#Lower Thames Crossing

[ianchisnall]

The proposed new trees for Lower Thames Crossing

The proposed new trees for Lower Thames Crossing

Yesterday the Institution of Engineering and Technology published this piece focused on the current proposal from the National Highways agency to Plant more than a million trees to offset the environmental impact of the proposed new road tunnel under the River Thames. It states that “A community woodland and two public parks are among the 400 hectares (1,000 acres) of “landscape scale” forest…

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#IET #Institution of Engineering and Technology #Jack Taylor #Laura Blake #Lower Thames Crossing #Matt Palmer #TCAG #Woodland Trust

[valeriianz]

Pirate AU, they've been rivals for a while, but when one of them almost gets hanged, the other rescues them and well, the ship is so small, guess we have to share my bunk 🤷‍♀️ one humble drabble suggestion from me.

“--Three shots to the wind, ya are. I can smell it on your breath.”

Hob is this close to just knocking Dream out with the butt of his gun, the man had been chatty and reluctant throughout this entire rescue.

“Yeah, well–” Hob peers left and right, crouched low in the orlop, finding ground after climbing the ladder and hauling them both onto the ship Hob helped crew. “Needed a bit of rum to convince myself to save your skinny ass.”

Dream scowls, but still manages to keep his voice low in the darkness. 

“I will not be spoken to this way.”

Hob turns around, shoving Dream against the wall and leaning in close, brushing his lips against the man’s ear. “You’re a pirate,” he snarls. “I’ll speak to you anyway I goddamn well please.”

He leans back, studying Dream’s agitated visage before taking him by the wrist and pulling him along once more. Hob can hear the crew above deck, shouting orders and readying the ship for sail. They had managed to sneak by as the ropes holding the ship to the dock were untethered and the sails lowered, obviously far enough away from the public execution where the crew were sure to not be caught… until all hell broke loose with Hob’s little escape mission.

With a great sigh of relief, Hob locates his cabin and shoves Dream inside first before closing and locking the door.

“I had it under control,” Dream growls, voice a tad louder in the privacy of Hob’s tiny setup. 

Hob huffs a breath of derision. “Oh, did you now?”

Dream had been scheduled to hang at the execution square in Thames. He seemed ready for it, his face impassive as his list of crimes went on and on, giving Hob plenty of time to stalk the crowd, finding an entrypoint and exit strategy. It was a spontaneous, rum infused decision to cause a distraction and shoot the rope that held Dream by the neck, snagging the other pirate and hauling ass back to Hob’s ship nearly on the other side of the island. 

He almost fought with Hob, face crumpling into something unsatisfactory, like biting into a lemon upon seeing his rescuer. Hob wasn’t sure why he was doing this either. Hob and Dream’s ship had met on the water once in the past year, cannon fire that turned into plunder missions where Hob had met Dream for the first time, high off the adrenaline of a proper attack, on the deck of his own ship.

They’re dueled with swords, well matched with a blade, amongst the chaos around them. Hob would be lying if he said he’d given it his all… mighty distracted by Dream’s pale skin and blue eyes, like the clear waters of a coral reef.

The fight had ended in a parley, their captains coming to an agreement, but promising one another that if they’d see each other again, there’d be no mercy.

And indeed, months later, Hob had run into Dream at a port, finding him in a dark corner of a pub, not engaging with his crewmates and holding onto a tankard without drinking it.

Hob had approached him, unsure what to make of the unexpected excitement in his belly, his chest, at seeing the pirate again. All he knew was the sea and booty and blood, so as he caught Dream’s attention, Hob drew his sword and challenged him to a fight.

It had been magnificent. Dueling Dream was like crossing blades with a nobleman. Dream was all fluidity and composure, while Hob was brute strength and honed skill. Years and years of learning how to fight by trial and error, no proper training, and with the scars to prove it.

Hob had lost that fight, falling to his knees in front of spectators jeering and throwing booze. He looked up at Dream, panting hard and pointing the tip of his blade at Hob’s jugular. 

“Any last words?” Dream had said, his voice low and cool, musical, like a siren out of water, come to test Hob’s resolve.

Hob cracked his most roguish smirk. 

“Give me a chance to fight again.” Hob licked his lips, utterly smitten. “Let me prove myself worthy of such artistry-- to lucubrate your mastery and that I may step with equal footing.”

Dream cocked one elegant brow, his blade lowering.

“Well spoken. Scallywag.”

Hob had seen Dream here and there, as the months went on, but found himself unable to fight him again. He’d gotten lucky, Hob knows, earning Dream’s mercy. But that didn’t make them friends. On the contrary, if Hob’s fellow crewmates caught him sneaking Dream aboard, they’d both be tossed into the sea.

“Why did you even bother?” Dream’s deep timbre interrupts Hob’s wandering thoughts. “Now that you’ve aligned yourself with me, we’re both doomed.”

“Shut it, I haven’t ‘aligned’ myself with nobody.”

Dream stands there, in the middle of the room, casting his eyes up and down Hob’s tattered clothes and sweat soaked skin. “Certainly seems like you have.” 

“Your crew left you for dead, mate,” Hob crosses the scant space between them, causing Dream to step back warily. “I don’t think I have an enemy anymore. You got nowhere else to go.”

Dream glared, but Hob could see the admission in his eyes, the truth. That he was truly alone now. What did it mean, to be captured– nay, saved by your adversary?

“And what do you plan to do with me now, Gadling?” Dream’s arms came out wide at his sides. “You’ve brought an enemy onto your ship. If the captain finds out–”

“He won't.”

Dream levels him with a look. 

“And even worse,” Dream continues like Hob said nothing. “Your crewmates will give me no quarter upon discovery. They would see me back at the gallows.”

“I should’ve left you to hang, ungrateful prick.”

“And now you’re hiding me,” Dream ignored the jab, his brows narrowed, suspicious. “Like some little boy who’s picked up a stray pet.”

“You said ‘pet.’” Hob grinned.

The room gave a sudden lurch and sway, indicating the ship was finally off. Dream tumbled back onto the small bed while Hob propped a hand on the wall, smiling down at the inelegant tangle of limbs Dream made on the mussed cot.

As the ship began to gentle in a rocking motion, Hob stepped up the Dream, who clambered up against the wall, long legs dangling over the edge, which Hob stood between now, leaning down and pressing his palms against either side of Dream’s head, caging him.

“I’ll admit I’m making this up as I go,” he said, privately pleased in the way Dream’s neck stretched back to look up at him, hatred burning in those crystal blue eyes. Hob wondered if he could make that fire burn for a whole different reason. Could soften those lines along Dream’s brow. Hob could almost imagine it, Dream with a darkened gaze, jaw slack, lips parted, body open and relaxed– for him. 

“But in the meantime, you’ll do as I say, and keep quiet,” Hob took Dream’s chin in his hand, fingers curling around his jaw, sharp as a blade, and definitely didn’t imagine the soft gasp that snuck through Dream’s lips. “Savvy?”

Dream swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing with it. 

“Aye.”

#dreamling #dream x hob #from a request i posted that has since been deleted #ahhh this was extremely fun to write #thank you for sending this in cara! #i forgot to get to them sharing the bunk whoops #next time... #my writing #pirate au

[the-fiction-witch]

I know who you are...

Media The Artful Dodger X Percy Jackson

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Sweet + Spooky

The Artful Dodger X Percy Jackson! Yes you read that right, this concept I saw on posted by this amazing angel @afirewiel (Original Post) I fell in love with this concept immediately, thank you so much for letting me do this! I hope you guys all like it!!

The Night hung low over London, with thick storm clouds blocking out the stars, snow fluttering down from the clouds settled on the dirty streets. The light danced across the cobblestones as it flooded out the windows of the local pub that sat beside the river Thames,  within the pub people danced, drank and laughed unaware of what was occurring outside of it. Just out of sight down an undersized alley littered with boxes and broken bottles, stood a woman.

She was youthful with a head of light brown straggly hair, her face dirty, her body small and sunken, bound tight in many grey layers. She had a tattoo across her arm a mark known to many police officers that meant she had been caught for prostitution and let go so they knew if she was found again she would be hung. But that was not the most notable thing about her. 

That was the baby swaddled in her arms in a damp old cloth, the baby cried and whined from the cold and the dark. The baby couldn't have been any older than a few days, two weeks if it was a day. She held the child close to her as she watched people pass her by. 

Once the coast was clear, she began slow steps out of the alley crossing the snowy cobblestones with her bare feet towards the river. She seemed frightened but strong as if fighting her emotions back. She reached the edge of the stone pathway and gazed down for a moment at the dark murky water below. As she looked she broke a moment and let out a whine of sadness before she fixed herself again. 

She took a step back and lowered herself to her knees, she set down the baby in its swaddled blanket and unwrapped the cover exposing the naked baby boy to the cold, he whined and cried louder at the cold, he seemed desperate for her comfort but she would not give it. 

She wiped away a tear "I am so sorry my darling," She kissed his little head before she got to her feet, she pulled up her hood concealing her face before she scampered away and disappeared into the night. 

The boy's cry filled the air and echoed through a hollow London on this cold snowy night. His little body shivered, but all of this was hidden by the dark, the falling snow and the loud pub. 

A gentle sound began to be heard, that of water shifting and moving as if something was making its way out of the murky depths. A hand came over the stone as a creature human at its highest and serpent at its lowest slithered out of the water and climbed the stone, hair slimy and snakeskin-like, it sniffled the child and looked joyous which only caused the baby to cry more frightened of this creature. The Scylla wrapped its snake-like tail around the child and tried to drag it back to the water with her -

Suddenly the door to the pub opened, and light flooded out, The Scylla panicked abandoned the child and slithered back into the water to prevent discovery. 

The man staggered out drunk as a mule, Beer bottle in hand. He was dirty, and grimy, perhaps his late twenties or early thirties but he seemed far older, "Alright Alright, you bastardly lot!" He cheered to those who remained inside before he shut the door. He began to walk and sip his beer as he went but he stopped as he heard the baby's cries. He staggered over only just avoiding a fall into the river himself kneeling at the baby's feet. "'ello there... what are you doin' out here then?" He asked as he looked at the child, he seemed to fight a war in his head before he looked to the murky river. He sighed and looked to the clouded sky, "Alright, I knows it. I ain't apologizin' because we both know I'd do it again tomorrow. and it's you who give me this nature so... its as much your issue as it is mine." He said, Before he wrapped the boy up in the swaddle and lifted him up in his arms which seemed to silence the boy, "I've done some terrible awful in this life, but I'm askin' humble like... Watch over this one." He said to the clouds before he turned his attention back to the little boy, "Come on then, let's get you warm." he said as he took the baby with him to an old battered attic where many boys slept, and a woman sat working on some sewing. In a moth-eaten dress with a mess of red hair. 

"What ya got there Fagin?"

"Found him, Down by old Jack's," He said as he handed her the baby,

"What just laid there?" She asked as she cradled the boy, 

"Yep, laid in the snow." He said, as he went and sat on his bed,

"Why would anyone do that to such a sweet little boy?" She asked slowly as she let the baby sleep on her, 

"He was by the water Nancy." He said fear in his voice,

She seemed taken aback by those words as if they froze her more than any snow could. "Well, then he's a very lucky boy you found him." She nodded, "I take it no name or note then?"

"Course not."

"well... What do we call him then?"

"Baby."

"Fagin." She glared, "He was outside Old Jack's pub?"

"Yeah."

"Well, we'll call him Jack then." She said,

"Jack What?"

"I don't know."

"He was close to the dock? Dockson? Dockland? Dockins?"

"You can't call a kid Dockins,"

"Well, you think him up a name you're so smart,"

"...Humm, Dawkins?"

"Jack Dawkins, Alright." He nodded, "come on let's get some damn sleep." he said almost immediately he passed out leaving Nancy alone with Jack, 

"You're a very lucky boy Jack, luckier than most. I wonder who your father was..." She muttered, 

I finished up my work for the day and headed up to my room with a yawn, as soon as I opened the door I saw Fagin as he tried to make a break for it out my window.

"Are you breaking out?" I asked him,

"Just tryin' to scope the place out, get a feel for it."

"You know where on the second floor?"

"Yes, I realise that now." He sighed, "That's why I'm tryna get back in." 

"Well go on then," 

"I think my back's seized up, my hip, maybe my knee." He said sheepishly, "Alright, you try bein' in irons for four months, let's see how limber you are."

I rolled my eyes and helped him back in, even cracked his back for him, "There better?" 

"Thanks, Dodge." He said as he sat on my bed, 

"Off," I told him as I forced him off my bed, so I could get changed. 

"Where you off to?"

"I'm going for a walk."

"Why?"

"Becuase normally I'd relax after work here but... you're here."

"So you're going to go walking in the woods?"

"Yes, I am."

"And what happens if you get jumped? or bounced? or worse?"

I rolled my eyes again as I changed, "This isn't London Fagin, and I am not six. No monsters and creatures are hiding around every corner waiting to bloody get me." 

"How'd you know?"

"Becuase I've been here a good while and not once have I ever seen anything concerning." 

"That's because you don't look hard enough." 

"I'm going out, stay off my bed, and out of my wardrobe," I warned him, as I took my jacket and headed out.

I didn't dislike a walk in the woods every now and then, and with him here I just needed some space every so often, I'd be stressed to all hell with him, and all this thievery business. He always said I was born for it but I hated it, I just want to work, to help people. That felt far more like my purpose. I did glance over my shoulder a few times as I got deeper into the woods, just out of habit, when you're stealing you get good at checking behind you, and Fagin had convinced me ever since I was young that monsters were always out to get you. I didn't believe him now of course as I am grown but... part of me still, couldn't help it. Until one glace I saw someone.

I froze up as I fully turned, there in the woods stood a woman.

She wore a dress of a fiery red with black flowers across the fabric, she wore black velvet gloves and a matching cape the good up over her face but I could have sworn I saw, she faced away at first with a symbol I didn't know on her cloak, but she turned to me and I could have sworn I saw purple eyes looking at me from the darkness of her hood.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

"I know who you are..." Her voice spoke like a ghostly echo of another time and place as if she wasn't really here, I froze up concerned this woman knew of my past.

"Do you? Well, I barely know who I am so I don't know how you do." I began as I tried to step back to put a space between us but her words stopped my feet.

"Jack Dawkins." She smiled wickedly, 

"Doctor, Dawkins." I corrected,

"Hummm... Your father would be proud."

"My- what do you know about my father?"

"I know your father well."

"Who are you? How do you know these-"

"You have been hiding an awful long time." She said pulling back her hood to reveal a head of sweet Y/c/h Hair, she was beautiful but ghostly.

"What do you know?"

"I know-"

"Tell me. Now." I demanded,

She smiled "You are Jack Dawkins, but neither of your parents named you. Your mother left you for dead outside a pub in London, raised by a crook, and betrayed by him, given a new life for skills you inherited, now you have built this life away from your past." She explained stepping slowly closer, "But your past... is coming back for you."

"How- How do you know all that?"

"I know everything." 

"Everything?"

"It would seem I know even more than you," she smiled wickedly,

"Tell me what you know,"

"You'd never believe me."

"Tell me." I demanded, "Please?" 

"Your father Is Hermes."

"Hermes?"

"Hermes. God of boundaries, roads, travellers, thieves, athletes, shepherds, commerce, speed, cunning, wit, politics, diplomacy, messaging, and humour," she explained,

"That- That's Insane! You're nuts!"

"You really believe your skills with thievery, your quick fingers came from anywhere but the gods."

"If... I was to believe this, what I'm a god?"

"Demigod. You're mother... Melody Sandringham, a whore on London's streets. Your father was there on business from Zeus and 'happened' upon your mother."

"My- My mother was a whore?"

"A very good one. Nine months later you entered this realm."

"Then- Then- if I was a... demi god why would she have abandoned me?" 

"Because she didn't. she meant to kill you. There are many monsters in this world who feast on the blood of demigods, the gods have long disrespected the monsters of this world and they enjoy taking their children." She explained, "That night she left you exposed so your scent would attract a monster who would take you. She didn't want the child of a god, it is a hard job... you're not a normal child." 

"She... she tried to kill me?" I asked those words felt like a knife in my heart, I always felt so awful that my mother abandoned me, but to hear she intended to kill me. 

"Do not blame her, she was trying to save herself pain. Most demigods are hunted and killed within the first few years." She said, "She was trying to give you a quick death. To save you from never being able to live a normal life. Until the gods intervened."

"The gods? FAGIN!"

"Son of Artemis, goddess of the hunt, the wilderness, wild animals, nature, vegetation, childbirth, care of children, and chastity. She can never see a child suffer, so send her son to take you into his arms." She explained,

"Fagin! Fagin is a demi-god! now you are nuts. have you seen him? he smells like a bloody sewer."

"To hide his scent from the monsters that lurk. He has aided many like yourself teaching you to survive, how to cover your sent, how to protect from the monsters."

"Oh my god... all this time he-"

"He ensured you survived. He raised you with his sister's aid."

"His sis- Nancy..." I said for a moment the thought of her hurt, to remember what happened to her. "Nancy was Fagin's sister?"

"Half-sister."

"why- why wouldn't they tell me? why did they never tell any of us who we were!"

"Because it was safer if you didn't know." She said, "Your skills were recognized by another, who too could tell your quick fingers came from the gods."

The moment she said it recognized by quick fingers I knew who she meant "Captian Grimm?"

"He saw you glow in your cell and he knew who was your father."

"Who was his?"

"Poseiden, god of the sea and waters, as well as of horses and earthquakes. The sea was his blood right and his father granted him mercy on it more times than can be recalled." 

it- it all made so much sense but it couldn't be true this woman she had to be mad surely!

"And who are you?"

"I am not important."

"Please... tell me, who are you?"

"Y/n,"

"Your father?"

"Hades, god of the underworld, and of death."

I froze up, "Th- Then why are you here?"

"I have come to warn you."

"Warn me? of what?"

"You have remained stagnant for far too long, the longer you stay in one place the easier it is to find you, Fagin ensured your scent was covered when you were young, and the ship protected you never in one place long enough, but now... your scent is only building and soon they will be here to take you."

"What will be here?"

"The monsters. Your scent is already known to them and they are on their way."

"How do you know that?"

"Becuase I have seen it. Profocsey is a gift from my father. I have seen your death and I have come to prevent it."

"Why? Why would you want to prevent my death?"

"Becuase I have also seen if you live. There is much more good you will do in this world that will not exist without you." 

"Will your father like you intervening?"

"My father and yours have come to arrangement the matter. He allows this for the greater good, in turn, my father takes your mother."

"I- I didn't even know she was still alive." 

"What do I have to do, to ensure I survive." 

"Let the blood build, and do not trust the captain," she said closing the gap between us, 

"Okay... thank you." I nodded, "How will I know when I'm safe again?"

"I'll return when you are," She smiled, she rubbed the tip of her nose on my own and gave my lips a gentle kiss, I was a little shocked but kissed her back wrapping my arms around her waist, she pulled back with a gentle smile,

"I look forward to it," I smirked, 

She backed away blew me a kiss and disappeared into the darkness as if she was never there. 

I rushed back to the hospital and up to my room where I found Fagin.

"My mother didn't abandon me, she left me for dead!"

"What are you going on about dodge?"

"My mother, you said you found me shivering, naked, outside a pub,"

"I did,"

"And you knew who my father was!"

"... I knew what he was not who he was. there's a lot of them you could have been any of them."

"When did you know who my father was?"

"You were about five or so once your skills revealed themselves."

"All this time... you never told me!"

"I was tryin' to protect ya dodge."

"By not telling me my mother tried to kill me!"

"Becuase if I did you'd hate her,"

"Yeah, I kinda do!"

"don't. Do you have any idea how hard it is to raise a kid like you? She wanted to make sure you didn't suffer so she offered you to the The Scylla"

".. the what?"

"The Scylla, lives in the Thames." 

"My mother was going to feed me to The Scylla!"

"She would have gotten ya if I hadn't intervened."

"Why would you save me?"

"... Because unlike most, I spent a fair time with my mother... and I promised her if ever I were to see one of you lot, I'd take you under my wing. You, sikes, potter, hell even that damn wet lettuce Oliver twist, all of you were, so I kept you lot safe from the monsters and madness that would have taken you if I didn't. and I ask no thanks for what I did Jack."

"Even Nancy?"

"She was my half-sister, I had to keep her around."

"And yet you left me in a cell."

"I had every intention of getting you out of there Jack, but by the news broke you'd escaped barefoot in the snow no one survives that."

"Oh so you went on your merry way?"

"Don't you think I mourned for you?" He said, "There are times in this life, when we have to face the loss of something so precious, it makes the heart clench just to think of it." He explained, "I mourned for you, we all did."

"You could have told me, now I'm grown."

"Would you have believed me if I did?"

"...No."

"How do you know now?"

"Another came to warn me." 

"Who?"

"A girl named Y/n. Daughter of Hades. What is she another demigod?"

"...Ohh gods-"

"What? Who- who is she?"

"she is... but Hades and Persephone's daughter."

"Oh." I gasped "I uhh... I just... I just had a chat with Hades and Persephone's daughter... ohh I'm going to the underworld and I'm gonna be tortured." 

"Why?"

I didn't answer just kinda sheepish, 

"Jack?" 

I didn't reply, 

"You just talked to her?"

I shook my head, 

"What did you do?"

"I uh... I'm in trouble."

"For?"

"I uhh... I may have uhhh"

"Spit it out, Dodge."

"I just kissed Hades and Persephone's daughter..." 

#thomasbrodiesangster #tbs imagine #tbs imagines #thomas sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster smut #thomas brodie sangster imagine #tbs smut #thomas brodie sangster #tbs #thomas sangster #percy jackson #theartfuldogger #the artful dodger #thearttfuldodger #jackdawkins #jack dawkins #jack

[breakfast-at-timothys]

Founded in 1440 by Henry VI, Eton College (The King’s College of Our Lady of Eton besides Wyndsor), was intended as a charity school to provide free education to 70 poor boys; Henry VI also founding King’s College, Cambridge (The King’s College of Our Lady and Saint Nicholas in Cambridge), with the intention that Eton would serve as its feeder school; Henry taking William of Wykeham’s joint-founding of Winchester College and New College, Oxford, as his model, to the extent of borrowing Winchester College’s statutes and removing its Headmaster and some of Winchester’s Scholars to start Eton College.

Intending Eton should be part of a large and magnificent foundation which included a community of secular priests (10 of whom were Fellows), a pilgrimage church and an almshouse, Henry lavished a substantial income on the school and gifted Eton a huge collection of holy relics among which were fragments of what were supposed to be the True Cross and the Crown of Thorns. He even persuaded the Pope to grant a privilege unequalled anywhere in England: Eton was to have the right to grant Indulgences to penitents on the Feast of the Assumption.

Progress was interrupted however, and much of the building work left uncompleted when Henry VI (a Lancastrian King from the House of Tudor), was deposed in 1461 during the so-termed Wars of the Roses by Edward IV (a Plantagenet King from the rival House of York).

Consequently, Parliament annulled all grants made to Eton by the Lancastrians, the College’s lands were removed, and Edward IV ordered the school’s ornaments, relics and treasures be confiscated and placed instead in St George’s Chapel, Windsor – a royal palace situated on the opposite bank of the River Thames.

Bishop Waynflete (founder of Magdalen College, Oxford; a former provost of Eton and previously Head Master of Winchester College), came to the rescue and arranged for work on the Chapel of Eton College to be completed - the Chapel, still standing today (noble in its simplicity of Perpendicular Gothic design), said only to be part of what might have been one of the largest and finest churches in the country if Henry’s plans had been fully executed.

Lupton’s Range (built by Henry Redman, whose work is also to be seen at Hampton Court) was completed in 1520 with Lupton’s Tower (perhaps Eton’s most iconic image), at its centre. The fourth side of School Yard was added by Provost Allestree in 1665; its main feature is Upper School on the first floor (Eton’s second and largest classroom). In the middle of School Yard stands a bronze statue of the Founder in Garter robes. It was erected in 1719 by Provost Godolphin and is the work of Francis Bird.

More than five and a half centuries after the foundation, Eton College has a fame second to none. From the 70 scholars for whom Henry provided, the school has expanded to about 1,290 boys aged from 13 to 18. Eton’s ’Scholars’ are admitted by competitive examination; the remainder, known as ‘Oppidans’, are distributed between 24 boarding houses. Besides a large part-time staff, there are 143 masters and a Governing Body composed of a resident Provost and Vice-Provost together with 10 non-resident lay Fellows; successors of the 10 priest-Fellows of the original foundation.

The earliest records of school life date from the 16th century and paint a picture of a regimented and Spartan life. Scholars were awakened at 5 am, chanted prayers whilst they dressed and were at work in Lower School by 6am. All teaching was in Latin and lessons were supervised by ’Praepostors’ (senior boys appointed by the headmaster). There was a single hour of play, though football appears to have been popular, for a sentence set for Latin translation in 1519 was ’We will play with a bag full of wynde’.

The school flourished particularly under the reign of George III (1760-1820); George frequently visiting Eton and entertaining boys at Windsor Castle. The school in turn made George’s birthday, the Fourth of June, into a holiday marked by speeches, cricket, a procession of boats along the River Thames, and picnics on ‘Agar’s Plough’.

Eton College is known for its traditions, including a uniform of black tailcoat (or morning coat) and waistcoat, false-collar and pinstriped trousers. Most pupils wear a white tie that is effectively a strip of cloth folded over into a starched, detachable collar, though some senior boys are entitled to wear a white bow tie and winged collar; ’King’s Scholars’ are entitled to use the letters ’KS’ after their name and can be identified by a black gown worn over the top of their tailcoats, giving them the nickname tugs (Latin: togati, wearers of gowns).

During ’Summer Half’ (Summer Term) boys divide into ’Dry Bobs’ (those who play cricket, tennis or athletics), and ’Wet Bobs’ (those who row on the River Thames in preparation for the National Schools Regatta and the Princess Elizabeth Challenge Cup at the Henley Regatta).

One of England’s four remaining boarding schools for boys (the others being Harrow School and the colleges of Radley and Winchester), Eton has educated 19 British prime ministers and generations of the aristocracy, including Princes William and Harry; and thirty-seven ’Old Etonians’ (the term given to the alumni of Eton College) have been awarded the Victoria Cross (the largest number of alumni of any school).

The College motto is ’Floreat Etona’ (May Eton flourish). The school song is ’Carmen Etonense’. And the school colour is a distinctive blue-green known as ’Eton-Blue’; the colour being adopted by the University of Cambridge for the Boat Race against Oxford in 1836, and they have kept it ever since.

Notable Old Etonians include the writers Henry Fielding, Aldous Huxley, Percy Bysshe Shelley, Eric Blair (better know perhaps as George Orwell), and Ian Fleming; The explorers Sir Ranulph Fiennes; Composers Thomas Arne, George Butterworth, Roger Quilter, Thomas Dunhill, Philip Heseltine (known as Peter Warlock), and Hubert Parry (who wrote the song 'Jerusalem’ and the coronation anthem 'I was glad’); And the actors Eddie Redmayne, Damian Lewis, Jeremy Brett and Hugh Laurie.

Speaking of his time as an Eton College schoolboy, actor Tom Hiddleston said there are widespread misconceptions about Eton. ’People think it’s just full of braying toffs. … It isn’t true… It’s actually one of the most broad-minded places I’ve ever been. The reason it’s a good school is that it encourages people to find the thing they love and to go for it. They champion the talent of the individual and that’s what’s special about it.’

[lovedrunkheadcanons]

Chapter Contents

(Arranged Marriage Fic) Read on AO3

RATED M

A predator knows how to hide in plain sight; A lion will camouflage with the Saharan grass next to a herd of grazing zebra; A bolas spider will emit chemicals akin to female moth pheromones to lure prospective male moths towards its web; A thousand year old cursed spirit will split his essence into twenty fingers and scatter himself to places forgotten by man, ready to be made whole. Predators understand that to hunt their prey, you must first lower their defenses. Give them a false sense of security. Dupe the fools into believing they are safe and sound and the danger has passed when it lies waiting on their doorstep. Hungry.

Satoru didn’t trust the finger outright. He wasn’t so naive as to think it could ever be that simple. His plan was to monitor. Cursed objects had to be monitored for twenty-four hours when found. Kumari was strong, but if anything were to go wrong she wouldn’t stand a chance, and his wife’s behavior only made him more suspicious, hence why he took the finger home (and maybe also to appease his inquisitive nature). Hannah thought nothing of it when they returned. It’ll be gone in the morning, she thought and cozied up beside her husband on the futon later that night. Satoru would take care of everything. He always did.

So she thought.

From the time she was small, since the tender age of five or six, Hannah had been hearing voices. One hears many voices when inheriting The Sight. Mostly last breaths and dying screams. A curse cackling by the carnage of torn bodies. All of them disturbing and violent and horrible. So why would this be any different?

It rasped somewhere far in the distance. Thames. Over the pine crested peaks of Mt. Takao, the mokoshi penthouse roofs, and the torii gates. Thames. It blew across the school yard, rustling passed the trees, billowing near their house, sighing through the eaves, through the walls, just outside Hannah’s bedroom. Rattling her eardrums.

She heard claws scrape across the floor, repeating a name no longer hers.

Thames.

Satoru’s arm was wrapped snugly around her torso, holding her dear, yet she had no trouble breaking free and rising from the floor, leaving him sound asleep on the futon. “Mmph,” he grunted and stirred at the feel of something missing, but then switched positions and grew still once more, snoring contently on their shared pillow.

Somnolent, Hannah stood and walked towards the entrance, a thin nightgown strap hanging loosely off her shoulder. The door slid open by its own accord, but she did not return to the only person who could grant her safety. Out to the beyond she wandered.

Each step felt lighter than air down the tatami woven corridors, the shoji panels. Door after door after door, adjarring without interruption, her silhouette a mere shadow across the many lantern-lit halls. The voice beckoned louder. Thames. It wanted her. She would answer.

She came to a halt at the twelfth door, riddled in spell-tags. The incantation Satoru recited could be traced back to the earliest of jujutsu, some say since before the monolithic Jōmon began texturing their clay with bands of rope.1 Ancient jujutsu was the purest form of sorcery for good reason. Untainted. Indomitable. Satoru had mastered the secret incantation quicker than his predecessors. Nothing on heaven or earth should’ve been able to cross those barriers and remove those spell-tags.

Hannah did so without lifting a pinkie.

The barrier didn’t object to her presence, and the paper tags unglued themselves, one by one, scattering to the floor like a pile of white autumn leaves. The door slowly parted. Inside over by the corner was the sealed box. That’s it now, come here. Come to me. Five steps and she was hunkered down in front of it like a curious Pandora, nescient of the evil she was about to release upon the world. She flicked open the notches.

The floor beneath collapsed.

Hannah felt she was falling…

falling.

falling.

Her bare feet hardly made a splash in the blood water, wading just above her knees. Something ripe mushed between her toes. The air stank heavily of decay and iron. Though her eyes were transfixed by the large blackened ribs scaffolded above like an animal enclosure.

On a mound of bones, human and beast, buttressed and stacked high, was a notch arranged into a dais. The eery crimson light, emanating from God knows where, began building in strength, and the bone-filled graveyard started to unveil its secrets. She saw the outline of a figure seated atop the bones. Something like four monstrous arms, two sets of eyes, tattoos, and a mouth where a stomach should've been.

Regaining her wits, Hannah’s head began to throb. Her knees quaked. Blood ceased circulating to her legs from the cold water. She couldn’t feel the oxygen exit her lungs, nor her heart crumble and un-crumble like a reused plastic bottle.

“W-Where am I?” she croaked.

She saw one of its two mouths twist into a wry, sinister grin and suddenly felt she had unintentionally signed her death certificate. That’s not human, she thought. Not anymore. An alien life form. A freak of nature. Demonic.

“Woman.” the four-armed demon drawled above its mountain of skeletons, man and beast. “Did Uraume send you?”

Hannah stayed silent, struck paralyzed from the waist down.

“Are you a challenger?” it spoke again.

Tendrils of fear clamped around her throat. “A what?” she said dumbly.

The demon gave out a snorting laugh, “Guess not,” and rose to its feet. In a flash, it was standing in front of her, frame hulking and grotesque, roughly seizing her face between a mass of blackened claws, hooking a thumb to her lower lip. Hannah drew mute. The malevolence in its four vermillion eyes was a raw, insatiable sort.

“Weak,” the demon crooned, and stretched its mouth into that awful, predacious grin that conveyed unspeakable harm. Something knife-point sharp tapped her lower back.

The last thing Hannah heard were cruel peals of laughter before the world was swallowed inside a scarlet sea.

A goodnight’s sleep was a hardfought luxury for a jujutsu sorcerer. Not that it mattered much. Satoru sucked at sleeping anyways. Always had. Always will, so it didn’t take much for him to become gradually aware that the primal, gut-wrenching screams ringing in his subconscious were not a figment of his dreams, but real.

Oh so terrifyingly real.

The Six Eyes wielder could recall the time he witnessed the late cauterization of a grown bull, back when the estate was in the business of raising livestock. Most dehornings are performed when the bull is a calf to reduce infection and long-term pain: chemical solutions,"tubes," saws, keystone dehorners, you name it. But the rancher they hired cared little for the well-being of their cattle, and thought axing the bull’s horns with an old splitting maul and cauterizing the wound with a branding iron was the method of choice; highly illegal. Satoru watched him tie the bovine’s head down in a compromising position and with zero remorse start chopping. The agonized lowing that left the animal with each forceful thwack of the maul. The blood. Satoru couldn’t remember much of what he did afterwards, other than running to Makoto in tears. He freed all the estate’s livestock the day he became clan-leader, suppressing childhood trauma he hadn’t told a single soul.

Now twenty years later, Hannah’s tormented screams reminded him of that one bull.

There was no escaping it.

Wide awake and panicked, he twisted himself over to see his wife thrashing wildly on the bedding, her screams not of fear, but of pain; vocal chords cracking and clicking from too much exertion. She couldn’t catch her breath.

But what alarmed him most were her eyes. Hannah’s frightened eyes were like two dying stars, glowing a bright, ember red, inflamed and leaking a flood of tears, staring wide open.

He grabbed her by the arms, shaking, voice pleading for her to wake up, but every attempt failed. She scrambled to get away, wincing whenever his fingers came too close to touching her back.

This did not go unnoticed. Holding her at an angle, Satoru ever so gently slipped a hand underneath and felt his body grow cold at the sensation of something warm and sticky soaking the satin nightgown, the tang of rust. He began praying, Please be sweat, please be sweat, and slowly removed his hand.

The palm was coated so thickly in blood you’d think it was fresh paint, staining the once white futon into a dark, sickly grenache that would never wash out. With trembling hands, Satoru mustered the courage to flip her over and see what his heart earnestly wanted to deny.

Bile rushed to his throat. It was worse than he could’ve imagined.

Gashes like a jagged cuneiform were scrawled all along the expanse of her back; phantom claws, five tallies each, plowing deep into the skin, digging for purchase. Hannah sobbed more violently than ever. Her pallor was like stained glass left exposed to sunlight, faded and drained of color. Blood. Blood everywhere.

To his frustration, Satoru’s eyes detected nothing wrong. He saw no neon trail, no grimy residuals, an invisible enemy he could not see and could not fight; a true ghost. The band of gold on his finger started burning.

What is this?

Hannah’s strangled cries were growing weaker by the second, either from fatigue or something far more life upending. Her lips took a bluish hue from the oxygen not circulating to her brain and the rest of her body, hazel eyes glassy. If he didn’t act now, she’d be gone forever.

“Stay with me, Hannah.”

Satoru scooped his wife in his arms, her cries faint and disoriented, and ran like hell out the door.

“Please, don’t die.”

Chapter Contents

#jujutsu kaisen #satoru x oc #jjk #jjk fanfic #gojo satoru #gojo x oc #gojo takes a wife #satoru gojo

[wikiweird]

The Great Stink-

The Great Stink was an event in Central London during July and August 1858 in which the hot weather exacerbated the smell of untreated human waste and industrial effluent that was present on the banks of the River Thames. The problem had been mounting for some years, with an ageing and inadequate sewer system that emptied directly into the Thames. The miasma from the effluent was thought to transmit contagious diseases, and three outbreaks of cholera before the Great Stink were blamed on the ongoing problems with the river.

The smell, and fears of its possible effects, prompted action from the national and local administrators who had been considering possible solutions for the problem. The authorities accepted a proposal from the civil engineer Joseph Bazalgette to move the effluent eastwards along a series of interconnecting sewers that sloped towards outfalls beyond the metropolitan area. Work on high-, mid- and low-level systems for the new Northern and Southern Outfall Sewers started at the beginning of 1859 and lasted until 1875. To aid the drainage, pumping stations were placed to lift the sewage from lower levels into higher pipes. Two of the more ornate stations, Abbey Mills in Stratford and Crossness on the Erith Marshes, with architectural designs from the consultant engineer, Charles Driver, are listed for protection by English Heritage. Bazalgette's plan introduced the three embankments to London in which the sewers ran—the Victoria, Chelsea and Albert Embankments.

Bazalgette's work ensured that sewage was no longer dumped onto the shores of the Thames and brought an end to the cholera outbreaks; his actions are thought to have saved more lives than the efforts of any other Victorian official. His sewer system operates into the 21st century, servicing a city that has grown to a population of over eight million. The historian Peter Ackroyd argues that Bazalgette should be considered a hero of London.

Read more

#wikipedia #weird facts #weird history #strange facts #strange history #random fact

[aimeedaisies]

Court Circular | 7th September 2023

Balmoral Castle

The King was represented by the Lord Bridges (former Solicitor to The late Queen) at the Service of Thanksgiving for Sir Matthew Farrer (former Solicitor to The late Queen) which was held in St Magnus-the-Martyr, Lower Thames Street, London EC3, this afternoon.

The Princess Royal was represented by Vice Admiral Sir Tim Laurence.

St James’s Palace

The Princess Royal, President, Riding for the Disabled Association, this morning visited Digswell Place Group, Digswell Place Stables, Rectory Road, Welwyn Garden City, to mark its Fiftieth Anniversary, and was received by Mr Anthony Chapman (Vice Lord-Lieutenant of Hertfordshire).

Her Royal Highness, President, UK Fashion and Textile Association, this afternoon visited MAES London Womenswear Manufacturer, the Archives, Unit 10 High Cross Centre, Fountayne Road, London N15, and was received by Captain Peter Baker (Deputy Lieutenant of Greater London).

The Princess Royal, Patron, South Georgia Heritage Trust, accompanied by Vice Admiral Sir Tim Laurence, this evening attended the Return of Sir Ernest Shackleton’s Quest Crow’s Nest Service at All Hallows by the Tower, Byward Street, London EC3, followed by a Dinner at Trinity House, Tower Hill, London EC3.

#court circular #princess anne #princess royal #tim laurence #timothy laurence #king charles iii

[101flavoursofweird]

Could you do either 2 or 4 for Alfendi and Lucy from Professor Layton? Wichever you prefer!

Thank you! Spoilers: For Layton Brothers: Mystery Room 

Set: After Case 9 of LB:MR but before Layton returns home in the anime. 

Warnings: Alfendi breaks his leg, but it’s not discussed in great detail

Alfendi would like to say he had broken his leg in a blaze of glory; that he had been chasing an armed criminal through the streets of London, that he had been leaping over obstacles thrown in his path and pushing civilians to safety, that he had taken a bullet for Lucy, like something out of an action movie… 

But all of that would be a lie.

He had, in fact, been foiled by a banana peel while he was strolling through the park on their lunch break. Luckily— or, not so luckily for half of Alfendi’s bruised ego— Lucy had been with him.

Fendi— The clumsy fool!— had been in control when he slipped, but now, Al was sprawled on his backside with his right leg sticking out at an odd angle.

Al seethed with pain and rage. “Some… hooligan must have planted that banana here, hoping to incapacitate me—“

“More like some kid just missed the bin,” Lucy said, tossing the banana peel into the nearest bin.

Then she crouched beside Alfendi on her two perfectly functioning legs.

Al scowled at her. For a few seconds, he entertained the ludicrous notion of cutting off one of Lucy’s legs for himself… No, that would never work— she was too short. 

Same with Kat… Not that Kat would give him a leg, anyway. That greedy brat wouldn’t even let him borrow her bike!

Flora? Flora was taller, and she was more considerate…

Or, what if Flora could drive him to St. Mystere? Surely her relatives could fit Al with a robot leg… But if they refused, there was always Uncle Des…

Al wouldn’t object to becoming a RoboCop. Then nothing would stop him from hunting down the fiend who had impaired him with a banana peel—

“OW!” Al yelled as Lucy lifted his lower leg a little. “What the—“

Lucy removed her cap and placed it under his ankle, like a cushion. 

“Oh… Thank you, Lucy,” Fendi sighed, resurfacing.

Lucy pressed her hand against his forehead. “You don’t feel cold or sweaty… I don’t think you’re in shock, are you?”

“I’ve survived far more shocking things than this,” Fendi said pleasantly.

“Right!” Lucy chimed. “Still— we need to get you to A&E… Should I call an ambulance? Or, I could carry you there!”

Fendi chuckled. “I appreciate that Lucy, but—“

“—There’s no way in hell you could carry me,” Al concluded.

Lucy frowned. She folded her arms and crossed her legs, plonking herself down next to him.

“Fine, then,” she huffed. “We’ll just wait for the ambulance… Want to solve a puzzle to pass the time? Here’s one about a banana—“

“No!” Al snapped, covering his ears. “No puzzles…!”

Lucy kept talking through the puzzle until he sighed and raised his arms to her in resignation. Grinning, Lucy stood up. She took his hands.

“If you drop me, I will drop you into the Thames,” Al hissed. (He was about as threatening as an injured alley cat.)

“Sure, Prof…”

Lucy frowned. Alfendi was by no means a large person, but he was lanky. Would Lucy be strong enough to take him? 

Well, they had told her she would never pass her policing exams or last more than one day in the Mystery Room office— and yet, here she was!

She could do anything if she put her mind to it.

With a grunt, Lucy dragged Alfendi to his feet— foot. He hopped on his not-broken leg until Lucy pulled his arm over her shoulder. Even with his bent back, he still dwarfed her in size.

“Ha!” Lucy puffed triumphantly.

Fendi smiled down at her. “Well done… Do you know the way to the nearest hospital?”

“Yep! It’s this-a-way!” 

She took a determined step towards the park gate, supporting Alfendi like they were part of a three-legged race.

“You forgot your cap,” Fendi said, glancing over his shoulder. 

“Eee! Hold on a sec…”

Lucy left him balancing on one leg like a flamingo while she rushed back to scoop up her cap.

As she returned the cap to her head, Al called, “Baker— Heeeelp—!” Arms flailing, Al fell forward.

Lucy caught him just in time. 

She giggled as he growled, “Get me to the hospital right now— or we’ll both need a doctor…!”

“But who would you lean on then, Prof?” Lucy teased.

“I….” Alfendi trailed off. Both sides of his personality were speechless.

Who else did he have? 

His father was gone— presumed dead for years now.

His sisters— though they both loved him in their own way— had never fully understood him after the incident at Forbodium. (Not like Lucy, anyway.)

Justin Lawson was in prison. Hilda was off searching for a wanted criminal in Europe…

Commissioner Barton had always watched over Alfendi— from a distance— but surely this was out of obligation to Alfendi’s father.

There was Florence, Dustin and Sniffer at the Yard, but they had only really come around to him since Lucy cleared his name.

Would any of these people be in his life now if it weren’t for Lucy?

“I don’t know,” Fendi admitted. Then, Al added earnestly, “Where would I be without you, Lucy Baker?”

Lucy beamed at him and said, “You’d still be sitting flat on your behind!”

Alfendi snorted. “Let’s move.”

As they staggered out of the park, Alfendi vowed, “I’m arresting the next lout I catch littering.”

“I don’t think that’s legal, Prof—“

“Littering is illegal!”

#Professor Layton #alfendi layton #lucy baker #layton brothers mystery room #lbmr #My writing #my fics #thanks!

[abybweisse]

Hello Abby,

How are you?

I read that the planning for the former Queen Elizabeth's funeral (in real life) was codenamed "London Bridge" and was planned 30 years ago/since 30 years. Can you imagine that this also plays a role in BB, since the focus was/is on the construction of the bridge and it's actually also about the Queen's funeral and is supposed to be a hint as to when the Queen will die? so when the bridge is finished, the queen dies? Or something similar?

it's probably just a coincidence. I find the fact interesting nonetheless. Maybe yana came across it during her research and included it.

Btw iam glad that i found your blog🙏. Please keep writing your blog.🤗😉

London Bridge falling down

I've never heard the idea that Tower Bridge (or even the name of it) was ever associated with the death of Queen Victoria or planning for it. I've never come across that in my research about Tower Bridge, but that's interesting about "London Bridge" being the code name for planning QE2's funeral.

What I have learned about Tower Bridge is that:

It was built to make a more direct connection to east end London, because industries had expanded there.

It's the only bridge going across the Thames that raises up to let taller ships go through.

It's got an upper level for foot traffic, so people can cross even if the lower section is raised. But that path wasn't very popular for a while and was temporarily closed off because of that.

I'd read on the Wikipedia page that it was dedicated to Prince Albert, the queen's dead husband.

And that last one -- the dedication -- might be the most important aspect in Black Butler. That and how it would have been a symbol back then for England (and all of Great Britain) of the industrial revolution taking place. A symbol of the nation's strength and technological advancements.

I'm not entirely sure, from how your ask is worded, but perhaps you are not saying Tower Bridge is the code word... but how cool it would be if Yana-san decided to make that true in the Kuroverse. I just think that if that were the case, the queen (with a premonition or something from John Brown) would know, and she would try to postpone its construction to extend her own life. She seems like the sort who would delay something to keep herself alive a while longer... as long as the public didn't know that's what she was doing! 😆

Truthfully, I think it's quite the opposite here; I think she wants to finish this project, dedicated to her dead husband, and others have been delaying its construction. If you look up "tower bridge" in my blog, you will find a bunch of posts about my theory that Vincent wasn't cooperating with the queen (as much as demanded) regarding money and manpower for the project. It might be on purpose to slow it down, or it might be he simply had other priorities (which is what our earl tells Sebastian about why humans take so long to build things like that). Our earl says maybe the construction was delayed because people had other priorities. He wouldn't know he was talking about his own father here; it's a general statement, but he might have hit the nail on the head with that observation.

My observations about Tower Bridge are deeply rooted in my Mother3 theory, since King Porky is obsessed with technological advancements and maintaining popularity among his subjects (even if it means forcing or brainwashing them to adore him). The king has your house burned down, if you don't pledge allegiance to him... or if you do anything that shows a lack of loyalty to him. Lucas and Claus' house gets burned down at least twice. Nippolyte, the local and very eccentric gravedigger, has seen his home burned down something like 14 times. Eventually, he boards up what's left of it with a sign telling people to go away (or something like that).

So, I believe the Tower Bridge project might have something to do with why the Phantomhives were targeted on December 14, 1885. Not the only reason, but a big one. The project's timeline in real life is a bit different than in the manga. Notice that the plan was approved in 1875, around the time the twins were born. Then basically nothing for ten years. As soon as the Phantomhives were attacked and their estate was relinquished to the crown, the Tower Bridge project finally got into gear. The estate was back under Phantomhive ownership on March 15, 1886. But it was in the queen's hands long enough for her to take whatever funds she wanted for the project... as well as move people off the estate/out of the village and into London to help. Ch132 is extremely important for my theory on this, because Vincent specifically talks about the money and help needed to construct/repair bridges and dig ditches. He also explains that the estate and earldom do so well because of the people who live and work there. It's also around that time that Vincent and his sister argue about preparing his heir, and he half-jokes he might have to relinquish the earldom to the crown if he doesn't have an heir ready to take over. When our earl returns to the estate, he finds it's not just about a burned down manor. The estate and the village are run-down and slipping into further debt.

I know that ch151 has real Ciel learning about competition from the US due to cheaper imports, etc., but I don't think that's all of it. There was no indication, from Vincent or anyone else, about the estate or earldom suffering from financial or infrastructural decline as the twins' 10th birthday approached. Our earl might not have even known the entire truth about what the queen did with the Phantomhive coffers and workers while she had full access to them.

Now... if the bridge is finally finished and she dies? That would be an interesting touch. But I don't think it's particularly significant.

ETA: In Mother3, there's Lightning Tower, with some floors still under construction, but it's this structure that's used to strike down houses and other buildings, whenever King Porky is upset by disloyal subjects. There's also Empire Porky Building, which has 100 floors (so also a tall tower), and many parts of it are also still under construction.

#black butler #kuroshitsuji #mother 3 #queen victoria #prince albert #tower bridge #london bridge #queen elisabeth ii #theories #vincent phantomhive #attack at the manor #fire at the manor #john brown #lucas #claus #real ciel #ciel phantomhive #nippolyte #undertaker #our earl #earl phantomhive #sebastian michaelis #sebbystruewife #asks #i answer #answered asks #nov 13 2022 #sorry for the delay

[londiniumlundene]

Lost London: Walking the Covent Garden Drainage Ditches

With apologies for the slightly unappealing title – the watercourses that drained the area we now know as Covent Garden may not have ever been rivers or streams, hence it feels inappropriate to definitively categorise these as lost rivers. However, they definitely carried water to the Thames, may once have been streams that have been rechannelled, and still exist in a culverted form, with some small traces to be found at street level.

This is a walk in three parts, starting and finishing at the Thames, following first the Bloomsbury Ditch, followed by the Cock and Pye Ditch, and finally the St Martin’s parish sewer.

Part 1: The Bloomsbury Ditch

This drainage channel, also referred to in some sources as the Southampton Sewer, took water from the Cock and Pye Ditch and other surrounding marshy areas between Covent Garden and the Thames. Its outfall is no longer visible, having been channelled into the main sewer of the Victoria Embankment, which was completed in 1870. The closest one can get to it nowadays is Temple Place, the original line of the riverbank. A good place to start the walk is the rooftop section of Victoria Embankment Gardens, above Temple tube station; this has recently been transformed into an outdoor art space, but it also provides a good view out over the Thames.

Leaving the Thames behind (for now), the route of the Bloomsbury Ditch can be traced along Strand Lane, a dead-end road that cuts between buildings of King’s College London’s Strand campus. Strand Lane climbs steadily upwards, bringing the walker to the fake “Roman” baths (previously featured on this blog), which are supposedly managed by the National Trust, though have never seemed to be in particularly good condition on any of my previous visits. The (gated) steps up to Surrey Street by the baths show how much lower Strand Lane is, suggesting this was indeed once the drainage valley.

Doubling back and then around to Surrey Street (due to the aforementioned dead end and gated steps), passing the closed Aldwych station, and crossing the Strand by St Mary-le-Strand church, the best way forward here is Melbourne Place, as the ditch runs under Bush House, which formerly belonged to the BBC, and is now also inhabited by King’s College. The route then takes the walker across Aldwych, which was recently changed over to two-way traffic, the latest chapter in the saga of transport improvements associated with Aldwych and adjoining Kingsway.

Getting back on track, the course of the Bloomsbury Ditch can be picked up again along Drury Lane, which rises gradually uphill towards Covent Garden. Drury Lane is probably best known for its theatres and/or as the erstwhile residence of a muffin man, though this walk passes a few other places of interest, including the former burial ground of St John’s Church (now a children’s playground) and the Peabody Building, once the Lambert and Butler tobacco factory.

Sources are vague on where the Bloomsbury Ditch and Cock and Pye Ditch meet (some even treat them as the same ditch). However, a good place to stop with this leg of the walk would seem to be outside the Gillian Lynne Theatre, looking across to a dark alley that leads into the heart of Covent Garden…

#london #uk #england #walk #covent garden #ditch #drainage #watercourse #stream #bloomsbury #cock and pye #sewer #victoria embankment #embankment #temple #tube station #tube #gardens #art #strand #the strand #kings college #roman baths #aldwych #drury lane #theatre #theatres #lost river #history #lundene

[p-isforpoetry]

"The Waste Land" - The Fire Sermon by T. S. Eliot (read by Fiona Shaw)

The river’s tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed. Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers, Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed. And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors; Departed, have left no addresses. By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept . . . Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song, Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long. But at my back in a cold blast I hear The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear.

A rat crept softly through the vegetation Dragging its slimy belly on the bank While I was fishing in the dull canal On a winter evening round behind the gashouse Musing upon the king my brother’s wreck And on the king my father’s death before him. White bodies naked on the low damp ground And bones cast in a little low dry garret, Rattled by the rat’s foot only, year to year. But at my back from time to time I hear The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring. O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter And on her daughter They wash their feet in soda water Et O ces voix d’enfants, chantant dans la coupole!

Twit twit twit Jug jug jug jug jug jug So rudely forc’d. Tereu

Unreal City Under the brown fog of a winter noon Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants C.i.f. London: documents at sight, Asked me in demotic French To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel Followed by a weekend at the Metropole.

At the violet hour, when the eyes and back Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits Like a taxi throbbing waiting, I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives, Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea, The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights Her stove, and lays out food in tins. Out of the window perilously spread Her drying combinations touched by the sun’s last rays, On the divan are piled (at night her bed) Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays. I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest— I too awaited the expected guest. He, the young man carbuncular, arrives, A small house agent’s clerk, with one bold stare, One of the low on whom assurance sits As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire. The time is now propitious, as he guesses, The meal is ended, she is bored and tired, Endeavours to engage her in caresses Which still are unreproved, if undesired. Flushed and decided, he assaults at once; Exploring hands encounter no defence; His vanity requires no response, And makes a welcome of indifference. (And I Tiresias have foresuffered all Enacted on this same divan or bed; I who have sat by Thebes below the wall And walked among the lowest of the dead.) Bestows one final patronising kiss, And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit . . .

She turns and looks a moment in the glass, Hardly aware of her departed lover; Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass: “Well now that’s done: and I’m glad it’s over.” When lovely woman stoops to folly and Paces about her room again, alone, She smoothes her hair with automatic hand, And puts a record on the gramophone.

“This music crept by me upon the waters” And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street. O City city, I can sometimes hear Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street, The pleasant whining of a mandoline And a clatter and a chatter from within Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls Of Magnus Martyr hold Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold. The river sweats Oil and tar The barges drift With the turning tide Red sails Wide To leeward, swing on the heavy spar. The barges wash Drifting logs Down Greenwich reach Past the Isle of Dogs. Weialala leia Wallala leialala ..........................

Source: The Waste Land

#The Waste Land #The Fire Sermon #The Waste Land Part III - The Fire Sermon #T. S. Eliot #Fiona Shaw #poem #poetry #audio #Youtube

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Low Cost Taxi Hersham

What’s extra, each driver holds an up to date DBS verify and has completed the related certifications in Disability Awareness. We are an experienced taxi service located in Walton On Thames. We provide numerous taxi providers to take care of all the transportation wants of each certainly one of our clients in Walton On Thames, Weybridge, Esher, Shepperton or Cobham. Licensed taxi operators are bound by these transport fees for rides within the core space of Elmbridge. The vehicle mounted meter ensures that the taxi price is neither larger nor lower than mandated. Our taxi fare calculator Walton-on-Thames works by simply getting into begin and journey destination within the dialog window (Drive me...). With a push on the button you will get a detailed estimate of your taxi price.

With a broad range of new automobiles within the fleet, A1 Walton Taxis accommodate all buyer necessities such youngster seat for a airport switch or MPV car for a home move and so forth. At A1 Walton Taxis we and our taxi drivers are centered on giving one of the best taxi services possible as we would like you to be fully glad and to bring your repeat enterprise back to A1 Walton Taxis. Our taxi services is available 24/7 and anybody can guide a taxi by telephone, textual content or online in minutes. Based on the fastest route, time of departure, native taxi fare and a factor for traffic delays, a taxi worth is calculated. Please notice that this calculation is at all times only a steerage non binding. The taxi cost will solely be determined by the taxi meter within the automobile - aside from fastened worth presents. Welcome to A1 Walton Taxis, the premier taxi service supplier in Walton-on-Thames, Surrey. With our fleet of well-maintained vehicles and skilled drivers, we try to offer you a dependable, handy, and cozy transportation experience. Whether you need a taxi for airport transfers, local rides, particular events, or long-distance journeys, we're right here to satisfy all of your transportation needs. Let us be your trusted associate in getting you to your vacation spot, safely and on time. We are the premier taxi service for Walton on Thames and the encompassing areas. We believe what units Walton Taxis other than our opponents is the skilled, environment friendly, and friendly service we offer to everybody who chooses to experience with us. We imagine that you will want to customize each of our companies to fulfill our buyer's needs. Walton Taxis regularly receives referrals from business customers of their customized requirements for autos. Contact us right now to e-book your next taxi experience or to study extra about our services. Experience the A1 Walton Taxis difference and let us take care of your transportation while you sit again, relax, and enjoy the journey. If you’re taking a cross-country or any long-distance journey, a multi-purpose automobile is what you’re on the lookout for. It’s brimming with area for six passengers and hulking luggage while being a budget choice to book as a taxi for Hersham outings.

Do You Offer A Package Deal Supply Service From Walton On Thames?

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tag game: two earls one lady?? 👀

This one was inspired by A Fashionable Indulgence, because I love love love Pygmalion romances, but the premise isn't nearly as salacious as the title suggests, alas (though now I'm thinking...I can definitely make it more salacious). The basic premise is: a dying earl and his countess are looking for his long-lost brother's son, because he doesn't want his title being passed off to a Terrible Cousin. Good news: they find him. Bad news: he's a dockworker. Lessons in comportment and etiquette ensue, and the countess starts feeling horny for someone who's technically her nephew!! (By marriage, sure, but you know.) Lots of forced proximity! Feelings while dancing and touching him to correct his posture and comportment! He does pull-ups half-naked, not knowing that she's watching, and then does it EXTRA HARD once he figures out she is!!!

I actually have almost the entire story outlined, including all the major emotional beats. I did...a non-zero amount of research, lol. I just got distracted along the way by other stories. I write differently enough now that I'm like, hmmm, how do I make this gayer.

Re: the working title: I am trash for a girl/Earl pun, no matter how dubious the quality, but couldn't think of a good rhyme for cup. Damn and blast. Open to any suggestions.

Anyway, here's the first scene:

25 March, 1828

The morning fog was thick enough to chew. It smothered all of Rotherhithe in a gray pall, cold and foul and dense, and made the footing on the narrow planks that served as gangways at the Surrey docks even more treacherous than normal. Jack’s work wasn’t getting any lighter, though, and he and his gang were paid by the load, so all morning they hoisted deals—planks of wood, mostly pine today—onto his shoulders, sorted in lengths two to four times longer than he was tall. Then he had to perform the delicate, dangerous dance of getting them off the ship and onto dry land.

Being a deal porter meant moving in harmony to several different rhythms, taking care not to trip on any of them. There was the rhythm of the ship, rocking in the waves of the Thames. There was the jouncing of the planks on his shoulder as he walked—and the longer the planks, the more they moved. And then there was the most perilous rhythm of all: the bounce and give of the narrow gangplanks as he crossed from upper deck to lower and from ship to dock, each plank barely wider than a man’s foot, forcing him to place his feet one after another in quick, delicate succession. No railings or ropes to save him.

Jack didn't love the work, exactly, but he liked being good at something, and he was very good at toting around massive loads of wood. The best in the Surrey docks, which almost certainly meant the best in London. He also liked that it demanded his full attention: to his body, to his surroundings, to the feel of every surface under his feet as he transitioned from ship to gangplank to land. He liked the focus it required of him; it left him little to no room to think of anything else, much less time to remember, or brood. Days like this were especially tricky; no concessions for foggy weather, even though bad visibility meant more accidents, and the moisture beading on everything rendered every surface a menace. Just last week, during another bad fog, some poor sod had lost his balance and fallen into the drink. His face was slack and pale by the time they'd fished him out, his lungs full of foul water.

Death held no fear for Jack. He’d seen his share and then some. When God saw fit to finally take Ma to her eternal rest last autumn, Jack had found himself alone for the first time in all his twenty-three years. Since then, he'd felt—not invincible, quite, but something like. His time would not come for a while yet. God would not let him off so easy.

As he unloaded and stacked his deals on the dock, he heard cultured accents floating through the fog. Not a sound he encountered very often, but especially not here, and especially not this time of the morning. He listened for a few moments, but the fog had an odd muffling effect, and he caught maybe one word out of four. He found himself moving toward the voices instead of back to the ship, a yearning ache in his chest: his father had talked in similar accents. Been a good long while since he’d heard someone talking like that. As he rounded the corner of a tall stack of crates, he caught sight, just a few armlengths away, of a man richly dressed in sober-colored clothing, and startlingly, a lady next to him, small and slim and tidy. He stood and stared, but the fog foiled his attempts to discern more.

He heard the shout of warning at the same time he noticed the crates next to him shifting, then beginning to topple. Quicker than thought, he sprinted up and pushed the lady out of the way, just as several crates crashed around them. A tremendous blow caught him on his shoulder, and he smashed into the dock head-first before he could brace himself.

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there in a daze, but gradually, as if from a great distance away, he heard voices shouting his name. “Oi, Upshur! Upshur, mate, you all right?” All he could do was blink stupidly at the muddy planks of the dock until someone turned him over, and he looked into the long, solemn face of the nob and the small, serious face of the woman, pale and disembodied in the fog. He heard the toff exclaim, “Good heavens, he is the very image of Michael,” and the woman’s voice saying, “Pickering, I do believe we finally found him.”

And then the darkness swallowed him.

#original fiction #my wips

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20230711_F0001: Just above Ebbsfleet International by Wei-Feng Xue Via Flickr: - My flight passing over Ebbsfleet towards landing in the London City Airport. The lower middle structure is Ebbsfleet International rail station and the tracks goes into a tunnel crossing the Thames.

#London #building #houses #roads #parks #trees #Thames #river #water #boats #cars #rail #tunnel #station #football stadium #stadium #plane #airplane #passenger plane #passenger jet #aerial #flickr

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Lower Thames Crossing - The world’s third largest bored tunnel

#youtube

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4 Things to do before Starting a new Relationship after a Breakup or Divorce

Being happily married or in a stable relationship impacts positively on mental health. They play at Bramall Lane and have since being founded in 1889. נערות ליווי בחיפה They have four FA Cups to their name, but the youngest of these dates to 1925, so it is a little less shiny than it might be! Luton Town was founded in 1885 and has been plagued by financial troubles throughout its history. This song touched many people, and it still does today, because whenever life's troubles get to be too much for us, we can turn it up loud. When we enter the arena with an arsenal of self-love, high standards, and an understanding of the process, we can create and enjoy the ride of a relationship at a much deeper level. It will make you realise things could be much, much worse, and that whatever you have endured - there's a high chance someone else has endured far, far worse and lived to tell the tale. Affleck and de Armas have been stepping out for regular dog walks throughout the pandemic. What you need is a little assistance in figuring out what works best for you and as luck would have it, we specialize in just that sort of thing.

Their best Premiership result is finishing eighth in the league, and they once took third place in the Championship. In 2007, they came eighth in the Premiership. They made it into the Premiership twice since then, though they have been in the Championship most of the time. It is a way that many Muslims learn thankfulness and appreciation for what they have. No one knows how to live in the "right" way. You find one or two styles you like and you kind of get stuck there. There's evidence at Clovis sites that they slaughtered enormous game like mastodon and mammoths with their unique projectile points. On the flip side, the horrific Hillsborough disaster occurred at a Liverpool game. The game is particularly impressive there as this is the mother country for football, the place in which it was invented centuries ago and professionalized in the late Victorian period. There are hundreds of them to roll through, so how does anyone even settle on one? Yes, we are even in the same church.

They are currently in the Premier League, as of the last few years, having moved back and forth between the top two divisions a few times. Maybe a few rounds of "never have I ever" can get down to it. I have a Powerpoint presentation ready for this! Known as the Canaries Yellows, this team dates to 1902. They once placed third in the Premiership, but have not always been in the top league. Wigan Athletic is a relative newbie on our list, as it only dates back to 1932. They were in the lower divisions in the late 1900s but made it into the Premiere League for eight years in this century. Most of the major clubs are over a hundred years old, and this means they were founded at a time when instead of a modern logo, a team would have a badge that looked more like a family crest. This massive London behemoth is one of the richest clubs in the world, in keeping with its beginnings when it was founded in 1905 by Gus Mears, a richer sort of type than many of the other teams' founders.

This team has solid Industrial Age roots, being founded by members of the Thames Ironworks. The images typically look a little like something you might see on a knight's shield, with lions rampant and crossed swords being popular choices. 56. “Sharing the same passionate love with another person gives a feeling of being alive! It's time to find out with this fiendishly difficult quiz that gives you only a fragment of the logo. Sometimes for a long time. Like any mental or emotional health issue, treatment requires time and effort, as well as the help of a clinician. You can end up with some dated hair that makes you look like you took a time machine from a very uncool place. You'll both have fun and it's a great way to spend time together. The student feels good and is motivated to feel that way again. So how do we figure out your true inner personality? The key to the right hair cut is matching it to your personality. Picking the right hairstyle is so much more work than most people think. The discovery tab helps you find influencers, discover the best people to follow or unfollow, and see who’s reacted to-or interacted with-your company or mentioned your brand.