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ellavogues · 3 years

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what did you wish for? - harry styles

summary: long distance has put a strain on harry and yn’s relationship, especially as his birthday is fast approaching

a/n: last repost from my old blog, i still freaking love this. this fic means a lot to me because parts of it was based off of my own life. as always, ily all <3

masterlist

The light turned to dark as she sat by her phone watching reruns of The Office, waiting for Harry to call her like he did every night. Her day was particularly bad, everything that could’ve gone wrong went wrong - from her forgetting her umbrella when it was bucketing down to her somehow locking her car keys in her car (which led to her incurring a $200 fee for the roadside assist service getting them out). Then, when she trudged home in the pouring rain, clothes completely soaked and her socks inside her shoes wet, she received an email informing her the elevators in her building were out of service. Unluckily for her, she lived on the 16th floor.

All she wanted was to see his smile to turn her day around. Harry never failed to turn her worst days into good ones just by being him, but being in a long distance relationship put a strain on that. Sure, they would visit each other every now and then, but both of their jobs were demanding and meant they couldn’t travel as much as they wanted to. Harry could travel more than she could, but she didn’t think it was fair that he’d always have to be the one to hop on a plane and fly across the world.

The familiar ringtone played and her eyes lit up in excitement. Y/N reached for the phone and answered to hear him yelling some utterance at his friend, to which his friend responded with something equally as snide.

A smile crept onto her lips as she lightly giggled at his attitude to his friend, and she could almost feel them roll her eyes at his snarky remark. Y/N would be lying if she said the huff of annoyance he let out as he returned his attention to her wasn’t hot, as well as the way he ran his fingers over his stubble then through his curly hair.

“How do you want to celebrate your birthday, Haz?” Y/N asked softly, not wanting to make his bad mood worse and hoping the change of subject would make him happy.

Harry sighed, closing his eyes as he composed his answer. “What’s the point?” His tone wasn’t soft like hers, nor was it disappointed. It appeared that he was angry that she brought up the topic. In a matter-of-fact tone, he continued, “You’re not in London with me, you’re in New York. There’s no point in celebrating with you if you’re not here.”

“We can FaceTime?”

He rolled his eyes at her suggestion as if it was the stupidest thing he had heard, and sarcastically laughed at her.

“What’s with your attitude, Harry? I want to celebrate with you! It’s not my fucking fault that I can’t be in London!” She frowned, frustrated that the distanc between them was the topic of conversation, like it always seemed to be.

Harry scoffs in response, the look on his slightly pixelated face dumbfounded that you would even suggest that it wasn’t your fault. “I have offered to fly you out to London many times, Y/N. There are plenty of jobs for you out here that you could apply to and that you know you would get because you’re so damn good at what you do,” he retorted, tired and irritated. Though Harry was usually incredibly patient with everyone, especially her, these increasingly frequent conversations had begun to wear him thin and gradually made him resent FaceTiming her at all, despite still being completely and utterly in love with her. “You’re being stubborn about moving for no reason.”

They were both quite stubborn individuals, but in the past Harry was usually the one that compromised to make her happy. He valued her happiness over getting his own way. When they reconnected a year ago, a few years after finishing school, and quickly realised their friendship was based on more-than-friend feelings they faced the problem of living in different countries. Although it seemed like a breeze at first, Harry scoffing at anyone who claimed long distance would be hard, as their feelings grew deeper and his visits less frequent, they both longed for a more physical presence of the other, rather than just virtual. This was something Harry was absolutely not willing to compromise on. He had his whole life in London, and he knew that he could give her the life she deserves if she would just take up his offer. He knew she was scared of leaving her family behind to move in with him, and he understood. Harry tried to keep his cool about this topic, but eventually he became exasperated.

“No good reason? Why should I be the one to move? Why is it me that has to pack up my entire life just to be with you?’” She scolds him for being so rude, and feels like he’s completely brushing off her feelings. “You are able to work from wherever you are. I am not. you should be the one to move.”

“Me?” Harry was astounded at was his girlfriend’s response, and was indigent at her crazy suggestion. “I can not leave London just because you’re scared of leaving the city you’ve been in all your life. My work is in London, you know this. You know I have to be here to work, just because I technically could still record in New York does not change that the majority of my work and networks are in London. You’re being a bit dramatic and unfair about this, Y/N. I’m tired of arguing about this all the time. Goodnight.”

The fact that he hung up on her makes her see red, blood boiling as she clenched her fists and teeth. He knew what he was asking of her; to pack up her whole life just to be with him. He was being selfish and unreasonable and she was being exhausted of having this stupid argument that neither of them ever won every time they talked. She felt like he never considered her friends here in New York, and that he always brushed off how she felt about the move. This fight had gradually become more tense as time went on, as they knew that a decision would eventually have to be made if they wanted their relationship to grow.

///

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she claimed.

“I know you and H had a fight,” Harry's friend responded, the one on the phone earlier. “He told me what happened and he feels really bad. Like, really. I know he would really appreciate it if you were here for his birthday.”

She sighed, starting to feel slightly guilty too for the way she reacted. She feels even more guilty for the fact that they hadn’t spoken at all in the past 3 days, besides a text from Harry simply saying Sorry for hanging up on you. When Y/N received the text, she was still calming down from their argument, still hurt by the way he made her feel that her career wasn’t as important as his. She still loved him, and she still misses him, though.

“I can’t afford a ticket, you know that. Not everyone makes a fuck ton of money like you and Haz-”

The friend chuckled softly over the phone before reassuring Y/N, “I’ll pay for it. Come and surprise him, he’ll feel a lot better and it’ll give you guys a chance to work it out in person, where you can’t just hang up on each other.”

Y/N knew that his friend was right, she knew that she and Harry needed a face to face conversation about the future of their relationship because long distance hadn’t seemed to be working for them anymore. Their virtual dates, while well thought out and romantic, weren’t the same as being there in person with him. Being there and lightly brushing legs as they sat down at the small table, hearing his laugh without the audio cutting in and out, being able to hold each other’s hands. It wasn’t the same.

Maybe that is why Y/N and Harry had been arguing so much, because their relationship relied on strong wifi connections and the ability to be on their phones all day. And it wasn’t enough for either of them anymore.

“Okay, thank you. I’m really grateful you’re doing this for us,” Y/N finally responded, expressing her gratitude.

His friend felt a wave of relief, ecstatic that Harry might finally get out of his shitty mood. Even though he didn’t mean to take out his annoyances on his friends, and he apologised every single time he gave them an uncalled for attitude, but it seemed his bad mood was never dissipating. When finally asked what was wrong, bursting through his door in a fit of exasperation, he broke down and told her about their FaceTime, and all their FaceTimes before it. About how every subject they discussed seemed to lead to the same topic: the distance between them. He admitted he regretted his harsh words, and regretted him acting like he thought his job was more important than hers.

“It’s really not a problem,” his friend promised. “I’ll email you the flight details and the invite, I can’t wait to see you! It’s been so long!”

“It’s been, like, a month and a half. Not that long.”

“That is so long! I miss you like crazy.”

“I miss you too,” Y/N giggled.

She flopped back on her bed, grinning from ear to ear and excited she would finally be able to see her boyfriend again, yet dreading the impending and necessary conversation they would have to have.

Y/N had anxiously got out of her Uber when she arrived at a friend's house for Harry’s surprise party. She was visibly shaking, stuttering as she said thank you to her driver, nervous that his reaction wouldn’t be good when seeing her. She was scared that he didn’t want her here anymore after their fight, despite his friend constantly reassuring her that he would be over the moon to see her.

She knocked on the front door, which his almost immediately answered. “Hey! Y/N!”

The loud exclamation earned the attention of the other attendees of the party, all shocked to see Y/N after Harry had repeatedly, and bitterly, told them that she was going to be in New York for his birthday.

“Hey,” Y/N smiled, greeting everyone. She glanced around the room, seeing the fairy lights hanging from the ceiling, the island bench covered with a gold table cloth, the backyard decorated with gold balloons and streamers. “Woah, the party is super cool! Harry is going to love it.”

“Harry is going to love that you’re here and not in New York.”

When Harry finally arrived, the lights were switched off and everyone scurried to grab their phones out to film. Y/N waited behind everyone as the group gathered close together to surprise him when he walked in.

“Oh my god,” Harry spoke. “It smells funny in here.”

She let out a quiet giggle at his comment, but was quick to muffle it before he heard it was her.

When he made it past the gold streamers that blocked the front door from the living area, everyone yelled out SURPRISE, going crazy and covering Harry with confetti. His face had pure joy, happiness and gratefulness plastered all over it, ecstatic that his friends would do something so sweet for his birthday, although he most likely already knew about the party. He glanced around the room, and almost had to do a double take when he saw his girlfriend. Y/N had told him she wouldn’t be able to make it, making him dread his birthday since he didn’t see a point in celebrating it if it wasn’t with her.

When the crowd had dispersed, Harry made his way over to her and grabbed her chin gently, tilting her face up before saying “Hey, love” and kissing her softly. He broke the kiss and pulled his girlfriend into a warm embrace. She was so glad to see him, in person, to be able to hold his hand and hug him and just be around him. In person.

They were pulled out of their moment when Harry’s friend asked if they wanted a picture, to which Y/N responded no and he responded yes.

“Don’t be shy, love,” he teased, smiling like a cheshire cat as he put her hair behind her ears. “I want to remember you being here tonight, let’s take the picture.”

It wasn’t long until it was time to cut the cake, Harry having Y/N by his side the whole night because he didn’t want to waste a minute he could spend with her. Being with him reminded Y/N why they were dating, and why she loved him. As the night went on, she felt the fight that was seemingly big feel less important, because she realised that she was making excuses as to why she couldn’t move to London with him. She was being stubborn for no reason, and she noticed that the only thing holding her back was her. Not her job, she could find a new one in London, not her family because she barely saw them anyway, not her friends because half of her friends were in London with Harry anyway. When she saw Harry walk through those streamers, it became crystal clear how silly she was being.

Harry knew what he wanted, and being with her that night just made him more sure. He decided he wasn’t going to stop fighting for his relationship with her, and if that meant he had to settle down his requests for her to move to London with him so she felt more comfortable, he would do that. Despite wanting nothing more than to live with her, to wake up every morning and see her face, to Postmate her favorite coffee every morning, to surprise her with spur-of-the-moment dates every now and then. He wanted her, and he was willing to wait if that’s what he needed to do.

After everyone sang happy birthday to him, his arm slung loosely around her, he blew out his candles.

“What did you wish for, H?”

#harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles imagines #one direction imagines

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regrettablewritings · 4 years

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Preference: You Move In Together

Characters: Tadashi Hamada, Dewey Finn, Diana Prince, Cassian Andor, Clark Kent

Tadashi Hamada

It started out with a kiss – how did it end up like this?

“This” being you holding a flashlight as high up as your crossed arms would let you as you bemusedly watched your boyfriend fiddle with the generator. Though, you already knew that answer: You two had finally settled down to relax and watch a movie (a little treat for getting through your third day of moving into your new apartment), when a flickering light coming from the kitchen began to distract you from your peripheral. Ever the assure-er, your beloved boyfriend insisted it wasn’t anything serious, that it could easily wait until the morning, and give you a kiss of comfort for good measure. But no: It could not wait until morning. It would not wait until morning.

Instead, whatever was going on waited until the climax of the movie to decide to blow the power out, plunging you both into a well of darkness. You groaned loudly, realizing that this meant the both of you would have to wait until morning to get somebody out here to check it out.

“Why wait?” Tadashi asked. “You have one of SFIT’s finest living with you!”

Surprisingly, robotics and electrical engineering were not quite the same – even one of SFIT’s finest could (and did) find himself struggling to figure out what the problem was.

And for as bemused as you were about the entire situation . . . some part of you couldn’t help but find the tiniest kernels of enjoyment in it. It was that part of you that knew that, a couple years in the future, this would be looked upon as a sweet moment. One of those moments older couples remember when looking back on how far they’d come together.

You two had only been moved in to your apartment for less than a month and already your lives felt so full of potential memories: From Tadashi attempting to make “the first breakfast of the rest of your lives” (and subsequently setting off your kinda crappy fire alarm); to you slipping down the stairs on your butt and thus earning his light taunts as he inspected the damage; to the both of you waking up to find your inflatable mattress had deflated overnight after only two nights of sleeping on it.

Your lives felt so full . . . yet it was clearly only the beginning. And that was certainly something to look forward to. Well, that, and having dependable electricity.

“Okay!” you heard Tadashi exclaim, rising up from his previous position. You didn’t need to direct the flashlight at his face to know that he was sporting that confident smile of his. “This time, I think I’ve got it. ‘And the Lord said --” He positioned his finger on the switch. “ ‘Let there be light!’” And with that, he gave it a victorious flip.

Nothing. Still darkness. The only thing that changed was that the silence was now awkward and well-earned. It was only broken by a single clap of hands.

“. . . You craving McNuggets? I’m craving McNuggets.”

You blinked. “McNug -- Tadashi, it’s almost midnight.”

“McNuggets, (Y/N)! Let’s go! We can pick up donuts after!” Tadashi insisted, gently pushing you towards the coat closet to retrieve a jacket. In the hustle and bustle, you gave up trying to stay unimpressed about the entire evening: You simply had to let out a laugh.

“Oh, Tadashi,” you sighed as you shook your head slowly, though not completely without adoration.

Yeah, you were both in it for the long run. And if you had known this sort of thing would happen, you still would’ve chosen him to be with. After all, if this kept up, your lives would be truly full before you knew it.

Dewey Finn

Statistically speaking, Staten Island is the cheapest borough to live in. However, New York is still New York. Meaning that you two are the very image that comes to mind when someone thinks about a young couple trying to make it work: The apartment is small; the walls aren’t paper-thin per se, but let’s just say you’d made cardboard club houses from sturdier stock; the quality of certain utilities isn’t exactly stellar, either, given that it was the best the two of you could afford; and you were both in positions that didn’t normally pay especially well in terms of making six figures.

And yet you both were pretty satisfied with the living situation.

Sure, moving your stuff in together was like playing life-size Tetris (with the added “bonus” of having to pick and choose what would be moved into storage and what you’d have to just give away). But after you got into the groove of things, it seemed to pale in comparison to the lives you’d begun to develop as a cohabiting couple.

For one, this was the first time in a long while where Dewey had actually lived in a clean/livable living space. Maybe not pristine, but there had been an established regimen of sorts: Dishes would be cleaned (even if begrudgingly) amongst the two of you; trash was taken out instead of left to grow into a mountain of pizza boxes and soda bottles and whatnot; and for the first time since he’d left his ma’s house, the mattress lay upon an actual box spring rather than a bunch of milk crates filled with records.

Completing the picture of the young struggling pre-famous by way of Dewey becoming a rock god couple was the assortment of Struggle Meals™ that had become a part of your day-to-day lives. Sure, you tried to eat healthy, but let’s be real: Cooking can be such a pain in the ass. It took a while, but you eventually had to agree for the betterment of your budgets to limit eating out to the weekends every other weekend. Until then, weird salads and Chili Mac and crockpots full of “let’s see what happens when we throw all this stuff in because their best by dates are coming and we kinda need to not waste this shit” stew would have to hold you guys over.

And yet, it wasn’t all bad.

There would be nights when Dewey would be on a song-writing kick up until one or chord would stump him, or nights where you’d have to bring paperwork home and you would begin to contemplate the consequences of just flinging it out the window. In moments like those, you were one anothers’ biggest cheerleaders.

You would continue to be one of the only people that could get Dewey to take a break, insisting that maybe going on a walk might help or maybe he can stop for a moment and just join you for a couple rounds of Mario Kart. And he would fix you up your favorite tea or, in turn, insist that you take a break before you slammed your face into the wall. It rarely actually mattered what one did for the other in that specific moment because no matter what it was, it was all the other needed to get over that roadblock.

And then there were those quiet moments . . . Dewey was never a quiet person, never really was into the quiet. But when you two moved in together, he sort of had to learn to respect those for your sake. And even though it was (and still can be) a bit of a struggle . . . you make it so much easier for him. Just by linking your hands together or running your fingers through his hair while you read. Or by rubbing his shoulders while you lounge behind him on the couch while he messes around with a lesson plan . . .

All in all, in some awkward yet beautiful way, you’re making in work. You try to take turns and share responsibilities, you both go and work your butts off to keep the lights on in this World’s Most Expensive Animal Cracker Box you call in apartment. It’s far from easy. But there’s just this massive feeling of satisfaction that hits the both of you when you come home after a long day of work, collapse on the couch, glance at each other with the most exhausted faces and go, “Wow, you look like shit.” Punctuated with a kiss, of course.

(Hey, it’s a Staten Island love story.)

Diana Prince

It all just sort of happened, really. There wasn’t any actual intention of you two living together-- at least, not at first. It had actually just started off with you coming over to Diana’s place just to house-sit whenever she had to go on a mission or even back home (after all, who better to watch her home than her beloved). Of course, this didn’t occur too often at first: She’d mostly retired from the vigilante life by the time you two had established anything. But once Bruce gathered up the Metahumans for a common cause, Diana’s need for you to come by became more frequent. So of course that meant you stayed over more often -- which, of course, meant you would have to make yourself right at home.

When Diana found an article of your clothing mixed in with her own laundry, though, that was when it occurred to her that perhaps it might be more beneficial for you to just stay there. Without the whole going back to your place bit.

You never pushed for it before: After all, for as loving as she was, Diana was still a woman who needed her space, given her history. You felt honored enough that she deemed you worthy of sharing her secret with, you weren’t about to apply more pressure to her by demanding that she let you move in.

Thankfully, no regrets were had.

You felt such childish glee in the moments when you’d wake up and see your gorgeous girlfriend in the kitchen, boiling coffee -- you were actually a little embarrassed at first. But given that Diana was never one to hide her feelings, it didn’t take long for you to realize that she actually felt the exact same: With you around more frequently, the apartment felt far less lonely. Far more warm and welcoming.

It wasn’t just filled with "her" stuff because now it had "your" stuff -- as in things that belonged to the both of you now. And sure, it might've been just little things like desk plants or jello molds or gimmicky little mugs, but it didn't matter to her-- they were yours. Together. Like an actual unit!

There were discussions of comfort zones to avoid as many clashes as possible; you communicated with one another about what idiosyncrasies were and weren’t going to be potential problems and how to possibly combat those.

It wasn’t always perfect, of course, but neither of you would have traded it for anything after you became accustomed to your new living situation.

But the very best moments were when she’d come home after being gone with the League. Tired, sometimes even still in costume, she’d trudge into the apartment, right into the bedroom, before collapsing on the bed next to you. Even if the feeling of your Amazonian girlfriend crashing down didn’t wake you, the exhausted yet relieved sigh she’d release most definitely would. And every time that happened, the first thing you’d feel wouldn’t be irritation at being woken up: It would be excitement.

She’s home! you would cheer on the inside, even if your tired body wouldn’t portray as much excitement as you would try to sit upright to greet her.

“Welcome home,” you smiled every time, voice husky with sleep. And she would smile back. Tired, yes, but always with so much love.

“Hello, beloved,” she would greet. “How was your day?” She would ask this every time. And she would listen, no matter what you responded with.

It was a good life.

Cassian Andor

You fought in a war, you survived a deadly mission that turned the tide for the war, the war ended . . . Now what? You buy a home together.

Oh, if only it were so simple.

Neither you nor Cassian really had much of an idea of where to move to for starters. Sure, you talked a big game about the places you wanted to travel to and see for yourselves, but vacations seemed far more within reach than a milestone like moving in together. At one point, you humored the possibility of just traveling around to those places you’d marked and just settle down in one of them, but they were hardly places you could see yourselves actually living in.

But in the end, you picked Takodana: Lush, green, neutral. Cassian was admittedly hesitant at the idea of settling on neutral territory: To him, that would’ve been just as bad as going somewhere where they didn’t care that a war was happening. But you insisted upon it, voicing how perhaps the influence of a quiet life might rub off on him. Plus, it was hard for him to argue with how calm and quiet it all was. An adjustment from the bustle and yells of a rebel base as he had literally grown used to, but not an entirely unpleasant one.

He never knew that crickets could sound so soothing.

Really, the adjustment of moving in together came from the fact that it wasn’t moving into a small section of living quarters sanctioned by an army: It was an entire home, just for the two of you (and K2), surrounded by forests and near enough to civilization while still being far enough away to assure privacy.

It felt weird to Cassian, who’d spent virtually his entire life living with the opposite: Constantly surrounded by people, constantly surrounded by dust, near enough to others while simultaneously being . . . alone.

Only he wasn’t alone: He was alone with you. And that’s what made all the difference for him. Sure, he wasn’t going to entirely give up his insistence on investing in protective measures. And just because it was your home, didn’t mean you were allowed to slack off on the order of the pantry or how fabrics like towels were folded, as though you were tossing away years of mandated regimen.

But so long as he has you, his link to regaining his sense of self? Who Cassian Jeron Andor is without the war? He’s pretty sure he can make that leap and start his next mission: Starting a family together.

Clark Kent

You two liked to joke that it was done in order to better brave the ridiculous Metropolis housing market. Which wasn’t far from the truth, actually. But the reality clearly had more to do with the fact that moving in together, after being a couple for so long, just felt like the right thing to do. Sure, it wasn’t exactly the most mystical or romantic of reasons, but why complicate things? This was already a relationship composed of the Kryptonian alien who caused a calamity and the woman who helped to try and kill him for it.

The beautiful thing about your new living situation was that it was a unique blend of the mundane and the strange. Unique: You were living with Superman which meant that after a point, it became somewhat necessary for you to know how to clean his suit and cape in the event he couldn’t be home to do it himself. Mundane: Clark liked taking care of you, and that meant sometimes you woke up to breakfast in bed or came home to find that he’d run you a nice, hot bath.

Unique: Dusting and vacuuming high corners and hard-to-reach places was a thing of the past since Clark could easily lift the heaviest of furniture, lift you up himself, or even fly up to perform the task. Mundane: On some evenings, you two could just end the day by relaxing on the couch, you lying on your back as Clark rested his head on your tummy so that you had access to play with his curls. Unique and mundane: You now had the option of completing grocery bag trips in one go. It wasn’t advised due to the whole issue of discretion, but, like, at least the possibility was now there.

Mundanely unique: His fast metabolism meant that your fridge, freezer, and cabinets were stocked to the bring with snacks of all kinds. Uniquely mundane: Clark snored a bit in his sleep and as much as you loved him, no amount of love could make snoring cute.

But compared to everything else, you’d take it in a heartbeat. You never imagined yourself having a life quite like this, to say the least. But now you could never imagine yourself having anything different.

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mobscene-london · 5 years

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BASIC INFORMATION:

NAME: Diane Fay. AGE: 33. PLACE OF BIRTH: Dudelange, Luxembourg. AFFILIATION: Neutral. OCCUPATION: Psychiatrist. FACE CLAIM: Yael Grobglas. AVAILABILITY: TAKEN.

BIOGRAPHY:

(Warnings: Brief mentions of domestic abuse.)

Born to an older couple, Walter and Juliette Fay, Diane started her life with nothing but the warmth and love of her family. The two of them tried for a child for most of their marriage, and Diane was the miracle they had prayed for. Walter was an honest man who ran a flower shop in a bustling village market. Diane grew up with an infinite love for flowers of all kinds. There wasn’t a color or a scent that she didn’t admire, and the girl would carry that love into adulthood. In many ways she learned to model her life after the flowers that her father peddled. To be delicate, but vibrant; soft but strong enough to return in bloom year after year. With such a simple, pleasant life, the Fay’s were happy to afford this tender nature to their daughter. She would have want for nothing, and they would work tirelessly to be sure of it.

Naturally, Diane grew up behind a delicate veil that prevented her from glimpsing the troubles that befell her parents. Walter struggled for many years financially. Luxembourg failed to provide for the family in the same way that it used to. The economy was shaky, and tourism was on the decline, thanks to the erratic nature of political unrest. By the time Diane was thirteen years old, they’d moved from her home country to Manosque in France, and then to Ghent in Belgium. The girl never had trouble fitting in, and thankfully, her parents had been proactive in teaching her English, along with (their) native French. But their troubles did not disappear with their change in residency. Soon, unfamiliar men shrouded in dark vehicles and smooth suits began to show up when Walter wasn’t home. Juliette remained shaken, even as Diane’s nerves calmed once her father reappeared.

“Who were those men, mère?” Diane would ask. “Never you mind, love.” Juliette always replied with a gentle simper. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Diane was eighteen when she last saw her father. Juliette would explain when she came home from school, that there’d been an accident. A drunk driver. The details were fuzzy, but then so was Diane. He couldn’t be dead. How would they go on? What kind of life could they possibly lead without the leg that made them whole? Walter didn’t drive, so how could a driver have killed him? She wanted answers, but she didn’t know what questions to ask. The girl was distraught. Unable to process physically or emotionally. Her life was perfect, and nothing bad was ever supposed to happen.

That was the day that Diane understood that fairy tales weren’t real.

Receiving her university acceptance was bittersweet. Was she expected to abandon her mother in their time of mourning? Diane found herself plagued with guilt, desperate to start her own life, but filled with sorrow over the idea of leaving Juliette. It was hard for her to accept, but Walter hadn’t worked so hard his entire life for his daughter to give pause to her dreams. At Juliette’s insistence, Diane left for France after graduation. “It’s what your father would have wanted, dove.”

The first three years of her schooling were hell on her. Suddenly she was in an environment that was unfamiliar, without the comfort of her family that made anywhere she’d settled feel like home. Her nights were cold and lonely, filled only with long hours of study, and memorization. Lucky (or was it?) that her dorm mate, Tyla, was both palatable and outgoing, or she might never have met the man who’d one day become her husband. Julian Géroux was the dreamboat that any simple woman would’ve dreamed of. His dark hair and bright eyes captivated her. He spoke in sonnets, and his body language was both rhythmic and expressive. During the time that he courted Diane, he brought her large, colorful bouquets of flowers; treated her to dinners in the countryside. Together they shared their passions, and their dreams. For family. For love everlasting. Soon after, in a spur of the moment decision, (and a ceremony that included few else besides a pastor and two of their friends) they were married.

Diane would someday bemoan how easily she’d allowed herself to be seduced by him. But who could look her in the eye and say they wouldn’t have done the same? Knowing what she knew now, with all ten years of education and experience under her belt… She’d have realized that all the signs were there. When it came down to it, she’d count herself as young, naive, and desperate for a connection.

The first time Julian put his hands on Diane, she cried and cried for forty-eight hours straight. Tyla did her best to assure her friend that it had been an accident, just as Julian said. That in the heat of the moment, his passionate and fervent nature had overcome him. But it didn’t stop there. The bruises were more frequent, but they became easier to hide. With bulky sweaters and concealer applied by a shaky hand. Diane stopped making excuses for Julian. In fact, she stopped talking about him at all. As far as anyone else knew, they were happy and content.

And it wasn’t until her mother took a turn for the worse and Diane was forced to return home, that she gathered the strength to leave.

Ever thankful for modern technology, Diane was able to finish the final year of her degree between home and a local university. Taking care of her mother was a heartbreak that she couldn’t afford to nurse. At first, she wept thoughtlessly; crying herself to sleep most nights when Juliette had finally fallen asleep. Neither of them had realized how fast the illness how was progressing until one morning Juliette nearly burnt the house down, forgetting how to work the stove top halfway through making her breakfast. What was worse was that Diane had swept in to save her, and her mother didn’t recognize her at all.

Hospice was the very best choice for the both of them, though once again Diane was left feeling that her inability to help one of her parents earned her a culpability that she couldn’t reconcile. Even now, she visits her mother twice a week, though most times Juliette mistakes her for a different family member.

Diane is determined to make something of her life, even despite the deterioration of her conscience, and the paranoia she harbors in regard to Julian. It took her a while, but she finally secured a studio style office in the Kentish Town neighborhood. Granted, the rent was cheap because the atmosphere had a tendency to be clamorous, but that didn’t bother her. In the beginning, she wouldn’t give any consideration to the possibility of violence, and disorder. It was a home away from home for her, and things could only get better from here.

…Right?

SOCIAL CONNECTIONS:

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Separated. Julian Géroux. (Soon to be ex-husband) FAMILY: Walter Fay (father, deceased), Juliette Fay (mother, unplayable)

#taken #takenf #neutral #yael grobglas #dianefay

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greatmar2 · 6 years

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Experiments (Mar Chapter 4)

Elonth Worldbuilding | < Uncertainty | Meets >

After a good night’s rest, Mar continues his learning.

Image by @elektronx

Read on Dragon Press

3506 words

With a clap of thunder, Mar awoke. A storm had rolled in, and rain drummed against the window veiled behind a curtain. Despite the din outside, the world around him felt - in a way - silent and still. Unnervingly so. Half-awake, his mind sluggishly mulled over what could be the cause of this phenomenon.

The realisation that he may not have woken up in his world caused him to sit bolt-upright, but the jingling of a chain quickly calmed him again. That was what was wrong: the pendant that he had received from Tir was blocking his magic. Thanks to it, he couldn’t sense the energy around him: neither the rain outside nor the electromagnetic din that was part of modern life.

Glancing at the time, he realised it was minutes before his alarm was due to sound. This was the first time he’d slept a full night in… a while. With a yawn and stretch, he clambered out of bed.

He drew back the curtains and was greeted by rain battering against the glass, blown to such a steep angle by the strong wind.

“Oh, forgot I put you there.”

On the sill of the window lay three amber-coloured shiridan crystals. The gems, each about 8 centimetres in diameter, professionally cut and polished, were more expensive than he’d be able to comfortably afford on his own despite them being artificially grown. They had been gifts from his parents a few weeks ago when it was decided that he would be going to study at the Raifal Mage College.

Although he couldn’t sense it now, he was sure that they were happily absorbing energy from the rain and wind pounding against the window. He'd learnt how to do basic magic like this enchantment in school, and done some of his own reading and experimenting whenever the fancy took him. The teaching methods at the college were different to online guides and videos - generally slow and methodical, making certain that students understood the theory surrounding a process or action before they tried it.

He removed the necklace and placed it next to the crystals on the windowsill. As it lost contact with his hand, he was suddenly bombarded by the energy outside. The usual electromagnetic din would have been the equivalent of someone turning the lights on in a dark room, but the storm felt like said room’s walls spontaneously turned into spotlights. It almost made him want to return to huddling under the protective blanket that the pendant provided. He soon acclimatised, however, and the pattering of rain against the window softened. Not because the storm was clearing, but because he had joined the crystals in siphoning the abundant kinetic energy that was outside.

After some time of this, he turned away from the window. He motioned upwards and the three crystals quickly moved towards him, coming to rest in a row floating above his head. He imprinted an enchantment upon them so that they would glow slightly and keep themselves above his head - using his horns to orient themselves. He also set them to use their own energy reserves to do this rather than his. He opened a cupboard and grabbed a couple of clothing items. His college scarf was wrapped neatly around his neck, a band bearing the Sterkvleuel crest was slipped into his left forearm.

Turning to see himself in the mirror, he groaned then removed the band and took down the gems from above his head.

He walked out the door, into the room that was his lounge, study and general living area all in one. At his desk, he spotted a note. After putting the crystals into a compartment of his bag that leant against a table leg, he read the note. He smiled. Grabbing his tablet from where it charged, pressing the unlock button and then using his magic to interact with the capacitive screen, he checked his schedule for the day. Physics, Irikshan’s session, Applied Maths, Thermo Dynamics, Tir’s session, study break and then a Self Defence practical. He could do something with Josh during the study break, but should probably use the time to read over the practical's instructions - his ‘quick nap’ yesterday afternoon ended up lasting until morning. He closed his schedule and opened the message application.

“Busy today. Don’t have Enchantments, but Tir has scheduled to take my last free slot. Gonna be done at 4. What about you?” A flash of electromagnetic energy - almost too brief to distinguish from the rest - and the message had been sent.

Mar turned and headed to his metre-high fridge. He opened it, finding not much else other than the food that Josh had left for him. He dished half of it onto a plate. From his cupboard, he also took a shiridite supplement tablet and a bowl to fill with water to drink. He took all this to his desk, where he began eating the cold food before quickly spending some energy to heat it.

He stared at the wall, lost in thought as he ate.

A notification sounded from his tablet.

“Got a couple classes in the morning, have a few hours free just before noon, and my shift is in the afternoon as usual. I have a couple surgeries scheduled today. If you don’t have any middays available, we could do something on the weekend, perhaps? Meet at my house, Saturday morning?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Mar navigated out of that chat and opened Carina’s.

“Thank you for the food! It tastes great!”

He closed the message app and opened one for a social media platform he frequented. A thread titled “Tumenzarian scientists have a breakthrough: prototype machine able to manipulate shiridan crystal” was the first that thread greeted him, and quickly grabbed his attention.

Once Mar had finished the meal and cleaned the plate, he picked up his bags, strapping the large belt that held them in place around his chest. He unplugged his tablet and slipped it into its compartment on the left bag. Just before he left the apartment, he remembered to go grab the amulet from Tir and put it in his bag.

“Thank you for your patience, Mar.” Irikshan appeared from inside his office after a few dragons and humans had left. “Strategy and policy meetings have an awful tendency to drag on.”

“Not a problem, Sir. I have plenty to keep me busy.” He motioned to his tablet upon which he had been reading. He packed it away and got up, heading into Irikshan’s spacious office after the old dragon.

The cloak that Irikshan wore flitted from his back and folded itself neatly on a corner of his desk, soon joined by the Kennissoeker family band. His scarf and the jewel of the elder remained on his neck. “When I’ve had the opportunity, I’ve been thinking about yesterday.” He turned from the window to face Mar. “Firstly, I must apologise for… throwing you in the deep end, as the humans would say. I haven’t had time for mentoring many students in my decades as an elder. Those that I have taught have usually been top of their classes. I believe we should work more slowly.”

“No, it’s ok. I am eager to learn. Yesterday was highly beneficial to me.”

“Hmm... I started teaching you about breaking illusions yesterday in the hopes of later learning how you break out of yours and formulating a better way if necessary.” Irikshan sighed. “I guess I succeeded in those objectives at least. ”

“You know how I did it?”

“Mar, even though you were attempting to hide that while I was in your mind, you were still too worried that you’d have to resort to doing that to possibly hide it. You should have told me - anyone - sooner and we could have helped.”

“I’ll be fine now. Slept well last night.”

Irikshan looked Mar in the eyes for several seconds before speaking again. “That amulet you’ve got in your bag. Feels like Rentik’s handiwork. After I talked to her yesterday, she was… distressed that I had not begun your training as soon as you arrived here. Pass it here, please.”

Mar reached into his bag, the world around him plunging into stillness as he touched the chain. He drew out the amulet and gave it to Irikshan. “How come I can still feel your presence when you’re holding it?”

“I’m blocking it.”

“You’re blocking a magic blocker?”

“Well, I earned my grandmaster-rank scarf for a reason.”

“Fair enough.”

“Rentik went over-the-top with the enchantments on this. Even made it track your current status. Most of them will do no harm, but I can remove that part if you’d like?”

“It’s fine, I guess.”

“You probably won’t need it after today,” Irikshan handed back the amulet, “but keep it in case you want it. Shall we begin?”

Mar nodded.

“First: what we do know. Your illusionary worlds seem completely real to anyone inside them. When inside the illusion, the target’s real body is rendered immobile. Any magic they cast in the illusion will not affect the real world. Physical injuries don’t carry over into the real world, and death in there ejects one from the illusion. Psychological effects…?”

Mar looked down.

“At least partially carry over. Illusions of creatures also appear to have minds of their own. You do not seem to be able to project your illusions into the real world, but rather need to transition into this illusionary world. The transition yesterday was rather abrupt. You reported being trapped for long periods of time on a couple occasions. Do you recall how long these sessions felt to be compared to the actual time passed?”

“When they first started, they were more like dreams. I’d fade in and out of them. They’d feel months long, but I only remembered snippets. The first time I got properly trapped, I was there for twelve years before I got out. I woke up in a hospital having, according to the doctors and my coworkers, been in a magic-induced coma with a simultaneously hyperactive mind for four days. After one of the doctors ended up in a coma too when they tried inspecting my mind more closely, they decided to wait for specialists from the college. In the weeks since then I’ve still had them occasionally, and mostly ended them as soon as I could.”

“Hmm. About three orders of magnitude difference in time. Did you see the doctor in the illusionary world at all?”

“I do not recall meeting him, there were lots of humans in this world. He woke up at the same time as me. He avoided me in the real world, so I couldn’t ask him if he’d seen me. I don’t blame him. That wasn’t a pleasant place in my experience.”

“I’ve got plenty more questions about how your ability works, as I am sure you do too. Many that will only be answered through experimentation. First, we need to enter your illusion. For that-”

“I have an idea. It clicked yesterday.” Mar briefly went limp, but then stumbled and caught himself before hitting the floor. “Yep, that worked.”

“Mar! Please be careful. You’re supposed to take this slowly.”

“Sorry. Habit.”

“How did you trigger it?”

“I’m not sure how to put it into words. It would be easier to show you.”

“Ok, but first I want to make some measurements.” He moved to his desk, taking a device from one of the drawers, “Do you mind if I record us with this camera? Also, may I measure how much energy you have available?”

“Sure.” Mar took the three crystals from his bag and placed them in front of him, then yielded to Irikshan’s energy probes, one of which entered the right of his chest.

“Been charging these for a while, I see. Your three crystals are near full charge at about one hundred and seventy-three megajoules. Your heart-crystal has about fifty-six megajoules remaining.” Irikshan made notes on his computer, then pointed a camera at Mar. He walked around his desk and lay down on the floor on the other side of Mar. A small rock floated from his desk and hovered nearby. Mar lay down too, pulling the three crystals closer to his chest.

The walls of the office broke away to reveal a beautiful natural scene, with rolling hills before the pair and great mountains behind them.

“Ok Mar, I want to see if you have any control of what world we go to. Picture this place as you go there.”

Mar waited a second until he sensed Irikshan’s mind touching his before concentrating on the scenery. The world shuddered around the dragons, then he got up.

“Oh, I see. It does indeed have similarities with what I do. It just requires a little more… force.” Irikshan stood up too. “Hah, you brought my floor and furniture too.” Irikshan looked to the computer screen and it turned to face the pair. It no longer had power.

“You did tell me to picture the place.”

“Quick, start a timer on your tablet, then follow me. You can leave your bags.”

Mar complied, then took off in pursuit of the elder dragon who had flown off in the direction of the mountains. After flying for some, Mar spotted a massive waterfall tumbling down the bare cliffs of the mountain. They landed on rocks beside the top of the waterfall. Mar looked out across the hills and down the meandering river.

"Recognise anything," Irikshan asked.

“This place looks kind of like Tumenoord, but different and without any sign of civilisation.”

“I created my illusion based on artists’ renderings of what our homeland would have looked like before civilisation. Back when we were still giant solitary wandering hunters. Before humans forced our kind to band together or face extinction.” Irikshan unleashed a colossal bolt of lightning into the water, causing a massive plume of steam to shoot out. “I was careful to exclude the waterfall in what I showed you, but this looks similar to the renderings. I wonder how you knew to create it. Maybe you subconsciously recognised the scenery that I showed you, or it is perhaps another quirk of your ability. I wonder whether this or the artists’ provide a more accurate representation of what it was like.” Another bolt of lightning arced from Irikshan into the water.

“What are you doing?”

“Draining Rumaga’s heart somewhat.” He motioned to the crystal that hung on a chain around his neck. “Going to see if there any impact on its energy in the real world.”

“As far as I know, there won’t be.”

“Still worth testing. In fact, I think you should head down the waterfall. I’m going to do some landscaping. We should test the permanence of your illusions, even if you do not see what changes I make. I’ll meet you there when I’m done here.”

Mar fooled around in the waters for several minutes - splashing about while the mountain vibrated with the great movements happening above.

When Irikshan finally joined Mar, he brought a giant boulder and planted it firmly into one of the river’s banks some distance away from the bottom of the waterfall. Irikshan made back-and-forth slicing movements with his claws. Layers of the rock sheared off and were deposited in a heap. Mar walked to join him. “Seeing as we have time, do you have any questions?”

“Yaromudr Svetopolk? The lightweaver.”

“Been curious about other illusionists, have you?” Irikshan paused before putting some of the rock back onto the boulder, where it fused together with the boulder once more. “I wish it had been as easy as a web search back then. In the late 19th century, I was one of the masters at the college. I was not the head of any one department, but I worked closely with several of them while I trained some of their best students and pursued my own research. I had none but myself and the scant historical records of other illusionists to teach me about the limits of the possibilities of my ability. I put out the word that I would like to meet any others like me. When I heard of someone from the Volakolian Empire, I became determined to find them.

“As it turned out, finding her was easier than convincing the Volakol to allow me to enter their lands. Even once I had secured permission, it was on the condition that I wouldn't travel without an armed escort everywhere I went. Told me I would have to carry all the guards if I wanted to fly anywhere! They seemed concerned that we Tumenzarians would make a pastime of toppling empires. In retrospect, they were already crumbling on their own.

“Anyways, Yaro had gained a fair amount of recognition as an artist. Travelled from one affluent household to another. Sometimes entire towns would save up to contract her services. She’d weave sunlight into great works that would last entire days. She’d sometimes mix shiridite with paint or thread for more permanent displays that lit up whenever the sun touched them.”

“I saw pictures of some that are still up.” Mar added, “and there’s that one in front of the Tumensuid town hall. My friends and I used to marvel at that when we were kids.” The rock was beginning to take the shape of a city. The roofs of some of the buildings seemed to have a traditional Volakolian style.

“Yes. Her works gave me the idea to anchor my illusions to shiridan crystals. I taught her how to include small ones in her works so they’d last even into the night. We didn’t see eye-to-eye on many things, but we still found it mutually beneficial to cooperate. Granted, she did find it more beneficial than I, but that does not bother me.”

“The page about her said that you two kept in contact until she died fifty years ago. You even performed a light-display at her funeral.”

“Yes. Some Tumenzarian scholars made improvements to the crystal-relay communication system that the Imaaduudin empire had invented. Their use was becoming more widespread, despite the costly set-up and maintenance. These were eventually replaced by electro telegraphy and then radio telegraphy, on account of the machines being targeted for theft far less often and being operable by your average human, not a skilled and therefore costly mage who could also become privy to many secrets.” The rock city had been completed. It was impressively done for one who was no artist. It appeared to be a Volakolian port city, but Mar could not say for sure.

“But what was she like?”

The stone city lit up in an extraordinary display of colour. “In life, arrogant, self-confident, determined and unthankful. The thing with humans is, they’re such fleeting creatures. Fires that, when faced with their own mortality, want to burn bright enough to be remembered long after they’re gone. She had already left her mark but endeavoured to make it greater. However, I do not think she ever truly forgot her origins. I believe she was driven into this outward display. Her outward attitude towards me was likely for fear of ostracization, and she was, in fact, the one who initiated communication with me years after I had returned home. Following her death, the journals of research and the gem containing one of her greatest artworks that she bequeathed to the dragons of Tumenzar also indicated a good measure of gratitude.

“Humans… such fickle, fleeting creatures. Empires rising and falling within one of our lifespans. Yet we wouldn’t be here without them. We believe we have all the time in the world, but in reality neither do we. We Tumenzarians purport to be great innovators, but the humans sparked many of our successes. It is their innovations and advancements that spurred ours as a species, and ours spurred theirs. Even in the times when I was younger, one could say this was for fear of extinction or the desire of conquest. But we might finally be at a time where we can truly say that we work for mutual betterment

“You still have the energy, enthusiasm and determination of your youth. I pray you keep that. I sense the world has once again reached a point of great social change. Questions will be asked. There will be no universally right answers. Cooperation will be the way forward.”

The lights that shone in the stone city danced. The shoreside water gently lapped against the dragons’ feet. In the distance, the waterfall still thundered on.

“That machine in the news?” Mar intoned quizzically.

“With or without that, change will have to come. But technology has had a way of speeding things up. Take it from me. I knew it was a matter of time before someone managed to create something like this, but didn’t expect that to be in my lifetime until a team including some of my past students approached the elders for funding on that project.”

Irikshan turned to Mar and smiled. “But enough of that, we’ve got some experiments to continue. Shall we return to the real world?”

#dragon #writing #by me #mar #elonth #narrative #fantasy

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news-monda · 4 years

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fairyringquotes · 4 years

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Gentleman’s Magazine, 1791

Page 728: August 10. Mr. Urban, Col. Townley, in his “Journal in the Isle of Man, 1789,” just published, says, “I had often admired, with a kind of wonder, this green rings so often observable upon many dry heaths and commons in various parts of England, called by the common people Fairy rings; and one day determined, if possible, to find out the reason why they were gnarly seen in that circular form, and why too the grass growing upon them should b so distinguishable from that upon the surrounding turf by a richer or deeper tinge of green. I cut up several sods as del as the find mold raced, by which means I found several brown grubs, some moving, and some in a state of quietude; but the greatest number of them in motion, with their hands in the self-same direction as if they were pursuing each other. I found the soil under the rings to be var better pulverized than that under the surrounding heath, where there are no insects visible; and the state of the soil will easily account for the deeper rings of green in the grass growing upon them; but why those insects should so invariably work and move in a circular form is above my comprehension; therefore, will rely leave the staunch believers in fairy tales in full and peaceable erosion of their circular property.” I. 203. Yours, ect. P.Q.

Page 1073: Various Opinions on Fairy Rings recapitulated, 1085

Page 1085: Dec. 1. Mr. Urban, “To admire the works of Nature in her usual course is a laudable disposition; many content themselves with her ordinary operations only; but there is also an additional secret pleasure in contemplating her byways, or seeking to examine hr sportive aberrations.” Such, Mr. Urban, are the just remarks on the study of Nature made by a deceased respectable correspondent of yours in vol. LIX, p. 1187. The pleasure he describes I sensibly feel whilst attending to the investigation of the ‘Origin of Fairy rings,’ notwithstanding little progress towards discovery can be yet reported; but the unremitting observations of naturalists, and the communication between them afforded by your Magazine, will, I trust, in time produce the election of the mystery.

Concerning these appearances many hypotheses have been formed, and nearly as many overthrown. In your Miscellany the question was first brought forward by C. Berington, whose enquiry failed of meeting attention. It was reintroduced by J.M. (vol. LX, p. 710) in a letter rather singularly worded. J.M. says, these rings exist in a meadow at the back of his house, which “has ben in the same state full twenty years, except once polished about nineteen years ago, during which whole time the was been no alterations in the rings.” He then very gravely and earnestly appeals to the public, whether any “on will be so hardy as to assert they ever saw any cows, etc. etc. turning round” whilst expelling their dung or urine? But before this, J.M. affronts the memory of “our great dramatic Bard,” by imputing to him the folly of having entertained and encouraged a belief of the circles being really caused by Fairies. The existence of Fairies, Mr. Urban, is an elegant chimera, admirably applicable to the support and embellishment of several kinds of poesy. It is a fiction so truly poetical, and so particularly concordant with the excursive fancy of Shakespeare, that it is no wonder that that Child of Nature should avail himself of it, and interweave it in his dramas. The use he has put it to in his “Midsummer Night’s Dream” is similar to the use Pope has made of the Rosicrucian system in the “Rape of the Lock.” In other parts of his works Shakespeare has applied it in the way of embellishment, as two ingenious pots of the present day have done likewise in “The Village Curate,” and the poetical romance of “Arthur.” …. Mr. Pope, in his dedication to Mrs. Fermor, has implied his want of faith in Sylphs and Gnomes: but as the unknown author of “The Village Curate,” and Mr. Hole, the writer of “Arthur,” have not particularly implied any disbelief in the Fairy system, J.M. may possibly attribute to them the same absurdity as he has attributed to Shakespeare, and he may do it with as much reason.

There is no assertion, how inane soever, but what has its advocate. J.M. did not deem it possible that the assertion respecting the circular movements of cattle whilst evacuating their dung could find one; yet T.E. (p. 800) was hardy enough to stand forward in favor of it, though he does not go quite so far as to declare himself ever to have been an ocular witness of such an evolution, a circumstance indispensably necessary to proving a fact so ludicrously inconceivable. As T.E. suppose these circumlocutions to have been performed round scrubbing-posts, it should be observed, that Fairy rings are too small ever to have had scurbbing posts for their cents; and that, according to that supposition, the files wherein Fairy rings abound must have had formerly, either at on or at different times, scrubbing posts in every part of them; an improbable case. Besides, the rings appear (as M.C. p. 1191, and D.D., vol. LXI, p. 3, have observed before me,) in places whereto cattle have not had access in the memory of man, or perhaps since the Conquest. No doubt these were the reasons which induced B.L.A. (vol. LX, p. 1193) to say, very unceremoniously, “I deny that Fairy rings have always a scrubbing post in their center; I never saw one in that predicament.” Notwithstanding this gentleman’s roughness, I agree with him.

T.L. and B. (pp. 1007, 1106,) both sententiously ascribe Fairy rings to the effect of lightning; the one quoting Dr. Priestley, and the other Mr. Jessop. Beseeching forgiveness of these four gentlemen for presuming to differ from them (which is being yet more hardy than T.E. before mentioned), I must confess, that I think they have promulgated a scientific prejudice whilst endeavoring to dispel a vulgar one. They are of a different kind; but philosophers have their prejudices as well as the commonality, and they are as tenacious of them. Mr. Jessop’s friend, Mr. Walker, might see a new circle immediately after a thunderstorm, for a fresh appearance might as probably attract his notice on a day on which a thunderstorm had happened as on any other day; but it might have appeared on that day, since a storm is no impediment to the rings appearing, tho’ the lightning does not cause them. On the contrary, I apprehend that the circle, observed by Mr. Walker, was brought out to view (as the painters term it) by the additional verdure which the rain had given to the surrounding herbage. Had Mr. Walker stooped to it, and perceived a smell of sulphur proceeding from it (as all substances blasted by lightning emit that effluvia), his evidence would have had weight. A fashion has existed some years, among the medical people, of attributing every complaint they could not comprehend to defective or disordered nerves. Philosophers and lecturers have fallen into a similar habit of ascribing every natural phenomenon they are incapable of accounting for to electric fire: in conformity to this system, Fairy rings have been called the effect of lightning. Did lightning cause them, we should see them upon corn, stubble, garden crops, etc; whereas they never appear (as I ever saw or heard) but upon greensward or clover aftermath. Did lightning cause them, they would be most numerous those years when there is most lightning, and vice versa; but the year present furnishes an instance of the contrary. During the three elapsed quarters lightning was neither particularly frequent or uncommonly violent; yet the additional number of Fairy rings which presents themselves to view at the usual time (July and August) of new ones appearing is (at least in my vicinity) greater than common.

C’s supposition (p. 1180) is amusing. Surely this writer never saw a Fairy ring, and as surely never noticed the dimensions given by J.M. Were we to substitute Fairies for Britons, we might, from his other words, imagine ourselves fellow inhabitants of Fairy land, since his ideas and expressions are more applicable to the children of Fancy than to those of Adam. Instructed by C, we might, from the appearance of a fresh circle, know as well when the Fairies had ben performing religious rites, or celebrating festive revels, as we do now when we perceive by scattered feathers and extinct ashes that a gang of Gypsies have had a luxurious regale under a hedge. But I most not trespass further on the province of the Antiquaris, to whom C. has, with all due deference, referred the digestion of his idea; and that with very great property, as the digestive powers of some of those gentlemen are entirely equal to the task.

Ants and moles have been mentioned; but the hillocks of these laborious beings would be seen invariably in the vicinity of the rings, did they occasion them. Ants ever affect dry places, and Fairy circles often appear in moist. Moles happen to work under them sometimes.

J.G. of Kendal, investigate the matter with great attention (vol. LXI, p. 336). He is exceeding exact in observing most of the visive circumstances incident to the circles, and reasons from these circumstances with great acuteness. I cannot say I am every way satisfied with his suggestions, though several of his remarks are just, and he is undoubtedly pursuing the right tract towards discovery; since the patient attention he is bestowing on the subject is the only clue existing to guide the research. It is only a long series of observations that can attain the desired end; but this is not a consideration to discourage a true Naturalist.

In one point I must set J.G. right; and, if he should find occasion, I hope he will do the same by me. He partly mistakes in saying, “marks of this kind are only to be met with on the sides of hills, and of sandy pasture, where the art is commonly poor and open.” That this is the case in Westmorland I make no doubt, because J.G. asserts it to be so; but in the South of England they are as often visible in flat, rich, moist meadows, and upon stiff blu and yellow olay, as anywhere else. I acknowledge that there is sometimes a small proportion of hungry sand, or sharp gravel, intermixed with the above clays, but the clay lies above either. J.G. has opportunity of observing whether Fairy rings exist upon peat mosses, and whether they appear, or are plentiful, on the surface of a soil replete with coal or mineral; and, if thy are seen at all in those situations, whether they differ in appearance from those on the sides of hills and sandy pastures. By ascertaining these points, a judgment may be formed of what depth of soil is necessary to the generation of Fairy rings, and whether the cause of them exists above or below the surface of the earth.

As I have professed myself dissatisfied with J.G.’s suggestions, it behooves me to offer others, though they may possibly be found exceptionable likewise.

It is my idea that, throughout the course of this investigation, the cause has hitherto been uniformly mistaken for the effect. I think that fungi are not the effect, but the primary cause of Fairy rings, an opinion ground on the following hypotheses:

The edible mushroom, and most of the other varieties of terrene fungi, arise spontaneously either in circles or in curvilinear lines; and the fungi which generates on the arms of ancient apple-tides discover a like tendency, by two or more of them frequently encircling the decaying arm. Hence it should seem, that the innate active principle in fungi possess an original predisposition to exert, extend, and increase itself, circularly. Moreover, if one fungus arises, and attains maturity, the different winds blow its seed around it, and that seed produces a circle of fungi the following year. If, during the diffusion of the seed, the wind happens to blow higher from one quarter than the rest, it conveys the seed to a greater distance, and forms a process issuing from out of the circular line. The circle is liable, moreover, to be intersected by other circles, formed by neighboring fungi in the same manner. J.G. says, “the cause that produces Fairy rings destroys the grass growing on them, root and stem.” Again, he says, “since each ring remains bare for a year, it is evident that something is lost which is necessary to the nutrition of plants; and therefore we have arrived at this conclusion, that this succession of withered tracks is occasioned by each track being successfully deprived of some principle of vegetation.” This conclusion of J.G.’s is just, and my hypothesis consistent with it. I argue, that the fungus spawn attracts and engrosses to itself all the terrestrial nutriment which before fed the plants that preoccupied the space; that, after producing the fungi of that year, this spawn extends itself beyond the first circle for the formation of another, leaving the space it filled before so exhausted of the saline, or other particles peculiarly essential to the vegetation and sustenance of fungi, that no more fungi can arise from it during a considerable period. The roots and seeds of grass then possess themselves of the vacancy, and, finding the earth highly meliorated by the rotten firs of the former grass, and the decay parts of the fungi, they readily establish themselves therein, and thrive so luxuriantly that the blade becomes rank, and is rendered further unpalatable by the strong taste and scent which it imbibes from the fungous manure which contributed to its growth, in like manner as early asparagus contracts a savor of the dung which forces it. The rapid attainment of fungi to maturity demonstrate the vegetative principles to be infinitely more active and powerful in fungi than in herbs. From this superiority in the vegetative principle it is reasonable to conjecture, that fungi attract and acquire a larger portion of terraqueous nourishment than vegetables do, and that, therefore, they for a time impoverish both earth and herbage wherever they exist; which hypothesis accounts for the destruction of the grass in the circles, and J.G.’s conclusion stands corroborated. The fungi are preyed upon in their turn by grubs and other insects (as is well known to the makers of ketchup), which accounts for grubs, etc. being found beneath the surface of the rings; a circumstance which has given rise to another error respecting the origin of the riles, insects having been taken for a cause instead of a consequence. It surprises me much, that so minutely (notwithstanding his consideration of brevity) as J.G. has descanted on the varied appearances of the rings, that he never has even once named fungi; for, though fungi are not at all times visible on them (this serves for an answer to M.C. vl. LX, p. 1191), yet on or more full crops arise invariably in Autumn, [Footnote: In the long and rich meadow at Islington, which leads to Canonbury, we recollect seeing, thirty or forty years ago, immense quantities of these rings, and fungi in all of them. Q. Do thy still exist there? Edit.] and a few at intermediate period. I regret that I have not an opportunity of examining Mr. Bolton’s treatise on fungi, as I suspect something illustrative of the origin of Fairy rings may be found in it.

I have not the self-sufficiency, Mr. Urban, to attempt imposing my hypothesis, concerning the origin of Fairy rings, on your readers for a confirmed, incontrovertible one: I am ready to relinquish it with pleasure whenever another, established by time and repeated observations, may be advanced. I have only remitted it for the purpose of turning the attention of the intelligent J.G. towards Fungi, and to assist the gentleman who, in one of your last numbers, has with so much goodwill expressed his readiness to follow up any hints that might be given him for promoting the desired discovery; an offer too acceptable to pass neglected.

A SOUTHERN FAUNIST.

P.S. The correspondent who sent the account of the lacerius vulgaris (vol. LXI, p. 816), has my thanks both for the attention he has honored my hint with, and for the communication concerning the above reptile; which communication supplies Mr. Pennant’s deficiency on that head, and removes an inconvenient prejudice.

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eddiejpoplar · 5 years

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Anatomy of a Murder: How Saab Was Sent to an Early Grave

“Negligent homicide.” Pluck the term from the criminal code, and it can be frequently applied to shortsighted corporations who manage to grind once-proud brands to dust by focusing more on near-term profits than long-term investment. Indeed, automotive history is littered with such examples, but perhaps the most egregious is the case of General Motors and Saab. At one time a proudly independent maker of quirky Swedish cars, Saab itself made a series of poorly considered financial decisions that combined with market realities to pull it into the General’s orbit in 1989. By the end of the 1990s, it had become a fully captive subsidiary of GM, its future entirely dependent on Detroit-based bean counters, and by the 2010s, it was all but completely gone. Here are the product milestones that put the final nails in 60 years of Saab history.

1989 Saab 900 Turbo convertible.

The 9-3 Rots on The Vine

GM’s initial 50 percent investment in 1989 saw the business behemoth make a crucial first step toward Saab’s demise when it made it a Soviet-style client state. Rather than allow Saab to develop an in-house replacement for its ancient—but still popular—900 coupe/sedan/convertible, the Swedish firm’s engineering team was required to port over as much of the brand’s design language as possible to the GM2900 platform.

Although the new Saab 900 debuted in 1994 (and was renamed the 9-3 four years later), the GM2900 bones were already themselves aging, having served under various underwhelming Opels since 1988. This put Saab in the awkward position of trying to sell a technological classic alongside significantly more modern offerings from BMW, Mercedes-Benz, and other leading luxury brands that ruled the market that General Motors was determined to push Saab into.

1995 Saab 900 coupe.

It is true that Saab was in such financial straits at the time of the GM takeover that it couldn’t muster the resources for a ground-up redesign of its strongest seller, and this helps explain the rushed timeline and corporate compromise (as well as also forcing the mid-size 9-5 onto a modified 2900 platform). This doesn’t excuse, however, the decision to launch the next version of the 9-3 on the GM Epsilon platform in 2002—better known for serving under such distinctly pedestrian fare as the Chevrolet Malibu and the Pontiac G6—and then letting it twist in the wind until Saab’s death in 2010.

2003 Saan 9-3 sedan.

Not only did General Motors, which had purchased the rest of Saab in 2000, expect the Euro-Bu to do battle with the excellent E46 BMW 3 Series, but it also refused to even least feign an interest in the model’s future by making almost no updates to the vehicle, save the addition of AWD in 2008. Needless to say, this did an excellent job of alienating a once-loyal group of owners. Incredibly, the 9-3 would soldier on like this for nearly a decade.

Badge-Engineering to the Extreme

With almost all of the Scandinavian character ironed out of the 9-3, GM’s next move was to expand the bland by servicing the idea that the boutique marque needed a full-service lineup. How better to bury Saab’s identity than by lightly reskinning an array of other manufacturers’ models and trying to pass them off as a renaissance?

2005 Saab 9-2X.

In 2005 the 9-3 was joined by the Saab 9-2X, a blatant copy of the contemporary Subaru Impreza hatchback that featured nipped-and-tucked front and rear fascias backed by the most minimal of cabin redressing. This bizarre corporate synergy (made possible by GM’s fleeting involvement with the Japanese automaker) would even see the 9-2X Aero hoodwink a handful buyers into purchasing a significantly more expensive version of the Impreza WRX.

2008 Saab 9-7X Aero.

The 9-2X was merely the first of multiple stab wounds aimed directly at the Trollhättan-based company’s heart from overseas. The 2005 model year would also bring the 9-7X, which despite its cleaner styling was fully recognizable as a Chevrolet TrailBlazer behind its grinning Saab visage. The price tag for the 9-7X was enormous—surpassed only by the Cadillac Escalade in the GM catalog—and not even an Aero version sporting a 6.0-liter LS V-8 could atone for its sins or win back disheartened Saab loyalists.

Too Little, Too Late

Yet by the time of its own impending bankruptcy, GM had become aware of just how much damage it had done to Saab, and was actively seeking a way out of the brand’s quagmire of total anonymity and near-irrelevance on the premium scene. The evidence? The final-generation Saab 9-5.

Although still using Epsilon II mechanicals and possessed of some demerits, the modernized 9-5 was perhaps the first model from Saab under the General’s watch that could legitimately make a claim to command the attention of luxury-car fans. Eye-catching in either sedan or wagon form, and offering the option of a throaty turbocharged V-6 paired with an advanced all-wheel-drive system, the 9-5 had unmistakable mojo and it combined with the forward-looking and handsome 9-4X luxury crossover that followed to point a way forward for the company.

The 2010–2012 9-5 sedan and 2011–12 9-4X SUV.

Until, of course, its unveiling toward the end of 2009 was unceremoniously eclipsed by GM’s 2010 announcement that Saab would be sold to Spyker, a Dutch supercar builder that pledged to keep building the vehicle, somehow, while walking the tight-rope between its need for access to American parts suppliers and engineering expertise and the predatory IP habits of its Chinese financiers. It was a mix that would prove fatal to the 9-5’s continued existence, with very few examples ever making it onto American roads, essentially killing Saab’s brightest hope while still in the crib.

Life After Death, Sort of

Escaping from GM’s orbit neither guaranteed Saab’s future survival nor afforded it the dignity of a proper burial. After Spyker’s brief stewardship, which ended in bankruptcy at the end of 2011, the company’s assets were purchased by National Electric Vehicle Sweden. Despite the name, NEVS was actually a front for a group of Chinese investors intent on capitalizing on the long-in-the-tooth 9-3 by installing an electric drivetrain.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, not much has gone according to plan. NEVS was repeatedly rebuffed by GM (which continued to resist any technology-sharing) as well as Scania AB, the legal guardians of Saab’s griffin logo, with the end result being wordmarked Saab EVs joining a handful of gas-powered examples in the Swedish market shortly before yet another bankruptcy in 2014 caused Scania to revoke the rights to the Saab name altogether.

The saga continues. NEVS recently received a fairly large infusion of cash from Evergrande Group, a name associated most recently with Faraday Future, and the company plans to hawk its battery-powered 9-3-esque sedans exclusively in China. A series of false starts have largely defined the NEVS effort, and the decision to cling to the almost 20-year-old 9-3 would seem to be counterproductive to success in the modern EV market.

One day, perhaps, Saab will get its epitaph. But not until all of the marrow has been sucked from every last bone.

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#IFTTT #Performance Junk Blogger 6

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jesusvasser · 5 years

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Anatomy of a Murder: How Saab Was Sent to an Early Grave

1989 Saab 900 Turbo convertible.

The 9-3 Rots on The Vine

1995 Saab 900 coupe.

2003 Saan 9-3 sedan.

Badge-Engineering to the Extreme

2005 Saab 9-2X.

2008 Saab 9-7X Aero.

Too Little, Too Late

The 2010–2012 9-5 sedan and 2011–12 9-4X SUV.

Life After Death, Sort of

One day, perhaps, Saab will get its epitaph. But not until all of the marrow has been sucked from every last bone.

IFTTT

#IFTTT #Performance Junk WP Feed 4

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jonathanbelloblog · 5 years

Text

Anatomy of a Murder: How Saab Was Sent to an Early Grave

1989 Saab 900 Turbo convertible.

The 9-3 Rots on The Vine

1995 Saab 900 coupe.

2003 Saan 9-3 sedan.

Badge-Engineering to the Extreme

2005 Saab 9-2X.

2008 Saab 9-7X Aero.

Too Little, Too Late

The 2010–2012 9-5 sedan and 2011–12 9-4X SUV.

Life After Death, Sort of

One day, perhaps, Saab will get its epitaph. But not until all of the marrow has been sucked from every last bone.

IFTTT

#IFTTT #Performance Junk Blogger Feed 4

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sandinz · 6 years

Text

Reflecting back, I’m continually amazed we managed to fit in so much travelling and sightseeing with Barry’s elder brother Ray in just over three weeks. This post only covers five days as we head up to Scotland via the east of the country, and back down the west.

From Worcester, where we left the last post, we headed northwards on the idyllic Droitwich Canal. Once again, Ray worked the locks alone as I beavered away inside building a Google Ads account. We moored in the secure basin in the town, hoping to find a way to stay for five days. Sadly they’re only 48 hour moorings, and a call to CRT confirmed no leeway on this apart from emergencies. We were so grateful to CRT for supporting us remaining at Tarleton for a week or so, after mum died unexpectedly in May, so knew it was possible in such cases. We didn’t wish to blot our copybook by overstaying ‘illegally’.

As I’ve said previously, Ray had a number of ‘bucket list’ experiences he hoped to achieve whilst in the northern hemisphere, and we wanted to do all we could to make them happen. However, having not traded at any festivals in 2018 thus far (early August), we’d been surviving on savings and the small income I was building up from Ad-Extra. We’d also left the boat for five days a few times already for various excursions, and our batteries were complaining loudly! I hear some of you saying “Get some Solar Panels“, and we heartily agree. It’s just that we don’t have the spare cash to invest in them just now.

Being mindful of all of this, we decided only one of us would accompany Ray on his journey around the country. Actually, Barry decided at the last minute – which to be honest was a little disconcerting for me. I’d hoped the two blokes would go on the road trip together. Then I could’ve had a few days of chilling alone on the boat (a rare occurrence for me, unlike Barry who regularly gets this luxury!). But when Barry investigated hiring a car, he discovered he wouldn’t be insured on his NZ license. Having lived in UK for five and a half years, he needed to have applied for a UK licence after 12 months. Now I don’t like to say “I told you so”, but I really did! Many times. This time he believed me – and has even got the application form now. Better late than never aye?

An added advantage of Barry staying on board Areandare, was that he can solo-cruise, whereas I’m too scared to! I’m in awe and avid admiration of women who live alone of their boats, moving around the cut seemingly fearlessly. Barry was able to move the boat from Droitwich to Birmingham, doing an astounding 50 locks, while we went on our jolly around England and Scotland.

Listening in to Space

Our route initially took us in a northeasterly direction, with the first stop on Wednesday 8th August at Jodrell Bank. I knew little about this attraction. Ray sounded like an authority on the subject, and in his element. If you don’t know what it is either – it’s basically a massive telescope (the Lovell Telescope), pointing into space, picking up sound waves. Consequently there’s a radius around the area with a ban on mobile phones or anything similar switched on. In actual fact, I found it rather interesting. I’m a bit of a star gazer. So the experience sparked an interest in me.

I also realised when we were there, that my eldest daughter, Lisa had been here for the BlueDot festival just a couple of weeks before, when I had Leon for the weekend. What a small world it is.

Beatrix Potter Country

Next on the route was the Lake District. On a friend’s recommendation, I’d booked overnight accommodation for us at a YHA on the shore of Windermere. I desperately want to say ‘Lake’ Windermere, but Ray rightly corrected me. It’s a mere, not a lake. A mere I’ve discovered, is generally described as a lake that is fairly shallow compared to its relative size.

The building and location was superb; staggering to believe it’s a ‘Youth Hostel’. To be fair the YHA have come a long way since they initially began in 1929, when my dad was nine years old. I know both my parents frequented such hostelries in their youth, especially those in the Lakes and Yorkshire. As children they took us too. So I have many fond memories. One was at Carbisdale Castle in Invershin in the Scottish Highlands, when I was almost 13 years old. It remained a YHA until 2011, when it was sold privately.

“YHA is a child of the Great Depression. The welfare of Britain’s growing urban population was a serious concern in the early 20th century. YHA’s offer of affordable accommodation was an antidote to the poor air quality, cramped housing and harsh conditions of inner city life. It gave young working people an unprecedented opportunity to spend leisure time in fresh air and open countryside, on a scale only previously possible for the wealthy.” https://www.yha.org.uk/about-yha/history

YHA Windermere

View from our six bedded dorm

Absolutely waterfront

The YHA waterside cafe and bar

A short walk away for a drink

Roman ruins nearby

Sadly we had only one night in this spectacular part of the country. We’d stayed nearby in March 2013, when we first arrived back, for mum’s 80th. It was beautiful in a different way then, as the ground was blanketed in snow. Barry, of course, took some stunning shots …

Two stops en route to Oban

Coffee stop in Keswick

We chose to take a slightly longer route northwards, on Thursday, to relish a little more of the scenery. A stop in Keswick for coffee, and our monthly Ad-Extra team Skype call in the car park! It would’ve been unimaginable not so long ago to be able to have a business meeting wherever you may be at the time.

Then a longer drive up to Paisley, to the new home of Margaret and Graham. These gorgeous people are blog readers, who visit us at Huddlesford when we’re trading there. I’d chatted a number of times via email to Graham, as we planned Ray’s itinerary, and he provided an abundance of helpful advice for our short foray into the Highlands.

Margaret, Graham and I looking out over the lake

Margaret and Ray walking up the garden with the view that sold the house!

Graham shared invaluable advice about routes to take to our next port of call, Oban, as well as most scenic ways eastwards a couple of days later. Oh, and Margaret made a delicious lunch for the not yet weary travellers. Thank you so much both, it was a very special couple of hours that I shall treasure, and I know Ray was enormously grateful for your wealth and breadth of knowledge.

The drive from Paisley to Oban was breathtaking. Graham had advised a route which cut out much of the heavy holidaymaker traffic, and we were both mesmerised. The photos, especially those from the car (!), certainly don’t do it justice.

And then there was Oban. Oh. My. Goodness. What an incredibly beautiful place.

Once again there was sparse time to do justice to the magnificence of this seaside settlement. Having booked accommodation very late in the day, we were extremely fortunate to get anywhere. Scotland was heaving with visitors. The place I chose was ‘Backpackers Plus in the old Church‘. Amazing! Although Ray and I were in shared dormitories, as that was all that was left, we loved the ambience of the lounge area. And for £24 per person per night, it included a buffet breakfast. Cereal and toast, nothing outrageous, but more than enough. There was an array of spices to share in the kitchen, and, similar to YHA Windermere, there was a wide age-range of guests, so no matter how old you could feel ‘at ease’ here.

Ray’s main reason for visiting Oban was their distillery. Sadly I never took a photo of the building as it’s not likely to ever feature in a bucket list of mine! Neither Barry nor I like whisky. However the distillery it seems is the reason there’s a town here at all. Two brothers began distilling here in 1794, not long after Captain Cook landed in Gisborne, New Zealand (1769 to be accurate). If you’re keen to know more, go to the website (https://www.malts.com/en-row/single-malt-whisky-history/oban/) and fill your boots as Barry would say!

The Friday of our break was the only day I didn’t drive. In the five days we were off the boat, we traversed an incredible distance of 1,200 miles. Blimey. A bit of a whistle stop sightseeing tour!

North, east, and south

The following day, having relished fish and chips AND haggis by the sea, we chose a circuitous route north through Glencoe (apparently with volcanic origins) and the Highlands, and some of the most spectacular scenery imaginable. It was a tragedy that there was hardly any chance of stopping anywhere to gaze in wonderment, or take photos, as everywhere was packed with cars and people also enjoying the views. I intend to return here with time to leisurely sit and embrace the beauty.

Ray wanted to visit another distillery, recommended by Graham – Glengoyne Distillery near Killearn, north of Glasgow. No photos once again! It’s not difficult to tell who was more interested in all things whisky …

Our aim for the day, including the stops, was to make it as far as Whitley Bay near Sunderland, as we’d booked overnight accommodation there. We’d attempted to book somewhere closer to no avail. Scotland was full.

After a while I spotted a sign for Falkirk. Knowing what wonders lay in this place, there was no way I could drive past without giving Ray the opportunity to see two of the wonders of the waterways. So we did. Only a slight detour off the route. Once we’d seen the Falkirk Wheel in action, nestled equidistant 23 miles from Edinburgh and Glasgow, it was a just short jaunt to the Kelpies.

Barry and I had been here in July 2017, when our friend Sandra Willis hired three narrowboats for a six-day cruise. Sadly, due to a number of challenges around that time, we never did write a blog post or publish any of Barry’s fabulous photos. Mine pale into insignificance …

Ray pushes the wheel to start it – just kidding!

Putting it into perspective

The view INSIDE one of the Kelpies (thank you to Graham

Such a shame the sky was so grey when we visited.

However. I’ve found a few of Barry’s photos with a blue sky from July 2017. Rather a dramatic difference I think you’d agree?!

Next stop Whitby

We finally arrived in Whitley Bay after 8pm on Saturday 11th August. My parents had grown up hereabouts, and it’s always nostalgic for me to return. Not that we saw much of the area apart from a walk along the seafront and an Indian meal.

The following morning we rose fairly early and headed off, stopping for breakfast on the way. Our mission was Whitby, another connection to Gisborne, as Captain Cook sailed from here on his voyage to New Zealand. In recognition of all his accomplishments, there’s a Captain Cook Museum in the town.

I wasn’t prepared for the brilliance of this place either. It too was teeming with tourists enjoying the sights and smells of the quaint seaside town.

Captain Cook Museum

Anyone from the southern hemisphere would find this Cook tribute of interest. The letter below shares James’s first impressions of the country in the late 18th century …

Another thing Whitby is famous for of course is its seafood – I treated myself to some crayfish tails. Tiny in comparison to those I got used to in Gisborne, but tasty nonetheless.

There’s some spectacular views of Whitby following a walk of 198 steps to the Abbey, and another YHA adjacent to it! A place to stay in future maybe?

Whitby seafood

Whitby YHA next to the Abbey

Last but not least a quick peak at York

I still can’t quite comprehend how we squeezed so much into such a short space of time. After a full day by the sea we drove across the Yorkshire moors (another feast for the eye!) and down to York. We’d booked a rather plusher hotel for the final night of the trip, a short drive out of the city.

We took the car in at night for a wander and a Sunday roast – including of course a Yorkshire Pudding! It’d be rude not to when in the city of its name …

On the Monday we took the park and ride bus for more of an explore and a walk of some of the wall still surrounding much of the city.

Barry and I had been here in 2009, on our inaugural live-aboard six-month journey in the north of the system.

What does this remind you of?

The astute among you will spot a famous face in the stone – one I’d noticed in 2009 that Barry had photographed and turned into an unusual picture. I was ecstatic to find it again. Am I the only person to see this resemblance? I’m not sure who ‘owns’ Barry’s framed photo design now, it was one of the ones we sold at auction before leaving in 2013. If anyone reading knows please comment – it’d be amazing to get a photo of the face in the wall on someone’s wall!

On the way back to Barry and the boat, we took another turn and welcomed the chance to see Helen and Gav again in Guiesley, near Leeds. They’re following our footsteps a little returning to England after living for a number of years in Gisborne, and doing their best to step off the hamster wheel that most people find themselves stuck on until ‘retirement’. We shared our Calendar Club experiences with them, that the Leeds store was looking for Operators, and they’ve applied and been accepted. We know they’ll be outstanding Operators and sell oodles of calendars, diaries, mugs and anything else that’s sent their way. Good luck guys!

We got back on board Areandare and Barry the evening of Monday 13th August, across the road from the Arena Birmingham (I do find it strange they’ve chosen to call it that rather than Birmingham Arena?).

You’d think that’d be the end of travelling around with Ray now? Well almost. But not quite …

Summer Visitors part 4c - to Scotland and back in five days Reflecting back, I'm continually amazed we managed to fit in so much travelling and sightseeing with Barry's elder brother Ray in just over three weeks.

#Captain Cook Museum Whitby #Jodrell Bank #Lake District #Oban #Paisley #Scotland #The Falkirk Wheel #The Kelpies #Whitby #Whitby Abbey #Windermere #YHA Whitby #YHA Windermere #York #York Wall

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inquarterlifecrisis · 6 years

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Walking Where I Used To It’s raining and I don’t feel like going outside, let alone working out, so I split the difference and walk the mile and a half to the library. After trying melatonin, meditation, herbal tea, and podcasts designed to lull one to sleep, the only thing that has been truly effective in breaking my nocturnal lifestyle is trashy thriller novels. I’m staying with my dad in my home town, in the first house I ever lived in. Frankly it’s not a homestead that has remained on my mind much, in the way that we can only discount those things that are so intrinsic to our identities. If you asked me to draw a picture of the veins in my forearms I’d be stymied— it’s not exactly a geography I’ve had to map. Of course it’s more complicated than that. My parents got divorced when I was seven, and my mother moved us into a new childhood home— all of half a mile away. For the record, I don’t resent my parents’ divorce in the slightest, and in no way is this a “woe is me” statement. But the fact remains that I can probably count my memories before the semi-relocation on one hand. From then on it was weekends with our father and the rest of the week with our mother. Mom went back to school and got her masters degree, while Dad took up furniture building and rock climbing. Late on Saturday nights, after my younger siblings had fallen asleep, Dad would train me on how to use a jigsaw by letting me carve out toys for my younger brother. By the time I was ten I had a hand in the execution of most of the furniture in our house, one weekend at a time. Mom’s house was equally special— she made use of the high ceiling in the room that my sister and I shared by having a loft built, which would eventually become my teenage refuge. I didn’t just learn to cook and bake there, but had the added pleasure of knowing that what I was making meant something. These weren’t just culinary experiments, it was literally dinner for our family. Not only was I at home, I was lucky enough to have two homes. Neither was perfunctory— I distinctly remember making excuses to walk from one to the other. Maybe because they were equally important. Maybe because I preferred the space between the two. Near the halfway point between my parents' respective houses was a pond. It wasn’t very big or very pretty, and it was definitely home to more than a few snapping turtles. But for some reason, it held an almost mystical attraction for me. Maybe because it seemed so cool that such a natural phenomenon existed so close to my respective suburban homes. Maybe because moody ten year-olds need a place to brood. I can’t remember who or when, but at some point an older kid showed me a hidden path from the road down to the wooded side of the pond. It lead to a fire pit, almost certainly littered with beer bottles and cigarette butts, though I was too young to notice these as signs of disrepute. Instead I just thought it was a secret place that I had the privilege of knowing about. This became my spot. I would “forget” a text book and need to walk over to my mom’s house. I would be meeting a friend to “skip stones”. Sometimes it was as simple as that age-old justification for all things shady— “going for a walk.” Inevitably this led to me spending at least ten minutes, crouched by the fire pit at the edge of the pond, hidden by branches, feeling inexplicably grateful for my stolen moments of solitude. When I first read my favorite book I was fifteen years old. I still prefer fiction, but two degrees and fifteen years later, this collection of essays continues to linger in the most influential recesses of my brain. In False Papers, author Andre Aciman explores his childhood in and subsequent return to Alexandria, life as an exile, falling in and out of love with vistas and women, Strauss Park in New York City, but above all, existence in a liminal state. Take “In Search of Blue”, the second essay in False Papers. Here Aciman recalls the train rides he took through Europe during his childhood. He describes the glimpses of the ocean constantly interrupted by the trees— the luxury of being transplanted to such a glamorous coastline, and the turmoil of being uprooted from his home country. As an adult he takes the same voyage with a lover, and has the opportunity to stay in a hotel room with a veranda harboring a fantastic and uninterrupted view of the very ocean he had so often caught sight of as the train sallied forward. “What do you do with so much blue once you’ve seen it?” Aciman asks. It’s too perfect. The things that we covet somehow become unfathomable set in relief to the ideal we held them up to. That’s not to say that they don’t meet our expectations— the crux of the matter is that we’d prefer to live with our expectations. I’m not trying to distill this to a “grass is always greener” analogy. It’s better described as the appeal of salted caramel. I guess this is where it would be appropriate to mine the confectionary vein and address Aciman’s Proustian roots. À la Recherche du Temps Perdu has controversially been translated as either A Remembrance of Things Past or In Search of Lost Time. Aciman would seem to favor the latter, judging not just by the aforementioned “In Search of Blue”, but more obviously the fifth essay in False Papers— “Letters from Illiers-Combray: In Search of Proust.” It’s not as simple as the madeleine. Like the water framed by the trees, it’s the pastry tempered by the tisane. Fortunately the temptation to look back through previous entries in this blog for my self-applied label “nostalgia junkie” was cut short by my recognition of the the inherent irony that lies therein. Recently I’ve felt compelled to bastardize the translation of both titles into a more frankensteinian moniker: “Research of Things Past.” Obviously unoriginal and unsexy without context, but perhaps worth considering all the same. I think we’ve all done a little bit of research into this subject that most consider banal. What is it to return to the place that you come from with an attitude that is both distanced and biased? An all-too-close researcher? My years living in New York City have given birth to many intellectual questions about anonymity. To presume that someone is looking at you on the subway seems, well, presumptuous. Self-conscious about a blemish on your face? Yeah, probably nobody noticed. Somebody cut you off getting onto the subway? Sure, they’re a jerk, but chances are that you’ll never see them again, so they escape under the cloak of anonymity. It’s not the same in my home town. I’m walking the paltry mile and a half to the library (a very normal distance to walk in NYC, especially if you’re trying to get across town, or to a better train, or whatever) and a car stops. The driver is somewhere in his forties, alone in his new, eco-friendly SUV, and he leans out the window. If I said he’d had an elbow on the window sill, cowboy style, I’d be lying, but that’s what it felt like. “Do you need a ride into town?” he asked. “No thanks, I’m enjoying the walk.” “Stay dry!” For the record, “town” was about a quarter of a mile away at that point, which roughly translates to two and a half avenue blocks— about as far as I walk to buy cat food. I’m an actress. Theoretically I should crave attention. And there are certain areas in the city where I am guaranteed to run into at least three people. I don’t mind it. In my own neighborhood in Brooklyn, I’m familiar with the people who work at the bodegas I frequent for juice and the managers of the grocery stores. Heck, I’m known as the “bubble bath girl” at my local pharmacy, and the gentleman who works there even sometimes hands me a free bottle and sends me on my merry way. But that’s the right kind of attention. I don’t like feeling like a weirdo because I’m walking somewhere and seeming out of place just because I’m “walking”. Isn’t it better to be able to get somewhere under one’s own steam? I suppose I don’t love being under a microscope. The ability to switch between anonymous and identifiable is more difficult in the town that I grew up in than in my chosen place of residence. If I say hello to the purveyor of a local business, or a new friend, or even an “old friend” that I run into when I’m out on an errand, well, that’s a choice. I don’t want to be rude, but they also don’t know my mom and my dad and my sister and my sister’s friends and where I went to school and on and on and on. All they expect is a hello— even a wave will suffice. I’ve spent enough time here for a sense of nostalgia to set in. And it has. But I don’t feel beholden to it. I can still duck under the radar if I want to. No microscope. No “What do you you do with all that blue now that you’ve seen it?” At this point, I crave less blue. I have my own liminal space— at least, in Brooklyn. When I go back to my hometown I feel like a shadow of the trees I used to admire, and the pure blue is not even something I want anymore. More importantly, at my Brooklyn home I have no feeling of unadulterated conspicuity just for walking somewhere because I need to. I can even walk for miles without feeling like a weirdo. A wave is enough. If a friend pulls his bike over to say hi, it’s a choice made by a very good friend— not a concerned citizen. Sometimes I hate the crowded nature of the subway, but it can also be my best friend. I love where I come from. And I love where I live now. The ability to be recognized in both places is— well— a blessing that I recognize. But like the pond I so appreciated as a child, liminal spaces are inherently interrupted. Our own personal interruptions lead to the chance for a lack of clarity— for anonymity. In my hometown I feel like there is sometimes too much blue, and I prefer the interrupted landscape that my current location affords me. If only to appease my own nostalgia-addled mind.

#nostalgia #liminality #hometown #nyc

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vipcryptosignalscom-blog · 6 years

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Remembering Satoshi’s Imaginative And Prescient — Because It Was Written

New Post has been published on https://vipcryptosignals.com/bitcoin-news/remembering-satoshis-imaginative-and-prescient-because-it-was-written-3/

Remembering Satoshi’s Imaginative And Prescient — Because It Was Written

On October 31, 2008, Satoshi Nakamoto had a vision to percentage with the sector — a protocol he called “bitcoin, a new electronic money machine that’s totally peer-to-peer, with no relied on 3rd celebration.” Due To The Fact that point an entire lot has modified, and there may be an infinite Cryptocurrency landscape with over 1,500 digital currencies indexed on data feed websites. It’s been an excessively long time on the grounds that Satoshi left the community and his vision, the white paper, and even the protocol’s evidence-of-work has been wondered multiple occasions over the years.

Also read: Privateness-Centric Coin XMR Splits Into 4 Different Monero Protocols

BCH Proponents Consider That Many Key Attributes Were Slowly Replaced With An Entire New Idea

Satoshi Nakamoto left the community in 2010, and no one has heard from the anonymous creator of bitcoin ever considering. at the moment the bitcoin group has cut up into two factions as a result of the scaling debate, that coincidently started the same year Satoshi left. Many bitcoin money supporters believe the BTC aspect of the community has never had a legitimate excuse in opposition to elevating the 1 MB block dimension by utilizing a refuse to present in at-any-price mentality. The bitcoin cash group believes this crew has been so cussed that Center supporters mainly enabled blowback to happen this prior August, permitting a big majority of customers to move their separate techniques by way of forking the protocol, sooner than the creation of the contentious Segregated Witness (Segwit). The protocol Segwit have been and still is debatable and hasn’t received so much traction even to at the present time. All of those people who once shared equivalent visions with their friends, formed some other group and rallied around the bitcoin money (BCH) community believing that BCH is the closest chain to Satoshi’s unique vision.

A slide from Dr. Peter Rizun’s speech on the way forward for Bitcoin convention presentations just one this is because folks to find Segregated Witness adverse.

Revisionism

Along all of this vitriolic energy tethered to the scaling debate, BCH supporters say there were relatively a few people who imagine “Satoshi’s imaginative and prescient doesn’t matter,” and in reality have the audacity to recommend making changes to the author’s white paper. many people will tell you the reason for that is because supporters of the Segwit chain have realized that the record does not apply to the BTC network. Sadly, BTC hardly ever resembles what’s described in Satoshi’s white paper. for instance, the co-house owners of Bitcoin.org, ‘Theymos,’ and ‘Cobra Bitcoin’ amongst others have talked about converting positive words in Satoshi’s paper. Some Other instance is how the internet portal Bitcoin.org, that’s heralded by Middle supporters as ‘reality,’ removed the cheap and fast transactions description for bitcoin off front page — the explanation for that is for the reason that description doesn’t apply to Middle network.

The owners of Bitcoin.org have discussed editing and revising the white paper on multiple events.

of course, bitcoin cash supporters were furious approximately this technique of revisionism utilized by the opposite facet of this debate. it’s ceaselessly said that “Satoshi’s vision” or the author himself doesn’t matter, however BCH supporters believe so much loose-thinking folks remember the fact that history is important. Satoshi’s words and his original white paper is terribly vital towards holding the network from being perverted. Someone who denies history doesn’t know how issues got here to be, they usually can have a significant issue dealing with the long run. The earlier is the long run’s direct causation. The very name of the white paper explains that bitcoin is a “peer-to-peer digital money device” which presentations completely no references to conserving the coin as a speculative asset, or any comparability that represents a ‘digital store of price.’

Bitcoin.org gets rid of positive descriptions from front web page.

Can’t Find The Money For to Ship Bitcoin? — Take Care Of It — It’s ‘Censorship Resistant’ for a certain Crew Of People

After close to a decade, one by means of one, BCH supporters state that particular options that used to be promoted broadly among the bitcoin neighborhood had been slowly forgotten. in the early days, bitcoin was once regarded as pseudonymous and wanted tools like mixers and tumblers that might lend a hand supply anonymity. Then Again, due to the upward thrust in transaction costs such a lot bitcoin mixers and tumblers discovered the network unsustainable, and many were not able to combine coins because network fees have been each too pricey and unreliable. Additional, through the times when BTC suffered from extreme network congestion, and unconfirmed transactions spiked to well over 2 HUNDRED,000, darknet mixers and tumblers had been known as out for ‘spamming the community.’

There’s no one that can in reality argue that this meme is inappropriate.

Needless To Say while transactions were as soon as defined as less expensive than most centralized processors like Western Union? within the early days, people predicted billions of micropayments helping other folks in need and third international countries. As A Substitute throughout 2015- 2017, Middle advocates and developers said they didn’t thoughts if fees aggregated to $ONE HUNDRED in line with transaction. Core developer Gregory Maxwell said in the course of the worst period of BTC’s transaction backlog and $60 fees that he was once popping bottles of champagne.

“In My Opinion, I Am pulling out the champagne that market behaviour is certainly generating task ranges that may pay for safety without inflation, and likewise generating fee paying backlogs had to stabilize consensus growth as the subsidy declines.” ~ Greg Maxwell Dec. 21, 2017

It didn’t subject that economically unfortunate international locations couldn’t manage to pay for to make use of the bitcoin blockchain as lengthy as the chain continued to remain ‘censorship resistant’ — Satirically this idea process results in the censorship of greater than 2/3rds of this global who have a troublesome time considering paying $0.25 cents consistent with transaction (tx) not to mention $30-60 USD in line with tx. It’s safe to mention that enjoying the emerging rate marketplace process is instantly out of a Ponzi scheme handbook where handiest the early adopters are folks that can have enough money to make use of the network advantages.

The Resurrection of Killer Apps

Middle supporters will tell you that bitcoin money proponents are misleading by using the open emblem title ‘bitcoin,’ while in truth all BCH proponents imagine they are doing is “adhering to Satoshi’s original imaginative and prescient.” in reality, the chain and the BCH community are direct derivatives of stubborn blowback. Revisionists and actors with confirmation bias have clung to arguments that make no feel and act like the arena is about to adopt a whole new infrastructure called the ‘Lightning Community.’ This Is after knowing on-chain BTC transactions aren’t very fast, and on-chain BTC transaction fees are unreliable especially during periods of demand. Unfortunately, mainstream attention that took place all over Q4 of 2017, used to be one of the worst classes of time for congestion, as BTC fees aggregated to upwards of $60 in step with transaction and confirmation times of up to per week for low fees. Then the mainstream was directed to a gadget that is not even close to fashionable adoption, even if this mainstream target market was principally at a tipping point in opposition to mass adoption.

On April FOUR, a record was published that targeted best flaws and topology concerns with the Lightning Community. the author of this have a look at was neither a bitcoin money or bitcoin middle holder.

Thankfully for mainstream adopters, BCH supporters consider bitcoin money might be there to offer the very things that had been promised within the early days that made the theory of cryptocurrencies so cool — actual rapid, affordable, and dependable transactions that can’t be censored.

This Is as a result of BCH supporters state that mainstream audiences and customers from 3rd world countries won’t be hindered from using the Cryptocurrency due to unreliable switch times and tumultuous community charges. they also won’t need to discover ways to adopt a brand new network on most sensible of the blockchain or find out about the failings of routing, watchtowers, centralized hubs, commencing channels, or holding cash on-line in limbo. No, all they’ll must be told is how to use bitcoin as it was taught for the prior nine years. Mainstream audiences also are getting a glimpse of an ‘software resurrection’ of tools that had been as soon as heralded through the BTC neighborhood. The bitcoin cash environment has resurrected mixers and tumblers, micro-tipping applications, a Bittorrent platform, social media apps like Memo and Blockpress, even the facility to ship very small fractions of BCH without a web-based connection.

Protective Propaganda and Censorship Over Conscience and Ideas

Bitcoin cash proponents think that revisionists will proceed to check out and say that Satoshi and the white paper “doesn’t subject” and can try to revise history to make bitcoin something that it is not. Why do BCH enthusiasts consider this? Likely it is as a result of supporters of bitcoin revisionism have defended propaganda and censorship, so much that it has turn into a regimen task on some of bitcoin’s so much frequented boards. All of this for a cussed win-at-any-value mentality that wouldn’t even allow the dialogue or open debate of adding one measly megabyte to the block dimension. No, BCH proponents imagine the confusion Center supporters complain about, rests on their judgment of right and wrong, as a result of they obfuscated the protocol’s unique intentions, anonymous minions sniffed out dissenting opinions, and cried once they got the blowback (the birth of BCH) they deserved.

It’s protected to mention that Satoshi’s imaginative and prescient can be remembered, and his white paper will stay protected from adjustments. However, BCH supporters needless to say the revisionists can even be known for being intellectually dishonest and as sophists trying to keep bitcoin hostage. Bitcoin money enthusiasts believe that when August 1, 2017 bitcoin’s antagonistic takeover has ended, and there’s now an avenue to be had to continue following Satoshi’s vision.

What do you’re thinking that about the idea that most BCH supporters believe that Center proponents have revised historical past and feature tried to lessen Satoshi’s vision and even alter the white paper? How do you take into account that this historical past? let us understand in the comments underneath.

That Is an Op-ed article. The reviews expressed on this article are the author’s personal. Bitcoin.com doesn’t endorse nor support perspectives, reviews or conclusions drawn in this put up. Bitcoin.com isn’t answerable for or responsible for any content, accuracy or quality throughout the Op-ed article. Readers must do their own due diligence sooner than taking any movements related to the content. Bitcoin.com is not accountable, right away or not directly, for any damage or loss brought about or speculated to be because of or in connection with the use of or reliance on any knowledge in this Op-ed article.

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suzannemcappsca · 6 years

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“What The Parties Really Want” – Interview 2 – Mike McIlwrath

Bill Marsh (Editor)

This is the second in a short series of blogs interviewing regular users of mediation about what they really want from mediators and from mediation. We kicked off last month with Rebecca Clark.

This month, I have the pleasure of interviewing Michael McIlwrath, who has been the head of litigation for GE Oil & Gas since 1999, a company that in July 2017 merged into Baker Hughes, a GE Company (BHGE). Mediation has played an important role for Mike’s company in resolving disputes around the world for this technology giant, in all kinds of claims, and in all kinds of places. Mike is also a member (and past president) of the board of directors of the International Mediation Institute, and in 2016-17 may have been visible to many readers as the chair of the Global Pound Conference.

Bill: Mike, what do in-house counsel want from providers of dispute resolution services?

Mike: Thanks for letting me answer a question you had not posed, and my apologies for breaking down the fourth wall of your interview. As an in-house counsel you hear this often, and I can appreciate why it is asked. But it resonates like asking someone who is Jewish [or insert your large, diverse group here], “what do Jewish people think of the Paris airports?” It makes you cringe, because you know it’s wrong to think all people of a certain group will have the same opinions.

In-house counsel like me are all kinds of people, and we work for all kinds of companies which measure and evaluate us differently. Myself, I’m a specialist in dispute resolution for an industrial and technology company in the oil and gas sector. There are so many factors in that sentence that will set me and another in-house counsel apart. Just being a specialist is a luxury that only companies of a certain size can afford. People might think an in-house litigator is evaluated based on the cases they win, but actually I’m measured on contribution to productivity. When you think in terms of margin and operating profit, getting a result by adjudication is just one of many possibilities. Contrast that with the single lawyer of a smaller company who only has one or two significant cases at any given time among many responsibilities. She and I are likely to approach our jobs differently.

Bill: So then let’s talk about how you do things. You have appointed and used many mediators. What are the key attributes, approaches or mind-sets you look for in a mediator?

Mike: Short answer, no case is the same. An ideal mediator would know how to adapt the process and their approach to the dispute and the parties.

Longer answer takes into account that the hardest part of mediation for an in-house lawyer responsible for international cases is just getting to mediation in the first place, getting the offer to mediate accepted. So a key quality in a mediator is just being acceptable to the other side. After that there are some preferences as to style. Personally, I have never had good experiences with evaluative mediation, even in North America where it is more practiced, and try to avoid mediators who are known to try and pressure parties with their views of the merits. But really, what you want is someone you can trust and, even more than that, will be trusted by the other side. Recently, we had a large case with a German company, and their general counsel suggested mediation. But he himself had never been in a mediation; he had just heard it could be useful. To help him, we proposed a well-known German mediator we knew from past experience to be very versatile and suitable for this type of dispute. The mediation went well, and the general counsel told me afterwards he is now a convert… he says they will mediate all their cases from now on.

Bill: How do you go about selecting mediators?

Mike: I’m increasingly comfortable leaving appointments to an institution. In most cases, institutions can better match a mediator to the dispute that if we try to agree a name with the other side.

We are open with institutions and the other party that the things that matter to us are certification, training, and experience. These increase in importance as you move outside of areas familiar to you, whether geographically or in subject matter. In fact, the main reason GE joined IMI was the belief that international standards of quality would increase the likelihood of having competent mediators appointed.

There are so many lawyers or arbitrators in the world who hold themselves out as mediators without any training or understanding of what it entails. I have seen this do real damage to cases, fanning the flames of litigation rather than promoting settlement.

And, of course, it helps to be part of a larger organization like General Electric, where we can bounce around names. You can believe someone is a great mediator when colleagues say, “she/he’s a great mediator!”

Bill: What do you do when your counter-party suggests a mediator who seems to you to be unsuitable?

Mike: Where we do not have an institution to default to as the appointing authority, this can be challenging. We might respond diplomatically, asking why they have suggested that person. And then we might propose some names for them to consider that we think we both might like. Actually, Bill, you were appointed in at least one case where this happened! We gave the other side a list of IMI-certified mediators and said we are happy with any of these, or feel free to propose other candidates from the IMI database. They chose you (from our list). This solution usually works.

Bill: What do you think mediators are most prone to misunderstanding about what parties really want from a mediation and a mediator?

Mike: I don’t want to be guilty of assuming all mediators are prone to make the same mistakes! That said, you do see some pitfalls more often. One is not making a minimal effort to encourage the parties to come to the mediation prepared and with a realistic goal in their head. I do not think this is laziness on the part of the mediator, but that they give the parties too much credit for knowing what they want.

Another pitfall is doing the next mediation like you did the last one (or last 200). I’m sympathetic to this desire, because I know I would want to use tools that have always worked for me in other cases. But it can be dangerous if a mediator comes to complex or international cases thinking “I will not have any joint caucuses because I think it is a waste of time to let the lawyers pontificate” or “I will not have separate sessions absent a very special special need for one”. I’ve encountered both of those approaches, and they stood out because in both of the cases they were good mediators applying the wrong approach to the dispute. They put their own self-imposed rules in front of the needs of the dispute.

Bill: How do you make the best use of any opening joint meeting in mediation?

Mike: I try not to make any openings, so may I flip your question to what’s the best I’ve seen? That would be about 10 years ago by Gavin Slessor, an employee of our Aberdeen, Scotland, plant in a mediation of one of those “impossible to settle” cases. Gavin had lost an arm and leg in an industrial accident some years before we acquired his company, and the dispute was over damages due to him. Gavin sent a letter directly to the CEO of my company at the time that he sent against the advice of his lawyer. The CEO read it, and this triggered the process that got us to the mediation. I consider that letter a form of opening statement, even if it arrived a couple of months before the actual mediation, because it set the tone of everything that came after.

While I could not promise Gavin an outcome, I did promise we would get the best possible mediator. I asked several people for names, and Karl Mackie at CEDR recommended Tony Allen as reformed litigator who had chosen to specialize in personal injury cases.

At the mediation, Gavin gave the most heartfelt opening about his injury and his life during the pendency of the litigation. With Tony’s help, which continued for weeks after the day of mediation, we eventually settled. Gavin is today a happy, respected, and productive employee. I’m not the only one who says we would not have been able to settle without his courageous letter and opening; Gavin himself says that he could not have settled without having been able to “say his piece”.

As I’ve learned from Gavin, the opening is effective most often if it is sincere and from the party, not the lawyer.

Bill: Finally, raise your magic wand and make one change to the way mediation is practiced around the world. What is it?

Mike: More frequently!

Seriously, I’m a strong believer in mandatory mediation. I’ve seen time and again how a contractual requirement often drags a party kicking to a mediation, but they still end up settling. The few arguments against mandatory litigation of commercial/civil cases are neither convincing nor based on the empirical evidence, which shows that it can be very effective.

Conclusion

So in conclusion, it seems that Mike is primarily after mediators whom both he and his counterparts can trust – which to him primarily means certification, training and experience. It clearly – and unsurprisingly – helps to be able to “bounce around” names amongst those who have already used particular mediators, something which I know many law firms do as well.

On the flip side, he is looking to avoid mediators who: – fail to encourage parties to come to the table adequately prepared and with a realistic goal in mind; and – treat all mediations the same.

Reflecting on this last point, let me issue this challenge to all mediators, especially busy ones. How much are we stuck in the rut of doing things the way we always do?