#like sir in what WORLD!!!! is this audit evidence!!!!!!!

[andrewmnyard]

not to be insanely lame and talk about my job online but why are clients so stupid!! if i send something that says “please provide this invoice” and they send back a print out of an email with a dollar amount written on it so i say “returned, please provide the original invoice from the vendor” and then after a WEEK they send back the printed out email!!!!!! like that’s not what i want!!!!!!!!! I literally sent that exact thing back to you!!!!!!! bc it’s not an invoice!!!!!!!!

#not even an email from the fucking vendor!!!! #literally an internal email that’s like an account and routing number and then someone wrote on it in pen like ‘send 17000’ #like sir in what WORLD!!!! is this audit evidence!!!!!!!

[textbookmobster]

it all begins with a rebellion

This is inspired from a drawing made by the lovely lesbina in the moraghid discord server.

Pre-relationship, fusion fic. Maybe I’ll write more someday.

It’s strange how easy your life might change in just under a day.

It all begins with a rebellion.

It’s one that’s been brewing for a while now, ever since the young Emperor refused to go to war with the Gormotti for a piece of their land. They had underestimated how unhappy the civilians of Mor Ardain were. With the Senators stirring unrest, and the military fractured underneath its various generals, it was only a matter of time before the tide of dissatisfaction turned against them.

Mòrag had been paranoid in the final days leading to the collapse of the Empire. She had studied maps of Mor Ardain and its many trade routes. She had befriended friendly ship captains where she could and squirrelled away coin and physical assets in foreign banks under the guise of long-forgotten Ladair relatives. When the opportunity to audit the Royal Treasury had presented itself to her, she had quickly taken two of Mor Ardain’s most precious Core Crystals, knowing how easily such things could be turned into weapons.

She had not anticipated using one of them herself.

They’re helping Senator Stulc and his wife board the small salvaging vessel Mòrag’s second had acquired when a contingent of soldiers close in, having been alerted to the location of the smugglers’ cove.

Niall, running on nothing but worry and adrenaline, stumbles in front of them, throwing his arms up defiantly. “It’s me you want!” he shouts. “Let the others go. Please.”

He’s brave—braver than Mòrag who is all too happy to throw some other stuffy, well-meaning Senator under the line of fire.

“Get back inside, Niall!”

“These are my people, Mòrag! I won’t let them die.”

“Who the fuck cares?” she all but screams. “Idiot brother!” This is all for you, don’t you understand?

But of course he doesn’t. Because he’s never had to face his mortality as intimately as she had faced hers.

She picks him up by the scruff of his shirt and shoves him into the direction of her second-in-command. “Don’t let him out of your sight.”

“Sir!”

With her back towards her brother, she takes a deep breath and rushes for the swarm of advancing soldiers. She doesn’t notice the soft blue light that begins to emanate from her brother’s haversack, which had fallen in the chaos.

"Mòrag!"

She's a whirlwind of death, her rapier snaking into joints and cracks with pinpoint accuracy. The buckler that she had taken from her second-in-command slams into a nearby foot soldier, redirecting a spray of bullets away from the ship. She's careful to stay within melee range, their eagerness an advantage: with too many bodies between her and the Ardanian gunners, getting a clear shot on her would take skill and a lot of luck. She only hopes that she can prove to be adequate distraction for her fleeing countrymen.

Blue light begins to trace the outline of her figure, curling along her arms and across her torso. Some of the soldiers scramble back, alarmed at the ghostly aura that begins to manifest around her. It's a short respite, however. A brace of gunners take advantage of the clear field, emptying a clip at her general direction.

Mòrag grimaces and braces herself against the small buckler, barely large enough to cover her sword arm. Pain drowns her other senses as she falls to her knees, darkness slowly consuming her vision. The last thing she sees is the Ardanian salvaging vessel flying westward towards freedom before everything goes dark.

- - -

It's a different woman who steps out of the steaming body of Mòrag Ladair.

She is made brilliant by the bright blue flames that outline her body. A wingtip steel visor hides much of her face beyond the curl of smug lips, emphasizing the eerie flicker of blue along her black stresses. Though she wears the uniform of an Ardanian officer, there’s a provocative quality to the sway of her hips and the transparent cloth that covers her lower torso. Behind her, a long wisp of a man falls to his knees, offering a double-bladed katana with easy reverence. “We’ve work to do, it seems.”

“Pity,” the woman says, adjusting her grip on the katana, watching her brother-in-arms dissipate into her form. “A full body resonance—and I get to spend what time I’ve been given fighting against impossible odds.”

She cracks an exultant smile. “So be it.”

Death follows her wake like a wildfire left unchecked. She cleaves into the soldiers with frightening speed, revelling in the body that she has been gifted. It’s not often that a human succeeds in awakening the Jewel of Mor Ardain, let alone one that has had a taste of battle.

In a matter of minutes, she has decimated the incoming force of foot soldiers.

Aegaeon reappears by her elbow, the exertion of maintaining a form evident from the sweat of his brow and his fading smile. “She won’t have the energy to keep both of us.”

“I’ll send her your regards.”

“My thanks.” He returns to his Core Crystal which the woman quickly scoops up and pockets.

She heads to the wharf in search of a vessel.

- - -

Mòrag wakes to the gentle press of heat against her skin, the warmth of the morning sun like a heavy blanket. She aches all over and feels the world around her teeter when she tries to move.

The creak of wood and easy sway of the ground underneath her startles her. If not for the sudden arm that wraps around her, she would have fallen on her side, just below the crude cot from where she rests.

“Easy there,” a mellifluous voice murmurs from beside her. “I’d hate for you to undo all the hard work that I’ve done so far.”

Her senses sharpen, pinpricks of light fading into dark, muddy browns that hint at her whereabouts. “Let go of me,” she demands, straining against her captor’s hold.

“Will you behave?”

She grits her teeth. No, she wants to say, but knows that she will have a better chance of escaping if some slack is given. So she relaxes her limbs, focusing on her breathing to stabilize her senses.

"Good girl," the woman murmurs, leaning into her space to reveal strands of bluish purple hair escaping a pair of braided buns. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. My Drivers tend to be feisty little things.”

“I’m not little,” Mòrag sputters.

“I’ve had taller Drivers.”

It’s an awkward conversation: one that starts out accusatory before meandering into the territory of expository with a dash of flirtatious. Mòrag knows about Crystal Cores, Blades, and Drivers, but she had never been interested in the specifics until now.

Because it isn’t every day that you get to awaken a Crystal Core, one that’s so attuned to your soul that you get a fully-formed Blade instead of the less visible spectres that Mòrag is familiar with. Brighid is shockingly solid—a presence that Mòrag cannot so easily ignore—and it unsettles and invigorates her in equal measure.

She’s in a strange boat with an even stranger woman by her side, an empire crumbling behind her, and a brother, lost, waiting to be found again.

It feels like the beginning of something good, something exhilarating: a promise whispered in the dead of night, the thrill of numerous possibilities racing along her spine.

It feels like a start.

#xenoblade chronicles 2 fanfic #moraghid #im sorry its trash

[zyyysblog-blog]

Internship Blog ✍️

The moment you step into the real world, it quickly becomes evident that life is going to have its highs and lows. Internships are no exception. Internships provides a great way to learn and expand our knowledge within an industry. Anything that is meant to teach you is going to require flexibility, growth, and stretching.

“The only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven’t found it yet, keep looking. Don’t settle. As with all matters of the heart, you’ll know when you find it.” – Steve Jobs, Founder – Apple

To be honest, at first, I feel a little bit nervous but at the same time excited to know what it really feels like to be in an office, working and socializing with its employees.

Dated, September 9, 2019. Our first day in the Regional Office V of PhilFIDA or known as Philippine Fiber Industry Development Authority, an agency of the Department of Agriculture, responsible for promoting the accelerated growth and development of the fiber industry in its all aspects including research, production, processing, marketing and trade regulation. In our first day, I came to office early. By 8am, the flag ceremony started. It was conducted by the OIC Regional Director, Mam Mary Anne R. Molina. After that, we are assigned to stay in the Records Room. The first task given to us by Mam Mary Ann Laparan, the Admin Officer V, is to input all the data of every personnel in the system. We finished the task within two days. We are also assigned to decorate the bulletin board in the office. We decided to do all the decorations by hand, in our most creative way. And here it goes (insert picture, before and after) Thank God, because they liked it. They appreciate our efforts. The next days and weeks of September, we feel so awkward to talk and socialize with the employees. But as the time passes by, we already developed ourselves to be more flexible, to remove all the what ifs.

When the month of October came, we are given another task. To sort all the files in the cabinet. To fix each and every portions of the room. We labeled every files with numbers, to easily distinguish them. We prepared every day for the auditing officiated by the Central Office, the main office of PhilFIDA. We have guests in the office. We’ve been very busy. We don’t have any time to talk to them or to chitchat with the employees. We focused on our tasks very much. We learned how to record files, photocopy, to use typewriter, sort files such as vouchers, and many more.

By November, from Records Room, we transferred outside, beside Mam Mary Ann. She advised us to be there for us to develop our social skills. And its true. Each and every single day, we learned how to talk to them and we enjoyed each and every personnel’s company. We felt how to be treated not just an interns but just like their own daughters. We didn’t feel that we’re just there to complete the hours of the required time of internship but we already feel that we are within a family, that we’re already part of it. They don’t want to be called as, sir or mam. Instead, they suggested and told us to call them like ate, kuya, tito, and tita. In this month and time of staying in the office, we are so comfortable talking and making jokes to them. Every time that we’re going to office, we are very happy and much close to them.

December is our last month staying in the office, we just have 10 days left. But instead of counting the days left in the office, we just enjoyed every moment being with them. Brigada Kalinisan is conducted. They had a program, discussed the 5S on how to maintain the cleanliness inside the office. We enjoyed and helped them to clean the surroundings of the office. It’s a memorable event though.

They invited us to go to their Year-End Assessment and Christmas Party last December 20, 2019 at La Roca Veranda Suites. All the employees within the region was there. It is a very successful and a very memorable event indeed. We had so much fun! The performance that we had with Sir Andrew is such!

And as our internship ended last December 10, 2019, we would like to express our deepest and sincerest gratitude to each and every personnel of PhilFIDA Regional Office V. For all the learnings and opportunity that you all have given to us, most especially to Mam Mary Anne R. Molina, the Regional Director of PhilFIDA V. Thank you for believing to our capabilities. For 486 hours of staying in the office, it taught us more about team work and how people can come together to get things done, to be more disciplined and to apply the etiquettes of a real professional in its workplace.

Thank you so much, PhilFIDA ROV family for all the love and care for us. Our hearts are full! May God bless you all!

[chrysolina]

My eternal love

Summary - The feeling of having, knowing and believing you have a totally unrequited love for someone can often make most people feel undeserving of such a pathetic fantasy in the future - but does everyone share that same view?

Pairings - Chris Evans x reader, Chris Evans x Jenny Slate, Reader x OC!

Warnings - swearing, angst, unexpected happenings

A/N - Here it is! Part 2 of My love! Enjoy! <3

“And that’s it, congratulations again Miss Y/L/N. We’ll see you on Monday,” the audition panel smiled and waved you off once you thanked them graciously and signed on the dotted paper, your signature being the last one they needed to begin filming ‘Practicion’.

You quickly wandered out of the studio hangar, zipped up well into your short tartan trench coat and out onto the forecourt where you were met by the cool LA January air that kissed your cheeks eagerly. Picking up your phone from your coat pocket, 6:13pm, the locksreen read. Jack would be here any minute now to pick you up and take you to dinner.

You scrolled aimelssly through your phone, your boredom quickly taking over. You took a quick glance at the three missed text messages you had and decided it should be wise to text back your sister and manager with whatever they were asking about or for. As if on its own, your thumb scrolled through the messages list and almost accidentally landed on the one name you swore you deleted - Crusty Evans - also known as, Chris Evans.

Your heart, mind and face cringed at the old nickname you had given him ages ago. It had been little over five months since you had last heard from Chris. From what the internet blogs, magazines and paparazzi rumours told you on an unnecessary week-to-week basis was that Jenny and Chris did spilt for a short amount of time but are - apparently - still ‘seeing each other’.

They must’ve been doing pretty well together since according to an inside source, the couple were last seen looking very happy out and around Tribeca, allegedly trying to find an apartment to live in together.

Why they had to come and live so close to where you and your family lived was beyond infuriating for you and your family.

However, your papa dismissed the idea that any of you would ever see them since ‘they are nobody’s to us’. ‘I wish I could believe you papa’ you thought to yourself as the words repeated themselves in your head ‘but they’ll always be someone’s in this world.”

Before your mind could digest the toxic thought of the couple together, a car horn cut through the chilly air and diverted your attention to where the noise came from.

An unmistakable sleek all black range rover was parked idle by the gates, waiting for someone - more specifically, you. Jack’s new car was certainly a beauty alright, wherever he went in it and wherever you saw it, the black luxury car demanded attention from onlookers - sometimes making you squirm in your seat on the days you’d accompany him somewhere.

In many respects, the car was very much like Jack himself.

Your face broke out into a smile as you pulled the the pricey car door open and was met by the charming Scotsman’s classic smirk. “Why good evenin’ m’lady,” Jack tried to charm you with his thickest Scottish accent possible which only made you laugh in return “did ya get the role?” He merely rolled his eyes at your laugh and began to turn the car around. “I sure did, got it with flying colours - apparently,” You squealed and jumped excitedly up and down in your seat and took Jack hand from the gearstick and shook it for effect.

“Alright you,” he pulled his hand away from your grip and focused back on the LA roads ahead of you “so where would you like to eat tonight? Wendy’s? Chick-fil-a? In-and-out?” Your stomach grumbled at the mere names of the fast food joints. “Wherever it is tho, food’s on me; got it? No buts, I insist.” Your lips turned upwards at Jack’s gentlemanly manner of buying you food.

Food, yes, that was what you were deciding on. After a second or two of short-wired thinking, your finally decided on where to eat. “How about we just go for a classic McDonalds, hm?” You watched eagerly as the Scotsman thought it through and twisted his face in (fake) thought. “Alright then, McDonalds it is.”

The rest of the car ride to the drive-thru was pleasantly quiet bar the sound of Jack’s playlist humming from the speakers. You weren’t bothered by that, you were just enjoying the sights of golden windows around you as the city lit up for the night.

“Tell me again Y/N,” Jack broke through the silence peacefully, making you whip your head around to the man before you “who and what is your role in this film?” The film - of course. You had even forgotten yourself considering first auditions were so long ago “Well, I am playing the role of the main romantic interest of her businessman-husband who is also a recovering drug addict. I think..” As hard as it was, you tried to pluck out who you actually were in the film through all the paperwork you had to sign today, scraping it as you did so.

“Hm, well so long as they have good teeth, you’ll be alright with kissing them huh?” Jack smirked at you and ran his tongue over his plush lips. You chuckled at the now-auburney haired Scot as you recalled the horror of your prom date all those years ago and how digusting his teeth looked once you got up close to kiss him. “Fingers crossed, just in case though,” you and Jack laughed again and watched as the Golden Arches of McDonadls came into view.

“So, what would miss Y/L/N like for food tonight hm? Burger? Fries? McFlurry? Or how about..Me?”

“Jack!”

•••••••

As if as the norm lately, your weekend spent up in the reclusive estates of Hollywood in your own little rented place was easy, relaxing and consisted of nothing more than eating your own home cooked meals, binge watching your favourite shows on Netflix, learning the new script as best as you could and sleeping until late.

It was a great way to ease yourself back into the rush of filming and took your mind off other minute things that floated around your mind.

Before you knew it, 9am rolled around quicker than anticipated and you found yourself being walked by an assistant to the main studio you’d just left that Friday before. Your eyes were quick to take everything in again, routes to the trailers, toilets etc - they all needed to be mapped out by yourself in due course.

Trotting through the main doors to the first - of many - sets and waited whilst the assistant went to look for the director and other cast members.

In the meantime, to calm your nerves, you began to smooth out your short black pencil skirt and toyed wth the sleeves of your white and black lined tailored jacket. In all fairness, your looks were definitely matching up to your status in Hollywood - clean, sweet and professional.

Everything most directors looked for in an actor or actress.

“Where is she?!” The booming voice of the director could be heard throughout the building, making you wince at the volume of his gruff voice.

All of a sudden, out of a door in the distance burst out a short, slightly chubby middle aged tanned man with a thick lit cigarette hanging from his seemingly chapped lips - lined by a grey black moustache. His hair was a little scarse, Black and grey in areas and cut very short - but overall, he looked pleasant enough.

“Ah you must be the infamous Y/N Y/L/N! Welcome welcome, it’s an absolute honour to have you here today.” The director began to talk to you but all you could pick up on was his familiar New York- Italian accent - one that you’d most definitely have if it wasn’t for travelling the world.

“Please, sir; the honour’s all mine,” you quickly thanked his graces about you and excused them as silly and unfitting for someone like yourself. “Oh please darlin’, you’re worth all the hype.”

The director winked at you and shot you a genuine smile in return, one you mirrored almost instantly “and don’t worry about the ‘sir’ thing Y/N, just call me Joe,” before you could thank him on the comfort of calling him his real name, Joe shouted out - seemingly - to his PA that stood a few metres away.

“Marie! Darlin, call him back in,” the young lady only nodded and trotted off someone to the side of the set behind a wall to find someone.

“I’ve yet to introduce you to your co-stars haven’t I?” Your voice was a blubber out of the new oncoming embarrassment and only trusted your head to do the talking, nodding in agreement. Your newest crew had evidently caught wind of your arrival were quick inforce to come and see, greet and meet you.

“Sir, I got him. He’s comin’ now,” the PA quickly shouted out from the wall she disappeared from and disappeared around it again.Who were they on about? Was it your other romantic interest - the drug addict businessman? Who knows.

Before your mind festered any more, you could hear the imminent of clicking heels aiming from the wall the PA came from. Surely it couldn’t have been a woman - the footing of his person was too deep and long to be that of someone in heels.

“Y/N, I’d like you to meet your main co-star, the Chris Evans.”

‘Oh shit!’

••••••

Time seemed infinate and everlasting as you sat hunched over in the plush leather chair you were given in your trailer. Judging by your emotionless stare into nowhere specific, anyone looking at you would say you’re just daydreaming, sleepy or even bored - but you were far from any of those things.

Your mind was running at a million miles a minute, every stupidly minute thought you ever pushed aside during the past five months had all resurfaced and were causing your poor brain havoc.

You wished it wasn’t true - no, you prayed in your hands and knees that this was all just some silly joke. He wasn’t really going to be the actor you’d actually have to kiss and be romantic to once the cameras were rolling, was he? He couldn’t have been - why Chris?

He had marvel films and soon-to-be broadway appearances to be dealing with, he shouldn’t really be here in reality. Maybe this was all just a big fat mistake; a joke that everyone will laugh off in a couple of hours, right? Well...one can hope, you supposed.

With your back to your trailer’s door, your mind allowed you to think that the assistant who was getting lunch for everyone had come back and came with food, so without caution you just called out “The door’s open,” and expected the assistant to waltz in on her own accord.

“Hey, I - uh - brought some lunch for you.” That voice - damn that smooth Boston accented voice - it was here, right behind you. Just over a metre away from you stood the (anxious) man of your nightmares these past couple of months. At the mere sound of his voice, you shot up out to the chair you resides in and whipped your head around to look at him dead in the eye.

The look of shock-horror plastered your face like a pantomime mask, you just couldn’t help it. It was agiven reaction and so was Chris’ in all fairness. He was bewildered by the look on your face and only sent his brain further into it’s shell, his anxiety picking up that bit more. With the paper bag in one hand, Chris began rubbing the nape of his neck and shoulder - a habit you found to have stemmed from his anxiety.

“I thought maybe we could - uh - catch up or well, moreso me apologising for..everything.” It wasn’t until the end of his sentence he finally looked back into your eyes, your posture suddenly relaxing that little bit more, understanding that Chris had only good intentions from being here.

Moving away from your armchair, you decided to collect your lunch from Chris and serve it up - Chicken Caesar salad - your new favourite. Chris quickly gave you the paper bag and watched you help yourself to cutlery, bowls and bottles of water from the stylish yet homely mini kitchen.

“Would it be wrong of me to imagine that you have a bit of a grudge against me right now?” There it was - you wondered how long it’d take for the confident, assured Chris to come through again - evidently not long enough.

“No, you’d be bang on the money,” you huffed and began tossing the salad in the ceramic bowl, those blue eyes continuously boring into your uncomfortable frame - just like the did the whole time you met your fellow cast members- Chris got on your heels the whole time.

“Lucky me hmm,” Chris hummed to himself, tucked his hands in his tan jean pockets, making the light blue shirt he wore bulge around his Adonis-like muscles and leant against the dresser. Why this had to feel like some sort of meetup by two ex’s was beyond you but you thought nothing of it as you set your salad, bottle and cutlery down in the space you were intending to eat from. That was until Chris wedged his body into you, preventing you from moving.

“Y/N, we - I can’t keep doing this. This whole avoidance game, I’ve had enough.” His eyes looked down into yours with a heat that you couldn’t stand on a day like today. Much like him, his look was strong and confident and it made you squirm in your spot.

“I don’t think there’s much more I can say to get us out of this limbo, Chris.” You dared not to look into those eyes and tried to turn away from him, but in just one breath of air, his muscular form was now pressed up against you; breasts to chest, stomach to stomach, you were officially toast.

“Oh I beg to differ Y/N. There’s nothing more Jack can say for you but I think you’re a completely different picture. You have a lot more to say, don’t you darlin’..” you watched intently as Chris’ hand slid out from his tan jeans and out to play with the hem of your jacket.

The air between you was palpable, you could feel his short warm breaths tickling the apex of your neck, the way his muscles rippled against your body after every movement he made. The air was choking you and you hated it.

“Perhaps I do, but I think you’ll find my words will have a very similar ring to Jack’s,” a sudden burst of confidences surged through your veins and made you straighten your spine in defiance to this beautiful menace. Your confindence led you to look right where you didn’t want to and only found hunger in return. Chris’ eyes were lit up with an unmentionable hunger that you couldn’t digest, making you quiver even more.

“Tell me something darlin’, are you and that McCallister a thing? Are you two..dating?” You continuously locked eye contact with the actor and winched in pain as his smirk grew wider, deeper and more mischievous by the second.

“N-no. We’re just very - very - good friends. Nothin’ more!” You denied all the claims Chris tried to pin on you feverishly, trying through every means to keep your image of Jack clean as possible. However, it was evident in Chris’ furrowed brows and darkened stare, he wasn’t having it today.

“Not even friends with benefits? ‘Cause I’ve seen plenty of pictures of you and him together and nothin’, not one inch of those pictures tell me that you’re just friends.” How it was even possible that Chris’ tone could drop another two or three octaves was beyond you. The deep rumble of his chest against yours and the bitterness of his tone solidified your thoughts, he was jealous.

Deciding that now might not be the time to push any buttons, you tried your best to put out the fire Chris had started. “I - I think that’s something you’d have to ask Jack himself. I can’t comment for him if he does have feelings for me.”

“Oh,” Chris chided mockingly, his hand stopping all movement on your jacket “So he does have feelings for you? Aren’t I a genius..” still refusing to make even the slightest bit of eye contact, you tried to wriggle out of his imaginative hold - failing miserably as you did so.

At the thought of you wriggling away, Chris’ hand flew to waist and gripped you possessively tight - he just had to know if you had fallen for the Scotsman over him - he had to. “And do you reciprocate these feelings for him? Hm?”

“Maybe in d-due time..” They do say that the heart is very very precious and Chris knew no different.

His heart dropped ten miles underground at your confession and his eyes began to prick with the hot tears of nearing heartbreak. You were refusing to give in to him - something was holding you back from him and he had to find out what or die trying.

“And what about now?” He chided coolly, the change in tone made you look at him scrutinisingly. “Honestly Y/N, do you have feelings for him as of right now?”

“I don’t...” to think such a small sentence could lift his heart was unbelievable to Chris but filled him with internal joy all the same. Instead of easing up on his hold on you, Chris chose to close in on you even further and cage you in his arms - your body stuck between his and the dresser behind.

“And do you have any feelings for anyone in particular right now?” You knew what he wanted to hear right now, hell - you were close to giving him it. But with being so close to him and in the full knowledge that he had a girlfriend - you weren’t so keen to give him what he wanted.

“Not especially, no.” You deadpanned your time and took to looking straight into his eyes again, watching his eyebrows shoot up his face in undeniable shock.

“Not even for someone like..me?” He chided at you again and pressed his body closer to yours, angling you in such a way one could call it erotic - you, however, begged to differ entirely.

“I think you know the answer to that question, Christopher.” You snorted at his high-hopes, hoping and praying he’d just leave you alone to eat your untouched salad.

Your heart and mind were tearing apart by the seams, one half of you wanted to slap, kick and hit him in all the places it’d hurt the most, the other half of you just wanted to jump his bones here and now, give in to himself and indulge your worst thoughts.

But that would never come to be.

“I actually don’t, do please enlighten me on it.” His mischievous smirk had returned again for the worse and cranked up the anger metre in your mind.

“Fine! You win! I did have feelings for you, yes; I was bordering on loving you, yes. But that and everything else were all ruined the day you decided that fucking bitch you still call girlfriend!” You yelped in anger, pain and grief and tried to push Chris away by his chest, failing in doing so entirely. The tears that were stashed away were now making an appearance and began to stream down your clenched face, ruining your mascara and eyeliner in the process.

Chris didn’t know what to do with this information, you had just confessed that you were romantically attracted to the man and here he was, dumbfounded and generally reeling. He didn’t believe Jack’s word on the phone, he thought they were just to dig at him but now - now, god he was so wrong. “W-what girlfriend?”

“Don’t play stupid now Chris, you know who I’m talking about..” your voice wavered and cracked at his stupidity over the situation.

“Oh, we’re talking about Jenny now, are we?” His voice was suddenly pointed, shard and bitterly cold and made you shiver in fear over what’d he’d say next.

“Who fucking else would I be on about, Chris?”

“Considering I’ve been single since December, I’m finding it hard to think about any ‘girlfriend’ I’m with as of right now..” you felt his head tilt upwards and a heave of air rush from his lips. “I’m calling bullshit, Chris.” You winced in memory of seeing the claims all across the internet, Jenny spending Christmas with his family, the house-hunting, all of it, how could it all be a lie?

“You really think I’m bullshitting right now? Really Y/N?” Chris’s chin came to rest upon your head and you felt the familiar hands wrap around your shorter frame, hugging you tenderly close to him, your hands still stuck in shock on his chest. “You’d be surprised..” you sighed into the tender warm hold of the actor, a feeling you dearly missed, feelings or no feelings at all.

“You have no clue how much I’ve been hurting these past months Y/N, I didn’t think I could want anyone as much as Jenny..but fuck, did you screw me over..” chris chucked at the memories of him reeling over the new found feelings he had for you, realising you weren’t with him anymore and no longer share the same feelings. “Is that meant to be a good thing or a bad thing? I’m having a hard time telling right now Chris..” he laughed again at your sarcastic, straight-to-the-point question, your charm never ceases to leave you after all this time.

“It’s a very good thing, well..that’s if you still feel the same way as you did back then.” He remived his hands from your frame and cupped your wet cheeks in his hands to look at you thoroughly. You looked at him with such a look of longing chris just couldn’t help what he did next. He’d be damned if he never did it and would regret it for the rest of his life.

Wordlessly, Chris quickly joined your lips together in a smouldering yet very endearing kiss. His lips moved and slid between your perfectly, like a missing piece of a jigsaw, fitting you perfectly. Your hands froze open on his chest, your eyes forced wide open at the sudden intimate contact.

It wasn’t until Chris began to move his lips slowly against your own that you realised it - you finally realised that no matter how much pain was done, how much you tried to combat your feelings with denial, you still loved the bastard with all your heart - and that was something you could never change.

Before Chris could pull away in heartbreak over your refusal of his love, you yanked in shirt forward into you and kissed him as if it was the last time, your hands running up his neck and found purchase on his prickly hairy cheeks. Your kiss wasn’t anything like Chris’, trepardising in some areas and soft; yours was passionate and fierce, the kind of kiss the two of you would have to fight for dominance over.

Pulling away slowly, the two of you held your stare into each other’s eyes and lost each other in them. You wanted to kiss him again, and again and again but instead, you focused only on him, the man you fell for so stupidly. Instead of holding you for longer, chris decided to take purchase in the plush seat on front of the dresser and sat you in his lap, his eyes never leaving yours as he relished in the feeling of you playing with the ends of his slightly longer than usual hair.

“My god..where have you been my whole life?” Chris whispered and shook his head in bewilderment and listened to the melodic tune of your giggle ring in his ear. “Right under your nose, silly..” you swiped the bottom of his nose with your index finger and ran your fingers through his growing beard. This had to have been a dream, you didn’t believe for one minute that this was happening - you were actually in Chris’ lap stroking his face like a lovesick baby.

“How will I ever make it up to you Y/N?” He whipsered quietly, running his fingers along your tack and up and down your arm in a soothing manner. You smiled warmly at the softness of the question and thought over how he could make it up to you. “Well, I think it’d take an awful lot of hugs, kisses, time and attention just for being such a bad boy..” you smiled like a Cheshire Cat once his eyes fluttered closed at the sensation of your hands soothing his face, a knowing smirk then beginning to grow after you finished talking.

“What?” You laughed at the smirk on those heavenly lips “you do know I’ll always be a bad boy when I’m around you, right?” You sighed and shook your head at Chris’ mark and only embraced his frame, your hands wrapped around the back of his neck. “Not in public you won’t, will you?” You whispered into his neck firmly whilst your lips found their way around his neck, sucking and kissing certain areas.

“For you darlin’, I’ll be your angel and your devil.”

•••••••

A/N - I just wanna thank everyone for reading this little fic going on and hoped everyone enjoyed it as much as I did! <33

Taglist : @dlb113 @coffeebooksandfandom @chrisevans1fan @badtzmarurogers

#steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers x reader #marvel #marvel x you #marvel x reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans #chris evans headcanon #tea #shade #chris evans x jenny slate #chris evans fluff #chris evans x you #chris evans imagine #chris evans au meme #chris evans x pregnant!reader #imagine steve rogers #steve rogers headcanon #steve rogers fluff

[themyskira]

Wonder Woman #49

Previously in James Robinson’s sad spiral into senility: Wonder Woman accidentally summoned +~teh D4rK g0dz~+, a group of alternate-universe Greek Gods who are allegedly extremely dark and gritty and terrifying. ROLL CALL!

Mob God: goddess of chaos, shit version of Eris

The God With No Name: loser who walks around with a sheet on his head

Savage Fire: auditioned for the part of sexy Satan, was disappointed to be cast as a war god instead; crotch is literally on fire

Karnell: evil love god who is ~tortured~ because insert generic fridging story here

King Best: calls himself that with a straight face; giant stone Darkseid knockoff

Written as devastatingly evil heavy-hitters, they mostly just succeed at invoking intense second-hand embarrassment.

Now, after being AWOL for an entire issue, Diana is back and ready to take the fight to the Dark Gods. It’s time for a showdown!

…ooooorrrr we could just fart around for twenty pages and end on the most obvious fake-out imaginable.

First off, we need to talk about Stephen Segovia’s cover because WHAT.

Segovia is often praised for his dynamic, action-oriented art, and it’s not necessarily undeserved. Action is clearly his strength, and he excels at fast-paced fight scenes.

But he also has a tendency to deliver pages like this one, or like the splash page in WW #46, where no one part of the (invariably female) character’s anatomy seems to connect to any other part. Absurd boobs-and-butt action shots are nothing new in comics, but it’s been a while since I’ve seen such egregious examples. 

Look at Sexy Satan Lady: what is happening to her arse in that scene? Her left shoulder seems to have slipped halfway down her torso, and god only knows where her hips have fucked off to. Diana’s upper torso, on the other hand, seems to be directly attached to her hips, and she’s missing half her left leg.

But moving onto the bad joke that is this entire issue.

Diana and Jason are preparing to take on Best Buy, who seems less interested in transforming the Earth into a glorious hellscape than he is in playing out his monster movie fantasies by making himself giant and stomping on houses.

I’m serious. When the Biggest of Bads eats the entire Justice League, giving him access to unimaginable power, and he chooses to use that power to animate an impractically large and stupidly-taxing-to-operate body, enabling him to go on a slow-moving rampage through DC, I can only assume that his motive is ‘RAAAAA LOOK AT ME I’M GAMERA!!’ Because he could legitimately have used that power to consume the entire continental US in flames if that was what he wanted to do.

Steve radios in, and Diana instructs him to give the readers an exposition dump. She actually flags it, as if she’s a news anchor interviewing a reporter on the scene: “What about the other gods? Where in the world are they and what kind of damage are they causing?”

So Steve tells us who the other Dark Gods are, where in the world they are and what kind of damage they are causing.

James Robinson has been professionally writing comics for almost thirty years. I think it’s past time somebody told him to stop.

Sexy Satan Lady is inciting all the nations of South America to war.

Mobglob has the population of Britain in a rapturous thrall, which seems a little outside her ‘chaos and rioting’ wheelhouse. People are just staring into the sky, not eating or drinking or noticing anything around them. Steve says that children, babies and the elderly are already beginning to sicken and die from dehydration and exhaustion, which is strange, since this has only been going on for a good ten minutes.

Kandy Krush has the entire population of China consumed in a violent orgy, and the Horse With No Name is inciting Russians to suicide.

“And none of this includes the acts of madness and violence happening everywhere else in the world just from the Dark Gods’ presence on Earth,” says Steve, finishing his news report.

Remember, aside from Steve’s second-hand updates, we’ve seen no evidence of the Dark Gods’ presence infecting the world with this wide-scale hysteria and violence, aside from two people losing their shit at Diana.

Robinson tries to correct this now: over three pages, he shows us snapshots of four individuals in each of the four regions under assault from the Dark Gods, as their ordinary lives are swept up and consumed by the violent, chaotic supernatural forces that are slowly reshaping the world.

It’s a familiar device, particularly in horror comics, and the best writers can use it to truly chilling effect — think Alan Moore in Swamp Thing, Neil Gaiman in Sandman.

Robinson is no Moore and he’s no Gaiman. His is simply a by-the-numbers effort, one that in illustrates the chaos on the ground in technical terms, without imparting any particular sense of horror or empathy for the characters.

Panel 1: Character is going about their ordinary life.

Panel 2: Character comes in contact with the Dark God’s influence.

Panel 3: Character is consumed.

It’s weak, bloodless writing that only serves to rehash the two-page infodump we just got from Steve.

Diana and Jason take on Emperor Awesome.

“This planet will be unlike anything you could ever image after we’re done with it. Your hell. My heaven. Earth first and then the universe. Remade in horror.”

Again, so far you’ve done nothing but squander the power you’ve harvested on living out a kaiju fantasy, so I’m less than terrified.

Diana fluffs up her air, pushes in her neck, thrusts out her boobs and attacks tits-first.

“That’s it, brother! Hit him hard with the wind power of our father, Zeus…”

WHO TALKS LIKE THIS?!

This isn’t just lazy writing, it’s downright contemptuous. Do you think your readers are so absurdly dense that they’ve somehow forgotten that Jason has wind powers, which he inherited from Zeus, who is his father, and Diana’s as well because they’re twins? Because that’s the only justifiable reason to include such a stilted, pedantic line of dialogue in the middle of a Big Boss battle.

Jason doesn’t need reminding, and Diana’s not going to waste both breath and precious seconds. All she needs is three words: ‘Jason! Wind blast!’

(I’d argue she shouldn’t be saying anything at all here, since generally announcing each of your attacks to a larger and stronger opponent is a surefire way to get flattened, but then again, Jason is incompetent and in need of direction.)

There’s an unintentionally comical sequence in which Jason uses his wind power to lift Sir Excellent into the air and he and Diana manoeuvre the apparently unprotesting giant over the Atlantic Ocean, before dropping him in.

Thus, the scariest and most evil god that ever is or was is rendered temporarily helpless by a strong wind.

Obviously he won’t be out of the fight for long, because Robinson is nothing if not predictable.

In the meantime, Jason goes to have another crack at fighting Sexy Satan Lady. She gloats and he charges at her, while silently begging for Athena to give him the wisdom to best use the power of Dolos — Dolos being the personified spirit of trickery and cunning deception. Basically, he’s telling us that he’s planning to deceive the Dark Gods. Keep this in mind.

Diana has joined Steve for another multi-page infodump.

“We’re getting ready to deploy the Suicide Squad — multi-team, biggest version ever, actually. Plus the Titans and any Justice League reservists I can get my hands on… the trouble is, the gods keep turning the heroes, making them as insane as everyone else. The Ray, Zatanna, Damage, Beaumont and Sunny Jim in Britain, to name a few. The list goes into the hundreds. That, or as with the Justice League, they get absorbed by the gods who are made all the stronger for it.”

Hey, you know what’s more fun than watching superheroes team up to fight a world-ending threat??? Having a secondary character describe that happening from a safe distance!

Robinson has ample page-space to show us these things. The amount of time he spends each issue dicking around, rehashing things we’ve already been told and having characters deliver unnecessarily long infodumps, he could very easily devote to scenes like the ones Steve is describing here: Amanda Waller deploying a last-ditch, multi-team Suicide Squad. Other heroes and teams coming up against the Dark Gods and being overwhelmed. Magic users being consumed by the Dark Gods’ bloodthirsty and intoxicating energies. Heavy-hitters being made to turn against their own, or simply being devoured without laying a single blow.

And if Robinson is too lazy or too incompetent to write those scenes, then the very least he can do is shut the fuck up about it, instead of having Steve describe what sounds like a much more interesting comic.

Steve and Diana get word that all of the Dark Gods just vanished. (Actually, they get word that all of the Dark God just vanished, because nobody is editing this comic.) Then all five are sighted in the skies over Paraguay, where Jason had gone to fight Sexy Satan Lady. Diana rushes to Jason’s rescue aaaaaaand…

Jason: Looking for me, sister?! I have something for you— the lightning of our father combined with the fire of Hephaestus. Diana: Jason! NO! They can’t have driven you mad! I thought you’d be stronger— Jason: Mad? Why, sister, I’m saner than I’ve ever been. I see everything clearly. The Greek gods are nothing… ALL PRAISE THE DARK GODS.

In fairness, on its face this is a perfectly plausible twist, because Jason has continually shown himself to be weak-willed, incompetent and selfish — and has a track record of being tricked into the service of supervillain conquerors with only the lightest bit of prodding.

But since we’ve already been as good as told that this is a fake-out (two pages ago, when Jason announced his intention to deceive the Dark Gods), this cliffhanger just feels like more padding. There’s so little substance to this story, I can’t believe it’s gone on for this long.

Fortunately, next issue is the final one of this garbage fire of a run. I’m hoping desperately for Jason to die in the final battle, but I’m willing to settle for banished out of reach.

However, I’m pleased to note that my Jason’s-magic-armour-doesn’t-do-anything theory remains intact.

#the james robinson shitshow #comics talk

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine Advent - “Service” (Rated NC17)

When Kurt's anxiety flares up, Blaine proves that the service a submissive provides can be more than just what he can offer with his body, and that care is a two-way street. (1757 words)

For @itallstartedwithharry.

Written for the Klaine Advent 2017 prompt "judgement". Dom Kurt, sub Blaine. Warning for anxiety.

Part 59 of Taking a Journey Together

Read on AO3.

“I appreciate you coming with me today, pet. I really do.”

And though Kurt says it while in the middle of juggling a dozen other things, a bashful smile crosses Blaine’s lips, accompanied by a flush of pink rushing to color his cheeks. His head, which had been bowed in deference (easily passed off as a consequence of the cold wind blowing hard that afternoon), lowers to hide his pride. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Now, you’re positive that this isn’t going to make you late for an appointment with your vocal coach or … or a rehearsal or … or something?”

“Not at all. Today’s my afternoon off, Sir. But even if it weren’t … uh … you and I would be going to the same place.”

Kurt, who has been busy rummaging through his bag for the past twenty minutes, searching frantically for something, looks up and around, as if suddenly remembering where they’re both headed. “Oh.” He chuckles, followed by an anxious hiccup. “Oh, right. I forgot. And speaking of …” He stops walking to focus on the contents of his bag, which, from the scowl on his face, are unsatisfactory. His scowl flips to a grimace of mild panic. “Oh … oh no! Don’t do this to me! Please, don’t do this to me!”

“What’s wrong, Sir?”

“My folder! My leather folder! It isn’t in my bag!”

“Which folder, Sir?”

“That brown one …” Kurt snaps the fingers of his right hand to jar his memory, come up with a better, more accurate description “… with my name embossed along the bottom in gold. It was a present from Isabelle when I started lining up auditions again. It has my …”

“… your sheet music in it, Sir?” Blaine quickly pulls a leather folder from his own messenger bag. He’d noticed it lying on the kitchen table as they raced out the door. He was sure his Master meant to take it, but Kurt was not in the mind space for him to ask at the time. So Blaine slipped it into his bag, just in case.

Kurt looks at it, held out to him by his loyal sub, and his tense body relaxes.

“Yes.” He sighs. “That’s the one. Thank you, pet.”

“You’re welcome, Sir.”

Blaine watches Kurt slide the folder into his bag, then re-arrange his things, needing every item in precisely the right order. Blaine doesn’t stare, but instead looks around to make certain no one else is taking any notice, prepared to decline any offer of assistance should one come their way. Blaine rarely ever sees his Master behave like this. Normally, Kurt is the picture of cool and collected. He’s known throughout the fashion world for his icy demeanor, his talent for shutting down an argument with a single steely glare. Calm under pressure behind the scenes at fashion shows or handling last minute snafus with efficiency and grace is one of the foundations his reputation is built on.

The unflappable Kurt Hummel.

But on days like today, Kurt’s signature calm is a façade covering a tightly wound spool of anxiety.

Kurt hides his episodes, constantly afraid of someone finding out, afraid of seeing him as lesser, or worse – damaged. The amazing actor that Kurt is, it’s not a difficult sell for him to act “normal”, even on those days when he’s on the verge of pulling his hair out by the roots. But he doesn’t hide this side of himself from Blaine. Blaine gets to see his Master during these moments of vulnerability.

And he considers it an honor.

It has also been a valuable learning experience. Blaine has started to let go of caring about how other people see him, to ignore their petty judgments, and to even outright tell people where to go if they can’t mind their own business.

The only person he cares about impressing is his Master. Everyone else’s opinion is inconsequential.

Today is an important day for Kurt, one that could change the path of his career. Kurt is going to the first audition he’s been to since he met Blaine. It was tricky negotiating the finer details, not only because of who Kurt is, but because of who Blaine is becoming, and their connection to one another. With Blaine making more and more of a name for himself in the theater community, Kurt did his hardest to hide any connection he had to him while setting up this meeting.

But he failed.

Actually, Blaine’s agent failed, purposefully letting the information slip under the guise of putting a good word in for Kurt, after Blaine specifically asked him not to.

Which is why the man is no longer Blaine’s agent.

But the cat’s out of the bag, and there’s no way to wrestle its furry ass back in. It’s not like the directors and producers wouldn’t have found out eventually that Kurt and Blaine are dating (even if Kurt submitted his resume under the pseudonym Sam Evans). Kurt happens to be auditioning for a role in Blaine’s own show – Kinky Boots. But now, if Kurt gets the part or he doesn’t get the part, he won’t know if it’s because of his talent (or lack thereof), or because of his association with Blaine.

There are no clear-cut predictions for this scenario, and because Kurt can’t formulate a possible viable outcome … he’s freaking out.

He’d nearly decided not to go at all, but a timely comment by Blaine about how fun it would be to perform opposite one another changed Kurt’s mind. (Blaine couldn’t let Kurt back out. He knew how much his Master would regret it if he did.)

They start walking again, heading towards the subway, and Blaine falls in step with Kurt. Kurt had told Blaine once that he finds that soothing - the rhythm of them walking side by side, the cadence of their matched steps. That’s what Blaine wants Kurt to feel.

Soothed.

But a few feet from the terminal entrance, Blaine sees Kurt put a hand to his forehead, his cheeks draining of all their color.

“Are you alright, Sir?”

“No, I’m not,” Kurt says in a hushed voice, trying not to draw anyone’s attention. “I’m so frickin’ nervous, I barely ate breakfast. I didn’t bring a water bottle with me, so now I have a headache. With my luck, my blood sugar’s going to drop into my feet, and I’m going to pass out on stage.”

“Which is why I brought a juice box, a granola bar, and a PB&J,” Blaine says, patting his bag. “Just in case.”

Kurt looks at Blaine, his own not-oft seen version of a shy smile making an appearance. “That’s very thoughtful of you, pet.” Blaine starts down the stairs, but Kurt doesn’t join him. He looks over his shoulder, his feet stuttering between going forward and turning back.

Turning back, surprisingly, wins.

“Oh my God …”

“Master?”

“I … I have to go back to the loft.”

“What? Why?”

“I didn’t … I didn’t turn off the stove! Every burner has a pan on it! What if …?”

Blaine puts a gentle arm on the crook of Kurt’s elbow. Kurt turns on him, ready to reprimand him right there in public for interrupting him, when Blaine shows his Master a photo on his phone.

“What? What is this?” Kurt snaps, taking Blaine’s phone and maneuvering it into better light.

“It’s a picture of the stove before we left,” Blaine explains. “If you swipe through them, you’ll see that the stove is turned off, as well as the oven.”

“You took a photo of every burner knob?”

“A-ha. Plus the front door, so you can see it’s locked, and all the windows so you know they’re closed.”

Kurt looks through the photos on Blaine’s phone – pictures from this morning of various areas in their loft bleeding into pictures of the two of them together smiling on the subway, cooking in the kitchen, lying in bed with the comforter pulled up to their chests, sweaty and laughing, exhausted from a marathon night of making love to one another, which they were nowhere near done with when that photo was taken. There are no chains or whips or handcuffs in these pictures. As a general rule, Blaine isn’t allowed to keep those pictures on his cell phone, no evidence of their “alternative lifestyle”. So, these pictures are just examples of two men in love, who appreciate one another.

Who support one another.

Who take care of one another.

It’s a concept that Kurt is not used to being on the receiving end of. Too few Dominants and submissives alike remember that service means more than what a pet can offer with their bodies.

And that care is a two-way street.

Of course, service comes so naturally to Blaine.

As does love.

Kurt grins. He hands Blaine back his phone.

“I thought it was my job to take care of you, pet,” Kurt says, popping Blaine’s collar against the wind when it begins to blow, and sounding so much more like the put-together executive that the fashion world knows and loves.

“And you do, Sir. But, I’m here to take care of you, too. Make sure you stay healthy and sane. It’s the least I can do.”

Kurt tightens Blaine’s scarf more snuggly around his pet’s neck, then kisses him on the forehead, his hand cradling the back of Blaine’s head. Blaine bites his lower lip, waiting until a small collection of commuters bustles by before he speaks again.

“Actually, I wanted to say thank you, Sir.”

“For what, pet? It seems like you’re the one saving the day.”

“For being perfectly imperfect ...” Blaine peeks up at his Master through long eyelashes “… and for giving me the chance to serve you.”

Kurt’s heart flutters more excitedly by those words than it has by the entirety of his nerve-wracking morning. Leave it to Blaine to erase every anxiety he has and replace it with his own brand of knee-weakening charm – just as lethal, but a bit more familiar.

Easier to manage in a pinch.

“Well, then,” Kurt says, with a sassy hair flip that makes Blaine giggle, “you’ll be happy to know that I’m currently thinking of a dozen other, more wickedly fun ways for you to serve me the second we get back to our loft.”

He puts an arm around Blaine’s shoulders and leads him to the subway.

Blaine, with head bowed again, smiles contentedly. “I’m looking forward to it, Master.”

#klaine advent 2017 #klaine advent: judgement #klaine fanfiction #Frankie writes

[jisforjudi]

'Queen Victoria always liked sex...' Judi Dench and Stephen Frears on making Victoria and Abdul

 Jessamy Calkin

2 SEPTEMBER 2017 • 6:00AM

It was a story that was crying out for a film. Queen Victoria, old, fat, bored, widowed and still grieving, had pretty much given up and was slowly eating herself to death. Her dissolute son Bertie was impatient to get rid of her so he could be crowned Edward VII.

It was 1887, her Golden Jubilee year, and she was bracing herself for the onslaught of tributes and fealty from overseas royalty. Britain had ruled India for the past 29 years and as a gift she was sent two Indian servants, Mohammed Buksh and Abdul Karim. Karim, a clerk at the prison in Agra, was 24. He came over for a couple of months and stayed for a decade.

Initially his duties were as a servant, but after less than a year he had become the ‘Munshi’, the Queen’s teacher (she learnt Hindustani from him) and official Indian clerk. Victoria was Empress of India and fascinated by the country, but had never been there. She became besotted with Abdul: there were daily lessons, a salary increase, portraits commissioned and he introduced her to curry, which became a staple on royal menus.

As her infatuation increased, her family and the Royal household grew increasingly resentful. Racism was fairly endemic at the time, and Karim had started to get a bit uppity. The Queen put him in charge of the Indian servants, gave him his own cottage, shipped his wife and mother-in-law over from India, put him in his own carriage on the royal train, and his father – a medical assistant in the Agra jail – was awarded a knighthood.

Abdul was devoted to her, but hierarchy was everything in those days. There was a rebellion in the Royal household and a stand-off with the Queen. (Even her beloved John Brown, despite his closeness to Victoria, had always remained  a servant.)

It was a narrative with a lot of charm but it was bound to end badly. And it did. After Victoria’s death, Karim’s house was raided by Bertie and almost all of the many hundreds of letters from Victoria were destroyed. Karim was packed off back to India, where his health declined and he died eight years later, aged 46.

But no one thought to destroy the Queen’s Hindustani journals, a product of her daily lessons with the Munshi. And when writer Shrabani Basu was researching a book about curry she became curious about its prevalence in the Victorian household, and equally curious about the portraits of the striking Indian courtier in the Durbar Wing at Osborne House.

She discovered that 13 volumes of the Queen’s Hindustani journals were kept in the archives at Windsor Castle, and asked to see them. Then, in Agra, she came upon Abdul Karim’s tomb and tracked down his relatives – which led to the inevitable trunk containing his journals, and a whole new light was thrown on the relationship.

When producer Beeban Kidron heard about Basu’s book on the radio, she couldn’t believe her luck. Cross Street Films, the production company she runs with husband Lee Hall (who wrote Billy Elliot), pitched for the rights and won. ‘We wanted to do it from the point of view of Abdul, the stranger looking at the strangeness of court. And to be funny and accessible,’ says Kidron.

Cross Street teamed up with other production companies, including Working Title, to produce the film. Hall wrote the script and Stephen Frears was asked to direct. ‘He’s brave and irreverent,’ explains Kidron. ‘And I felt he would get the humorous, fable-like take on the subject.’

And Frears, everyone hoped, might bring in Judi Dench to play Victoria. ‘Nobody else made sense,’ he says. They had worked together on Philomena (2013), and Dench had famously played Victoria in John Madden’s Mrs Brown, the 1997 film about her relationship with the Scottish servant (played by Billy Connolly). So it was a nice conceit that, 20 years later, Dench might play her again.

Did her heart sink or leap at the idea? It cautiously leapt, Dame Judi Dench tells me on the phone. For several reasons.  ‘I have sometimes been back to re-examine something, but not in film, only in Shakespeare. But I did think Lee’s screenplay was really very good indeed, and I can’t resist Stephen Frears.’ She was riveted by the story, and had already done the homework in her last foray as Victoria.

She cites a particular scene, when, to the consternation of the Royal household, Victoria took Abdul to a remote little house called Glas Allt Shiel, on the Balmoral estate, where she used to retreat with Brown, and to which she said she would never return after he died. ‘They don’t understand anything, those stupid aristocratic fools,’ she says of her family in the film. ‘Toadying around. Jockeying for position… They couldn’t bear me bringing dear John Brown here. Yet I was happier here than anywhere in the entire world. Oh, I miss him, Abdul. And Albert… I am so lonely. Everyone I’ve really loved has died and I just go on and on.

‘No one really knows what it��s like to be Queen. I’m hated by millions of people all over the world. I have had nine children, all vain, and jealous and at loggerheads with each other. And Bertie’s a complete embarrassment. And look at me! A fat, lame, impotent, silly old woman. What is the point, Abdul?’

‘It must have been glorious to have somebody to talk to,’ says Dench now. ‘Somebody to learn from, and to exchange ideas with. And she was proprietorial with him; he kind of belonged to her – I’m sure that just having somebody to relax with must have been wonderful for anyone in that position.’

Abdul is played by Bollywood star Ali Fazal, alongside a stellar theatrical cast: Tim Piggott-Smith, Michael Gambon, Olivia Williams, Paul Higgins, Eddie Izzard – there is even an appearance from Simon Callow as Puccini.

Kidron and Frears headed to India to find Fazal. After the audition, Frears said, ‘I can see Queen Victoria being quite taken with him…’, and Fazal came to the UK for a screen test, his first time in the country. Frears instructed him to watch Peter Sellers in Being There as a reference.

‘I remember reading Victoria’s letters,’ says Fazal on the phone from India, ‘the ones that survived, and being unable to describe their relationship – was it love? Was it intimacy? Was it friendship, or maternal? There were letters she signed as “your loving mother”, or she would say, “I miss my friend,” and on one occasion, “Hold me tight.” Those are strong words for a monarch.’

There was no evidence that their relationship was sexual, but there was a romantic element to it. According to Frears, Victoria liked to be held: ‘Brown would lift her down from the horse and put his arms around her, and she liked that very much.

‘Anyway, she always liked sex. It was just the children she couldn’t stand.’

For all that Abdul was devoted to her, that doesn’t mean he wasn’t a chancer as well. ‘What appealed to him was the intellectual stimulation they shared,’ says Fazal.

‘But there was a manipulative side to him too, and I still believe he was an opportunist, though I think it was called for to be an opportunist in a world that was not yours, in a country that was not yours. You’re going to have to climb up the ladder with constant obstacles and people against you, and it requires a lot of balls to do that; you have to be a bit street-smart.’

One of the best things about the film is the glorious sets. The court routine would be for the Queen and the Royal household to spend the late summer in Scotland, at Balmoral, then return to Windsor for the autumn, and move to Osborne House on the Isle of Wight for the winter and Christmas, then back to Windsor in February.

In the spring there would be a European sojourn – Florence, say, or Nice. The film was shot in India and the UK. Windsor and Balmoral were recreated at Greenwich, Belvoir Castle and Knebworth, but the biggest coup occurred when the film-makers were granted permission to film at Osborne House, which has never happened before.

This was the Queen’s seaside holiday home, which she and Albert acquired in 1840 (and which was given to the nation by Bertie upon her death in 1901), an Italianate house with wonderful gardens. It added a whole new dimension to the film, and the actors were elated to be there.

‘It was glorious to be sitting at a desk and looking out of a window at the same view Victoria would have seen 100 years ago,’ says Dench. ‘Walking down those corridors and glancing about, you think, well the paint might have changed – but it was still really exciting.’

During filming, visitors to the house were treated to an occasional glimpse of Queen Victoria, or Bertie, which must have been surreal. They must have thought they had stumbled across a historical re-enactment, or an amateur pageant, except the actors were Judi Dench and Eddie Izzard, who had nipped down to the Durbar Room in full costume just to have a look.

Paul Higgins, who plays the Queen’s doctor, Sir James Reid, was the only cast member with a build slight enough to wear real Victorian clothing. He relished walking to the set from his hotel every day, taking the old chain ferry and striding up the hill to the unit base in the grounds of Osborne House.

‘I always walked to the house in Victorian clothes much like Reid would have worn, over lawns that he would have walked over as he chatted to the gardeners – he was very interested in gardening. It was such a great way to get into character.’

Alan Macdonald, who worked with Frears on The Queen and several other of his films, was the production designer. ‘Osborne House would have been the most difficult location to recreate because it’s based on an Italian villa, and within it they created a sort of new fashion, which is a departure from the ornate heaviness and subdued nature of Victoriana wallpapers and textiles.

Windsor Castle and Balmoral were tricky enough, but Osborne House is a whole other world that hasn’t really been seen on screen before – the colours are like Neapolitan ice creams and sorbets, and it was all about letting in light.’

A designer’s job, says Macdonald, is to reinforce the narrative tone of the film. ‘It’s not just creating rooms. Finding the location is a challenge, as is finding the furniture, or building a garden in Hampshire – but the real challenge is in creating this sort of jigsaw puzzle, putting all these pieces together, and reflecting some kind of psychological aspect of the story.’

English Heritage was happy to comply, because of the obvious benefits it will reap from tourism. But there were restrictions. ‘We had people from English Heritage saying, “Don’t step there; no, don’t sit there…”’ says Dench. ‘And if you wanted to move your glass slightly to the left, someone would have to put gloves on and move it for you.’

Some of the furniture was very delicate, says Macdonald. Too delicate to sit on. ‘So you might have a scene where 20 people are meant to be sitting in a room but only three people can sit down. So there’s a bit, for example, where Olivia Williams [Lady Churchill, Lady of the Bedchamber and friend to the Queen] looks as if she’s sitting on a chair but, in fact, it’s a sort of crate.’

One of Macdonald’s favourite moments was during an outdoor tea-party scene in Scotland (filmed in a glen where some of The Queen was also shot), in which the Queen and senior members of her household were having a miserable formal picnic at a table buffeted by the wind. A car pulled up during the filming, the door opened and a high-heeled boot poked out. Eddie Izzard.

He wasn’t required on set that day but, says Izzard, he likes to be where the action is. ‘Film is my first love and it was one of the first scenes we shot, and I just wanted to be there – so I drove myself up.’ It was a cold windy day and Izzard lay down in the heather to keep warm.

He looks like Bertie. How did his casting come about? It was the casting director who suggested him, and Frears went to watch him do stand-up. ‘My character’s interesting – very damaged by his upbringing, and his mother blamed him for the death of Albert. But he was the only one who could tell her to f— off really.’

Bertie was one of Karim’s chief detractors. ‘Victoria was on her way out; she’s eating herself to death – she’s going to go in the next couple of years and the throne will be Bertie’s,’ says Izzard. ‘And then suddenly she gets a whole new lease of life; she’s got something to live for. So you can see that Bertie would be pissed off.’

Izzard gained 26lb to play the part, and was given a beard and a cane. He relished working with Frears and was already a friend of Dench, who often goes to see his stand-up shows. Accordingly, he arranged a show to take place in the Isle of Wight during filming, to entertain all the other actors and raise money for charity.

‘It keeps me match fit, and we all had this great sense of community – we’re on the Isle of Wight for a month – so I thought it would be fun for the locals too. It’s like the circus coming to town for one day. Where I grew up, in Bexhill-on-Sea, the circus never came to town. So if I can ever make the circus come to town, that’s such a good thing to do.’

Dench attended this event, and it was if the Queen herself had arrived, says Macdonald. ‘She is perceived as regal, but she’s so warm and open and amusing and irreverent – not grand at all.’

It sounds like a very entertaining film to work on. The principal members of the cast stayed in a small hotel with 12 rooms. There was much playing of Scrabble and other games. And Dench made them all watch University Challenge.

Frears stayed elsewhere. ‘I went to a holiday camp, which I rather preferred, but I could hear their whoops of laughter while I was there. Judi is very good at all that – she’s Brown Owl. She looks after everybody.’

Dr Reid was a key character. He was in permanent attendance to the Queen, seeing her several times a day, and became her trusted companion. He was a Scot who hated Scotland. Higgins read his biography, Ask Sir James, in order to prepare for the role. ‘Apparently he was an exceptional doctor. Unlike some of her other doctors, he really kept up to date. Victoria gave him time off to travel to London and visit hospitals and keep in touch with technology and learning.

‘She came to rely on him and trust him, except when he told her not to eat so much and so quickly. She had a gargantuan appetite.’ (In one scene, Dench had to munch her way through 27 boiled eggs. Everyone was very impressed by this.)

Queen Victoria died in Reid’s arms on 22 January, 1901, at Osborne House. She was 81. ‘She was a monster, but she was also rather brilliant,’ says Frears. ‘I admire her more and more.’

‘I grew up being very sceptical of Victoria,’ says Lee Hall, ‘but when I read more about her, I found she was a much more interesting character than I had assumed and I really fell in love with her. She was more broad-minded than all the people around her.’

After her death, the Munshi was allowed to spend a moment alone with the Queen as she lay in her coffin. Then, on the orders of the King, came the raid on his house and the destruction of the Queen’s letters. He returned to India, and the land that Victoria had given him in Agra, a wealthy and titled man, and according to Basu, spent his last days sitting by the statue of Queen Victoria and watching the sun set over the Taj Mahal.

www.telegraph.co.uk/films/2017/09/02/queen-victoria-always-liked-sex-judi-dench-stephen-frears-making/#comments

--- 

the part that worries me is the sentence One of the best things about the film is the glorious sets.  Makes me think it’s going to be a stinker

#judi dench #stephen frears #ali fazal #victoria and abdul #1841 #2sep2017

[dfroza]

they made it (Full Circle)

in sharing the True Message of grace, even standing against those who opposed by being patient and kind and taking it without offense.

this is what we see in Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the book of Acts with these lines from chapter 14:

Finally, they made it to Attalia and caught a ship back to Antioch, where it had all started—launched by God’s grace and now safely home by God’s grace. A good piece of work.

and the whole chapter:

When they got to Iconium they went, as they always did, to the meeting place of the Jews and gave their message. The Message convinced both Jews and non-Jews—and not just a few, either. But the unbelieving Jews worked up a whispering campaign against Paul and Barnabas, sowing mistrust and suspicion in the minds of the people in the street. The two apostles were there a long time, speaking freely, openly, and confidently as they presented the clear evidence of God’s gifts, God corroborating their work with miracles and wonders.

But then there was a split in public opinion, some siding with the Jews, some with the apostles. One day, learning that both the Jews and non-Jews had been organized by their leaders to beat them up, they escaped as best they could to the next towns—Lyconia, Lystra, Derbe, and that neighborhood—but then were right back at it again, getting out the Message.

[Gods or Men?]

There was a man in Lystra who couldn’t walk. He sat there, crippled since the day of his birth. He heard Paul talking, and Paul, looking him in the eye, saw that he was ripe for God’s work, ready to believe. So he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Up on your feet!” The man was up in a flash—jumped up and walked around as if he’d been walking all his life.

When the crowd saw what Paul had done, they went wild, calling out in their Lyconian dialect, “The gods have come down! These men are gods!” They called Barnabas “Zeus” and Paul “Hermes” (since Paul did most of the speaking). The priest of the local Zeus shrine got up a parade—bulls and banners and people lined right up to the gates, ready for the ritual of sacrifice.

When Barnabas and Paul finally realized what was going on, they stopped them. Waving their arms, they interrupted the parade, calling out, “What do you think you’re doing! We’re not gods! We are men just like you, and we’re here to bring you the Message, to persuade you to abandon these silly god-superstitions and embrace God himself, the living God. We don’t make God; he makes us, and all of this—sky, earth, sea, and everything in them.

“In the generations before us, God let all the different nations go their own way. But even then he didn’t leave them without a clue, for he made a good creation, poured down rain and gave bumper crops. When your bellies were full and your hearts happy, there was evidence of good beyond your doing.” Talking fast and hard like this, they prevented them from carrying out the sacrifice that would have honored them as gods—but just barely.

Then some Jews from Antioch and Iconium caught up with them and turned the fickle crowd against them. They beat Paul unconscious, dragged him outside the town and left him for dead. But as the disciples gathered around him, he came to and got up. He went back into town and the next day left with Barnabas for Derbe.

[Plenty of Hard Times]

After proclaiming the Message in Derbe and establishing a strong core of disciples, they retraced their steps to Lystra, then Iconium, and then Antioch, putting muscle and sinew in the lives of the disciples, urging them to stick with what they had begun to believe and not quit, making it clear to them that it wouldn’t be easy: “Anyone signing up for the kingdom of God has to go through plenty of hard times.”

Paul and Barnabas handpicked leaders in each church. After praying—their prayers intensified by fasting—they presented these new leaders to the Master to whom they had entrusted their lives. Working their way back through Pisidia, they came to Pamphylia and preached in Perga. Finally, they made it to Attalia and caught a ship back to Antioch, where it had all started—launched by God’s grace and now safely home by God’s grace. A good piece of work.

On arrival, they got the church together and reported on their trip, telling in detail how God had used them to throw the door of faith wide open so people of all nations could come streaming in. Then they settled down for a long, leisurely visit with the disciples.

The Book of Acts, Chapter 14 (The Message)

A chapter paired with the first chapter of Zechariah in my personal daily reading of a chapter from each Testament of the Bible

[Zechariah 1]

In the eighth month of the second year in the reign of Darius, God’s Message came to the prophet Zechariah son of Berechiah, son of Iddo: “God was very angry with your ancestors. So give to the people this Message from God-of-the-Angel-Armies: ‘Come back to me and I’ll come back to you. Don’t be like your parents. The old-time prophets called out to them, “A Message from God-of-the-Angel-Armies: Leave your evil life. Quit your evil practices.” But they ignored everything I said to them, stubbornly refused to listen.

“And where are your ancestors now? Dead and buried. And the prophets who preached to them? Also dead and buried. But the Message that my servants the prophets spoke, that isn’t dead and buried. That Message did its work on your ancestors, did it not? It woke them up and they came back, saying, ‘He did what he said he would do, sure enough. We didn’t get by with a thing.’”

[First Vision: Four Riders]

On the twenty-fourth day of the eleventh month in the second year of the reign of Darius, the Message of God was given to the prophet Zechariah son of Berechiah, son of Iddo:

One night I looked out and saw a man astride a red horse. He was in the shadows in a grove of birches. Behind him were more horses—a red, a chestnut, and a white.

I said, “Sir, what are these horses doing here? What’s the meaning of this?”

The Angel-Messenger said, “Let me show you.”

Then the rider in the birch grove spoke up, “These are the riders that God sent to check things out on earth.”

They reported their findings to the Angel of God in the birch grove: “We have looked over the whole earth and all is well. Everything’s under control.”

The Angel of God reported back, “O God-of-the-Angel-Armies, how long are you going to stay angry with Jerusalem and the cities of Judah? When are you going to let up? Isn’t seventy years long enough?”

God reassured the Angel-Messenger—good words, comforting words—who then addressed me: “Tell them this. Tell them that God-of-the-Angel-Armies has spoken. This is God’s Message: ‘I care deeply for Jerusalem and Zion. I feel very possessive of them. But I’m thoroughly angry with the godless nations that act as if they own the whole world. I was only moderately angry earlier, but now they’ve gone too far. I’m going into action.

“‘I’ve come back to Jerusalem, but with compassion this time.’

This is God speaking.

‘I’ll see to it that my Temple is rebuilt.’

A Decree of God-of-the-Angel-Armies!

‘The rebuilding operation is already staked out.’

Say it again—a Decree of God-of-the-Angel-Armies:

‘My cities will prosper again,

God will comfort Zion again,

Jerusalem will be back in my favor again.’”

[Second Vision: Four Horns and Four Blacksmiths]

I looked up, and was surprised by another vision: four horns!

I asked the Messenger-Angel, “And what’s the meaning of this?”

He said, “These are the powers that have scattered Judah, Israel, and Jerusalem abroad.”

Then God expanded the vision to include four blacksmiths.

I asked, “And what are these all about?”

He said, “Since the ‘horns’ scattered Judah so badly that no one had any hope left, these blacksmiths have arrived to combat the horns. They’ll dehorn the godless nations who used their horns to scatter Judah to the four winds.”

The Book of Zechariah, Chapter 1 (The Message)

to be accompanied by Today’s reading of the Psalms and Proverbs for january 10 (Psalm 10 and Proverbs 10) and the 21st day of Winter (Psalm 21)

[Psalm 10]

God, are you avoiding me?

Where are you when I need you?

Full of hot air, the wicked

are hot on the trail of the poor.

Trip them up, tangle them up

in their fine-tuned plots.

The wicked are windbags,

the swindlers have foul breath.

The wicked snub God,

their noses stuck high in the air.

Their graffiti are scrawled on the walls:

“Catch us if you can!” “God is dead.”

They care nothing for what you think;

if you get in their way, they blow you off.

They live (they think) a charmed life:

“We can’t go wrong. This is our lucky year!”

They carry a mouthful of hexes,

their tongues spit venom like adders.

They hide behind ordinary people,

then pounce on their victims.

They mark the luckless,

then wait like a hunter in a blind;

When the poor wretch wanders too close,

they stab him in the back.

The hapless fool is kicked to the ground,

the unlucky victim is brutally axed.

He thinks God has dumped him,

he’s sure that God is indifferent to his plight.

Time to get up, God—get moving.

The luckless think they’re Godforsaken.

They wonder why the wicked scorn God

and get away with it,

Why the wicked are so cocksure

they’ll never come up for audit.

But you know all about it—

the contempt, the abuse.

I dare to believe that the luckless

will get lucky someday in you.

You won’t let them down:

orphans won’t be orphans forever.

Break the wicked right arms,

break all the evil left arms.

Search and destroy

every sign of crime.

God’s grace and order wins;

godlessness loses.

The victim’s faint pulse picks up;

the hearts of the hopeless pump red blood

as you put your ear to their lips.

Orphans get parents,

the homeless get homes.

The reign of terror is over,

the rule of the gang lords is ended.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 10 (The Message)

[Psalm 21]

A David Psalm

Your strength, God, is the king’s strength.

Helped, he’s hollering Hosannas.

You gave him exactly what he wanted;

you didn’t hold back.

You filled his arms with gifts;

you gave him a right royal welcome.

He wanted a good life; you gave it to him,

and then made it a long life as a bonus.

You lifted him high and bright as a cumulus cloud,

then dressed him in rainbow colors.

You pile blessings on him;

you make him glad when you smile.

Is it any wonder the king loves God?

that he’s sticking with the Best?

With a fistful of enemies in one hand

and a fistful of haters in the other,

You radiate with such brilliance

that they cringe as before a furnace.

Now the furnace swallows them whole,

the fire eats them alive!

You purge the earth of their progeny,

you wipe the slate clean.

All their evil schemes, the plots they cook up,

have fizzled—every one.

You sent them packing;

they couldn’t face you.

Show your strength, God, so no one can miss it.

We are out singing the good news!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 21 (The Message)

[Proverbs 10]

The proverbs of Solomon:

A wise son makes his father glad,

but a foolish one fills his mother with sorrow.

Riches gained through dishonest means will eventually vanish,

but doing what is right avoids a deadly consequence.

The Eternal does not allow the right-living to go hungry,

but He will frustrate the plans of the wicked.

A slack hand produces nothing but poverty,

but an industrious hand soon takes hold of riches.

A wise son stores up for the winter months while it is still summer,

but a shameful son lies around even during the harvest.

Blessings come to those who do what is right,

but words spoken by the wicked cover up violent schemes.

The memory of one who lived with integrity brings joy,

but the legacy of a wrongdoer will rot away.

The wise at heart will gladly obey direction,

but one who fills the air with meaningless talk will fall into ruin.

The path of integrity is always safe,

but a person who follows a crooked way will be exposed.

Whoever winks his eye signals trouble,

and whoever fills the air with meaningless talk will fall into ruin.

The mouth of the righteous is a spring of life,

but words spoken by the wicked cover up violent schemes.

Hatred fuels dissension,

but love calms all rebellions.

Wisdom lives where insightful words are spoken,

but harsh punishment awaits the senseless.

The wise store up knowledge as a safeguard,

but the meaningless chatter of fools means that chaos is near.

The wealth of the rich is their powerful fortress;

the poverty of the poor reduces them to rubble.

The reward of those who do right is a satisfied life,

but the profits gained by those who do wrong is used to sin.

Those who accept instruction are travelers on the road to a meaningful life,

but those who refuse correction wander off and pave a path to ruin.

Lips that lie cover deep-seated hatred,

and whoever spreads a libelous rumor is acting as a fool.

The more you talk, the more likely you will cross the line and say the wrong thing;

but if you are wise, you’ll speak less and with restraint.

The speech of those who do right is of greater value than the finest silver,

but the thoughts of wrongdoers are worthless.

The right-living teach many,

but fools die with no clue how to live well.

The blessing of the Eternal is what makes someone rich,

and He doesn’t add pain to it.

Mischief is the sport of fools,

but wise actions bring joy to a person with insight.

Whatever wrongdoers fear the most will happen to them,

but those who do right will receive what they long for.

After the storm passes, the wrongdoers are blown away,

but those who do right are safe and sound on their firm foundations forever.

As vinegar vexes the teeth, and as smoke irritates the eyes,

so a slacker annoys his boss.

Reverence for the Eternal makes for a long and peaceful life,

but a wrongdoer will have years taken away.

The hope of those who do right is joy and celebration,

but the only prospect for those who do wrong is futility.

The way of the Eternal offers safety to those who love justice,

but it destroys those who perpetrate evil.

The right-living will never have their land taken away,

but wrongdoers will be uprooted.

Wisdom flows from the mouths of those who do right,

but tongues that twist the truth will be cut out.

The lips of the right-living understand what is proper,

but the mouths of wrongdoers twist and pervert the truth.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 10 (The Voice)

[danielhoy-blog1]

There are elements of psychological terrorism being created for me that I am unable to defend against, and obviously, no-one could be compelled to.

The threats are ambiguous, and I fear are interpreted by terrorists (who have no right to assume my actions or choices or the lack thereof to be symbolic, or to any association with me whatsoever) to mean whatever they wish; against my will, intention, understanding, and agency.

I, Daniel Hoy, am not now and have never been a member, prospective or otherwise, of any theological or communal club, guild, military, fraternity, secret society, or faith-based group; and am not at all interested in joining any. I have no personal interest or involvement in Freemasonry or other secret societies, and have not had. I have no interest or involvement in secret societies, and have not had. There are no "gods", "higher powers", "curses", "omens", extraterrestrial beings or any other superstitions. My morality is not dictated to me from any particular source. Rather, I develop it, my conscience, and my character, being considerate of a wealth of sources and experiences. I have never been a Christian. I cannot be a Jew. I have never been, am not now, and will never be any form of Freemason or secret society member. I have never been inside a masonic lodge. I have no "brothers" of any kind. No one is "like a brother" to me. I will be no one's "Sir" (outside of the informal male address). My only friends and family of any kind are my wife and life partner, Nicole Hoy, and our children, Norman and Emily Hoy. No one owes me any favours; I am owed only my rights under The Constitution of Canada, and it's Charter of Rights and Freedoms.

I have not accepted, do not accept, and will not accept, any third party, by-proxy, unusual or indirect communications or representations - implicitly, or otherwise - or any association with secret societies.

If any third parties have ever interfered in my personal or professional relationships, I have been unconsenting.

I reserve absolute ownership and control of my intellectual, physical, and other properties and accomplishments, and have made no contracts otherwise. Absolutely no one - but me - has any authority or control of any of my various properties, whether real estate at 129 Lighthouse Street, Goderich, Ontario, or my agency, or any of my intellectual properties.

I have never made any contracts or associations with any members of secret societies.

I have not signed any documents of nor made any contract with any Children's Aid Society. I have absolutely no association with any Children's Aid Society.

I am not a participant in any inter-personal resolutions. I am not a participant in any extra-judicial or investigative activity. I am not a participant in any "theater", nor thespian dramatization. I am systematically harassed, traumatized, violated, and made to fear for the safety and security of myself, family, and properties almost daily. I post this declaration in some instances which I feel threatened. I am not communicating with any recognizable authority or adjudicative processes or procedures; I am safeguarding myself and family from criminals.

I am not a populist. I am not a politician. I am not a "Settlement Worker". I am not a part of a community or neighbourhood. My only associations are Nicole, Norman, and Emily Hoy, and the secular covenant of law that we share with Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II.

I have no juvenile criminal record.

I have no "counsellor", and will not have. I am neither a patient nor participant in any psychological therapy, treatment, or group activity.

I have never been, am not now, and will never be in a polygamous or polyamorous marriage, relationship, family, or other. My marriage and family are neither polygamous nor polyamorous. No aspect of my life or relationships is at all open to the opinions, perspectives, judgements, or consideration of anyone but each with whom I choose to relate. I choose only to relate with my Wife and Life-Partner, Nicole Hoy, and our children, Norman and Emily Hoy. Polygamy is absolutely illegal in Canada, and unrecognizable under Canadian law.

My wife and life partner, Nicole Hoy could not be a member of a secret society, as I have never been. My marriage and family (which is only myself, Nicole Hoy, Norman Hoy, and Emily Hoy) is absolutely exclusive. There is no relationship nor association that could preclude, include, or exclude my marriage to Nicole Hoy, nor my family.

My wife is allowed and expected to make mistakes, and to have secrets. My marriage is conditional only to my own sovereign will.

Individual agency cannot be forfeited, subjugated, proxied, delegated, assumed by others, or misrepresented in Canada except by means of incarceration or detention. Freedoms of expression, religion, thought, belief, peaceful assembly, and association are protected and guaranteed to be all but inalienable by Section Two of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms.

I do not have any association with secret societies, Children's Aid Societies, secret societies, or faith-based groups; nor do I have any association through anyone else's association with a Children's Aid Society, secret society, or faith-based group. I do not want any association, contact, influence, consideration, or communication of any form to or from any such groups. The only exception possible is Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, whose consideration of me must preclude any personal interests or involvement in such groups. Any faith-based or private functions or interests of Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II are absolutely inapplicable to me or mine. I will have no personal involvement in any secret or faith-based groups. I have had no - and will have no - association other than Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II with involvement in secret societies or faith based groups.

Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II is the only Sovereign, Ruler, and allodial owner of - and in - Canada. Crime committed in Canada is judged at the discretion of Her Highness, and often Her gracious consideration is extended to victims of crime. I have not as of yet reported the crimes committed against myself, my wife, our children, and properties, and struggle for my own responsible, honourable, and righteous discretion. I reserve the right to consider myself consenting to actions that may otherwise appear to have been criminal, and as such, my participation and testimony are necessary in the finding of culpability.

Secular law is the only standard by which I may be judged, or my actions restrained. Nicole Hoy cannot be judged without my participation, as I and she both enjoy that right, and I am privy to intimate and objective insights of my wife and life partner, and the abuses she has suffered. Any lies to the effect that I have ever had association with any secret society I presume would predate my marriage or even association with Nicole Hoy. Nicole Hoy is guiltless, blameless, innocent, and herself the victim of the broad scope of crimes committed against me, and us. When Nicole and I have sufficient shared perspective of what has happened, we will be considerate and honourable of worthy merit and integrity.

I and my children are (un-spiritual) Native Canadians, speaking of our origin, nationality, and citizenship, and "African" in the ethnic sense that all humans are. We are not Scottish. We are not "French", "French Canadians", "Québécois", "French New World", or "Acadian". We are no more British or Irish than we are from the Caucasus Mountains. As much as my wife and children may be undeclared "Metis", "Native", or "Indian" Canadians (we do not observe racism), they are without spiritual observance or identity, and any introduction of the "supernatural" is child abuse by my standards.

French law is not valid in Canada. Quebec Provincial laws have borrowed from some vestiges of French law, but the entirety of Quebec law is nonetheless Canadian. Law of the Province of Quebec is not valid in the Province of Ontario.

My actions and choices (which necessarily include my inaction), are not to be considered as consent or participation in any Masonic, secret society, psychological, superstitious, philosophical, social, or Children's Aid Society activity, game, maze, treatment, experiment, initiation, journey, education, audit, training, play, service, challenge, dramatization, virtuality, contract, rite, ritual, or bargaining process. I will not participate. I have not asked for, or received clemency for any wrongs I may have done. Neither have I been asked for, or granted clemency for wrongs that have been committed against myself or my family, nor is it within my legal purview as I understand it. I will not accept any extrajudicial resolutions for criminal actions without the free, enthusiastic, public, and Sovereign discretion - in person - of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II; or that are at all considerate of "spiritual" faith.

I have always been of sound mind.

My hearing and sense of smell are both less than perfect, due to damage and age. I have made no claims to the properties of these seemingly marginal lacks.

My only friends, loves, relatives, and family are my wife and life-partner, Nicole Hoy, and our children, Norman and Emily. I miss my wife, our children, and our home. I have always been faithful. My address remains 129 Lighthouse St, Goderich, ON, CA, N7A 2J6. I am not a part of a community or neighbourhood. My phone number is 1-519-612-1094. I have not "naturalized" to any other location, changed my address, nor forfeited my legal rights to our matrimonial home or my property. I cannot participate in volunteer or community activities for fear that it be used against me as evidence of "naturalization". My motivation in retaining title and rights to our home is related more to maintaining it as further proof of the validity of our marriage than property ownership. I have never moved from our home; I was removed from it. Any members of any secret or faith based groups, any Children's Aid Society employees, anyone associated with either, and/or anyone who has ever considered or represented themselves to be my friends or family (that are not my wife or children) are not in any event other than by force of judicial warrant to be allowed onto my property or to communicate with my wife, our children, or myself. My own communications are not intended to be shared with my wife or children until such time that it is permissible by law. I do not accept any communications involving any third parties or by-proxies as valid, nor any unusual or indirect forms of communication.

I cannot access homelessness services for fear that my attendance be misconstrued as acceptance of punishment for crimes that I have been neither charged nor convicted of. I have not been afforded the opportunity to face a charge or accuser. I am my own legal council, and have not appointed anyone (including my wife) to speak on my behalf (to represent my agency). I have not broken any laws under the Canadian Criminal Code or International law. I am eager and available to answer to any and all criminal charges that may have been created for me. I insist on the full and equal accountability, rights, and protections of all Canadians, and all people in Canada, under Canadian law and our shared Sovereign, Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II.

These declarations are in no sense to be conditioned by anyone. They are not a matter of personal opinion, or part of any ongoing bargaining process. I am only expressing protection of myself, my wife and life partner Nicole Hoy, my children Norman and Emily Hoy, all of my properties, achievements, interests, and agency, and the purely secular covenant of law that we share with Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II.

[sinsiriuslyemo]

Things suddenly get complicated,as  if it wasn’t already… CHeck out @missjennifercole for episode 25 tomorrow!! And thank you guys for all the love!!

EPISODE 24

Your plane landed in the morning, you and Nevada were so peacefully happy in the plane bed that you didn’t want to get up.

“Just leave us here!” You shout in a giggle to the flight attendant as you kiss down Nevada’s neck, licking his ear.

“We gotta go get our kids, Mami,” he replied softly to you, kissing your nose. “Just give us ten minutes,” he said to the flight attendant, who quickly averted her eyes from his very naked form.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Ramirez,” she said softly, rushing out of the back room.

“And keep your eyes to yourself puta!” You growled after her before biting down on Nevada’s shoulder drawing blood as you rocked your hips faster on top of him. Soothing the mark with your tongue.

“Ow, coño, Dama why do you gotta take it out on me?” he teased in a chuckle, bucking his hips up to meet yours.

You just kissed him, wrapping your arms around his neck and humming as the two of you rocked the bed with every thrust, before you knew it, you were coming hard, moaning and kissing his lips softly.

He followed quickly after, hands threaded in your hair, which had already begun to grow some. His mouth moved against yours insistently, humming against your lips and pulling you down to rest your head against his chest.

“I love you,” he whispered.  

“I love you too,” you grinned warmly at him. “We can do anything as long as we do it together, okay?” You whispered and kissed his jaw. This vacation had made things very clear, the two of you loved the peace of it all but your home was the Heights and as long as you both stayed together, everything would work out in the end.

“Okay,” he replied softly, smirking down at you. “Bueno…let’s go get our rugrats, and head home.”

You nodded smiling and getting dressed.

The second the two of you pull up to your mom’s house, Lily is running screaming towards you both with a bright grin.

“Mami! Papi!” She hugged Nevada’s leg tight and then your leg smiling up at you two. “I misses you!” She puckered her lips for kisses and you smile, covering your little one in kisses before passing her to Nevada so he could do the same as you go to your mother.

“Hola Mami,” you smiled and kissed her cheek, hugging her tight. “Thank you for watching mi vida, I know she isn’t alway easy.”

“Nonsense mija, you know she’s an angel,” Lucia hugged you tight and you smiled watching Nevada load Lily into the car.

“I really am lucky.” You smiled and watched your little family.

“You deserve to be happy, mi niña.” She kissed your head as you gave her another hug goodbye and headed back into the car.

“Let’s go get Eddie, Princesa, quieres?” Nevada asked, looking back at Lily.

“Yay!!!”

Loading Lily up into her carseat, the three of you went and picked Eddie up from Amber and Omar’s before making your way back home. When you got there, Nevada opened the door, furrowing his brows when he realized that it was unlocked and looking back at you.

“Stay here,” he mumbled, moving inside and taking the gun from his waistband out, cocking it back. You nodded, arms wrapped tight around the kids as you kiss Lily and Eddie, moving them back towards the elevator.

“Tia, what’s going on? Should I go in with him?” Eddie asked.

“No baby,” you cooed softly. “We’re fine, your tio is just checking to make sure things are safe.” You kissed his hair and smiled at him. “You stay with your sister, yeah?”

Lily looked up at Eddie with worried and confused eyes, not understanding what was going on. Eddie smiled down at the toddler, stroking her hair gently.

“It’s okay, Lily,” he said. A few moments later, Nevada came out, tucking the gun back into his waistband and gesturing you over.

“It’s okay, vamos,” he said in a low voice when you were close enough to hear. “Eddie, did you come by the apartment while we were gone, and forget to lock the door?” he asked his nephew.

“No, tio…I think Amber came by,” Eddie answered, and Nevada looked down at you.

“You think she would’ve forgotten to lock the door?” he asked you softly as all of you went into the apartment.

You shrugged, “I’m not sure.”

You hurried to the bedroom, checking over all the jewelry and valuables just to be safe. When you headed back out front to Nevada, you frowned. “She took a dress and my shot glass,” you pouted.

“Shot glass? What shot glass?” Nevada asked with furrowed brows. “The one that’s been sitting on the dresser forever?”

“Yes,” you frowned, “That’s the shot glass from the arcade where we first kissed, Nevada that thing means the world to me,” you said softly. You’d never tell him this, but the moment you’d kissed, you were sure you’d spend the rest of your life with him. So you took the shot glass to remember that day.

“Oh,” he replied, frowning a little. “Well, give her a call, tell her to give it back, la muy pendeja,” he added, rubbing your shoulder in comfort. “When did you take a shot glass?” he asked with a smirk. “Had to be when I was in the bathroom, right?”

You nodded, “I wanted to remember that night,” you said honestly, kissing him softly. “And she took my favorite dress, the rainbow one.” Nevada hated your favorite dress, so did Amber, but if was your favorite still.

“Oh…that’s…awful,” he answered half-heartedly. “Maybe she’s auditioning for Joe and the Technicolor Dreamcoat,” he teased, smirking at you. “Baby, just call her. She’s your friend, just tell her to bring your shit back.”

You pout, “It’s a nice dress, it’s comfortable and all the kids I taught love it.”

“Tia, we loved it cause you looked like the rainbow goldfish,” Eddie chimed when he’d reached the top of the stairs.

“A rainbow fish?” Nevada offered, still smirking. “I always thought it made you look like a really colorful pilgrim,” he added.

“You guys suck! I love my dress!” You crossed your arms and stomped out of the room to call Amber.

Eddie laughed and grinned. “It’s an ugly dress, she has so many beautiful ones! But that one is horrible and she loves to wear it!”

“I don’t know why either, mijo. Women,” Nevada replied, rolling his eyes. “Speaking of which, how’s everything with Melanie?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, “Oye, la pendeja loca doesn’t even want me to talk to my female lab partner. I can’t talk to other girls, look at them, she got mad that I asked Mrs. Aiden a question the other day and asked if I was fucking the teacher.”

“She probably thinks you’re gonna fuck around on her. Tell her you won’t and that you don’t like that shit,” Nevada offered. “If you tell her it bothers you and she keeps doing it, bota la par carajo. Plenty of fish in the sea, and you’re young.”

Eddie nodded and smiled, giving Nevada a tight hug. “I missed you tio.”

You stormed back in and glared at the men. “She threw it away! She said it was for my own good!”

“The dress?” Nevada asked, his face lighting up a bit. He never thought he would be grateful to Amber for much of anything, but he would have to remember to thank her later. “What about the shot glass? She toss that, too?” he asked.

“She says she hasn’t seen it, she didn’t take it so I must have misplaced it…” You shrugged still too angry about the dress to think much about the glass. “I’ll just look around for it.” You smiled at Nevada kissing him and whispering against his lips, “I will buy another dress just like it,” you whispered seriously.

“That sounds…terrifying,” he said gently, smirking a little. You couldn’t be mad, you were still in too good of a mood, pressing your nose against Nevada’s and smiling.

“Let’s just spend time with a family dinner, and you and I can have a little dessert later, hmm?” You whispered softly so only he could hear.

“Now that, I can wrap my head around,” he replied, chuckling softly.

Rafael walked out of the courtroom, sigh softly and moving towards the elevator to head back to his office. It appeared as though he was winning the case against Helen Gianni’s murdering ex-husband, but somehow all at once, it felt as he were losing…something. Kassidy would be happy to know that the trial was going well at least. But he had never been more confused or torn in his entire life. The only thing that came close was when you’d started dating Nevada.

He liked Kassidy.  He enjoyed her company, but it wasn’t love. It certainly was not love, and how could he carry on their…relationship? Arrangement? How was he expected to make a decision when he couldn’t even define what he was deciding?

“Counselor!” Sonny ran over to Barba, “You did great in there, you really got that creep on the run.”

”Thank you…” He furrowed his brows. Did he just say ‘thank you?’ To Carisi? “The evidence is solid. I’m hoping we won’t need to call Kassidy to the stand,” he added.

Sonny frowned at Rafael’s lack of snark but shrugged it off. “How is she?” he asked softly. “She was so shaken up…I was gonna call but I can’t call a witness the day of the trial,” he frowned and looked at Rafael eager for a response.

Barba looked up at the Detective with a slight frown. “She’s…holding up. You should call her,” Rafael replied sadly. “She’s not a witness anymore,” he added in a mumble, starting to walk away before he turned back to Carisi. “Are you…interested in her?” he asked.

Sonny to a hesitant breath, “Yeah she’s…incredible. But she seems pretty happy with you, so I’m happy for you both,” he offered a warm smile, he did genuinely mean it. He was happy for them.

“She is incredible,” Rafael agreed, nodding his head. “But I don’t…deserve her affection. I wish more than anything that I could give her…” He swallowed, shaking his head gently as he failed to finish his thought. “Well, you should just call her. I think she would be happy to hear from you,” he said again, smiling softly before he pushed the button to catch the elevator.

“She acts like you give her all she needs, she seems really happy with you,” Sonny said softly. “If she didn’t seem happy I would be worried but…she seems to like you so much.”

Rafael didn’t say anything for a moment, frowning as he remembered Kassidy tell him she loved him. He wasn’t in love with her, he didn’t think he ever could be. All he could see to focus on was Emmy.

“I’m in love with another woman,” he mumbled sadly. “That’s not fair to her.” He kept his eyes forward, unable to look the other man in the face.

He was ashamed of himself for keeping Kassidy on the hook for so long, letting her believe that they ever had a chance at something real. He’d wanted to believe they did. He’d wanted to believe he could give her something real, but he knew now that he couldn’t.

“No, that’s not fair, but she doesn’t seem to mind,” Sonny said frowning a bit. “Kassidy is such an amazing woman Counselor, you’re incredibly lucky to have her. Don’t forget that.”

Rafael frowned, shaking his head as he mentally willed the elevator to move faster. Swallowing hard, he suddenly wished he could go back to the night Emmy left. He would’ve done things differently.

“I’m trying,” he mumbled. “Will you call her?” he asked, eyes looking towards him, but still not at him.

“Yeah…I’ll call her but I don’t see the point,” he said softly. “She said she wanted to see if there was anything between you two, which I respect.” Sonny said firmly.

“Just…call her, Carisi,” Rafael hissed, sighing in relief when the elevator doors opened and he was able to quickly make his way out into the lobby.

Sonny sighed put pulled out his phone, dialing her number and smiling when she answered, “Hey sunflower,” he said softly to her.

Nevada walked into the club, moving straight for his office. He was going through the mail when there was a knock at his door, and he called out to the person on the other side. He sighed silently when Melody came in, sporting her dark hair again, and he arched a brow.

“I thought I said no more unapproved changes,” he mused, going back to looking through the mail.

“I got better tips as a brunette. I told Omar,” she answered.

He nodded, looking her over for a moment. “What did you need, Mami? I have a busy day today.” With Diamond starting to show, he had to start looking for another dancer soon.

“I have to talk to you about something,” she said, coming and closing the door. “It’s important,” she added when he didn’t look up at her. Sitting down in the chair in front of his desk instead of her usual spot in his lap.

“Okay, what did you want to talk about,” he furrowed his brows wondering what it could be this time, although she’d been pretty tame. “Dale Mami, I don’t have all day.”

“I’m late,” she said softly, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt.

“Bueno don’t be late again, as long as you’re on stage on time that’s all that matters.”

“No, not that kind of late,” she answered with a small smile, shaking her head. “I’m pregnant,” she clarified.

Nevada stared at her for a long moment before snorting a laugh. “No you’re not. Oye, that’s not funny.”

She frowned, lowering her gaze as she squeezed tears into her eyes.

“Yeah, I’m not kidding,” she replied. “I’m pregnant. Four weeks along.”

He felt his stomach drop. Things had just gotten back to somewhat normal. “You need to get rid of it,” he said immediately.

“What? No!” she exclaimed, putting a hand to her stomach. “No, I’m not gonna do that, Nevada. This is our child. Yours and mine,” she added, reaching towards him and placing her hand on his.

He pulled his hand away. “That isn’t possible. We used a condom every time. You must have been whoring around with someone else. I was careful, that’s not my kid and if it is, you need to get rid of it. I’ll pay to have it done, but we need to do it fast.”

“Nevada, everybody knows that condoms are only, like, 97% effective,” she said, standing and moving around his desk to stand in front of him. “Don’t you see? We made a baby together even though we were being safe. You and me,” she added, taking his hand and placing it on her flat stomach. “We’re meant to be together, Nevada,” she whispered.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered with a growl, yanking his hand away and storming out of the strip club without so much as a word to any of them.

“Nevada! Wait! You don’t have to be afraid!” he heard her call after him, and he hopped on his bike, forgetting his helmet as he tore off down the street towards your apartment.

Ahora si se cago la mierda al piano, his mind said to him.

This could not be happening. What was he supposed to do? What were you going to do when you found out.

Parking along the curb, he ran up the staircase, all the way to the top floor. He just need to see you, hold you, kiss you one last time before you sent him packing.

“Dama!” he yelled out, slamming the door shut behind him. “Dama!! Y/N!! Y/N!!”

“Hey,” you smile coming out of the bedroom in one of his leather jackets, you loved wearing his clothing when he was gone. “You’re home early,” you smiled warmly at him.

He came up and cradled your face in his hands, kissing you deeply as he moved you back into the bedroom, tongue darting into your mouth as he pushed his jacket off your shoulders.

“Where are the kids?” he asked between kisses.

“Eddie’s at school, and Lily is at daycare,” you kiss back and smile. “Since when do you come home for a little afternoon delight?” You smiled, letting his jacket slide to the floor, beneath you were completely naked.

“No talking yet, okay?” he whispered back, shedding his own jacket and pulling his button down shirt over his head before he laid you on the bed.

His mouth crashed against yours again, hands tucking under your knees to pull your legs high up on his hips. Moving to kiss down your neck, he hurried down your stomach until he was finally burying his face in your center. His mouth worked with purpose, hands gripping your hips closer to him.

You gasped, arching your back, “Nevada,” you moaned loudly, grinding your pussy against his face as you shivered.

Groaning against you, he sucked on your clit, tongue moving over it in his mouth. His eyes watched you intently, mouth working overtime against you. It took you no time before you came hard against his mouth, shuddering and whimpering. Immediately you tugged him back up, kissing him hungrily.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he whispered back, kissing you hard and reaching for his belt.

You smile and help him, pulling his belt from his loops and tugging down his pants. “Slow it down,” you whispered. “I’m not going anywhere, mi vida. Hazme el amor.”

He looked down at you as though you might disappear any minute, but steadied his breathing long enough to kiss you softly and slowly. He kicked his pants off and moved his lips against yours like it would the last time he would do it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against your cheek. “I fucking love you so much.” Before you could answer, he aligned himself with your entrance and pushed gently inside you, groaning when his hips met yours. “Oh fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, kissing your neck.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and threaded your fingers through his hair.

“Mmmm,” you whimpered as you urged him to start moving, you kissed him hungry and slow, trying to figure out what was off. But you loved him and you loved making love to him.

“Nevada, keep moving,” you pleaded and kissed him again. “Papi, por favor.”

Sighing audibly, he started a slow, sensual pace kissing every inch of skin he could reach as the muscles in his back flexed and relaxed beneath your hands with his movements. His arms held you close to him, fingers threaded into your hair.

“I love you so much,” he moaned against your neck. “I love you. I love you…” He said it over and over between dropping kisses over your skin.

You kissed back, moving with him. “I love you,” you whispered and stroked his hair, already both of you nearing a building climax, “close,” you whispered after another few minutes, burying your face in his neck and hugging him tight.

He moved slightly faster inside you, reaching down with one hand to pull your leg up higher, allowing him deeper inside you. Arching his hips upwards, he stroked over your g spot.

“Oh God, I’m gonna come,” he breathed, moving his hand over to rub circles over your clit as he got closer and closer to release.

You gasped, moaning loudly and came hard around him, kissing him through your orgasm as you pulled him close. He followed close behind you, groaning loudly against your mouth as he stroked you through both your releases.

He didn’t want it to end, continuing to move until both of you were over sensitive, but he still didn’t want it to be over.

“Nevada,” you whimpered, “babe, baby, stop,” you slow his movements, cringing a bit.

He stopped moving, but stayed nestled inside you, face buried in your neck, his arms holding you close against him.

“She’s fucking pregnant,” he whispered, eyes screwed shut.

“What?” You turned to try and look at him, not sure what the hell he was talking about. “Who is?”

“Melody,” he mumbled, still unable to pull away from you enough to look at you. “I was so careful,” he added, almost to himself.

You close your eyes, trying to process the information you were hearing, she was pregnant.

“I never fucked her raw, I swear to God. I never fucked her raw,” he said against your skin, seeming to hold you tighter to him.

“Even so,” you said softly. “You got her pregnant,” you took a deep breath. There was no changing that now, what you could change was how you reacted to it. “Okay, so that means somehow a condom broke or something, we should both get tested and we’ll…figure out what to do from there.” You whispered softly to him, stroking his hair and kissing it.

“I already told her to flush it,” he replied. “We can still get checked, but we test the dancers regularly, we shouldn’t have anything,” he added. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispered, still afraid to let go of you.

“Hey,” you pulled back seriously. “I’m not leaving you,” you reassured his fears and kissed his face and he let out a breath in relief. “But you don’t just get to tell her to flush it. You did this, whether you wanted to or not, and you have a responsibility to her and that baby.”

“Fuck that, I don’t want it,” he answered, shaking his head and looking down at you. “I don’t want it, and I don’t want her. If she’s gotta stick a screwdriver up there and scramble that shit herself, she’s getting rid of it,” he said seriously.

“Nevada, you don’t get to make that choice. She does. I lived my life with an absent father and I will not be married to one as well. You made your bed now you have to lie in it. You think I want this? No. The next Ramirez baby born is gonna be to some slut instead of me and I hate that. But you knocked her up, man up and deal with it.”

He rolled off of you, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I am not letting her and that…bastard kid near our daughter or Eddie. Lo siento, Mami, but if she’s gonna keep it, they’re both gonna stay far, far away from our family, me entiendes?” he replied. “I don’t want our kids with some half-bred sibling…and it’s not a Ramirez.”

You stood, pulling on clothes, “You know, it’s one thing to fuck up. But not owning up to those fuck ups? That baby would be innocent in all of this,” you shake your head and walk out the door, not wanting to talk to him right now.

“Oye, you know what? What about my feelings?” He’d gotten up and was following you down the stairs. “Everybody always talks about how it’s the woman’s choice on whether or not to keep a baby, and I get it, it’s your body. Pero, coño, it takes two to tango, I’m no more to blame than she is, and I don’t want to have a kid with her. Why doesn’t that count?” he asked, hot on your heels. “If it was the other way around, that she didn’t want to keep it, but I did, you would still side with her, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes! I would still side with her! Because she’s not married Nevada! Maybe she’s trash that fucked a married man but like you said, it takes two to tango! You didn’t want a baby? Then you shouldn’t have stuck your dick in a stripper!” You shouted, opening the front door to Amber.

Amber looked at Nevada and sighed, “Dude…again?”

“Oh, so if she was married, then it would be a different story? That’s fucking bullshit. I was careful! Yeah, I fucked up when I fucked her, but I wasn’t such an asshole that I was careless with it. I should have a say. But you know what? Fine. We’ll wait till she pops and then send her away, and keep the kid since you want it so bad,” he answered, ignoring both his naked state and Amber’s look of utter confusion. “I should have a say in this!”

“You do have a say Nevada,” you said softly, “but what you say, is gonna tell me a whole lot about the man I married.” You looked at him, frowning and not wanting to leave during a fight, you wanted to hold him, work things out. You felt Amber’s arm on your lower back as she led you closer to the door.

“Come on Barbie,” she cooed softly to you. She hated seeing you constantly upset, constantly hurting because of the same man.

You looked at Nevada still, waiting for him to respond, wondering if he’d tell you to go, ask you to stay, or just stare back at you. Every answer sounded like a new mess.

“Oye! Como que ‘come on, Barbie?’ We’re talking,” he said to Amber. “Come back later. Matter of fact, let me ask you something, why is it when a woman gets pregnant without either her or the guy meaning to, that she’s the only one that gets a say in what happens with it?” he asked her, hands moving to his hips.

“No, they should both get a say,” Amber said immediately. “But ultimately, a woman is the one who has to carry it and breastfeed it and grow a whole person…did you get this bitch pregnant? The whore from the club?” Amber glared and turned to you, “Barbie I can get a coat hanger and we can have this done by noon. Still make it in time for our facials.”

“Says her, I don’t even know if it’s really mine,” he scoffed. “I always used a condom. How often do those things break, and wouldn’t I have noticed if one of them did break?”

“It can be a tiny tear and also condoms break all the time,” Amber said seriously. “Look, have her do a paternity test, if it’s yours, you guys have time to work out what to do, if it’s not yours, it’s not your problem. But there’s no point right now in fighting over a baby that’s not even past the first three months where it could melt into goo.”

“Just punch her in the stomach the next time you see her, blanca,” he said without thinking.

“Nevada!” You glare at him in absolute horror.

“Or put some oil on the stairs and have her walk her ass up them to get here. Drop a plan B in her coffee. Murder her,” Amber mused. Nevada slowly raised his brows, tilting his head to one side as if considering her suggestion. When he saw your pointed stair, he sighed exasperatedly.

“Okay, Dama, what’s your idea? Wanna have her over for a family dinner? Shit, why don’t we just ask the little tart to move in with us? I can sleep in the middle, is that what you want?”

“Are you trying to hurt me?” You whispered with a frown. “I don’t have to stay with you. You knocked this bitch up, not me. I’m choosing to stay. So why are you trying to make me want to leave?” You turned and walked to the elevator.

Amber said nothing, just following behind you.

“I’m not trying to– Dama! Dama!” He called out after you, but you just kept walking. “Y/N!!”

“What?!” You turned looking at him wiping tears. “What do you want Nevada?!”

“I want you to tell me what to do,” he replied. “What the fuck do I do?!”

“I don’t know,” you said softer, moving back to him. “I wish I could just tell you to get rid of her, or I wish I could just go and hand her cash and tell her to disappear but that’s not who I am. It kills me, that she’s carrying a baby because of you. But it is what it is and now we all have to deal with the aftermath. All I know, is that the idea of forcing her to give up a child feels wrong,” you whisper to him. “And we already do so much wrong in our lives, I don’t want to do more.”

“So I have to be forced to raise this kid? How is that fair? Not like I forced her to fuck me,” he pointed out. “It’s not even just that, she was coming at me today like her getting knocked up means that her and I are supposed to be together. What the fuck is that? I don’t want her near our kids,” he added as your neighbor came out of her apartment, looking shocked as she saw that Nevada was naked. “Hola Mrs. Beasley,” he said nonchalantly, offering the old woman a small wave before he looked back at you. “Dama, this puta is crazy, I don’t wanna let that into our lives.”

“I don't…” You shook your head and shut your eyes. “This is too much,” you whispered.

“Y/N, you’re my wife. I love you. I don’t want anyone else, and I don’t want to…have a kid with anyone but you. That’s gotta count for something,” he said, stepping closer to you and putting his hands on your shoulders. “I did everything I was supposed to do to make sure this didn’t– well…not everything, I guess but I wasn’t just throwing my seed around for her to catch. I’m yours, nobody else’s. Baby or not.”

You nod, leaning your forehead against his and saying nothing.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I love you.”

“I want to talk to her,” you say seriously. “I’m owed that. I want to talk to her.”

He sighed, shaking his head a little, and rolling his eyes.

“I don’t know that it’ll do any good, but…you’re right, I owe you that much so…have at it. I’m not going back there today, fuck that,” he answered.

You nodded and stepped against him giving him a long kiss before heading out with Amber to the strip club. When you pulled up to the club, you took a few deep breaths and hurried inside, walking right past Amber and Omar, who had been standing out front, before either could stop you.

“Que le pasa a ella?” he asked Amber, pointing in the direction you’d gone in.

“Nevada and Dama stuff, you know how it is,” she rolled her eyes and smile up at him. “But hey you, I missed you last night. I’m sorry I had to work late.”

“That’s okay, how’s that article coming along? When do you finish?” he asked, pulling her into a hug.

“I’m done today,” she smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him. “You will be reading it on the front page of the New York Times next week,” she pressed another soft kiss to his lips.

“Coño, they gave you front page? Who’d you have to tug to pull that off?” he teased.

“Your mom,” she quipped, “she says hi by the way.”

He laughed heartily, head leaning back before he looked down at her.

“Alright, you win that round. That was good,” he replied, still chuckling. “You know, Nevada offered to let me run the restaurant,” he added.

“Yeah? That’s good news, are you gonna take it?” The two of them always talked like this. Her arms wrapped around his neck, his hands on her waist as they chatted and swayed back and forth a bit like they were always dancing to a song that only they could hear.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I mean, I could, but…he needs me here, you know. I’d rather stay close to him. He counts on me for a lot.”

She smiled and nodded, “I agree, you take care of tons of stuff, he needs you,” she nuzzled her nose against his. “Whatever you choose, I’m supporting you,” she whispered. “And um…speaking of new job offers, I got a call from my old employers. They said something opened up in Baghdad and they don’t trust anyone but me to do it,” she frowned, fingers lightly pressing into the back of his neck.

“Baghdad, huh? What’d you say?” he asked gently.

“I told them that I was flattered, and I am. But I have more to think about than just myself now. I have my best friend here and…the man I plan to marry someday.” She looked up at him. “So I told them that if have to talk it over with him before I gave them an answer.”

“Really?” he asked, clearly impressed and touched that she took his feelings into consideration. “Yeah, we can talk about it. How about when I get home, I’ll bring pizza and a six pack, and we can talk then,” he suggested, wiggling his brows a few times.

“Pizza and beer?” She smirked. “I guess I know who I’m gonna ‘tug’ tonight.”

“Coño, I hope more than just a ‘tug,’” he replied, smirking.

She smiled, leaning up and pressing her lips to his, slow and sweet, “I love you so much,” she whispered.

“I love you, too,” he replied, smiling down at her.

Melody came out of the Red room and saw you looking in the dressing room, smiling sweetly, she walked up.

“Hey Dama! Nevada left early,” she said, her smile friendly and warm.

“I’m actually here to see you, can we talk?”

“Sure! Do you want to go out and grab a table or talk at the bar?” she asked sweetly.

“How about Nevada’s office?” You smile and nod for her to follow you inside.

“Okay, sure!” she answered, following you into Nevada’s office and moving to sit down in one of the seats in front of the desk. “What’s up?” she asked cheerfully.

“My husband got you pregnant,” you say casually, you had decided in the car that you’d have to detach yourself from this situation to get things done. “I told him that what’s done is done and we have to deal with the aftermath of his affair, that’s fine. I need to know why you told him. What do you want?

“Help raising the baby? Money? Do you just want to ruin his reputation? My husband is emotionally involved in this and because of that, he can’t think clearly. But we need to do what’s best for our kids and our business. So I’d like to assume you have good intentions and you just got caught up with a handsome older man. But if you want something, name it now.”

She looked at you with furrowed brows, tilting her head to one side and shaking her head.

“I want Nevada and I to raise our baby,” she replied, saying it as though her desires were obvious. “I didn’t want you to find out this way. I was hoping that he and I could talk to you together…but we’re in love. I don’t care about his money, I love him and I would never do anything to ruin his reputation.”

Your look for her softened, “Melody,” you said softly. “Honey…Nevada is my husband. We had a rough patch but we are back together and stronger than ever. The only way he would ever be a part of your life is through that child.”

She sighed softly, eyes closing, almost as though she felt sorry for you.

“I told him that it was better to tell you when you first back,” she said, almost to herself. “He was going to leave you, Dama. He told me that he loved me and that when you got back you started tearing your hair out and lashing out at him, and that he couldn’t take it anymore. He was happy when I told him about our baby…” She put a hand on her stomach, and smiled softly. “He said he didn’t want to hurt you, and that he was going to try to get you to make the decision to leave for him. I told him it would be better to just be honest with you, but he said he was worried that if he just told you how he felt about me that you might hurt Lily to get back at him.

“I told him a mother could never hurt her own child, but he was convinced that the best way was to make it seem like it was your idea,” she said softly, frowning at you.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, “thank you for telling me Melody,” you smile and put a hand over hers.

“You’re welcome,” Melody replied, smiling back at you. “I hope our kids can be close,” she added. “I think it’s important for Nevada Jr to get to know his big brother and sister. It’s too soon to know for sure, but…it feels like a boy.” She laid a hand on her stomach and smiled warmly.

You smiled back, putting a hand on your own stomach. “Maybe we’ll give birth at the same time.”

“Oh my gosh! You’re pregnant, too?! That’s so exciting!!” she exclaimed. “Two babies! Oh my gosh, Nevada said you were on the pill! What a couple little miracles!” she cooed. “We should use the same OB! And the three of us can go to maternity classes together! Don’t worry, I’ll talk to Nevada, make him understand how important it is for him to be in your baby’s life.”

You feel a rush of familiar panic as you’re running to the bathroom, lungs seizing up. You puke into the toilet, feeling unable to breathe through the mess of anxiety. This bitch was insane and she didn’t miss a beat.

“Aww, are you okay?” she asked coming up behind you and rubbing your back in soft circles. “Morning sickness, huh?” she assumed. “It’s okay,” she whispered.

You nodded, throwing up your lunch into the toilet. You had to admit, the puking came at a very convenient time. You wiped your mouth after a minute and sniffled.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” she answered, placing her hand on her belly again. “I understand. Do you want to get you some ginger ale?” she asked.

You shook your head, “no I’m actually about to head back home, I’m gonna rest. Thank you…”

“That’s a great idea,” she replied. “I’m gonna get back. Nevada said he wanted this to be my last shift,” she said, rolling her eyes a little. “He says no woman of his is going to strip while she’s carrying his child. And hey, I hope there aren’t any hard feelings between us. I��m going to be a great mom and an amazing stepmom to your kids. I promise not to ever try to take your place,” she added, smiling warmly as though that wasn’t exactly what she was trying to do.

You smiled and nodded, standing up, “thanks, you’re a good friend,” you give her a tight hug before walking out quickly to Amber and Omar out front.

“Barbie, Jesus you look terrified,” she put a hand to your forehead and frowned, looking you over.

“You need me to take you home, Dama? I can get Sucio to cover for me for a few minutes,” Omar offered, putting an arm around you.

“Melody–” you whispered.

“Oh shit, yeah…ella es un poquito locita pero she’s harmless for the most part,” Omar replied. “What happened?” he asked, walking you over to Amber’s car.

“I just want to go home, please?” You take a deep breath and relax yourself.

“Okay, we’ll drive you home now,” Amber stroked your hair and nuzzled you.

When Omar and Amber drive you back home, you mimicked Nevada’s actions from earlier, running, calling his name and looking around for him before flinging yourself into his arms and holding him tight.

“Are you okay? Que paso? What am I dealing with when I go in tomorrow?” he asked, clinging to you tightly. He’d gotten dressed since you’d left, opting for a simple jeans and plain black beater. “Tell me what happened.”

You frowned and kissed his neck softly. “She’s a fucking nutjob,” you whispered. “She says that you and her are running away together and that you love her instead of me and I panicked so hard I threw up and told her I was pregnant and now I’m part of the crazy!”

“Baby, none of that is true– wait…” He looked at you, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Are you pregnant?”

“No, no…I…no, I’ve been on the pill since a week after I got back…” you shook your head. “But she scared me,” you nuzzled your face against his neck and kissed him.

If you were honest with yourself, you hadn’t even considered that you were pregnant, now neither being the time or the place to worry about it. The weeks you’d been gone had set you off your medication just long enough to make it a possibility. That alone, unsettled you greatly. You would not have a baby the same time as Nevada’s mistress and you would not be going to birthing classes together.

“I’m gonna figure this out, okay?” he said softly, rubbing your back. “I can move her to one of the other clubs for now. At least that’ll get her away from of us,” he suggested.

You nodded and pressed your face against his. You kissed his face and neck kissing his lips and smiling.

“I love you,” you whispered. “And you are the only man I want,” you whisper as you stroke his hair before looking down at your stomach for a moment. No…no there was no way you were. Were you?

#nevada ramirez #rafael barba #cuba v dr #season 8

[warninggraphiccontent]

29 November 2019

Manifesto destiny

What do this year's manifestos have to say about data, digital, open government and technology?

While we wouldn't expect them to get into the finer points of digital government and better uses of data in government - not in themselves the most doorstep-friendly of issues - there's a fair amount in there. Online harms, cybersecurity, citizens' digital rights, using data to better understand barriers to diversity (very Race Disparity Audit) and general references to technology across various sectors all make an appearance. There's not that much on open data or open government (beyond an eye-catching Lib Dem promise on a citizens' assembly on algorithms), or much detail on the Conservative promise to improve the use of data, data science and evidence in government (#classicdom). We've got a summary here, the Ada Lovelace Institute have one here, and Peter Wells has a thread on each here.

It's interesting to compare with the 2017 versions. The Conservatives apparently promised some new bodies on the use and ethics of data, and geospatial data - whatever happened to those? - while Labour promised to keep the Land Registry and all its data under public control (repeated this time around) and extend freedom of information to private providers of public services (ditto). No mention of Freedom of Information in the Lib Dem manifesto for the first time in a while.

There'll be some more on manifestos on this week's Inside Briefing podcast. We looked at, or rather listened to, prime ministerial tenure last week.

And in brief:

It was a real pleasure to chair Will from Full Fact, Liz from Digital Action, my old boss Martin from King's and the chair of the Electoral Commission, Sir John Holmes, on whether we can trust our electoral system in an age of rapidly evolving technology. All killer, no filler, as the kids say - well worth a watch or listen.

And if you liked that, you may like some of our other #IFGElection2019 events, including one next week on other aspects of our electoral system.

Another important event: on starting a career in public policy. Thinking about a career in public policy? Never thought about a career in public policy? Want to get started in thinktanks, or still wondering what a thinktank is? Come and have your questions answered on Monday 9 December.

To the Argentine Embassy for the launch of the Bennett Institute's new report on digital government in Argentina since 2015. Excellent discussion, excellent report, excellent empanadas.

No Data Bites next week - we're hoping to get started again in February. But as well as watching all the previous ones back, you can join us for some drinks on Wednesday - get in touch via Twitter if you'd like to join.

RIP Clive James.

It's easy to forget in the midst of the election campaign but it is nearly Christmas. Come and celebrate with my choir, the New Tottenham Singers, on Saturday 14 December.

Have a great weekend

Gavin

Today's links:

Graphic content

Let's talk about MRP

The key findings from our MRP (YouGov)

Election Centre (YouGov)

MRP election poll: Boris Johnson heads for big majority* (The Times)

Poll forecasts Commons majority for Boris Johnson* (FT)

How do pollsters predict UK general election results? (FT)

Manifestos

Where does the climate emergency first get mention in the party manifestos? (Tortoise)

A chart based analysis of the text in the Conservative and Labour manifestos (Daniel Tomlinson)

Manifesto word count (me for IfG)

#GE2019, etc

Top target seats in the 2019 general election – interactive (The Guardian)

Meet Parliament’s class of 2019* (The Economist, via Tom)

What happens if a prime minister loses their seat in a general election? (IfG)

A New Class Of Angry Partisan Facebook Pages Are Dominating The Online War In The British General Election (BuzzFeed)

Trust in civil servants/politicians (me for IfG)

Veracity Index (Ipsos MORI)

We're now three weeks without a Secretary of State for Wales (me for IfG)

Long term trend shows decreasing concern over economy, unemployment, rise of Brexit (Ipsos MORI)

Women in parliament (Alice for IfG)

Tax and spend

This is how marginal taxes work (Mona Chalabi)

Explaining progressive income tax (Matthew Armstrong)

Divided and connected: Regional inequalities in the North, the UK and the developed world – State of the North 2019 (IPPR)

Elections elsewhere

Hong Kong election results mapped* (New York Times)

A Staggering Number of Candidates Are Running for U.S. President* (Bloomberg)

Who is ahead in the Democratic primary race?* (The Economist)

Everything else

How Do You Find Good NFL Defenders? By Measuring What’s Not There. (FiveThirtyEight)

A kaleidoscope of river pollution (The ENDS Report)

Die letzten Mieter (Zeit Online)

Pope Francis, globe-trotting at an age when other popes have eased up, is trying to transform the church through his travels* (Washington Post)

Data and #dataviz

Survey of public sector information management 2018/19 (data.gov.nz)

Make your own UK General Election maps (Flourish)

Lowering the bar (Full Fact)

Reddit's Bar Chart Race moratorium is a good thing for #dataviz. Here's why. (Andy Cotgreave)

Meta data

Poll position

How YouGov's 2019 General Election model works (YouGov)

FAQs about YouGov's 2019 general election MRP model (YouGov)

MRP Estimates and the 2019 General Election (Anthony B. Masters)

Why you should take YouGov's MRP with a pinch of salt; Six thoughts on YouGov's MRP model of the 2019 election* (New Statesman)

Brexit didn’t cause all our divisions (UnHerd - although...)

Forensic polling analysis shows how Boris Johnson is on course to win—and how he can be stopped* (Prospect)

What to make of the polls? (Will Jennings)

The hidden predictor? Council control (Ian Warren)

Four Problems With 2016 Trump Polling That Could Play Out Again in 2020* (New York Times)

Election 2019: Can we trust our electoral system? (Institute for Government)

Manifestos

General Election 2019: manifesto tracker (Institute for Government)

Manifestos still matter even though their promises aren't being delivered (Institute for Government)

Tech/data in the 2019 manifestos (Peter Wells)

How will data and AI work for people and society after the UK General Election 2019? (Ada Lovelace Institute)

2019 Manifesto - 'Towards a Better Future' (techUK)

The Startup Manifesto (The Entrepreneurs Network/Coadec)

Future of the web

Contract for the Web (World Wide Web Foundation)

Tim Berners-Lee unveils global plan to save the web (The Guardian)

Read Sacha Baron Cohen's scathing attack on Facebook in full: 'greatest propaganda machine in history' (The Guardian)

Platforms don't exist (Ben Tarnoff)

Internet Harms: We need a Regulator, not a Censor (Martin Stanley for the Bennett Institute)

Internet world despairs as non-profit .org sold for $$$$ to private equity firm, price caps axed (The Register)

Oil, data, data, oil

Oil is the New Data (Logic)

The Next Big Cheap: Calling data “the new oil” takes its exploitation for granted (Real Life)

Data, transparency, openness

Unlocking the value of London’s public sector data (Eddie Copeland)

What does transparency mean? (Understanding Patient Data)

Open government must be more than a commitment on paper* (Apolitical)

11 thoughts on Donald Trump, Transparency and Records (Ben Worthy)

Cabinet Office ignores court order to release secret fracking report (The Guardian)

Open Banking: Consumer consent frameworks around the globe (ODI/Equifax)

Thierry Breton to be in charge of leading new ‘EU data strategy’* (Politico)

Everything else

Better than ethics (Rachel Coldicutt, Doteveryone)

Help TheyWorkForYou make sense of Parliament (Crowdfunder)

Taiwan is making democracy work again. It's time we paid attention* (Wired)

Facebook’s only fact-checking service in the Netherlands just quit (The Verge)

OPSI Primer on AI for the Public Sector (OECD, via Marcus)

Opportunities

AWARD: 2020 Statistical Excellence in Journalism awards launched (Royal Statistical Society)

JOB: RESEARCHER/POSTDOCTORAL SCHOLAR, AI ON THE GROUND INITIATIVE (Data & Society)

JOB: Director of Standards & Interoperability (NHS England)

JOB: Senior Researcher: Court Monitoring and Open Justice (Spotlight on Corruption)

JOBS: 2020 US Election (FT)

JOBS (Luminate)

And finally...

Thanksgiving

The Ultimate Thanksgiving Dinner Menu (FiveThirtyEight)

9 charts to be thankful for this Thanksgiving (Vox)

Practice makes perfect: Carve this virtual turkey* (Washington Post)

Politics

How the UK are predicted to vote is... (@notstelfc, via Haydon)

Winning here. Hang on... (via Alasdair)

Medieval Catholicism nudged Europe towards democracy and development* (The Economist)

Irish parliament red-faced over printer too big to fit through doors (The Guardian, via Alice)

Fibonacci Day

Fibonacci Anonymous meetings this afternoon... (Moose Allain)

A poem (Brian Bilston)

Everything else

How Emojis Have Invaded the Courtroom (Slate)

The Big Data of Big Hair (The Pudding)

Same. (@kamal_hothi)

Day in the life of a data journalist. (David Ottewell, via Graham)

Warning: Reading the Wikipedia entry for the guy who invented the bar chart will give you multiple cases of serious whiplash (Tom Wilson, via Tim)

Hi, I'm Bill gates and today I will teach you how to count to ten (@OneDevloperArmy)

[tiozambia]

Making hard decision in the face of threats

By Emmanuel Mwamba The boat was rocking violently from left right to right. I couldn't see land at the horizon from where we were coming from or where we were going. The shade covering the boat was of no use. We were all soaked to the bone, and were gripped by the cold as the wind whipped Lake became increasingly violent and raging. We clutched fiercely at the edges of the boat. The heavy down pour of rain hitting the surface of the waters, the constant lightening brightening the sky and the frequent clap of thunder was truly terrifying. I began to pray silently. "Lord I pray You calm the storms for we must reach over there". And suddenly the harbor at Nsombo appeared. We had arrived. The cockswine switched off the boat engine as we glided towards the make-shift harbour. The rain and storm suddenly stopped. We were travelling over the expanse of water from Chilubi Island to Nsombo in Luwingu district, 38km across Lake Bangweulu. Bangweulu — 'where the water meets the sky' — is one of the world's great wetland systems, comprising Lake Bangweulu, the Bangweulu Swamps and the Bangweulu floodplains. Earlier we were warned by the Chilubi District officials, that because of the storms that develop in the afternoons and evenings it's not advisable to travel during that time. "And sir especially with the decision you have just made!" He warned with ominous apprehension. He was refering to a longstanding pending decision where to locate the new Chilubi District Hospital. The matter had been pending for two years and also delayed the beginning of the construction. Officials on the island, led by the member of parliament wanted the Hospital to be at the Boma. But the area already had a hospital -Santa Maria Mission Hospital, run by the Catholic Church. We had just upgraded the hospital with a theater and installed a mortuary. Yet the largest densely populated area on the main land, which had a population of about 65,000 had no hospital. At that moment, the people on the main-land were forced to travel to Santa Maria Mission Hospital by boat to the island or to St Margarets Hospital in Kasaba or Lubwe Mission Hospital in Chifunabuli, or go to Lubwa Mission Hospital in Chinsali District. So the provincial medical officer and a team from Lusaka had sought to see if I could help resolve the impasse. "It is difficult for pregnant women." Said the Provincial Medical Officer. "We lose pregnant mothers or their infants because of the long distances." She said "The area MP, who is leading this process has insisted that the hospital was a government hospital (unlike the Santa Maria Mission which was catholic church owned)." "and like every district hospital, he has demanded that it should be at the Boma." "The other contention is that the mainland doesn't have power. We have been told that it requires a very expensive marine (underwater )power cable." the official from Lusaka submitted. "If government accepted this decision, it would mean that the area will have two hospitals in a radius of 5km," the provincial medical officer said with exasperation. "Absurd!" Was my answer. "ZESCO or Rural Electrification Authority (REA) will get the power cable. It would be an opportunity for the main-land with such a population to have electricity" I said. I immediately said we should travel to Chilubi District and help make the decision. To get to Chilubi, we had to travel by road from Kasama to Luwingu district, catch a boat at Nsombo and travel the 38km stretch by boat on Lake Bangweulu. We travelled well. On the island that serves as the Boma(district administrative centre), I toured Santa Maria Mission Hospital, spoke to the staff and the priests running it. We addressed the district and municipal council leadership, councillors and workers. The meeting dragged on because of demands from the council workers who wanted firm assurances from me that they would be paid their salaries and arrears as they had gone for over two years without pay. After speaking to the development plans government intended to carry out for the area, I made the announcement. "We have listened to your proposals and we have listened to our own medical and planning experts at the Province and from Lusaka. I have come to an inescapable conclusion that we will build Chilubi District Hospital in Chaba area which is 28kms from here". "Chilubi District has 22 Wards; the area with 8 wards has a population of about 25,000 and is already being serviced by Santa Maria Mission Hospital here" I said. "The new hospital to be based at Chaba, will serve 13 wards from the mainland with a population of over 65,000". I said stressing the importance of a larger population living on the main-land. The Ward Councillors from the mainland area burst into applause while the rest of the meeting was dead quiet. One of the Councillors from Chaba area later commended our action and gave a vote of thanks. Later the chiefs from this area called us and commended our fearless action. After a late sumptuous lunch served with tasty fresh fish from Lake Bangweulu, I announced our departure. The district commissioner brought an answered phone: " Sir this is for you. It is the honourable member of parliament". MPs spend considerable amount of time in Lusaka as Parliament sits for about 8months in a year. Our table went silent. I looked up and took the phone and walked outside not only for privacy but to catch a good network. After the brief call, I came back. The islanders told us about not travelling late in the afternoon or evening as the lake is known to be windy and tumultuous. But I insisted that we travel as I had engagement in Lusaka the day after . One of the senior officials called me aside and asked me about the phone call and explained what I wasn't being told. "Sir, everyone is happy with your decision. But the area member of parliament here is feared. He is also strong" He explained without going into details. "Sir I am not scaring you but it is the reason everyone has feared to oppose him even when he has proposed that the new District Hospital be located just behind his house." He said fearfully. "He even bulldozed the Council to ratify the location of the hospital. It's now a Council resolution". "Unthinkable!" I said. Making decisions in these areas is a delicate matter as you have to desist from imposing a decision while balancing community interests but without injuring egos of those that wield local influence. But this was an extreme case requiring authoritative rational approach. I remember a similar matter where I suspended a District Education Board Secretary(DEBS) in Kaputa District for mass embezzlement of funds. Kaputa district lies on the border with DRC and is almost 1,500Km away from Lusaka. After Iearning of the allegations, I commissioned an Audit to enquire into the books of his office. When the Report was ready, it was damning and revealing. The Audit Report established that the DEBS had embezzled over K1m. Sadly the money his office misappropriated and pretended to spend on bogus workshops, allowances and trips to Lusaka, was meant to upgrade thatched schools(called mud-and-pole schools). During the same period, the construction of his private Lodge in Kasama was rapidly completed. What was painful was that these schools were a mark of shame on our collective conscious, because 50 years after independence, no child should sit in such a mud-and-pole thatched classroom. Government had responded to this historical crisis and was upgrading about 220 of such primary schools across the country. Kaputa District was the worst affected, yet it's an area where this officer had stolen the money. I was troubled at the shameless, blatant and immoral theft of such funds. I directed that the officer be suspended... but for two weeks , no one from his Ministry in Kasama or Lusaka, could suspend him despite the irrefutable evidence of wide scale theft and embezzlement unearthed by the Audit. I later learnt that the officer was highly feared for his alleged connections to senior authorities and for other undisclosed reasons. When I heard the story, I proceeded to write the letter of suspension myself, and directed that he vacates the office in Kaputa immediately. I also reported the matter to the Police giving them a copy of our Audit. I further released a media statement to that effect. But that's a story for another day. Back to our story. After the stormy travel from Chilubi to Nsombo in Luwingu that saw us clutching for dear life, we went to stay for the night at a catholic mission church. Since time immemorial, in rural areas, the catholic church usually have decent lodging facilities for their travelling priests or missionaries. "Sir we could have all died on the water" an officer broke the silence as we laughed about the fear that had gripped all of us. "Sir you received a phone call while we were in Chilubi, what did the MP say?" He asked. I had not shared with anyone about the call. "He threatened me with dismissal and warned me that I would die shortly " I chuckled. But my delegation didn't take this matter as a joke and they knew the inherent meaning of those threats. "Sir we all could have died on the lake"! We laughed about the fear of superstitions in rural areas. Back at the provincial capital, the Chilubi MP called me again and ordered me to renounce my decision to relocate the hospital from the Boma to Chaba area. He also repeated his threats if I didn't. I said; "Hon. MP, we have made the decision for the people of Chilubi. We will ensure that the decision stands" I said emphatically. I was later shocked to hear at the Lunch hour news that the Minister of Health had renounced our decision. The news item further stated that the hospital would be based at the Boma, (which was 5km from Santa Maria Mission hospital). The Church knew the struggle of the island. It had been running Santa Maria Mission Hospital for many decades. The Archbishop based in Kasama called me and gave me words of encouragement. He said the church in the province will issue a solidarity statement with our earlier decision. He immediately issued a strong statement on behalf of the Church, supporting our action and urging the Minister of Health to retract his statement. He called on the Minister to instead support the decision that the province had made as it would benefit the largest number of people in Chilubi District. Another clergy, who hails from Chilubi district but is based in Lusaka went to the media and supported the decision for the new hospital to be based in Chaba area. He said we could not deprive a population of about 65,000 because of an unreasonable local decision. The unfolding drama of Chilubi District Hospital had dominated the media in Kasama and Lusaka for the last two days. In the evenings, I received a call from a familiar voice. "Mwamba, let us meet in my office tomorrow". It was the President. Being summoned at short notice and trekking for 900km to Lusaka in the night had become familiar for me. In the morning I went to State House. I waited to see the Head of State. I was not surprised when the Minister of Health joined us. I now knew for certain, that the subject would be about the Chilubi District Hospital. The meeting with the President was brief; "The hospital should be located in the area and population which much needs it" he said. "You and I know that area very well." The President said, addressing the Minister. "The island has Santa Maria Hospital, let us take the district hospital to the mainland" the President said. The long drive from Kasama was worth it. Later in the day, I and another colleague went to Parliament to meet the MPs from the Province. I had developed a habit when Parliament was in Session, to brief them about the progress on projects in the Province. But that's the story for another day. Construction of Chilubi District Hospital started shortly after that. My heart was warmed when the District hospital was opened four years later, in the location fit-for-purpose. Read the full article

#Chilubi

[itsnelkabelka]

Speech: Research and innovation: How intellectual property supports global progress

Thank you for the introduction. Mayor Ying, Minister Miao, Vice Chairman Lin, Chairman Lu, ladies and gentlemen. Good afternoon and thank you for inviting me to join you today at this Innovation and Emerging Industries Development Forum.

I am especially pleased to be attending this event alongside the China International Industry Fair. I had the honour yesterday of accompanying Minister Miao on a tour of the Fair over in Hongqiao. The range of exhibitors from China and overseas was impressive.

And of course, I was proud to see the UK’s Country-of-Honour Pavilion showcasing the best of British technology.

The branding of the UK Pavilion includes images from the global campaign GREAT for Imagination. This campaign marks 400 years since UK patent number 1, which was granted in 1617, and designated the patent number “GB1” when the UK Patent Office was founded in 1852.

The GREAT for Imagination campaign celebrates the long history of scientific inventions leading to industrial and consumer products that have had a profound impact on people’s lives. This is what I would like to speak about today.

UK research & innovation

We like innovation in the UK.

We are home to less than 1% of the world’s population, but the UK punches above its weight in science and technology.

The UK is home to 3 of the world’s top 10 universities – Oxford, Cambridge and Imperial College London – and more than 30 of the top 200. These universities are equipped with first class facilities and talent from around the world, producing top quality research.

A report published last month by the UK Department for Business, Energy and Industrial Strategy, and Elsevier showed that the UK accounts for:

9.9% of downloaded academic articles;

10.7% of citations; and

15.2% of the world’s most highly-cited articles.

The report notes that the UK has a broad and diverse research base, and relative to its comparator countries the UK continues to rank number one in Field-Weighted Citation Impact, a measure of the influence of scientific research.

As well as excellence in curiosity-driven science, the UK also has a wide range of policies and funding initiatives to support commercialisation of the research base.

For example, the government provides funding for projects that link universities and research institutes with businesses and entrepreneurs. And many local governments across the UK are undergoing Science & Innovation Audits, which seek to deepen relationships between universities and their wider communities.

Given the important role of IP in research and innovation, the Intellectual Property Office is also playing its part to support commercialisation of the research base:

Last year we updated the Lambert Toolkit, a set of practical resources to support IP management in university-industry collaborations. The Lambert Toolkit includes a set of model contracts and consortia agreements, and a model Heads-of-Terms.

We offer an “IP Asset Management Guide for Universities” to help senior university managers set strategies to make the most of the IP created by their staff and students; and we recently launched “IP for Research”, which helps PhD students and early career researchers understand how to commercialise technology.

The IPO is currently running a public consultation on collaborative innovation and licensing of IP rights. This consultation looks at areas such as IP trading platforms, IP-backed finance and IP valuation, all of which are being studied here in China as well.

All these initiatives by the IPO and others are in line with the commitment from our minister Jo Johnson to put science and innovation at the heart of our industrial strategy.

International research and innovation collaboration

As an open country at the centre of world and European research for centuries, the UK has a long history of collaboration with international partners. We strongly believe that global cooperation in research and innovation is a really good thing.

51% of all UK research publications in 2017 were co-authored, which helps explain the global impact of UK science. The UK is a global hub for research and innovation.

All other things being equal, research produced by authors of different nationalities produces higher citation rates. Cross-border licensing of technology creates new revenue flows, and spreads cutting-edge technology to markets and research communities around the world.

This shows how important it is to resist nationalistic science and innovation policies. Technology is not a zero-sum game, where one country’s strength is another country’s weakness.

Flourishing UK-China science and innovation collaboration is a good example of this. The UK places great value on the strength of our partnership with China, and research and innovation collaboration between our two countries is a cornerstone of our relationship:

This year Research Councils UK celebrated 10 years in China, over which period they have invested over £230million in joint research in more than 150 projects;

The UK-China Research and Innovation Partnership Fund, also known as the Newton Fund, has funded over 450 joint projects in fields such as antimicrobial resistance, atmospheric pollution and human health, and remote-sensing for agriculture; and

Last year Innovate UK and the Chinese Ministry of Science and Technology jointly invested £21m in 15 research and development projects, including Innovate UK’s largest ever international R&D competition. This year Innovate UK is has launched joint calls with Shanghai, Jiangsu and Guangdong provinces on smart cities, infrastructure systems and urban innovation.

And of course, the UK-China success story in science and innovation is not only about government-backed projects. Here in East China:

Edinburgh University recently completed an Innovation Week in partnership with COMAC and Shanghai Jiaotong University; and

Nobel Prize winner Sir Kostya Novodelov of the University of Manchester spends two months per year supervising research collaborations in Nanjing.

IP in research and innovation

Technology is intellectual property. The process of creating and commercialising IP enriches our society and drives economic growth.

It is the responsibility of IP policymakers such as myself to maintain accessible and non-discriminatory IP system. An effective IP system should encourage investment in research and innovation, and ensure that the results of that investment are used and protected.

And given the enhanced benefit of cross-border science and innovation collaboration, it is important that an IP system facilitates - rather than frustrates - international projects.

Researchers and companies involved in cross-border collaboration should be allowed to freely negotiate IP arrangements that suit their projects, including ownership of IP generated by joint research.

And the commercialisation of jointly developed technology should be transparent, enabling all contributing parties to benefit, wherever that use occurs.

This is genuine win-win cooperation.

UK-China intellectual property cooperation

The UK and China have a broad and deep cooperation on intellectual property. This year:

Patent examiners from the UK IPO visited China for exchanges with Chinese counterparts, including hosting a seminar on accelerated patent examination;

Mr Justice Carr, one of our leading IP judges, visited Beijing to meet with members of China’s judiciary;

We hosted the 2017 UK-China IP Symposium in London; and

Vice-Minister Zhou Huilin of the National Copyright Administration of China visited me in London to discuss copyright enforcement and legislative developments in our two countries.

This week I will also visit Hangzhou and Beijing, including to meet with my counterparts in China’s IP agencies. Our discussions will cover how to provide the best possible service to users of the IP systems in both our countries.

This builds on initiatives such as the UK-China pilot Patent Prosecution Highway - or PPH - which was extended last summer. PPHs enable faster patent protection for users filing corresponding applications in both countries. I know that schemes such this are especially welcomed by Chinese institutions and businesses that are building IP international portfolios.

And of course I am also using my visit to China to support UK-China research and innovation collaboration.

Today I am happy to announce the publication of a new template Non-Disclosure Agreement for use in negotiations between British and Chinese partners as they develop a joint research bid or a technology licensing deal. The NDA will help provide legal certainty so partners can engage with confidence.

The NDA is drafted in both English and Chinese, and is mutual, meaning it provides equal protection to all parties, whether from the UK or China.

This is part of a set of practical resources and advice we provide to British and Chinese researchers to help them effectively manage IP in cross-border projects.

Closing

Distinguished guests, in both the UK and China, scientific research and innovation are important drivers of economic growth. New technologies enrich our societies and improve our quality of living.

The evidence shows that these benefits are maximised by open and mutually-beneficial international collaboration.

Barriers to genuine win-win cooperation should be overcome and removed, including:

Nationalistic, zero-sum policy narratives; and

Restrictions on the flexibility of research institutions to fully benefit from the global commercialisation of the IP they help create.

The UK IPO shall continue to promote a domestic and international IP system that facilitates investment in research and innovation, and responds to the needs of it users around the world.

Thank you for listening. I wish you a successful forum, and I look forward to further presentations throughout the afternoon.

Thank you.

from Announcements on GOV.UK http://ift.tt/2how0R7 via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Announcements on GOV.UK

[bipolar32-blog1]

Nocturne Bistro

CHAPTER 1 BEGINNINGS As we begin our journey into a mans mindset we have to ask “where did all this come from?” Arden a typical white male born into a home of work, pride and obedience. Didn’t favor any unique traits that made him stand out artistically or beam of a genius stature. Odd quirky unsure riddle by the demands and fear that most of us fight through and talk about. His life was founded on imagination, animal friends and visions of grandeur. Often escaping substance abuse of those he admired, creating his friends mainly cats and dogs into short versions of half truths to make life more manageable to get through his harsh childhood settings. I didn’t know Arden well but only discovered his writings years after his death. So many times he seemed sad, obsessed with a fear of loneliness, but in the end completely isolating himself from family and friends. I imagine him feverishly typing away hoping to pour out the emotions he felt, as describing it to others was not what he did. We move into one of his fantasy's his cryptic joys. I didn’t know a person whom seemed so straight laced. “ a do it yourself” man, could write with such emotion, such detail and it amazed me his words were almost lyrical, as if he had decided to write words to a classical scores. ARDEN approached THE ARTS BUILDING bracing himself for the heaviest of doors. Symbolically he knew this is what weighed in his self conscious. Giving him no break from his own self loathing. “OPENING OF THE DOORS WAS ONE OF THE MOST HERCULEAN FEATS OF STRENGTH EVER EXHIBITED BY ANY MAN.” he thought to himself, trying to grip a confidence boost. THE interior of the CAVERNOUS LOBBY OF THE ARTS BUILDING WAS AS DARK AND FOREBODING just as if it had been plucked from A SCENE FROM A BORIS KARLOFF MOVIE. Deeply strung out on his roller-coaster of emotions. He then spoke in a whisper to himself: “NO LIFE OF ANY KIND WAS EVIDENT AND AS I WANDER FARTHER FROM THE SAFE HAVEN OF my BRIGHT SUN LIGHT STREET, INTO This unknown GLOOM” He paused and began to breath slower, his heart which had so inappropriately been in his head knocking began to make its way back down to his chest. HE BEGAN TO HEAR MUSIC FROM TWO VERY DIFFERENT SOURCES; he again said in a whisper to himself “SWAN LAKE AND A MOZART CONCERTO?” “ How Curious” easement of music has always been Ardens Muse. ARDEN KNEW FIRST IMPRESSIONS IN THE MUSIC WORLD WERE AS IMPORTANT AS HOW WELL YOU PLAY AND SINCE HE WAS FORTY FIVE MINUTES EARLY FOR HIS AUDITION, TIME WAS NOT PUSHING HIM TO JUST HURRY INTO JUST ANY ARENA. HE DIDN'T LIKE BEING TO BOLD AND ESPECIALLY DIDN'T LIKE TO GAMBLE ON LOOKING STUPID BY BARGING INTO JUST ANY PLACE. HE DECIDED TO JUST PEAK INTO THE AUDITORIUM WHERE SWAN LAKE WAS THE THEME AND BESIDES ARDEN WONDERED WHY IT WAS CAUSING HIM TO TINGLE ALL OVER. “SWAN LAKE HAD NEVER HAD this MUCH AFFECT ON me BEFORE? Again Curious?” ARDEN OPENED THE MASSIVE OAK DOOR WHICH SHIELDED THE WORLD OF THE ARTS FROM THE COMMON PLACE. HIS EYES TOOK THEIR JOLLY TIME IN ADJUSTING TO THE EVEN DIMMER LIGHT OF THIS INNER SANCTUM OF THE ARTS. THE SWAN LAKE MUSIC WAS JUST ABOUT TO END AND ALL THAT GREETED ARDEN WAS THE DIM LIGHT OF A COUPLE OF STAGE LAMPS. THEIR LIGHT BARELY BROKE THE GLOOM OF THE AUDITORIUM. ARDEN KNEW WELL THIS WAS NOT THE PLACE OF HIS INQUISITION; BUT, PERHAPS IF HE WENT IN AND SAT DOWN FOR A FEW MINUTES, MAYBE HIS TERROR WOULD SUBSIDE. HE SEATED HIMSELF IN THE LAST ROW OF THE ANCIENT AUDITORIUM AND CAUSED HIS MIND TO RETREAT INTO A PRIVATE PLACE WITHIN HIMSELF. ARDEN WAS SCARCELY AWARE OF THE MUSIC STOPPING, ALTHOUGH HE WAS TOTALLY AWARE OF THE SLIGHT, GRACEFUL FIGURE WHICH JUST MAGICALLY SEEMED TO APPEAR IN THE CENTER OF THE STAGE. SHE WAS DRESSED IN A WHITE GARMENT WITH A GOSSAMER CAPE, AND AS SHE DANCED, HER CAPE LOOKED FOR ALL THE WORLD LIKE A PUFF OF SMOKE GENTLY CURLING AND EVER CHANGING IN STILL AIR. HER MOVEMENTS WERE SO SLOW AND GRACEFUL HE DID NOT KNOW WHAT KEPT HER FROM COLLAPSING INTO A PILE OF ARMS AND LEGS AND CLOTH. ARDEN HAD NEVER SEEN A DANCER, A WOMAN WHO WAS, AS ARDEN THOUGHT, THE PERSONIFICATION OF ALL THAT SHOULD BE "THE DANCE". SHE WAS BEAUTIFUL BEYOND BELIEF! SHE WAS FIRE, SHE WAS MUSIC, SHE WAS WIND, SHE WAS AN ENCHANTED BEING; SENT TO EARTH TO SHOW MORTALS, A GLIMPSE OF HEAVEN. THERE WAS NO MUSIC EXCEPT THE MUSIC WHICH ARDEN HEARD FROM WITH IN; AND AS THIS MUSIC CURLED AND SWIRLED AROUND AND ABOUT HER, SHE BECAME EVEN MORE OF A SPIRIT. ARDEN COULD NOT RESIST THE OVER POWERING NEED TO PLAY FOR THIS MAGIC SPRITE. A PAN FLUTE, A MOST MAGICAL INSTRUMENT HAD WARMEDARDEN'S HAND AND HEART SINCE HE FIRST FELT THE NEED TO PLAY. HIS VIOLIN WAS HIS LIFE MASTER, HIS HAMMER AND NAILS, HIS SHOVEL; THE TOOL HE THOUGHT HE WOULD USE TO BUILD HIS FUTURE AND SHAPE HIS DESTINY. THE TINY PAN FLUTE WAS HIS FRIEND, ALWAYS WITH HIM, ALWAYS READY TO TALK TO HIS MIND, IN TIMES OF STRESS, IN TIMES OF HAPPINESS, WHEN HE WAS LONELY, OR JUST FOR FUN AND GAMES. THIS TINY INSTRUMENT TALKED WITH THE VOICE OF A MEADOWLARK, A WARBLER, A NIGHTINGALE OR THE RAUCOUS VOICE OF THE MAGPIE BIRD. LOWLY AND SLOWLY ARDEN BEGAN TO PLAY THE MUSIC HE FELT CAME FROM SOMEWHERE MYSTICAL AND NOT FROM HIM. Deeming himself ONLY THE MEANS THROUGH WHICH THE GODS OF DANCE FAVORED THIS SPRITE WITH THEIR COMPOSITION. HIS SOUL WAS ON FIRE AND THE MUSIC OF THE MUSE, THOSE MAGIC SOUNDS, POURED FROM THE LITTLE PAN FLUTE AND SURROUNDED THISMOST BEAUTIFUL OF ETHEREAL BEINGS. Craving a genuine reaction, that the sprite might engage him with the slightest of eye contact. But alas the sprite was not moved by this strange man playing for her, but merely tones oscillating through the piece of metal in his now UN shaken hands. THE MUSIC SEEMED TO ANTICIPATE THE SPRITE'S EVERY MOVE, TO DRAW THE DANCE TO THE NEXT FLUID UNREAL MOTION; UNREAL BECAUSE IT WOULD BE IMPOSSIBLE FOR A MORTAL TO DUPLICATE. THE TINY VOICE OF THE PAN FLUTE SEEMED TO SWELL UNTIL IT FILLED THE ENTIRE AUDITORIUM. THE SPRITE DANCED ON----ARDEN KNEW WHEN SHE FIRST FELT THE MUSIC BY A SLIGHT HESITATION AND A BARELY VISIBLE SHUDDER. THE PAN FLUTE'S VOICE TOLD THE SPRITE-----"COME DANCE FOR ME----DANCE FOR LIFE----DANCE FOR LOVE! ". I m going to pause there, I would guess at this point the recording of swan lake would have ended and he maybe would of sought out dinner. You see Arden was in fact punctual he at his longest relationship (wife) ran a tight ship. Certain things at his 30's and 40's had been in his control. I cant imagine even after all that fell apart he would had changed. The story I was told at about this point of his life is he went out to eat alone as he so often did, dressed in all black, he never really strayed from black turtle necks and suspenders. He choose a Italian restaurant, he entered the family full eatery . the owner or assumed manager said “ Father thank you for coming to our little establishment. Arden... confused proceeded forward. “this way sir we will sit you here and dinner is on us!” They thought Arden was a priest. Not one to stray from fantasy. He played along. People greeted him smiled it was like he wasn’t alone. I guess if you look alone and wear a certain color people assume you have dedicated your life to a higher purpose. Arden finished up dinner and went on his way. Back to little world of love and music: SPRITE DID NOT KNOW WHEN THE MUSIC STARTED, SHE ONLY KNEW SHE WAS DANCING AS SHE HAD NEVER DANCED BEFORE. SHE MOVED TO A MUSIC WHICH VOIDED ALL THE LAWS OF THE PHYSICAL UNIVERSE AND SHE ALONE HAD THE ABILITY TO PERFORM THE DANCE CHOREOGRAPHED BY THE GODS; THE MUSIC WAS THEIR MESSAGE. Their message was now received and shared to the old auditorium. It seems as though the stage hands had grabbed and turned on every light in the house setting a scene of interstellar proportions “ New Stars were born and bright”. AN IMMENSE JOY WAS IN HER, AT THIS KNOWLEDGE; IT SWELLED HER AND MADE HER ANSWER THE CALLS FOR DANCE STEPS SHE ALONE COULD NOT EVER HOPE TO PERFORM. SPRITE WAS TIRING ---- her reality setting back in to sight,SHE NEEDED TO KNOW THE SOURCE OF THE MUSIC, SHE HAD A GREAT NEED TO SEE AND TOUCH AND TALK TO THE BEING RESPONSIBLE FOR DELIVERING THE MESSAGES FROM THE GODS. SHE SHUDDERED WITH THE TRULY aroused SENSE SHE HAD BEEN touched BY THE GODS; AND AS SPrITE SLOWED --- SHE AT ONCE HEARD FROM THE SOURCE OF THE MUSIC "PLEASE DON''T STOP---PLEASE DANCE FOR ME" I am here merly to accompany the beauty you have so graciously set forth. SPRITE DANCED ON AND AS SHE TIRED again, SHE BECAME AWARE THE MESSENGER HAD CEASED TO PLAY AND SPRITE WANTED FOR ALL THE WORLD TO SEE THE MESSENGER AND TOUCH HIM AND THANK HIM. SPRITE CALLED OUT: "SIR---KIND SIR, PLEASE---" SPRITE WAS NOW AT THE REAR OF THE DARKENED AUDITORIUM, THERE WAS NO ONE THERE, AND SPRITE WAS SURE THE MAN HAD DELIVERED A MESSAGE FROM THE GODS FOR HER ALONE, SHE FELT PLEASURE DEEP WITHIN HERSELF AND SHE PROMISED THEN, AT THAT MOMENT, TO BE WORTHY OF THE GREAT GIFT WHICH HAD BEEN BESTOWED ON HER! SPRITE WAS SO FULL OF JOY SHE FELT SHE WOULD BURST!

[paulflynnunrevised]

Has top Mandarin seen 'I Daniel Blake'?

      Select Committee with top Civil Servant in charge of Social Security?

  Paul Flynn: Mr Devereux, have you seen the film, “I, Daniel Blake”?

Sir Robert Devereux: I have not.

Q280 Paul Flynn: Don’t you think you should?

Sir Robert Devereux: I am in two minds about whether I should.

Paul Flynn: As just an average MP, I thought it gave an accurate portrayal of the good work of civil servants, the ones who are kind and conscientious, but also the other side, the results of what happens with policy. It portrayed what all MPs, I believe, see in our daily surgeries, the suffering and tragedy that result from the decisions made by your Department. I think you would find it educational to see the film.

Sir Robert Devereux: I spend two days a week on the road, sitting with colleagues, sitting with claimants, listening to telephones. With the greatest of respect, a fictional story is unlikely to improve on my knowledge of how the system operates.

Q281 Paul Flynn: I think you would find it of rare quality and it gives a different point of view, but I would urge you to see it. It is worth an hour of your time.

 Sir Robert Devereux: I have colleagues who have seen it and they have the same view, that the way in which some of the work coaches come across is entirely as they would expect and the portrayal of the Jobcentre manager—I have not met one who remotely gets anywhere close to it.

Paul Flynn: It is an entirely accurate report

Sir Robert Devereux: So you say, but I have visited many more Jobcentres than I suspect you or the filmmaker have and since I have pride in the colleagues I work with, I know something about what they actually do. I will just choose to differ on whether or not this is an entirely accurate representation. It is a film.

Q282 Paul Flynn: I spoke to the man who made the film and he did say that much of the information in the film was supplied by people who work in your Department.

Sir Robert Devereux: Yes, he may well have said that. I have 75,000 staff so maybe a little bit of local knowledge might be allowed to be introduced to the conversation.

Q283 Paul Flynn: In December 2013, there was a damning report by the National Audit Office. They found that universal credit had failed to deliver value for money. Huge mistakes were made. Some obvious ones were £40 million on an IT project that has already been written off. There was £90 million spent on the computer, the software that the Department had known would be defunct in a very short period. The National Audit Office report of September 2013 concluded, “the Department’s ability to deal with weak programme management, over-optimistic timescales, and a lack of openness about progress”. Despite this I understood you were responsible for a string of overspending on these matters, but you appear to have accepted a £20,000 bonus that year that brought your salary up to £195,000. Is that a reward for failure?

Chair: This might be what you mean by exposure of Permanent Secretaries.

 Sir Robert Devereux: Yes. I am now trying to think: the year in which that report was made, I did not get a bonus.

Q284 Paul Flynn: When did you get the £20,000?

Sir Robert Devereux: I think it was for the year that ended 2011.

Q285 Paul Flynn: What did you do in that year?

Sir Robert Devereux: I gave it away to charity. I think I gave the bonus in question to the charity for civil servants.

Paul Flynn: Okay. Highly commendable, I am sure, and absolutely right. But you still had the bonus—

Sir Robert Devereux: The bonuses are determined by the Cabinet Secretary in consultation with the Prime Minister. I do not judge whether I deserve a bonus, other people do that, and it was not in respect of the year in which you just quoted.

Q286 Paul Flynn: This is a long record of what appears to be abject, monumental failures, cock-ups. Who was responsible?

Sir Robert Devereux: You will be surprised that I do not agree with that. As things currently stand, I am running a Department that has 50,000 fewer staff than it had when I started. It costs £2.8 billion a year less to run. The performance levels in virtually every element of my business are better. I have transformed the contracts of 60,000 people. Your list of things is to do with a major programme, which we have been discussing with the Chair. These programmes are complicated. I don’t think there is a single major programme in Government that has not at some time found itself in some difficulty. I have tried to explain why that is but I simply will not sit here and believe that the entire thing is a shambles. If that were the case, I would not still be here, sir.

 Q287 Paul Flynn: You will be familiar with the characterisation of the civil servant, the overriding ethos of the unimportance of being right. Those who kowtow to Ministers and say, “Yes, sir, no, sir, three bags full, sir. Would you like to walk over me, Mr Minister?” are the ones whose careers flourish and the ones who speak truth to power are the ones whose careers do not flourish. Is that true?

Sir Robert Devereux: Sir, I am trying to recognise that—

Paul Flynn: If we look at what Sir Jeremy Heywood was reported to have said, in your favour, he is supposed to have informed the Prime Minister in 2013 that he was concerned about the concerted political briefing campaign against you and all the failures in the Government’s universal credit programme. He is understood to have made clear that he did not believe Devereux should be singled out for blame for the project and that responsibility also lay with Iain Duncan Smith, the Work and Pensions Secretary. Is that true?

Sir Robert Devereux: It is true that he said those things, I guess.

Paul Flynn: Yes, Jeremy Heywood?

Sir Robert Devereux: You are quoting what he said. I don’t have the source but if that’s what he said—

Q288 Paul Flynn: We have Lord Maude coming to see us. We are very familiar with him as a witness over the years during his period of office. According to The Independent newspaper, Francis Maude and Iain Duncan Smith tried to undermine you with a media smear campaign. It was suggested that you were responsible for the various failures of the Department. Is this right, that they were trying avoid their responsibilities?

Sir Robert Devereux: The Chair can decide how you would like me to answer this. We have gone to some trouble to explain that the essence of a good Permanent Secretary is the quality of the relationship, which basically is in private, with Ministers.

Chair: Mr Flynn, you were out of the room for some of this discourse, which you will have missed.

Sir Robert Devereux: As a consequence, I think it probably is not highly appropriate for me to comment on what it is that may or may not have been going on. The reality is that you can read some things in the newspapers; you can also see that universal credit is now rolling out. You can see that the Secretary of State at the time, Iain Duncan Smith, repeatedly says, “I now do it on the basis of test and learn and do it gradually” and the thing is now in a position where it is being successful.

Q289 Paul Flynn: The rollout of universal credit was foul-up after foul-up and the embarrassment of Iain Duncan Smith trying to apologise and wriggle out of any responsibilities at the despatch box. Who was responsible? We are going to talk to Francis Maude. Was it you? Was it the Ministers?

Sir Robert Devereux: I have tried to explain this and I will try once more. The Government of the day had a view that a certain way of doing this would be possible within a certain timescale. It is quite apparent that that timescale was not possible and the Secretary of State of the time is now repeatedly on record as saying that in his view the safe way to do this is to test and to learn and to make decisions as it goes along. That is the position the Secretary of State has had. The vision we were on to start with was all to do with dates and that things would be ready at a certain point.

Q290 Chair: How hard is it to create a learning environment if experimentation, iteration and reiteration are exposed to hostility every time a lesson needs to be learnt? How much more difficult is it to have the open conversations if the atmosphere is created that everything that does not go completely right is going to be jumped on from outside?

Sir Robert Devereux: The obvious answer to that is that it is very difficult to do. Part of what is going on here is that there is more than one actor in the story, as you have already quoted. You might want to wonder what was passing between them both in advance and in arrears. The thing that I think has landed with Ministers—it certainly was true for Iain Duncan Smith and it is certainly true for the Major Projects Authority—is if you try to do something big and complicated you do need to think about doing it in stages and to learn as you go. That is the way in which we have done the child maintenance reform, which, by the way, to come back to Mr Flynn, was commended by the National Audit Office. It is the way we did the automatic enrolment, which, by the way, Mr Flynn, was commended by the National Audit Office. It is the way in which we have done the changes to the personal independence payment. Time after time after time the evidence is that progressive and careful rollout and learning as you go beats announcing in advance a date by which everything will be finished. That is my big learning from the world of complex programmes and it is a lesson that, in my view, the system has learnt. I do believe the system has learnt that.

Q291 Paul Flynn: The next time I get a tragedy in my constituency or some humble person who is deeply insulted by the way they have been treated, I will send them a copy of the answers you have just given. Mr Wormald, your predecessor, Una O’Brien, said that the number one priority for the health service was getting the NH finances in better shape and doing so while protecting quality. She said that shifting care out of hospitals was a close second. How do you progress on what she said?

Chris Wormald: This is much debated in public right now.

Paul Flynn: Every day this week we are hearing of horror stories upon horror stories about the reality of the health service.

Chris Wormald: The BBC has decided to run an NHS week so, yes, there are stories every day. There will, of course, be challenges out there. I am sure every single person sees that in their own constituencies. We have had a range of performance challenges in the system over the last few weeks. The NHS has been responding to those challenges. NHS England and NHS Improvement have been doing a considerable amount of work with individual hospitals and others, but I do not downplay at all that there are challenges out there in the system. In terms of what Una said, that is pretty spot on.

Q292 Paul Flynn: We do not need a “Yes, Prime Minister” programme. You have just answered me; you used the word “challenges” four times in your brief answer, which is a model of non-speak. If I could give that to someone who is suffering the great indignity of not having comfort, not having anyone to look after them, they spend six months in conditions of squalor and fear, if we send them a copy of your answer about the challenges you face—don’t you see that what the “Today” programme and others are putting out now is a picture of awful failure? Terrible failures are taking place in the lives of tens of thousands of other people.

Chris Wormald: No, I do not agree with that. In the vast majority of cases, the National Health Service does a brilliant job in treating and looking after patients. I am sure you have met hundreds of people from the NHS who do not act in the way you have described. Do some things go wrong occasionally? Yes, quite clearly. Government’s response has had a focus on quality in the NHS, including introducing proper inspections that no previous Government has had. I mean challenges because I mean challenges. I do not think anyone would deny that the health service faces a series of challenges, as does every other western health service at the moment. I do not agree with the picture you have painted, although of course there are individual things that go wrong and those need to be dealt with properly.

Paul Flynn: I think I am one of the two members of this Committee who can remember as a 12 year-old life before there was a health service. I am a great enthusiast. It is the greatest political decision and progress that has ever been made, but when you look at it and the evidence that it is starved of money, that it does not have enough, are you going to burble on about challenges with the platitudes that you have insulted this Committee with, with your answer? Are you going to say to your Minister, “Let’s have some more money”?

Chair: Order, I do not think this Committee feels insulted. You may feel insulted but I do not think the Committee does.

Paul Flynn: It was a terrible answer.

  automatically copied from Paul Flynn - Read My Day http://ift.tt/2l4FrVD (hopefully before Mr Flynn has revised it).

#imports