete.
'Hello, friend,' said Rodney.
'Hallo, darlingk.' Wolfgang tossed the beanbags onto the terrace and stood arms folded. Rodney gave a low whistle and pulled the nearest towards him. He rolled the smooth latex between his thumb and forefinger and tested the seams. Holding the units together, he marvelled at how the colours worked. Then he turned one over and over, hunting for its zipper.
'You von't find him. I haf hidden him mit much cleferness.'
Rodney rose to the challenge, but Wolfgang's prophecy held true.
'Bloody ingenious; I think they're fabulous. Why don't we have a beer and try them out on the grass?'
'Vell … perheps a small portion. Ya, O.K.'
Rodney beamed, happy to abandon his struggle with the mower. He nodded to the beanbags.
'Like to do the honours?'
Wolfgang gathered up the four-coloured beanbag and with patent pleasure, hurled it from the terrace. It described a slow, graceful arc through the azure sky and fell deep in the lush lawn.
The moment it hit the ground, the beanbag disappeared.
The three friends blinked. The grass was fifteen centimetres high at most – nowhere near tall enough to conceal a beanbag at ground level, let alone from their elevation.
'Fok me! Vere did ze fokker go?'
'Buggered if I know,' replied Rodney. 'Chuck one of the others out.'
Wolfgang nodded and threw the olive and russet beanbag after its sibling. It landed close to where the four-coloured unit should have been, but remained clearly visible.'
'That's where the other one went,' marvelled Susie. 'So where is it?'
'I don't know, but I'm goingk to find out.' Wolfgang prepared to jump down beside Rodney, then seized the last beanbag and sent it after the others. In utter amazement, he watched it vanish on landing, along with the other bi-coloured bag it hit.'
'Sh*t!' exclaimed Rodney. 'That's some camouflage. How'd you do it?'
Wolfgang strode to the site. 'I just mixed up ze colours like I alvays do. I don't haf any formula, so zey alvays com out a bit different. I don't know vot ze fok hes heppened here. But I'm fokking goingk to find out.' He stomped around the landing zone, crushing innumerable blades of grass and releasing a fragrant promise of summer.
Susie joined the search. 'This is crazy; they must be here!'
Much later, the group sat on the terrace. Too exhausted even to open their beers, they glared at the trampled lawn.
The following week, Rodney bought a new lawn mower. Delighted with its power, he gleefully scythed through the grass and filled his compost bin with catcher after catcher of clippings. He failed to notice the soft resistance midway through one of his turns around the rose bed.
Not until a white jet of polystyrene balls shot over his shoulder and dispersed in the hot air did he realise he'd found a beanbag. He spotted the red and ochre fabric of one of the bi-coloured units and excitedly scanned the ground for its mate. It lay behind him and to the left – out of range.
These days the two bi-coloured beanbags live in Susie and Rodney's house. Whenever Wolfgang visits, the couple put them away. He cannot bear to be reminded. When the beanbags get in range of each other, they disappear – and usually remain so till vacuuming day. The four-coloured unit is still somewhere in the garden.
It's like anything.
Brought to you by The Feisty Empire.
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text:
Official Statistics
Breach report: property transaction completions
Breach report for Table 16.4, property transaction completions: analysis by type of buyer and range of price.
A breach of the Code of Practice for Official Statistics occurs where one or more provisions of the Code were not followed in situations where an exemption or exception had not been approved by the UK Statistics Authority's Head of Assessment, as required in paragraph (xii) of the Code's preamble. Rules on pre-release access to statistics are covered in the relevant Pre-Release Access to Official Statistics Orders; the Code applies as if it includes these orders.
Published 29 June 2012


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Monday, 16 July 2012 01:51 PM
The approval marks the first time an HIV drug has been approved for people who have not yet been infected. It is approved for those at high risk of infection and those who may engage in sexual activity with HIV-infected partners.
The drug, taken daily, is to be used in combination with safer sex practices to reduce the risk of sexually acquired HIV infection in adults at high risk.
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"Today's approval marks an important milestone in our fight against HIV," said Margaret Hamburg, Commissioner of the U.S. Food and Drug Administration, in a statement.
Every year, about 50,000 U.S. adults and adolescents are diagnosed with HIV infection, Hamburg said. "New treatments as well as prevention methods are needed to fight the HIV epidemic in this country."
As part of the approval, the FDA is strengthening the warning label on the drug to make sure physicians screen individuals to ensure they are not infected with the HIV virus before prescribing the medication and at least every three months during use.
The approval includes a risk mitigation program that includes training and education to assist prescribers in counseling people considering Truvada as a prophylaxis.
As a condition for approval, Gilead is required to collect samples from individuals who acquire HIV while taking Truvada and to evaluate them for potential resistance to the drug. It is also required to collect data on pregnancy outcomes for women who become pregnant while taking Truvada as prophylactic.
Gilead's shares rose 1.1 percent to $51.74 in afternoon trading on the Nasdaq.
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One half seeks his Whole
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Seeking: Female 18 - 25 for Penpal
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One half seeks his Whole
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Merseyside, United Kingdom
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im useless talking about myself im 6ft, average build, blue eyes, brown hair, i dont smoke or drink. i like to get out for the odd walk somewhere round the hills if i can nothing too difficult. i do like watching films whether it be the cinema or at home. i don't mind going the pubs even though i dont drink, i'm not a big club fan though to be honest. music wise i'll listen to almost anything except recent pop, an r n b. i love dogs an miss my lurcher but he unfortunately had to stay with my ex as didnt want to split the 2 dogs up. i have no problems if you have kids or not just don't hide the fact you have (some out there have done) anything else ask me.
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Winter Hiking at Lake Achensee
Enchanting Winter Hiking Trails
Those who want to leave their skis at home on their winter holidays will find a number of other outdoor activities to experience the snowy landscape off-piste on holiday in Achensee, Tyrol. Winter adventures including winter hiking, walking or snowshoeing have been popular in Pertisau for years. of the various groomed winter hiking and snowshoeing trails will enchant you with their peaceful forests, sparkling snow in the sun and alpine lodges to stop by for a bit to eat or drink.
In the Karwendel mountain valleys go on a winter hiking tour up to the Gramaialm or Gernalm alpine lodges. Explore the winter landscape in the particularly quiet Tristenau Valley, where it is not uncommon for a deer or a hare to spring across the trails.
On Mt. Zwölferkopf, move quietly along a beautiful winter walking trail along the ski pistes and through the snow-carpeted woods.


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Fans of the much coveted Baby Dior line can now get their hands on the cute little items in Switzerland. A new Baby Dior and Dior Kids boutique opened in the prestigious rue Robert-Céard in Geneva, Switzerland last month.
The warmly welcoming boutique boasts the emblematic Dior grey mouldings, providing a backdrop to the colourful and contemporary furnishings.
The store features the latest creations of Cordelia de Castellane, including dresses in lively and sharp hues, dark suits, softly-toned footwear.
The mood gets cosier as the store progresses, boasting a painted sky of blue with white, fluffy
clouds corresponding with wallpaper covered in vintage-look motifs. This is the location for
the Baby Dior line.
Baby Dior Christmas tree by Cordelia de Castellane graces Paris's Hôtel Plaza Athénée


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Online writing is really publishing made easier and potentially much more lucrative with much less cost and investment to be produced. Self publishing is throughout and older the centuries fortunes are made by people who chose advertise and to produce their composing. Yet the stories of success previously pale when compared to what is to happen ahead and what is occurred online. The World Wide Web has been made for self publishing in more ways than you. In the days that are offline per self publisher would need to increase hundreds and sometimes thousands of dollars to make their book or report. They would have to look to advertise and advertise their information in chance magazines and papers. Eventually they would need to send out their information, usually utilizing the postal service snail mail.
In case Joe carob the all time were alive now, he would quickly turn into a billionaire many times over simply by going online. The self publisher uses sites to avail their advice at a price of zero now. There are effective marketing and advertising tools on the internet, such as the blog which may be utilized to advertise the info that is self publish books. Reports may be emailed to customers. Course how the marketplace that is self publishers is huge covering every corner of the world. Joe carob was around the verge of bankruptcy when he self published his classic to riches. With his understanding of human behaviour, he created ads to market his own self published book available via mail order. His advertisements stayed the exact same for decades and he graduated to advertisements in magazines and papers from shore.
Karbo expired he was a millionaire several times over and his location at the self publishing hall of fame has been ensured. His strategies are employed by mail order self publishers all over the world, their operations have transferred online. The coming of this human nature hasn't changed and this is the reason the methods and way of thinking of carob have transferred to the World Wide Web. While it is true that this game's rules are somewhat different for the self publisher that is internet, the reality is that items have never been improved. In the previous times, the writer that is offline had just 1 source of earnings that came from selling copies of his info. The can bill for copies of his report, newsletter or ebook however he or she has sources of earnings. Ads can be posted by them such as Google ad sense advertisements, and of course the choices of earning affiliate programs that are top he could sign up for.


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Harry Potter Subculture
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Kate Forayon 9 April 2013
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Transcript of Harry Potter Subculture
Katherine Foray Basic Demographics Core Values Cultural Symbols Rules or Norms for Behavior This culture spreads its beliefs among new and existing members by promoting the reading of the Harry Potter series and allowing a weekly viewing of all the Harry Potter movies, with all members allowed in with free popcorn. The members usually bring a friend to the movies to encourage them to join the subculture. Members are also encouraged to reread the books as much as possible because they give surprise questions on the book to each other. However, they do not judge those who are born into the Harry Potter subculture and simply title them as squibs, muggles, or He Who Shall Not Be Named, dependind on their mood. Many stay to avoid these titles. Members of this subculture are of all ages, races, and genders. However, this subculture is mainly found on the Eastern Coast of the United States and is mainly found in the state of North Carolina. The members have all read the Harry Potter series and are highly educated in all matters of the books. Anyone who loves the Harry Potter series and passes the IQ test with at least a 100 can join. This group believes in the power of magic, imagination, and the written word. They challenge the mainstream by reading the books and discussing them on an intelligent level, which is considered "geeky" or "nerdy" by the mainstream. The mainstream also considers such a pastime to be unusual and unhealthy to base one's life around a fantasy book. They believe that the messages in the Harry Potter series can improve one's life, influence others to do good, promote the power of love and friendship, and provide a healthy escape from reality. They also believe chocolate can cure depression and any form of unhappiness. The Harry Potter Subculture's main symbol is the deathly hallows mark, which is based on the books' legend. Another symbol, considered evil by this group, is the mark of a death eater. Unhappiness and depression is symbolized by a dementor. Gryffindors represent bravery, eagles represent knowledge, snakes represent ambition, and badgers represent kindness. Owls represent communication and loyalty. Quidditch is the usual sport for this subculture. The only rules are to read the books multiple times, intelligently discuss them, and live by the messages the book gives. It is not uncommon for members to act out scenes, mix potions, shout out spells, and live in dormitories or in a cupboard. Members normally wear robes and carry wands. They usually choose to wear a scarf according to their house of choice. While seen as strange by the mainstream, this is quite normal in the Harry Potter subculture. Learning Harry Potter SubcultureFull transcript


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Our airbnb home is lovely and the view from the house is spectacular. It is west of Funchal, the main town and overlooks the ocean and Funchal. When we arrived the airport bus dropped us off too early and luckily a young fellow walking by helped us out by phoning Jorge who came to pick us up there instead of the bus stop we were supposed to be dropped off at. Stress! Once we got here though we were thrilled to bits. Jorge served us home made soup on our arrival and it was delicious.
|Home sweet home for the next week
Last night we walked to a nearby fishing village where we picked up a few groceries and a bit of wine.... we then went for Tapas at a local bar which consisted of espada fish in passion fruit sauce, sardine bruschetta and lappas which is a small version of mussels. Yum. We also had a drink that the bar invented called Nikita (after Elton Johns' song) that consists of beer, wine and ice cream and is really quite delicious believe it or not. Don't try creating that at home folks as I think it could be quite scary in the wrong hands. When we got back Jorge brought us up some tea.
|This fishing village is a 30 minute walk from where we are


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Take advantage of your stay on campsite le Parc du Val de Loire to offer yourself a balloon flight over the Valley of Kings!
Aérocom Montgolfière, the most important balloon company in the region Centre, lies only 5 kilometres from our campsite! Since 1996 it organises balloon flights over the Loire Valley. What a sight, to see the castles of the Val de Loire from the sky!
In Onzain,
at 5 kilometres from the campsite
To discover as well


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One of the first problems you're likely to encounter when you first start smoking cigars is the question of how much of the cigar cap should I remove with the cutter. This is a sticky question.
You should remove as little of the cap as possible, while still providing you with the type of smoke that you prefer. Some cutters will be better at this than others. For instance, punch cutters remove virtually none of the cap. V-cutters remove only a v-shaped piece of the cap. In addition, v-cutters have a back on the cutter itself that prevents the cigar from being loaded too far in.
Straight cutters (guillotine cutters) are another matter entirely. These are excellent tools for creating a very wide opening on the cigar. This fosters the best flow of smoke through the body, but it can also cause problems. Straight cutters have no back to guard against putting the cigar in too far. This can lead to removing too much of the cap.
Ideally, you want to remove a small portion of the cap, up to the line where it joins the body is best. Going any further than this will cut into the wrapper and can actually make the cigar begin unrolling. Obviously, you can't smoke your cigar correctly if it begins unraveling. Therefore, it's important that you keep the cap cutting to a minimum. If you find that it's too difficult to cut the cap correctly using a straight cutter, you can opt for a different style. Both v-cutters and punch cutters can help you avoid this problem completely.
Some other cutting tools are even more problematic. For instance, using a cutter with a dull blade is far more likely to tear the cap than to cut it, resulting in too much cap being removed. Knowing the best options for cutting a cigar and how to make proper use of your tools will help ensure that you don't cut too much off.How Much of the Cigar Cap Should I Remove? by David Sabot


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The Examination in Public (EiP) of the GNDP's Joint Core Strategy begins on November 9th. The inspector's job is to wade through hundreds of pages of submissions objecting to, or supporting, the GNDP's plans and ultimately to decide which elements should go forward and which need to be changed or scrapped.
As previously reported here, before the EiP had even been scheduled an important element of the JCS - to make the Growth Triangle a 'strategic allocation' - was rejected due to the weight of objections, meaning that the further public consultation the GNDP were so anxious to avoid will now have to happen after all.
This has bitterly disappointed the predictable bunch of big developers who supported the strategic allocation: as well as the likes of Persimmon, Hopkins, Taylor Wimpey and Barratt, the list of pro-development enthusiasts includes - quelle suprise - the Thorpe & Felthorpe Trust.
Because of blunders by the GNDP the deadline for submissions was extended from 8th to 15th October. The T&FT exploited this extension by hurriedly submitting reams of hastily written papers, revised in the light of the scrapped strategic allocation.
Most of the developer's comments struggle to justify reinstatement of the strategic allocation while whinging that the restrictions on development on wildlife sites, woodlands etc are too strict. Most are long-winded, but the top prize for verbosity goes to T&FT, whose relentless outpourings of corporate-speak-ridden, heavily greenwashed waffle engulf page after page. The Trust seem utterly convinced that the more they say, and the more pretentious the language they use, the more seriously they'll be taken.
The T&FT's submissions contain comments that are by turns telling, worrying and risible. You can read the whole thing on the GNDP website ( http://www.gndp.org.uk/our-work/joint-core-strategy/jcs-examination ), but here are a few tasters:
"The T&FT carried out a master planning exercise with local stakeholders through a Charette held in July 2010. This identified that circa 700-800 new homes could be brought forward as part of a sustainable urban extension on T&FT controlled land alone"
So the T&FT are not only implying that their charette was a success, they are also claiming that the charette's outcome was that up to 800 houses were intended! The 631 they said they'd settled on at the charette's final presentation was bad enough. To now inflate that figure by 27%, while implying that 'stakeholders' were somehow involved with coming up with these numbers, is outrageous.
Parts of the T&FT land are allocated as a County Wildlife Site (CWS). However, the GNDP recognise that there are requirements that will need to be satisfied with regards to ensuring the protection and enhancement of areas of ecological value but that this can be done alongside the sustainable growth and through the provision of appropriate and attractive green infrastructure. The CWS is not a prohibition or, in principle, an onerous restriction. It requires an understanding of the reasons why the CWS was designated, the current land use and its impact and an understanding of the impact/benefits of a new development"
What the T&FT would like the inspector and planning authorities to "understand" is that the CWS was not designated for good reasons, the current land use (ie: not woodland but 'commercial forestry') has become outdated and needs reviewing, and that the 800 houses they want to build would have no negative impacts and massive benefits. Oh, and by the way T&FT, all the woodland is designated as CWS, as you know.
"The County Wildlife Site designation on the plantations is not an impediment to development. Indeed, without development the heathland restoration aspirations of the two authorities simply can not be achieved in the context of a plantation and woodland crop. Equally the opportunity of development will enable an enhancement of the woodland which can be managed to prioritise amenity rather than commercial purposes"
The 'two authorities' reference presumably applies to BDC and NCC, both of which are members of the Norfolk Biodiversity Partnership which supports restoration of heathland. In view of the fact that the T&FT's plans would entail building up to 800 houses with supermarkets, roads etc, right on top of some of the best habitat on the site, it seems improbable that any sane authority would view their scheme as offering opportunities to enhance anything but their own wealth. Not only that, but the heathland - which has done nicely without any intervention so far - could easily be enhanced within a sympathetic woodland mamangement regime.
"It will be important, in developing a landscape framework for the new growth area, to recognise the fundamental shift in the character of the area, from urban fringe towards a transformation into an integral set of neighbourhoods within the fabric of the city. While the preservation and enhancement of natural features will be key to establishing a high quality environment and conservation is important in its own right, such features must respond to a changing role in landscape, environmental,recreation, productive and leisure conditions within the geography of the city"
A polite way of saying that the countryside around north-east Norwich, including its woodlands, will (if T&FT et al have their way) be consumed and turned into a vast extension of the city - with a few remnants kept to make the sprawl a bit prettier. The T&FT's vision for the future is expanded on in the next snippet:
"A multifunctional network of greenspaces and green links connecting to Norwich and the rural hinterland will have been provided. Physical linkages between the older villages of the Growth Triangle and suburbs of its hinterland will have been created to support community integration and equity in access to services and facilities. Within the Growth Triangle economic growth will have been achieved including within green industries and knowledge economy, building upon the ecocredential and economic attraction created by development within the Growth Triangle"
"The T&FT considers that it is important to conserve, manage and enhance the natural environment... It is the intention that such features are integrated into development in order to create a sense of place and a quality environment in which to live, work and visit... This will result in more sustainable growth whereby communities have appreciation and respect for the natural landscape as well as improved opportunities for interaction with the natural environment. The natural landscape is also crucial to creating a high quality environment which in turn attracts people and builds value in the area"
Isn't preaching the importance of respect and appreciation for the natural environment, while planning to bulldoze most of it and wipe out irreplaceable habitats, a bit incongruous? Are these people blind to the fact that we already have a very high quality environment in Thorpe's superb woodlands?
Saving perhaps the worst for last:
"The area being promoted as a sustainable urban extension by the T&FT is fortunate in having a number of attractive landscape features"
NO, T&FT, your land is not fortunate in having a number of attractive landscape features - IT IS an attractive landscape feature - leave it alone!
Through their 'charette' the T&FT asked the local community (sorry, 'stakeholders') what level of housing they would consider acceptable in the woods. The answer back then was a pretty unequivocal 'NONE', and any equivocation has since hardened into total opposition to loss of any woodland. If the tiresome locals won't agree to 631 houses, why not go for 800? It seems likely that the T&FT's approach will harden drastically from now on: it will probably come as some relief to be able to drop the nice guys facade they'd strained to project.
We will be keeping a close eye on them. Keep watching the blog for more news.
Thorpe woodlands are under threat. Racecourse, Belmore and Brown's Plantations are a County Wildlife Site, a superb wildlife habitat and green space for the Norwich area. The present owners of this natural heritage, plan to prosper by building a large housing estate with new roads across it. The purpose of this blog is to inform you about the campaign to save these woodlands and their wildlife.
Friday, 22 October 2010
Thorpe woodlands housing growth has already started: now it's 800 houses!
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Thien Cung Cave
It is situated on the south-west side the bay, 4 km from the wharf outside of Halong City. The way to Thien Cung is a perilous one, covered on both sides by thick forest. After entering a narrow gate, the grotto's 130-meter-long girth opens up. Getting in we are astonished by the very animated and splendid beauty which is made from stalactite. On the east wall of the grotto, there is a grandiose and imposing picture with characters of heroic tales.
See more: Circuit baie d'halong | Croisière sur le Mékong |excursion baie de halong terrestre | Circuit vietnam cambodge laos 21 jours | visa en ligne vietnam | croisière vietnam cambodge
Attraction Other
Emerald waters, mist-shrouded bay, picturesque limestone caves and karsts towers carpeted in green – Ha Long Bay's legendary beauty never fails to spark one's imagination. (Chinese version: 越南自由行)


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Close to home for some of us.. It's The Colston Hall 22/06/13
And todays show is a family event ... with more family than I have photo's of!
The delightful Mrs T comes to check on her Jim.
My little monkey Gabriel comes to work and ends up trading chops with Uncle Richard.
Here comes Simon! Sporting his mini-brella iPhone.. Paul is clearly distracted however.
It's Momma time with Emma Jayne and Daisy and Kelly-Ann and Gabriel..
And the boys get some time away from the chaos of it all to watch a slice of soccer.


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that sells organic raw milk and eggs.
I love that they sell the milk in cool glass jars
and write the name of the cow the milk came from
and when she was milked right on the jar.
My milk came from 2 cows
one named Sally and the other called Delite.
We did a taste test and Delite's milk
had the creamiest flavor.
All the milk had a fantastic rich flavor .
The milk will stay fresh in a cold fridge for 3 weeks.
The eggs come in various shades and sizes
as they have a variety of different kinds of chickens.
Santa Fe : Healthy Way Dairy,small farm offering raw milk from pasture fed cows with no antibiotics or hormones.E-mail for availability at


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The Love Songs of Connacht Being the Fourth Chapter of the Songs of Connacht, Collected and Translated by Douglas Hyde.
Publisher: (Dundrum: Dun Emer Press, 1904).
Edition: First edition, one of 300 copies.
Bibliographical References: Wade 260; Miller, The Dun Emer Press, 3.
Condition: Vellum slightly soiled; fine copy.
Book ID: 23997
Description8vo, contemporary half vellum, marbled paper sides, gilt lettering, t.e.g., others untrimmed.
Comments¶ A collection of Gaelic poetry translated by Irish scholar and writer Douglas Hyde (1860-1949), with a preface by W. B. Yeats praising Hyde's work. This was the third book of the Dun Emer Press, which later became the Cuala Press. ¶ Bookplates of W. Van R. Whitall and George Frederick Engelbach on the front paste-down, below which is the small booklabel of San Francisco collector Albert Sperisen.
Price: $450.00
See all items in Irish Literature
See all items by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS, CONTRIBUTOR


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David Martin
Best teacher i ever had. I was a student there from 1984-90 his classes were fun and very educational. A great teacher and all round top guy.
sound man , hate when people call him pervy , its a part of his charm............
good guy at heart gets annoyed to easily, does have pupils interest at heart and very approachable
best teacher i've ever had, he dosnt come across as on of those teachers that only thinks of teaching as work it seems more like a hobby with him.
Obnoxious, sarcastic, cynical. Thinks he's hilarious. Poor teaching skills.
great sucks at chess though i will definetly remeber him when i leave
really good teacher. helped me out when i was in a really bad situation in 3rd year. i will never forget that
who docker,does nobody call him that anymore,he's a legand coming from a non believer
all i can say is.................GREATEST LEGAND EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
he is just the best, tries hard to help the students pass there exams best teacher ever
His class is easy. We ust sit there and listne to him rant. He doesnt take his job seriously and is you ask him a question he will babble on untill he's forgotten what the question was. As long as you dont touch the microwave that he has in his classroom for some reason you don't have to do anything
way to sarcastic for my liking!! but still he is a really sound bloke when it comes to being serious
he cnt get ovr the fact that im an extremly bitter person! he thinks i must be 'so nice' on the inside but IM NOT!
best 1 goin mad off his head and wen i get in trouble wi d skool he always sticks up 4 me he`s pure sound!!
One of the best teachers Mount Temple has ever had....and the only teacher to give everyone a chance.
simply the best. ive heard complaints about him in history though. i think hes all round brilliant
cool teacher, taught me a lot, quite overpowering but great craic.....i enjoyed his classes a lot...go Docker
He's deffenitly a good and cool teacher but sometimes your left sitting there thinking "What is he on about?"
Mr Martin was the only teacher while in my 6 years at Mount Temple who ever believed I would make something of myself. All the rest of the teachers had give up on me at that stage
best teacher in the school u dont think ur actully learn but yeah r class with him go so fast
mr.martin is the 2nd best teacher in this school , he is so funny and any1 who is dissing him on this site just get there heads checked
For j.c not so good..but omg brill for 4th yr..so funny..(chena munchin!!)
At the time you think his classes are a waste of time and learn nothing.But then after living in the real world a few years, you find out its what its ll about!
Super Teacher - Only years later have copped on to what he did for us - Thanks Sir.
I had Docker for years but i hardly remember any RE i learned from him, that was Jack Heaslip, but Docker was sound, nice guy, like a lot of the teachers in MT
only 2 weeks left or religion in my life and i'm gonna miss his classes. he makes school an uplifting place & i think he's absolutely brilliant! will miss u sir
always smiling, it's good that he's picky about english, the school needs it!
i love talking to him,he always has sumthing to say about everything and always says hello in the hall.
So difficult to get along with - if you make an effort he makes an example of you,+he always talks about upsetting+frustrating things. +he's so picky about Eng
as long as you go to his RE classes with an open mionfd you'll enjoy them.
The Talking Clock!year head of 1997-2003 and the man was incredible!lazy,vulgar at times, yet i got on fine with him.I don't really know?!?definately large!!!
what would mt.T BE without david martin?! hes a ledge.
sir dont listening to the haters we looooooooooovvvvvvvveeeeeeeeeeee you best class ever
sometimes funny but den over dus it. sez d same tings in every class to every class. good for a doss class tho.
good bloke and deadly laugh.ultimate respect cause you could actually slag this guy back. too many of his students are too easilly offended
The Billy connolly of mt temple! 4th yr media was the funniest class ever(except 4 5th & 6th yr history with Daz... laughing with him not at him?)
One the few teachers I still remember, interesting if a bit intimidating. Oh and I'm still an Atheist, even after Mr. "Doc" Martin's clock maker discussions ;)
Make syou question reality and makes you appreciate life in general.
i love this man! i want to have your baby's sir! xXx
Best old man ever , Friendly , has a really good sense of humour and has a great way of winding people up , teaches entertaining and interesting class.
history:spends the whole of class talking about our study plan...and complaning we waist out clkas time...and rushed to read a poage from the book at the end...
He has the most amazing ability to wind up half of the students in the class. CAN YOU go to the toilet? Interesting classes, but he's a bit of a bombast
Your bellybutton theory never did prove the existance of god! i enjoyed "debating" with u though but u should try and be less dogmatic! stop scaring 1st years!
certainly the most different teacher i've ever had, really got the class thinking hard
Not much off a teacher. My class actually asked could we have a new tacher for history. However very funny. Good at SPHE.
i love his classes! he is a very funny guy and he makes you think outside the box which is so important! it's a pleasure to be a student of his!
can i go to the toilet? i dont know you tell me;ARE YOU TRYING TO HELP ME?;WAEH!! buy a dictionary man! terribly annoying but great classes. makes every1 think.
Hes Pretty funny he even read these reports out in class
His classes are random but thats what I find good about them, you walk in the door not knowing what to expect. Makes you wonder about things so much about life!
He's a cool guy to have if it's just for R.E or CSPE, loves a good debate and always leaves you think hard about things at the end of the class.


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Tuesday, June 27, 2006
5 Comments:
- Bob said...
Given the state of Salt Lake City's Downtown, why would Sandy want one, too?
- Shawn said...
I know in Utah you have to turn back the clock 20 years, but haven't we all learned that subsidizing new development in the suburbs is NOT a good idea? Moreover, the shelf-life of a stadium-centered commercial development is only 30 years (boy the area around the Great Western Forum in Inglewood is just booming!) and so basically Sandy is asking the County to fund a non-sustainable development scenario for which they will reap the sales/property tax benefits but then send the poor people back home to the west side of the valley. Oh yeah, and while they're at it, they're going to put a school district wall around themselves and use the new county-subsidized property-tax receipts to exclusively fund Sandy pupils.
Sandy sucks. I say the County fund a physical relocation of the Sandy City from the mouth of little cottonwood canyon so I don't have to drive through it anymore.
- Stenar said...
Unless they can pull something else out of their a... uhh sleeve, I don't think Sandy will be getting any SL Co. tax money for the Réal Sandy soccer stadium.
Get Réal, Sandy!!
- That One Guy said...
Did you see Councilman Joe Hatch?? The guy looked like somebody woke him up to go to the meeting. And then woke him up and told him it was over.
- CapitalCarnage said...
Did you have any Idea that Mayor Dolan was going to purpose this huge of a development? I can't imagine how they could pull this off without a referendum on the ballot.