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Here I am again … some people would say I'm addicted … So. Here we go:
The characters do resemble a couple of ladies from a very well known TV show, BUT they are all mine … eventually. I would like to take this opportunity to thank all of those fantastic writers out there who have filled my head with images, stories and fantastic plots for so long. I just hope you get a millionth of the joy I have received from them from reading my story. I would also like to thank all of the people who have supported me with their kind words of encouragement.
Thank you to my beta readers who were fantastic at spotting my many mistakes. Dec and Heike … you are stars.
Language: English! Definitely in the broadest sense! Be prepared for some good old-fashioned 'effing' and 'jeffing'. My characters are the ones to blame … they should have their mouths rinsed out with soap and water.
Violence: A little … that sometimes can get uncomfortable. Especially for the people involved … tee hee hee.
Sex: Erm … cough … yes. It can get a little steamy at times, so if you are under the legal age to read such 'filth', or live in a place where this is illegal … I'm sorry (honestly … look at my face – I'm wracked with sorrow). All you have to do is wait until you are a little older. You could even move. Or both, if the mood takes you.
This story is set in Manchester and Norwich … not at the same time though. If you find any spelling mistakes please put it down to one of three things. Firstly, I'm English. Secondly, I can't spell. Thirdly, I'm just too lazy. And for crying out loud, don't check my grammar!
Please let me know what you think about this story … try not to be too harsh, as I am really sensitive and will probably cry for weeks … months … are we talking years here?
Acknowledgements:I have quoted from various texts, especially poetry, and songs throughout this piece. All music quoted has been used without the permission of the artist. This is not an attempt at plagiarism: just a tribute to their great words.
I could tell you what has happened. But for you to understand, I need to take you back … right back. To 1974.
When people talk about the 70s, they will fill your head with free love, drugs and rock and roll. Actually, that sounds pretty good, especially the free love part.
But what I'm going to tell you is initially from the eyes of a six year old – me, funnily enough. I know you want to put this down, but bear with me. We all like to peek into someone else's life – however boring it may be.
So. Let's find our setting.
Are you sitting comfortably?
Then I'll begin …
Chapter One
Summer – 1974. Hot, sticky and filled with promise. Days filled with nothing but what my imagination could conjure up – and that could be pretty frightening. Streets were packed with children on school holidays, playing 'tiggy-it' and kerby, and avoiding cars as they raced to retrieve an errant ball. Space hoppers were the new black.
I was six years old. It was Levenshulme. Once an affluent part of Manchester, but now filled with students and ethnic minorities. Old radios blasted 'Shang a Lang' and 'Puppy Love' into the street. Mothers bawled at kids climbing the fence to the railway tracks where they would flatten pennies, completely unaware that they could be flattened too.
I loved my childhood. Loved it in a fucked up way. We were poor – dirt poor. I came from a family of five brothers and two sisters, all older than me, and all avoided me like the plague. Except Jo of course. She was sixteen months older than me, and my idol. Her role on this earth was to be my surrogate mother, and to this day she still holds that place. We were like Siamese twins, but without the shared organs. Even our farts smelt the same. Uncanny or what? But Jo still brags that hers don't smell (they always did, but I tried to ignore it and closed my mouth sharpish). We looked completely different, but relatives still confused us, and my mother had to resort to colour coding to differentiate. Of course we mixed and matched outfits just to be little bleeders, and Jo hid her pink-rimmed National Health glasses at family gatherings as the final straw.
Kids. Gotta love 'em.
Well … I have told you this much, I might as well introduce the other spawns in my family. Five brothers … urgh! Every girl's nightmare, and if you met them you would understand why. Patrick, aka Sniffer (which characterises his approach to the opposite sex), is the eldest son. Simon, who is fondly known as Ebenezer (need I say more?), is the second eldest. Brian was the third, and in the words of my mum, 'is such a bloody liar'. He was the one where the doctors after the birth, advised my mother to use birth control in the future.
No such luck. Aiden popped out, much to the disdain of my mother, who initially disowned him. Pity she didn't stick to her guns. But then came the crowning glory. Queen Angie, Queenie, Dammer, Screamer. 'Who is this bundle of fun?' I hear you ask. My big sister, sometimes wonderful … sometimes a psycho – which I found out the hard way. She was a git to all of us when playing chief babysitter and tyrant, when my mum worked at the nightclub. Over the years our relationship has grown stronger though – probably because now I can protect myself.
The last brother finally came … what a prize! Alan. Our Adge. Skid mark. Yup … Skid mark, on account of the very fancy designs in his underpants. David Hockney watch out – abstract (f)art.
Then it was Jo's turn (short for Joanne) – the last but one. She had a myriad of names … but Bulber and Mazda were the main two. Reason being – her head was uncannily shaped like a light bulb, and it looked like her body was constantly having brilliant ideas.
Now me, I had a fine selection of nicknames. So many in fact I had trouble remembering my real name, which didn't add to my appearance of intelligence. Primarily I was known as Bergans (left outside the butchers of the same name for five hours, and not missed until tea was being dished out) and Chunky (generic name with the rest of the family). I introduced myself as Chunky. Other names sneaked in - Henry the Eighth – no – I wasn't a fat polygamist with syphilis … or a beard. It was just the way I used to eat, you know, like it was the first morsel that had passed my lips in ages.
But wait. I think I need to go back just a little bit further – you know, complete the picture of the darling child I was. I'll totally understand if you don't want to read anymore, but please believe me – it does get better!
I was born (very David Copperfield-ish - not the magician - the sponging whining fucker Dickens wrote of), in the year of our Lord, Nineteen Hundred and Sixty Eight. To say I was a beautiful baby … would be a lie. I was very long, very ugly, with a bald head, and eyes like a Lemur. Of course I developed into a fat toddler but still with very large eyes, which, fortunately, enabled me to see in the dark when the Electricity Company cut us off.
I was the last of the bunch. One look at me and my mother finally cried 'No more!' Years later, she admitted that if the umbilical cord had not been attached, she would have sworn I wasn't hers. Angie loves to recall the day that they brought me home from the hospital. Her job was chief guard, standing at the front door like a bouncer, barring entrance to the neighbours: 'As not to frighten the womenfolk and kids.' This tale is told at every opportunity, usually between hysterical laughter and finger pointing (in my direction – where I would sit … glowing). She loves to retell it, like the Ancient Mariner, as she feels 'cursed' to regale it over and over again. She even takes on the features of the decrepit old seaman –dribbling accompanying the overexcitement and spitting.
My mother used to bounce me and Jo down the road in a dilapidated pram, (Jo, who was cuddly, beautiful and always had a ready smile), trying to avoid well-wishers in her path. Jo, of course, removed people's attention from my owl-like eyes, but on the occasions she wasn't present, the focus of the admiration went on the pram. I didn't care as long as they left me alone to chew through the plastic mattress at the base. It was bliss on raw gums … cool, yet satisfying.
I wasn't the bravest of children. I was even scared of a rabbit once. Yes. You read that right - a rabbit. You may think that rabbits can't hurt you, but they can, as I will prove.
There was a woman who lived up the road from us. Weird bugger. Smelt of bleach and cigarettes. Well … she was a creative soul and a bit of an animal lover – and I mean 'bit'. In her back garden she had erected a majestic centrepiece consisting of soil, broken bricks and bottles. It was beautiful … in a soily, brokeny bottle and brick kind of way – almost modern art .. and very underrated by the rest of the community
The hutch itself sat pride of place, resembling an Anderson shelter sawn in half and decorated lovingly with chicken wire. I can remember it as if it was yesterday … it was class. My sister led me up to the monument that proved women should never be given free reign with a drill. (This was the 70s and I can be Politically Incorrect – just this once). All it took was the aid of climbing gear and (in the words of a Blue Peter presenter), 'a responsible adult'.
The ascent began.
Never in my young life had I been so scared. Thoughts flitted through my mind of what terrible monster would be imprisoned in a fortress like that. So, being an idiot, I started to back off, caught my heel in a broken Dandelion and Burdock bottle, fell backwards onto an artistically smashed house brick that was coyly peeping from the middle of the mound … and gashed my head open.
Of course , the wailing started. Many of the elderly residents thought the Germans were invading, as they had been secretly and quietly preparing for years. Have you ever noticed that children initially cry with no sound? Their mouths stretched to capacity, eyes dry, but not a sound to be heard. Then suddenly a low whine is discernible, culminating into the loudest, most annoying howl audible to mankind (heaven knows how dogs cope), and the waterworks go into overdrive.
I raced away, vowing silently I would never trust another Blue Peter presenter again, with my hands rising in slow motion up to the cut on my head, needing my mum like I'd never needed her before. All this amidst the initial laughter of the neighbours. Bastards. Concern came later, especially when my family came round to sort out the 'caged monster' and the smelly weird fucker who would allow a child to climb her monument unarmed.
As I said before, Levenshulme was very multicultural – especially of Asian descent. There was an Indian kid who lived down the road, who Jo and I were friends with. One day, his father gave us an onion bahji. We had never seen one of these strange things before. So … Jo and I played catch with it for a while and then bounced it home. How were we to know that this was a special offering from one culture to another? Just think how offended we would have been if we had given them a Holland's Steak and Kidney pudding and they had played cricket with it. But we were kids … how were we to know?
Anyway. Jo's best friend, Tina Brace, lived in the road opposite ours. Tina's nickname was the 'Rooter', as most of her playing time was spent rooting through my mum's drawers and the kitchen cupboards. We used to slag her off, but she did come in handy. If we couldn't find anything, Tina always knew where it was and would direct us to it. 'Oh, I noticed that when I was going to the toilet. It's in the Lads' bedroom … in the cupboard in the far left corner … second drawer down, right up the back'. She was to be one of many strange friends who would come and go over the years.
I was unfortunate in that I had to share a bedroom with Angie, Jo and the whole Osmond family (especially Donny). This should have mentally scarred me, but it just made me stronger … and thankfully, when Jo's Cliff Richard obsession kicked in … I was prepared.
Donny Osmond was Angie's idol. Whatever pop tune rattled forth from between that enormous set of teeth, was like the National anthem for my sister. The whole family had to stand to attention (in absolute silence) for the King of the teenybopper world. When I woke up frightened in the night and couldn't sleep (being a 'whinging little get' as Angie called me), she would try to calm me down with the words 'Donny's laughing at you.'
Right enough he was. Wherever I looked … he grinned back. Even when I opened the drawers he was flirting with me through the mound of my underwear. God, I hated him … smarmy bugger - and the rest of his family! I hated Puppy Love and bloody Paper Roses. I hoped he would get distemper, and someone would pour petrol over Marie's roses … ending with a delicate kiss with a lighted match.
Before I go on to tell you what happened to me when I was six, I need to tell you how I became the distrustful person I am today. Nothing spectacular – but let's just say a lesson learned, okay? You can be the judge.
Would you be tempted with a free glass of lemonade? Especially if all you usually got was Corporation pop (water), or when your mum was flush … Vimto? I was. Very.
It was an ordinary evening. Quiet … for some unexplainable reason. And it all boiled down to my sister … Jo. She asked me if I would like a drink of the aforementioned lemonade. Of course I did! What sugar-craving child wouldn't? The lemonade, as free gifts usually do, came with a catch. I had to carry her on my back, on all fours like a donkey, for half an hour. I should have guessed that Jo did not have any lemonade … she did not have any money to buy lemonade … but I trusted her. She was my surrogate mum after all.
On the floor I went, not even four years old and scrabbling around on all fours building up my thirst. I asked intermittently when I was going to receive my well-earned refreshment, only to be told 'Soon. Soon.' Now, looking back, the crooning tone of her voice should have told me something was not right. The innocence of youth, eh?
Eventually, through sheer exhaustion, I rebelled and demanded that I should be paid in full for my services. Jo paid in full … by the God, she paid in full. The payment of lemonade came in the shape of pee – donated by her – over my back. I can still hear the laughter in her voice as she shrilled 'Enjoy your lemonade, you deserve it!' All I can say is it's a good job that she never promised me chocolate. To this day, she still can't tell me why she did it, just mumbles something about being possessed.
The story doesn't end there I'm afraid. My brother Patrick's latest victim, sorry girlfriend, was staying with us at the time, and every time a police car went past she wanted to play 'Let's Hide Under the Bed'. Once again – children are so gullible. Nowadays I would be at the bedroom window screaming 'She's here … in here … under the bed!' Unfortunately, she had to share the room with me, Jo, Angie, and the Osmonds (all of us in a dilapidated double bed), but when she walked into a puddle of pee, I thought the shit was going to hit the fan. Obviously it was my fault … and she classed me as a disgusting degenerate (my face said 'uh?'), and promptly stormed off to sleep with my brother. Many years later I realised this was her golden opportunity to get between the sheets with Sniffer, and I wasn't really a freak of nature – still not sure about Jo though.
I know … I'm going off the point.
Oh … all right then …
Summer – 1974. Hot, sticky and filled with promise. Days filled with nothing but what my imagination could conjure up – and that could be pretty frightening. Streets were packed with children on school holidays, playing tiggy-it and kerby, and avoiding cars as they raced to retrieve an errant ball. Space hoppers were the new black.
I was six years old. It was Levenshulme. And that's where I first spotted Ashley Richards … or Ash, as she liked to be called …
Ashley Richards. Even today, when I say her name my whole body smiles.
I can still remember it vividly … the day she fell into my arms … fell into my life.
In our front garden we had a huge tree in the corner … huge. I used to love climbing up as high as I could to get away from the brood, and even at six years old I could get pretty high. My mum, to this day, doesn't know I used to climb it. I used to sit above her when she would be bellowing out into the streets the litany of names of my siblings, all in rank order, announcing that 'Your bloody tea's on the table!'
Amazing what power you can possess by being just a little higher than everyone else. I felt on top of the world.
Every teatime it was the same. Until one Sunday that is …
I had climbed one branch higher than usual and was perched there, gloating. Mum had been and gone and I had watched my brothers and sisters trundle in the front door one by one, ready for tea. I had just climbed down when I heard a distinct rustling of leaves coming from overhead.
It was, or so it seemed, a split second later when something landed on me. It was big. It was heavy. It was wriggling like crazy on top of my battered and bruised body.
It was Ash (as I later found out).
Blue eyes wide with shock and panic – and pain …. if my aching backside and stomach was any gauge. Instinctively, my arms wrapped around her, and both our squirming bodies meshed into each other. Black hair tumbled forward and part of it went inside my mouth, an obvious distraction when I was trying to scream.
The more we tried to separate, the more entangled we became. A voice from above me hollered 'Stop!' and like the good girl I was – I did. I lay there completely rigid as the blue-eyed girl systematically pulled herself free, allowing my scrawny arms to flop lifelessly to my sides.
'Are you okay?' Concern was evident. The tears I had felt welling up in my throat – you know the ones we try to swallow but become like footballs - miraculously disappeared. Silently I nodded my head, looking at the now towering girl looming above me. I wasn't okay, but damned if I was going to admit it to her.
She held her hand down towards me to help me up, and for a split second I considered the idea of refusing, but the pains shooting up the cheeks of my arse told me to stop being a martyr and accept.
So I did.
Her hands were cool in comparison to my clammy, dirty ones, and with one deft movement I was on my feet … I don't think I even had the chance of bending my legs. I staggered forward only to be captured by her once again, my head hitting her in the chest. Jesus … she was so tall. The feeling I had whilst lying on the ground came back – she still towered above me!
'Sorry about that …' her eyes flicked to the tree, 'I kind of lost my footing somewhere along the line.' I just stared at her, gob-smacked. I wanted to demand why she had been there in the first place, but nothing would come out. I must have appeared simple … and I think for those few minutes I was. 'Are you sure you're okay?' A quick nod was all I could muster. Her face took on a concerned look … and my arse was still throbbing to the tune of the birds singing.
After about a minute of staring at me, she stuck her hand in my direction. 'Ashley Richards. Erm … or Ash. I just moved down the Avenue about two weeks ago.'
I was just about to answer - my mouth had formed around a word and was ready to let it slip through my gormless lips when 'Bloody hell, Lou. Your tea's on the table. In!' Mum. And she was pissed off. Big style.
I turned back to Ashley and flashed her a smile, 'Got to go. See ya around, yeah?' Her face broke out into an enormous grin and she nodded, her hand still outstretched. Impulsively, I grabbed her hand and pumped up and down like I had seen my mum doing to people she had just met. Those cool fingers clutched at mine for a brief moment before my mum's increasing ire got in the way.
'Inside now, lady. You can speak to your friend tomorrow.'
Another smile lit up my face. A friend. Yup. I liked the sound of that.
Before I had a chance to say anything else, she was gone. And I turned back and wobbled indoors, the cheeks of my arse screaming, but the smile on my face said 'Stuff it. I have a new friend.'
Sunday night was always nit inspection night. My mum was like a woman possessed when it came to our six legged friends who liked to party in her kids' hair. So Sunday night was known as 'TheTreatment' night.
Every Sunday was the same. Bath. Clean pyjamas. And a thorough grooming, ready for school the next day. Just because we had broken up for school holidays didn't stop the de-lousing regime. Unfortunately. And let me tell you, if you have never had the 'pleasure' of Derbac … well … you've been lucky. At least it didn't set in your hair like Suleo.
Anyway, mum would line us up in order of age and douse the louse with the most fouling smelling lotion ever invented. Even today I prefer dog farts. It wasn't just the lotion – it was the combing. I think the person who invented the comb must have done so with the help of a microscope and evil intention. My hair tangled easily, and having something so fine scraped through was agony. The effect was tearstained cheeks, red rimmed eyes and Christopher Lee hair – the lot of us were like a band of extras in a Hammer House Production.
Over time this regime dwindled down to just Alan, Jo and me, as the others had grown and adamantly refused. And they used to sit … smugly … in the front room, when the 'infested trio' would have to stay in the dining room and were only allowed to go in the best room if we stayed away from everyone – especially out of line of draughts from the windows, which would waft the smell around the room. God help us if we sat on the furniture. We could have been hired out on Safaris – elephants would have been stunned at twenty paces.
This Sunday was no different. The agony … the screaming … the pleading for mercy. And that was just my brother. He was such a boy sometimes. It was funny … in retrospect, obviously. Especially watching my mum crack the little critters between her nails when she had caught them in the comb. Word of warning – never struggle with your mother when she is de-lousing you – there is only ever one winner, and it sure isn't you. And … and this is a biggie … always be ready to run in case her cig sets your head on fire. No. That's a lie. She always made sure it never went near enough to actually catch alight, properly balancing it on top of the gas fire.
But Alan …Alan was a mard-arse – always was, and most certainly still is.
It still makes me smile to remember him in the throws of a rain dance, wailing to the gods, informing everyone and everything he hated them … with all his heart. He was always the main attraction on Sundays … we could have charged admittance, but we were used to it. Every week the same.
Then the doorknocker went. The insurance man had dropped by for mum's contribution … and we didn't even have time to hide behind the furniture. Not that we could have got away with it, as Alan was in the midst of his jungle fever. Only now I realise my mum was embarrassed by the smell and the noise. No one else actually paid any attention to what was going on – in a household our size it was very unusual to have quiet time.
All the time the insurance man was there, Alan danced. Every question the man asked my mum had to ask to be repeated because of Alan's rantings. Jo and I just sat on the floor, quietly doing Christopher Lee impressions, but inside laughing our asses off. Alan was a knob head – still is.
I still believe this episode scarred my brother. Mainly because he had the lotion on longer than the thirty minutes – I don't know. All that medication soaking through his scalp, breathing in all those fumes whilst screaming must have taken its toll. Definitely the reason why he has never intellectually advanced – or maybe it's because he was always a wanker. Who knows?
After the insurance man had gone, and Alan had been thoroughly dealt with, Jo and I were sent to bed to meet Donny et al. Fucking Osmonds.
It was only after mum had gone back down to give Alan another pasting to stop his crying (go figure) that Jo asked me where I had got my bruises from. Her eyes held concern … and I knew she must have been worrying about this since bath time, as the bruise started at the base of my spine and curved itself around one cheek. There is no way she wouldn't have noticed it … although Angie hadn't. She was too busy trying to get us sorted so she could get up the park with her mates.
Donny was smiling at me as I turned to Jo, 'I was standing under the tree ...'
'What have I told you about climbing that tree? I'll tell mum if you go up it again.'
'I didn't fall out of it. Ash did.'
'How on earth can ash cause a bruise like that?' And I started laughing. 'It's not funny, Lou. You'll end up killing yourself or worse.' Nope. I didn't get it either … killing yourself or worse? Never mind.
'Not ash! Ash!' She looked at me like I was an idiot, 'Ashley … Ashley Richards from down the Avenue?' Still a vacant look. 'Moved in a couple of weeks ago.' Realisation broke out and I could see it take over the blank expression from earlier.
It was short lived.
'What do you mean Ash fell out of the tree?'
I loved my sister, but sometimes she was too overprotective. It was a full twenty minutes later before she was satisfied I had not been ambushed.
As I snuggled into bed, the big dilapidated double I shared with both Jo an Angie, I smiled to myself.
'I've got a friend.' Then silently wished Donny goodnight.
And I couldn't wait to see what the next day would bring.
It wasn't long before we were firm friends, although Ash was Jo's age. As for Jo … well … she wasn't too pleased my affections for her had been split. But being her, she took it on the chin and allowed me some semblance of freedom.
Days were spent in childish adventure. Ash was so much fun, although she barely said a word to anybody else. Mum nicknamed her my 'shadow', as she was always standing quietly behind me whenever she was in the company of any of my family.
Now, my family were friendly, don't get me wrong. They were just … big. There were loads of us. The only person Ash hadn't met was my dad. And come to think of it, I hadn't seen him myself for quite a while. He was a long distance lorry driver and spent a lot of time on the road; the time not on the road was spent in the pub.
I remember when I was about four, my mum had got me up in the middle of the night, or so it seemed, to introduce me to him. Years later I realised they had been in the middle of an argument. To put it mildly, my father was a tosser. He didn't give two shits about his family. All he cared about was himself and the pub. I can still remember him sat there in the front room, sunglasses on (at night time) listening to Dean Martin's Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime, and singing really badly.
Mum had ushered both Jo and me into the room and it was like the rabbit incident all over again. Who was this man sat in the chair singing whilst wearing sunglasses? Even to this day I read people's eyes – I don't trust people if I can't see their eyes. I learned that the hard way.
It was only because Jo seemed to know him that I let down my guard.
I wish I hadn't bothered.
Enough about him for now … you'll hear more about that tosser later.
Ash. I wanted to skip every time I thought of her. She was a lot taller than me even though she was nearly eight (well … seven and three quarters– eight in October) – but she appeared bigger. Black hair cascaded down her back; her face was slightly tanned through all the outdoor activities we shared. But the most striking thing about her was her eyes. Blue, a light blue, a twinkling blue that captured the sun's rays and made them dance.
It wasn't long before she became the centre of my world. Everything I did I wanted her to be a part of it. Everything I saw I wanted her to see.
We were inseparable. It was fantastic.
Jo backed off from me and spent more time with Tina, telling me I was always welcome to hang about with her anytime. I don't know why, but she didn't really take to Ash … but at the time I didn't give it much thought.
Summer days were spent in play … in adventure. Things I had done a thousand times on my own seemed to take on a different meaning when I did them with Ash.
She even showed me how to climb that damned tree properly, although I still had the memory of her plunging down from quite a height.
I trusted her.
I fit quite nicely into her family too. She had two brothers, Stephen and Anthony, one older, one younger. Her dad used to torment her, saying it was an Ashley sandwich. I could tell she was their pride and joy.
It was strange to watch her family together. Her parents were so interested in what they all were doing, taking time to chat to them, ask how their day had been. Her mother was a full time mum, always there for them. Her father was a policeman, and he made my brothers nervous – especially Sniffer's girlfriend.
It made me reflect, in my childish way, about my own parents. I loved my mum so much … she tried as hard as she could to provide for us, considering my dad was AWOL most of the time. Now I'm an adult I fully realise what she had to go through. Eight children and barely two pennies to rub together. No wonder she had to work at a night club to earn enough to clothe and feed us. A man can't support both the pub and his family, and my father preferred to support the local brewery.
Ash's family semi-adopted me. I spent most of my free time there, reading her books – especially loving it when she read to me. This treat sometimes followed us up the tree where we would sit, hidden from view and she would read to me. I had to be careful I didn't relax too much and fall backwards … again.
Ash, her two brothers and me used to perform Abba's Waterloo in her bedroom. I don't think Stephen and Anthony really wanted to be Benny and Bjorn – but they didn't really have a say in the matter. Ash could be quite forceful when the mood took her.
We practised for days trying to get the moves right, turning our heads at just the right moment. I still haven't got the hang of coordination, but that's beside the point.
When we thought we had perfected it, we put the single on the small box record player and performed our masterpiece to her parents. I followed her every move … like usual … and shrilled out 'My my … At Wa-ter-loo Na-po-le-on did sur-render …yeh yeh …' The applause from her parents was deafening … nearly as bad as our singing.
I felt on top of the world.
I should have sung the Carpenters.
One of my favourite memories was the day we went to Concroft Park. It was the day I realised Ash was everything I would ever want or need in my life.
It was quite a walk from our house, and we were toting carrier bags full of sandwiches and pop to eat on our day out. Inside the bags were also two books, Ash's jumper, an old blanket and a ball. It was going to be a good day.
And it was.
The very first thing we did was feed the ducks. We stood there, side by side, looking for all the world like a pair of ragamuffins, not speaking in our task but fully content just … to just … be. I think we gave them nearly all our sandwiches but we didn't care.
Swings, slides, roundabouts and reading. In that order. Then, we did it all again, but this time we had a game of catch before we lay back on the grass and just read.
I didn't know how long I had been asleep, I suddenly felt the splodge of rain hit my skin like an ice cube. And again … and again … until it was constant. I felt Ash looming above me, her shadow blocking my view, her body sheltering me from the downpour.
'Lou … come on, Lou. We need to go.' Her voice seemed echoey, distant. The chill from the rain made me shiver. I had only a t-shirt and shorts on and I was freezing. I could see Ash shaking with cold too. Her hand was trembling as it reached down to me, rivulets of water running down the bare flesh.
'We need to get back.' I grabbed her hand and with one deft movement she pulled me to my feet. 'Here.' A jumper was shoved in my direction. My eyes looked into blue, which were clouded with worry. 'Put it on … you'll catch your death …'
'But …'
'But nothing. Put it on … no arguments.' I watched her as I pulled the jumper over my head, missing the sight of her as the thick red material fell over my eyes. The jumper was barely on my skin before she grabbed my hand and began to pull me along.
Rain lashed against us as we struggled against the downpour. There was no point looking for shelter, as the rain looked as if it would be with us for quite a while.
Ash had the blanket and books (the ball long forgotten) shoved under her arm, her other arm occupied with pulling me along, my short legs struggling to keep up.
We had gone a little way before she pulled me under the bus shelter just outside the park. 'We can't get the bus, Ash, we haven't any money.'
'Shhuuusssshh. We're not getting the bus … here … hold these.' She thrust the books into my hands and started fluffing out the blanket. Her face was filled with concentration as she struggled with the chequered cloth, her black hair sticking to the side of her face. I was freezing, and by the looks of her shaking body, so was Ash.
'Come here.' Her voice was quiet, barely a whisper. But I went without question. 'I'm going to try a stop us getting completely soaked.' I looked up at her, forever in awe of my older friend. She made me feel so protected. I knew she would take care of me whatever happened. 'I'm going to hold the blanket over us. Here … put your arm round my waist and hold on.'
As soon as I slipped my arm around her, which was quite an effort because of our height difference; we were off, the slick and slippery pavement almost a blur.
Ash was determined we wouldn't get any more wet than we already were. The books I held were becoming soggy and heavy, and my grip tightened about them with grim determination. I wanted to keep my part of the bargain.
It seemed like forever. The rain really held us back, but I didn't feel frightened or worried. The presence of Ash calmed me. The feeling of her guiding me both with her body and the top of her arm made me feel secure … and, strangely enough, happy.
When we got outside her house I fully expected her to dash in and send me on my way, but no, she insisted she saw me to my front door, with a mumbled 'That's what friends are for.' Secretly, I was pleased.
The front door loomed ahead of us, and I could feel her slowing down. It wasn't until we reached the gate that she stopped. 'Go on … you get in.' Impulsively, I threw my arms around her neck and planted a kiss on her cheek. I think I surprised her because she dropped the blanket to her shoulders and looked me squarely in the face. 'What was that for?' Her voice was quiet, but I heard every word as if it has been shouted.
'For taking care of me.'
'Don't be daft.' But I could see she felt pleased with my words. 'Go on … get gone.' And she planted a little kiss on my forehead, before she gave me a gentle shove.
I raced towards the door and hammered the knocker, turning to face Ash whilst I waited for someone to let me in.
The image of her standing there will forever be etched into my mind. Rain pummelled down on her, but she just stood there, staring right back at me. Her hair was a tangled mess of wetness, clinging to the side of her face, her fringe dripping water into her eyes. The pale cream t-shirt was like a second skin, transparent and heavy. Rivulets of water raced down her legs and collected at the tops of her ankle socks. Splodges of dirt coated her calves and knees, but they were beginning to become washed away.
'Bloody hell, Lou! You're pissed wet through!' Mum's voice broke through my thoughts, and I turned to face her. 'Get in and get those clothes off before you catch your death.'
Ash's jumper! I still had it on. I turned to speak to her but she was on her way out the gate, the blanket covering her shoulders. 'Ash!' She stopped, and turned towards me, a question in her eyes. 'Your jumper!'
'Keep it … I'll get it later.' Her face broke out into a dazzling smile and I forgot about the rain, forgot about the jumper, forgot how cold I was. That smile lit up everything and made me feel warm inside.
'Come on, Lou … in!'
'Laters, Ash.'
'Laters.' And she was gone. Racing through puddles, water splashing up her legs, the blanket billowing out as only soaked blankets could do.
But there wasn't going to be any 'Laters'. 'Laters' had to wait for another ten years.
My father made sure of that.
Chapter Four
After a hot bath, shared with Jo of course, it was tea and an early night. I felt so happy going to sleep, but the happiness didn't last long.
Voices woke me. Not gentle voices … by any stretch of the imagination. These voices were raised in argument, words spewing forth that no child should ever hear.
It was my parents.
Funny thing is, even though my mum and dad didn't get along as well as other parents, they rarely argued. So, this was a surprise to say the least.
Honestly speaking though, surprise was the last emotion I was feeling at the time.
Fear was top of the list.
'You all right, Lou?' Jo's voice filtered through the darkness, a small hand came and landed on the top of my arm, stroking up and down.
The shouting was getting closer, the anger more evident. I could feel the tears welling up and slipping from my eyes. I began to shake – couldn't stop it – I was scared and confused. I could hear Jo trying to comfort me, but I could hear the fear in her voice also. This must be bad if she was scared.
Raised voices were right outside our door now, the words clear to everyone.
We were leaving. Tonight. Mum had obviously found out about all the affairs my father had been having, and the child his girlfriend from Scotland was carrying.
Only later did I understand the full concept of these revelations. Only later did I overhear my mum telling one of her sisters of a letter she had found, addressed to her, in his work bag. A letter from a seventeen year old girl who was three and a half months pregnant. Only later did I fully understand this man was a total wanker, although I'd always had my suspicions.
Even Donny didn't seem to be laughing now.
Light blinded me as the door flew back and my mum came into the room with a roll of black bags.
'Come on girls. Get yourselves up. We're going on a trip.' She tried to keep her voice cheerful, but we knew this trip wasn't to Butlins. 'Here…' She passed us a couple of bags she had torn off, 'pack as many clothes as you can into these … Angie's too.'
'Over my dead body!' My father bellowed.
'It can be arranged.' Her voice was a growl, and even my father slunk back, knowing that she would rip his head off if he as much as made a move in our direction.
Not that he would have put himself on the line like that. He was neither brave, nor did he give a damn. His kids and family meant nothing to him. He had proved that with his inability to give two shits about anyone but himself.
My body was shaking. My small hands were grabbing everything and anything, randomly shoving clothes haphazardly. Jo was crouched next to me, tears trickling down her face as she slowly placed each item carefully into the sack.
My world was falling apart … falling apart … falling apart. Each refrain mimicked the action of my hands, as they silently packed the few belongings we owned into shiny black plastic. Every muscle seemed to vibrate through me … panic and fear vying for dominance …
Until it struck me …
When could I see Ash?
Could I say goodbye to her?
I didn't want to say goodbye … a noise danced in my throat … a wail waiting to be released into the silent room. I didn't want to leave Ash … she was my friend … I didn't want to leave.
Tremors shook through me, the wail winning out, the tears flowing freely now. I brought my hand to my face to smear the tears across my cheeks, my nose bunging up, breathing becoming difficult.
'Come on sweetheart. It'll be all right.' Mum was crouching next to me, trying to get me to calm down, her loving hands on my shoulders, quickly rubbing the knotted muscles. 'We'll still be together …'
Instead of calming me, this thought just made me cry even harder. Loving hands slipped underneath my armpits and I felt myself being lifted into the familiar scent of my mum. 'Shush there, sweetheart … I've got you.'
It was ages before she let me go. She rocked me back and forth, stroking up and down my spine. Jo stood silently next to us both, her hand tangling through my hair.
That's just like my sister. She must have been feeling just as scared as me, but she still rose above it and worried about me first. That is why I love her as much as I do.
An hour later saw us in the back of a black cab. Mum, Angie, Alan, Jo and me … five bin bags and not much else. We looked a sorry sight. The rest of the lads decided to stay with their father – their father, as he was no longer mine … and I doubt he ever was – although biologically I could never escape that fact.
I can still remember the taxi driver reversing into Ash's road, and my eyes staring up to the dark window of her room. I wanted to wake her up … tell her that whatever happened she was still my friend and I loved her.
But as the taxi pulled away, I felt a part of me stay there in Levenshulme. I just hoped that Ash would find it and know I didn't want to go … didn't want to leave her.
I had to take some comfort from the knowledge that no matter how long it took … I would find her again.
That was a promise.
1984 – Ten years later …
Loads of things had happened in those ten years. Too many to go into any detail, but the main thing was, I never had the opportunity to see Ash again. Never had the chance to say goodbye.
Every time it rained I thought about her. I know … weird. Even to this day, as soon as it rains heavily, I still have the image of her standing there, drenched to the skin, hair and body soaking wet, smiling at me, even though she was freezing cold.
I still have those books from that day. They still look like concertinas, all bevelled and ruined. The pages barely separate and they look tired and old. I keep them wrapped up in a bright red jumper. Her bright red jumper. They were the only things I had of hers and there was no way I would part with them.
After my mum left my dad, I found out she had actually been seeing someone else. It was funny in a way, because I had met him on more than one occasion. He worked with my mum at the nightclub – he was the head chef, so I had never thought it was weird when my mum had taken me and Jo around to his flat to meet him.
To tell the truth, I thought he was wonderful. He always had time to chat, always took an interest in what we were doing, and in retrospect I realised he thought the absolute world of my mum. It was good for the soul to see her so happy. Years had been wasted with a man who had told her nobody else would ever give her a second look, but now she was with a man who thought the sun rose and fell because she was on the earth.
Those ten years were not easy, by any stretch of the imagination. My dad had great joy divorcing my mum on the grounds of adultery. All his philandering meant nothing to him, and he glorified in his statement that he would never forgive her for leaving him … 'for another man at that.' He failed to recognise his own shortcomings – the affairs, the lies, the fact he got a girl who was a year older than his daughter pregnant, believing it was his right to do all these things.
My brothers were on his side, following steadily in his footsteps as womanisers and drunks. All except Alan, and as soon as he was old enough he was off to join the gang. I told you he was an idiot didn't I?
Angie had married a man who looked like Brains from Thunderbirds, although most of the time he reminded me more of Joe 90. Four of my brothers got married and then three of them got divorced. They were definitely like their father. Actually Aiden was remarried … and wifey number two was getting sick and tired of his absences … and I don't mean the times he spent in nick either. I doubt they will ever learn.
At sixteen I left school and started college to do my A levels.
And that is when I saw her again.
My Ash. In the flesh. Bigger, taller, darker, and absolutely positively the most gorgeous creature on the planet.
I hadn't been enrolled very long, and was still trying to find my way around Stockport College, when I saw her. Don't get me wrong here. I didn't look at her and say to myself 'Oh look! That's Ash.' It was more embarrassing than that.
A lot more.
Being a 'newbie' we were constantly the butt of everybody's jokes. When we asked for directions we were sent the opposite way; we were told stories about teachers to make us wary of the staff. They took the piss out of us constantly, but that was to be expected. All in all, it worked out fine.
Until the incident.
I still cringe about it to this day, but realise if it hadn't happened I would never had met Ash again.
I had been at college for two weeks, and had made a few friends who insisted I went along to the karaoke night at the student union. As you well know, I couldn't hold a note (still can't), but I'd agreed, on the understanding I would not be getting up there and making a fool of myself.
Big mistake.
I should have stayed home and washed my hair … watched telly … read a book. Even studied.
But no. Karaoke night it was.
My friends were there, all cramped around a table with some older students, laughing and fitting in well. I bought a coke from the bar and joined them. They seemed like a nice bunch, although slightly pissed already and it was only eight o'clock.
As the night wore on, more people were getting up the nerve to sing. Not me. I just sat there and sipped my drink, laughed in all the right places, and chatted mainly with Mandy, a girl who was in my A level Sociology course, and at who's house I would be staying over at that night.
I felt quite relaxed, and I think it had something to do with what Ray, an older Art student, kept slipping in my drink. He thought he was being sly about it, but he was too pissed to realise he was being obvious.
Then came the joints. I had never even smoked a cigarette, never mind a joint, but hey – it was college, and everyone else was doing it.
Another … big … mistake.
I swear, I only had a couple of drags … honestly your honour … just the two. But it felt like I had smoked ten. And that's how I found myself on the stage, in the student's union, singing 'Waterloo'. Fuck.
And then …
Double fuck.
The lights in the place were blinding. The smoke in the air was making my throat dry up even more than it was already, but for some strange reason I didn't care. I was waving my arm above my head and croaking out the jumbled words to Abba's winning song. I was killing it … slaughtering the poor song … hanging it up and slitting its metaphorical throat.
About a third of the way through, I felt someone come behind me on the stage and begin to sing with me. I was overjoyed, and not a little zealous, to thank this person for becoming part of my act. I turned and stumbled into something warm and tall. I knew it was female because my face was pressed into some very impressive breasts. A laugh escaped as I stumbled back and looked up into …pale … blue … eyes.
I froze.
The eyes had me.
The rabbit incident happened all over again. I don't know why I stepped away, maybe it was to focus my attention on the whole package, and not just those blue eyes gazing intently into my own.
Now this was the biggest mistake of them all. I know … drinking alcohol as a minor, smoking pot, murdering an Abba song – they were mistakes, kind of … but stepping back … stepping backwards on a tiny stage and not paying attention …
That's the show stealer.
I landed squarely on top of a table full of empty glasses, surrounded by amorous young men, ready for a woman to drop into their lives. Plastic glasses flew in all directions, my arse hitting the edge with enough velocity to tip the table forward and enable me to slide gracefully to the ground.
The music stopped. The room was silent for what seemed like an age. And then the laughter began. Raucous laughter that ricocheted off the walls and pounded in my befuddled ears. The room began to spin – not a good sign, especially because my stomach began to spin with it.
A concerned face hovered in front of me, and I struggled to control my wandering eyeballs, which decided to move on their own volition about the sockets.
They landed on blue eyes, twinkling blue eyes that captured me in a tractor beam gaze. I was transfixed. My body ceased to squirm, my eyeballs decided to behave and focus on this vision in front of me.
'Lou?' That voice. So familiar, yet so different. 'It is you, isn't it?' I couldn't answer … I was struck mute by the situation, the alcohol, the pot, and her eyes. 'Louise Turner? It's you, isn't it?' Her hand came out and stroked my cheek, my eyes fluttering closed.
'Ash.' The word parted my lips in a gesture of hope. I couldn't believe it was her … couldn't believe after all these years she would just pop into my world again.
'Yup … in the flesh.' I opened one eye to focus on her, taking in her classic beauty again. My reaction to this vision was one I bet many of you have experienced at one time or another.
I threw up.
All over her.
In a bar full of people.
And then I threw up again.
I told you it was embarrassing, didn't I?


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on October 17, 2012As you no doubt are aware by now, Mitt Romney and the Internet have joined forces to bring attention to that oft-overlooked accessory, the binder. And while we're not going to get into politics here let alone sexual politics it should maybe be said today that it doesn't hurt to have nice things in and around one's desk. Like these, maybe.
Clockwise from top left: Semainier ($1,150) by Hermes, hermes.com; Bleeker leather a5 notebook ($168) by Coach, coach.com; Bijou organizer ($440) by Smythson of Bond Street, smythson.com; Desk agenda cover ($560) by Louis Vuitton, louisvuitton.com; Monaco double handle portfolio ($295) by Tumi, tumi.com; Semainier ($1,150) by Hermes, hermes.com.
Follow The Style Blog on RSS, Twitter, and Instagram at @ESQStyle.
What To Read Next

subset: commoncrawl


text: WWMT - wwmt.com - Search Results The following is an archived video story. The text content of that video story is available below for reference. The original video has been deleted and is no longer available. Oshtemo Twp. looks into relationship with Kzoo Co. Sherrif's Dept.OSHTEMO TOWNSHIP, Mich. (NEWSCHANNEL 3) - Crime data doesn't come easy in Oshtemo Township.From domestic violence calls to traffic stops, the township doesn't know for sure whether it's getting the most police protection for its money, so it's undergoing an independent study.The township says its goal is to really figure out what they're getting and what they need when it comes to police protection, because they say under their agreement with the county right now, they have no idea.Currently, Oshtemo Township spends more than $800,000 on 7 Kalamazoo County Sheriff's deputies.But Trustee Dusty Farmer says there's some concern that the township could be getting more for its money."So, we were trying to decide if we were spending that money correctly to get a desirable outcome, meaning lower crime rates, better times for the calls," he said.The problem is that Farmer says the county can't provide that data."We're having a little difficulty there, because the county simply doesn't have the resources to provide that data collection service to us," Farmer said.So, the township is left wondering just what kind of protection it's actually getting."We need to be able to collect data including call times, requests for police, the actual activities that are happening; be it domestic calls, criminal calls whatever--we need to be able to not only get that data but then analyze it," Farmer said.The township has tossed around ideas for changing the way it does business--everything from contracting with the City of Kalamazoo to starting its own police force."We are willing to work with any entity, so now would I say we want to end contract with county? Absolutely not. Because we're not sure what the future holds for data collection and if we can work that out, then by all means, we would like to do that," Farmer said.Starting in mid-May, the township will begin an independent study to figure out where to go from here.Newschannel 3 spoke with the Kalamazoo County Sheriff's Department, and the Undersheriff says he gives reports to the Township Supervisor every month, including the number and types of calls.As for the township's study itself, that's expected to wrap up this summer.


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Researchers have found a dangerous link between breast cancer and melanoma. In a recent study, statistics show that women diagnosed with breast cancer appear to have an increased risk of melanoma, particularly during the first year following diagnosis of the breast tumor.
"A woman with breast cancer should be considered at high risk for melanoma, and should be monitored very closely," reported Dr. Rony Weitzen, Institute of Oncology, Sheba Medical Center, in Tel Hashomer, Israel. Out of 51,000 female breast cancer patients in Israel between 1960 and 2000, 276 were reported to have melanoma, most of them within the year of their breast cancer diagnosis.
Although the reason for this correlation is unknown at this time, Dr. Weitzen hypothesized the link might reflect treatment effects, or changes in hormone cycles following breast cancer therapy. Whatever the reason, there are preventative actions you can take to protect yourself from melanoma.
According to the Skin Cancer Foundation, melanoma, the deadliest form of skin cancer, kills more young women than any other cancer. It is now the most common cancer in young women aged 25-29, second only to breast cancer in women aged 30-34.
For more information about how to conduct a complete self-exam, please visit www.skincancer.org.
In addition to monthly self-exams, the Foundation recommends taking the following precautions to protect yourself from skin cancer:
--Have a professional skin examination once every year.
--Protect yourself from the sun by applying a broad spectrum SPF 15+ sunscreen daily.
--Seek the shade, especially during the sun's peak hours, between 10 am and 4 pm.
--Wear protective clothing, including a wide-brimmed hat and UV-blocking sunglasses.
The Skin Cancer Foundation is the only national and international organization concerned exclusively with the world's most common malignancy, cancer of the skin. The mission of this non-profit organization is to increase public and professional awareness about the prevention, detection, and treatment of skin cancer.
ABCDE of melanoma:
The Skin Cancer Foundation shows you what to look for:
A -- Asymmetry
Most early melanomas are asymmetrical. Common moles are round and symmetrical.
B -- Border
The borders of early melanomas are often uneven and may have scalloped or notched edges. Common moles have smoother, more even borders.
C -- Color
Common moles usually are single shades of brown. Varied shades of brown, tan, or black are often the first sign of melanoma. As melanomas progress, the colors red, white and blue may appear.
D -- Diameter
Early melanomas tend to grow larger than common moles, generally to at least the size of a pencil eraser.
E -- Evolving
Similar to breast cancer, the best way to detect melanoma is with a monthly self-exam. Examine your skin from head-to-toe, and be alert to suspicious-looking moles. Look for moles that change in size, shape or color. Moles that change over a period of time are a common warning sign for melanoma.


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Whenever I see a builder incorporating old-house details into new construction, I want to cheer. This one in Ocean City, for example, was inspired by the classic turn-of-the-century vacation homes on the Jersey Shore.
It was built by Buck Custom Homes and is on the market for $2.799 million. Take a look!
The house is close to the beach, which is always a plus in my book. According to the listing: "The three story, 5000+ square foot home blends modern convenience and traditional style into the perfect beach house, truly a fine setting to create family memories."
Looking into the dining room, which is painted black (correction: the designer tells me the color is actually a dark brown):
The glass doorknobs remind me of the ones we had in our old house when I was growing up:
There are 6 bedrooms and 6.5 baths. I love little round turret rooms like this one:
Christine Droney of Show & Sell Home Staging decorated the house, and she's the one who told me about it (thanks, Christine!).
The Spring green paint throughout much of the house is by Sherwin Williams, called "Sprout."
The house has 4 porches in all, and 3 are on the back of the house:
The back door leads to a mudroom:
Like it? For more photos and information, check the listing and Buck Custom Homes.
P.S. Anyone else have trouble "springing ahead" this morning? I could have used that extra hour of sleep!
More New Houses Built to Look Old:
Are You Hooked on Houses?
Get Your "House Fix" with My Weekly Newsletter:


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See the top 20 most helpful scuba gear reviews
Average Customer Review: based on 5 reviews.
Rating: Big Blue CF900P L.E.D. Light Review - $199.99 - Scuba Gear Customer ReviewsWhat are the dimensions of that light and would it be compatible with wearing it with the Big Blue light glove mount? Thanks in advance for your info
Hello, I want to be sure: by rechargeable it is correct that you do not have to open de light to change batteries, you connect it to the recharge accessories. I understand correctly?
hello i just send a question about a light and i do not know if i was looking to a specific product if you know which one i am talking about. it is de big blue cf900p l.e.d. light. i would also like to know if you have the mc-nett seal aquaseal to repair the wet suits. thank you. ana
Im looking to use this light for some video as well as a general dive light. What is the best way to mount this light to my camera rig? I looked at the Bigblue website but I didnt see a clip or band made specifically for this light.
Hello Ben, the set-up you would need you can find at: http://www.scuba.com/scuba-gear-615/025148/Light---Motion-Locline-Light-to-Arm-Adapter.html. you would need this piece and the two other pieces also to mount your light to your camera.
Is it possible to flood the light when adjusting the beam focus? put differently, can you open the front end of the light accidentally when adjusting the beam spread?
I just received my cf900p from you this week and it flooded on the first dive. But only the front chamber. I noticed bubbles coming through the little screw that is present at the chamber in front of the led. The manual gives no instructions as to what this screw is for. It has no o-ring so cannot be expected to keep water out. What is the issue here? The box with the light also contained an extra one of these little screws. Please advise before I send this back (not very happy to put it mildly). Thanks, Tom
Hello Tom, The Bigblue CF900P comes with a spare set screw and many have asked why we include this. In 2009 Bigblue first introduced focusable LED Dive Lights. We found that it was important to give the user the ability to take off the Lens shroud and clean out fine grit/sand particles that at times get underneath the lens shroud. The user is to rinse the light with fresh water with the shroud off. The set screw on the side of the shroud keeps it from coming off during normal use. When the need arises to remove the shroud the screw needs to be removed by unscrewing it. This screw being very small, is easy to lose during the cleaning process. The spare screw is provided simply as a spare in case the original is lost since it is relatively unique and would be difficult to replace. Some have suggested that removing this screw floods the lens cap and cools the LED. This is completely untrue and in no way does the manufacturer recommend removing the screw and then diving with it off. It is only to be removed during the cleaning process and replaced. .
I own one Big Blue Light and plan to purchase this one. My question is does Scuba.com carry the replacement O-rings for the lights? I would like to have back ups. Thanks
Im confused : is this the cf900p or the old cf900? The new one gas the push button as on the picture. But in the description it was mentioned that it has a rotary magnetic switch, like the old cf900. Couod anyone clarify which model is this? The latest one, or the old one? If its the old one, then the product title, code has to be changed. Thanks.
CF900: NEW FOR 2013! An innovative slim and sleek design offers a reliable 900 lumens and a focusable beam! An easy-to-use rotary magnetic switch allows the user to choose between 4 levels of brightness and an SOS option, while a locking mechanism ensures safe transportation. The twisting front bezel adjusts the beam angle from a narrow 7 degrees to a wider 37 degrees. The light is sold in a package with a removable 18650 Li ion rechargeable battery, charger unit, and adjustable lanyard. The light is double o-ring sealed and has an important safety valve to release gas expansion in case of a problem inside the light.
Product Specifications - CF900
Light Source 3 X LED
Light Output 900lum adjustable to 90lum
Casing Material Aluminum alloy, anti-corrosive anodized
Power Source Lithium Ion Rechargeable Battery
Angle Of Light Beam 7 degrees to 37 degrees adjustable
Safety Designs Double o-ring sealed, safety valve
Color Temperature 6500K
Available Colors Black
Burn Time 2hrs at full 900 lumens, 5hrs at 450lum, 10hrs at 225lum, 20hrs at 90lum
Maximum Depth 100M tested
Size D 40mm x L 181mm
Grip Handheld with lanyard
Video Filters Not included, compatible with Fluorodiving kit P/N: FDKCF250
Weight 306g in air (including battery)
Bouyancy -157g (including battery)
Switching System Magnetic rotary switch (O, I, II, III, IV, SOS)
Transportation Lock Sliding lock
Front Glass Tempered optical glass
Lanyard Included


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Mike Ditka takes his own plane to Charlotte Friday. I dont know if hes in the cockpit, but hes Ditka, so of course hes in the cockpit.
I bet he lands on Tryon Street and parallel parks and, because hes Ditka, doesnt get a ticket.
Ditka, the Pro Football Hall of Famer, speaks to the Charlotte Touchdown Club at The Westin hotel Friday, and every seat is occupied and every table full.
Hes 74 but he looks like hes supposed to look, and he sounds like hes supposed to sound. What do you expect? Hes Ditka.
Hes still sharp, says Carolina Panthers center Ryan Kalil, one of several Panthers players and coaches to attend.
Ditkas golden hair is slicked back, and his mustache is thick, and he wears a black jacket with an American flag pin in the lapel and a black shirt.
Ditka won a Super Bowl as a tight end, as an assistant coach and as a head coach. Panthers coach Ron Rivera played for Ditka in Chicago.
One night at training camp, Rivera who introduces Ditka on Friday and a few teammates sneak out after curfew and go to the VFW to drink a few beers and shoot pool.
When the round comes, they pull out their wallets, and the waitress says coach Ditka already paid.
Ditka walks over, drinks a beer, shoots a little pool. The players wait for Ditka to go off on them. All Ditka says is that hed better go because he has practice in the morning.
In the morning, on the practice field, Ditka summons the players. Now hes going to go off. All he says is that if theyre going to hoot with the owls, they better fly with the eagles.
Practice is fantastic.
We didnt want to let him down, Rivera says.
I ask Ditka about the way he handled the curfew violation.
What the hell would a coach do without players? he asks. He adds: I did that when I was a player.
Ditkas message is simple.
Hello, Im Johnny Cash, he says.
Ditka does say that. He always wanted to. But this isnt his message.
Says Ditka: Life is not what you want it to be. Its what you make it.
Dont listen to people who tell you what you cant do, he says.
If your attitude is bad, youll never accomplish anything, and youll be a pain to be around, he says.
Says Ditka: Youre not guaranteed anything in life but an opportunity.
Rivera occasionally takes notes as Ditka speaks.
Ditka says that if somebody gives you something, you remember it for awhile. He sticks a finger in the air for emphasis as he says that what you earn lasts a lifetime.
Ditka says: I am a professional sleeper right now. He says he might fall asleep as he talks.
Ditka, an ESPN NFL analyst, fell asleep during a Sunday Countdown segment in late December featuring the New York Jets and Miami Dolphins. Most viewers didnt nod off until the game began.
Ditka says he made $12,000 as a first-round draft choice in 1961 and received a $6,000 bonus. He was rookie of the year, and Chicago coach George Halas called him in and told him he was getting a raise to $14,000.
Thats less than he made as a rookie, Ditka responded. Its $2,000 more, Halas said. Ditka said he wasnt signing for less than $18,000. Halas pulled a contract out of his desk. It was for $18,000. Ditka signed.
Ditka told stories Friday and recited a piece of a poem hed memorized, The Person in the Mirror. He invoked Abe Lincoln. He invoked Stan Musial, who like Ditka is from western Pennsylvania. Ditka signed autographs and posed for pictures. The autograph line is the longest in the clubs 23-year history.
In the line is Providence Day football coach Bruce Hardin. Hardin, who this fall will begin his 49th year of coaching, is one of the top coaches Charlotte has had.
His toughness, says Hardin, when I ask what he admires about Ditka. His honesty. Hes old school. Hes an inspiration.
Ditka tells the crowd Rivera will win a Super Bowl with the Panthers. Later, as Ditka signs autographs for two police officers, I ask why.
Rivera, he says, is a smart and natural leader who as an outside linebacker often directed his teammates.
Rivera understands that life is a process of setting goals and reaching goals and resetting goals, Ditka says as he poses with a woman as her friend takes their picture. You have to have goals, and you have to have methods to reach those goals. I mean, you just cant say: Were gonna win the Super Bowl! How are you going to do it?
I tell Ditka I admire what he says about opportunity, that its out there if you recognize it.
Its out there regardless of whether you recognize it, Ditka says.
Ditka believes in us, believes that if we work, well achieve.
We, in turn, believe in Ditka.
That could be him in the cockpit high above the Westin, soaring with the eagles and presumably wide awake.
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Wed, Dec 6, 06 at 12:55
We are looking at a couple Thomas sets for our 2.5 year old enthusiast for Christmas. One issue is that two of the sets we would like to get come with Percy (one of the engines), and there is a promotion for a free Percy limited addition. My son already has Percy, and obviously doesn't need 4. For the prices these engines go for, I thought there might be an exchange site out there for trading engines and cars and such. Anyone know of such a thing? As popular as these toys are, it seems to make a lot of sense, but Google has found nothing for me so far (hard to weed through the commercial sites when you put "Thomas Train" in the search line).
Follow-Up Postings:
- Posted by adellabedella (My Page) on Wed, Dec 6, 06 at 23:30
I don't know of any exchange groups. Selling on E-Bay might be an option. DS#1 has the wooden Thomas stuff. We've found that two of a kind is good sometimes when we have company over or a younger sibling wants to play. Extras would also make a nice gift for another little boy. |
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Someone on askreddit tells the story of how she almost got raped. Other users blame her. (np.reddit.com)
237 ups - 82 downs = 155 votes
253 comments submitted at 14:57:43 on Mar 5, 2014 by 6086555
Someone on askreddit tells the story of how she almost got raped. Other users blame her. (np.reddit.com)
237 ups - 82 downs = 155 votes
253 comments submitted at 14:57:43 on Mar 5, 2014 by 6086555
I will say, I offer to walk most of my lady friends home if it's been a night of drinking. I'm a six foot tall man, and I live in a college campus in a city. At a certain level that's just a safety precaution.
Yeah, I think this is a touchy subject partly because acknowledging something as a dangerous situation often gets construed as victim blaming. I don't think someone is a victim blamer if they advise a woman to not walk home alone late at night, simply because if she does get raped, it's still no matter what 100% the attacker's fault, obviously. That said, it should be okay to say "hey, it might be safer to walk home a little earlier" or "Walk home in a group".
There's a real difference in making a suggestion about safety as a precaution and bringing up the lack of precaution after an attack.
It's the difference between saying "Hey, why don't you take a cab home. I heard that muggings are up in this part of town." and saying "Why didn't you take a cab home? You wouldn't have been mugged if you had done that."
Exactly. There's a huge difference between the two of those things.
Yeah. There's practical advice to be had because we live in the real world.
That itself sounds like a potential rape situation... :/
You mean people that I'm good friends with? It's not like I'm offering it to strangers. These are people I know.
That and I'm not a rapist?
I'm not accusing you of anything. I mean "large man who can easily overpower me waking me home alone in the dark while I'm drunk" itself sounds like a potential rape situation. Who you are and your relationship with the girls you walk home is irrelevant. On that note though that is very nice of you to do and good that these girls can trust you.
On an entirely separate note, remember that most rapes are committed by people that the victim knows, not strangers. Being able to trust somebody is what you should rely on.
True. That's the other side of the practical advice. If you don't trust the person, probably don't spend time with them alone.


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Event Name
- OR - Select an option belowAfter the Portulaca Cafe, a decades-old Slavic speakeasy in Globeville, closed in 2008, the White Owl moved in and transformed the space into a cozy dive bar. In 2011, the metal artist Shane Evans took it a step further, dubbed it Crash 45 and started making improvements such as expanding the patio, adding a room for music and DJs, and fitting the space with his own works made from vintage motorcycle parts, recycled objects, discarded bicycles and old truck bodies. Wade Kirwan, who worked for years as executive chef at Vesta Dipping Grill, heads up a small menu that includes burgers and sandwiches.


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Perhaps you've seen this little test for husbands making the rounds on the web? It was written in 1933 as a companion to a test for women about being good wives, with a list of merits and demerits for appropriate and inappropriate husband behavior. It was a bit antiquated to give the fellas in 2009, so we updated it…. Keep reading »
Zergnet: Simply Irresistible
- Popular


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Sponsored by: Desert Diamond Casino
Nov 18, 2012 10:14 AM by Scott Oathout
TUCSON- Tucson Police is on scene of an apparent officer involved shooting in the area of Broadway and Alvernon.
Initial reports say a burglary was interrupted and shots were fired.
SWAT is searching the area door-to-door with the help of K9 units. Police are asking residents to stay inside during the search.
There are reports of at least one injury.
It is unknown if there is still a suspect outstanding.
Stay with News4 throughout the day for updates.
1 hour ago


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Tip: Show possible slot gear on character screen
In fact, that's probably why this is just sneaking around now -- there were a lot of nice tweaks back then, and this one slipped through the cracks. Of course, now that the official Equipment Manager is in the game (you have clicked that checkbox in the Interface options to enable it, right?), you might not need to worry about switching your gear manually anyway. But just in case you haven't seen the Alt function on your character screen yet, there you go.
Filed under: Patches, Analysis / Opinion, Tips, How-tos, Odds and ends, Blizzard, Wrath of the Lich King


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This duo of bananas and yoghurt will provide for plenty of calcium and energy in your diet which is helpful throughout your 9 months of pregnancy. Be it early morning or mid afternoon, this refresher is sure to lift your spirits up.
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Click below to watch a preview of The Sleeping Beauty:Click here to watch more excerpts from The Sleeping Beauty.
A flagship work for Houston Ballet, The Sleeping Beauty is recognized as one of the supreme achievements of classical ballet. The ballet is based on the classic French fairy tale by Charles Perrault: a beautiful princess is cursed by an evil fairy, and doomed to sleep for a hundred years -- only to be awakened by the kiss of the handsome prince who loves her. Desmond Heeley's spectacular designs beautifully evoke the magic, drama and whimsy of this great work.
7:30 PM on March 10, 12, 18, 19, 20112:00 PM on March 13, 20, 20111:30 PM on March 12, 2011
Purchase tickets by phone at 713.227.2787 or 800.828.2787.Groups of 10 or more may purchase tickets at a discounted rate by calling 713.523.6300, ext 409.
Music: Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky (1840-1893)Choreography: Ben Stevenson, after Marius PetipaCostume and Scenic Design: Desmond HeeleyLighting Design: Duane Schuler
Age Recommendation: at least 5 years of age
Performance in the Brown Theater at Wortham Theater Center, 501 Texas Street at Smith Street.
Generously Underwritten by:ConocoPhillips andFulbright & Jaworski, LLP


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Spring is on its way and my hoyas are starting to look alive again - a few of them are even budding up! Just wanted to share some pictures of the buds, because I'm so excited to see them! Yay! Please feel free to post pictures of your own hoya buds (or flowers) in this thread - I would really love to see them! The faithful H. lacunosa: First time bloomer - H. patella: H. lasiantha - buds are growing bigger every day! H. finlaysonii 'Nova': First peduncle of the year just starting to form on H. cumingiana: And last, H. compacta. A tiny peduncle starting to form near the tip of a new vine: If all goes well they will flower soon, I'm hoping none of the buds will blast. I'm especially excited about the lasiantha and the finlaysonii! : ) |
Follow-Up Postings:
Nice closeups, Klea! I grew cummingiana for several years and finally got rid of it 'cuz the dang thing wouldn't bloom and the plant itself seems unruly to me. Please be sure to post back when the buds opens. Fin is one of my favorites - what makes 'Nova' different? Can you show a leaf photo, or is it just the flowers that differ? Denise in Omaha |
Thank you, Denise. Honestly I don't know what makes Nova different. I've just assumed it was a cultivar grown from seed or something, so it got its own cultivar name. When I bought it I really just wanted a finlaysonii, and it came tagged as 'Nova'. :) Here are a couple of pictures - one of the whole plant and one of just a leaf: |
- Posted by vermonthoyas none (My Page) on Wed, Mar 20, 13 at 18:48
Beautiful photos Klea! Fingers crossed that your lasiantha buds make it to maturity! Doug |
Klea,spring is great for our hoyas,they start to grow and flower.It helps to get us ready foe nice weather. Nice photos of all your buds. |
- Posted by greedyghost 5 (My Page) on Thu, Mar 21, 13 at 14:31
Doug: I really hope the lasiantha will hold on to its buds and not lose them like yours have. Keeping my fingers crossed! I've tried not to move it around as much since you wrote in that other thread how your lasiantha usually throw her buds in the last minute. I really want to see these flowers! Cpawl: Thank you. :) After a long winter it sure is nice to see some buds growing again. Greedyghost: Oooh, those pictures are so beautiful! Thank you for posting them! Especially the sp. RCBR-SP-YKL pictures are very nice. I hope your cuttings will root, it would be heartbreaking to lose such a gorgeous hoya! The last one of the cv. Christine pictures is also stunning! You are a very good photographer! I too find it hard to photograph leaves. The other day I tried to take pictures of all the hoyas I own with visible veins, but it didn't photograph as well as I hoped. Another type of leaves I never seem to get right on pictures are the hairy ones - like the soft, fuzzy, new leaves on h. patella. |
- Posted by greedyghost 5 (My Page) on Fri, Mar 22, 13 at 11:19
@ Klea Thanks for the compliment, but I think the camera itself deserves most of the glory. ._.' I don't think I will lose the EPC-229, as I left the base with a few leaves, and that's the part that has perked back up. Maybe it's all for the best. This species flowers so much that it doesn't grow. You wouldn't believe how many peduncles it has sprouted, for its size, since I've gotten it. I needed a backup anyway and maybe this will kick start some old fashioned, un-showy progress. You'll get some lasiantha buds to pull through at some point. My plant tosses its buds at the last minute a lot, too. Frequently, I'll show up to find it has dropped every fat swollen bud except ONE, which it opens... all innocent-like. Idk what makes the difference between them coming to fruition or not, but I know one time my coworker picked up the plant, shaked it all about, and tapped on the buds with her finger, and they still all grew to term and opened. |
GG,I am in love with the flowers of Hoya sp. RCBR-SP-YKL, clone A (EPC 229).Dose it have a fragrance?When you have time can you take a photo of the leaves. |
- Posted by greedyghost 5 (My Page) on Mon, Mar 25, 13 at 12:54
It does have a fragrance. It's somewhat similar to the finlaysonii group, kind of citrusy and musky, and about that strong, too. It's different - but in that vein, basically. Here is a photo I took a while back. The EPC-229 leaves are those flecked ones at the top. I have set parviflora (SRQ 3030) beneath it to show how similar the two are. Aside from differences in flecking, they are exactly the same in size, shape, and feel. I love these leaves. |
Thanks GG I will need to see if I can get this hoya. |
No no, GG, you can't blame it on the camera! ;-) That's as really cool looking peduncle, btw. Very long! |
Hey GG those are some amazing Hoyas! I am in love with the blooms on Hoya sp. RCBR-SP-YKL. I love fuzzy blooms! And as for the co-worker shaking your Hoya!! Now my baby did that, and of course I understood. But I think it would take alot not to shake any adult that did it to my plant!! -Teisa |
- Posted by greedyghost 5 (My Page) on Tue, Mar 26, 13 at 13:01
Again; beautiful pictures, GG! Cystiantha looks a lot like campanulata, both flowers and leaves. I hope they smell similar too, as I own a campanulata, and I wouldn't mind having a hoya that 'smells like a sugary sweet lemondrop candy'. :) |
- Posted by greedyghost 5 (My Page) on Fri, Mar 29, 13 at 13:13
You'll have to let me know! :) I really struggle with campanulata... I think I'll have to semi-hydro any of this group of plants that I choose to grow. The more Hoyas that bloom for me, the more intriguing I find the scents. I'm not really one of those people who intentionally collect plants for their fragrances, but wow, what a pleasure it has unexpectedly turned into. Unfortunately it's not really a pleasure you can explain, just by shoving someone's face into your plant. It has to sneak up on you, one night, when your mind is somewhere else, and you suddenly smell something amazing you weren't expecting, emanating from within your home. To me, it always feels like that scene in Where the Wild Things Are, where Max's bedroom starts transforming into a jungle. |
GG I think you find it much easier to grow these ones S/H. |
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The F600EXR is Fuji's latest version of its premier compact digital camera using EXR technology, in which the sensor employs pixel binning - combining two adjacent pixels to create larger pixels with decreased noise. As with the previous camera in the series, the F550EXR, the sensor is also a back-illuminated CMOS, which allows for faster performance and better low light ability.
The F600EXR is very similar to the F550EXR. Both use a 1/2.0 inch, 16 megapixel back-illuminated CMOS EXR sensor. They each have a 15x optical zoom lens with a focal range of 24 through 360mm (35mm film camera equivalent). They can take HD movies at 1080p resolution and have a built-in GPS. They both can shoot in RAW mode. The F600EXR does add a few useful features - a motion detection capability in Auto EXR mode to reduce blur, a Landmark Navigator feature to improve the functionality of the GPS, and a new intelligent digital zoom which effectively doubles the telephoto range of the 15x optical zoom lens.
The F600EXR is somewhat large and heavy for a compact point & shoot camera, weighing in at approximately 220 grams, including its lithium-ion rechargeable battery and memory card. It measures about 4-inches (103.5mm) wide, 2.4-inches (62.5mm) high and 1.2-inches (32.6mm) thick, or approximately the size of a bar of soap. The camera feels solid, with a largely plastic body on top of a metal frame. To help the user grip the camera, there's a rubberized strip at its front as well as a rubber coating surrounding the large 3.0-inch diagonal LCD screen.
My initial impressions of the camera are positive. The controls are well-placed and easy to use, except for the dedicated movie button, which is set at an odd angle. The menus are colorful, logical and easy to view on the large LCD. The camera seems fairly quick, though there's a two to three second delay between successive shots without the flash - not the fastest performance but not bad either.
Image quality is very good, with bright colors and dependable auto-focusing. Using EXR mode halves the camera's maximum resolution to 8 megapixels, due to the pixel binning process, but images still seem highly detailed. Chromatic aberration (fringing) is well controlled. While taking movies, I appreciated the ability to zoom while recording as well as the camera's continuous adjustment of focus, exposure and white balance.
While I'm impressed with the F600EXR's outdoor image quality, I'm curious whether its relatively large sensor, use of EXR technology and back-illuminated CMOS sensor can consistently produce good looking images indoors, at higher ISOs, that are superior to those of most point and shoot cameras. Thus far, I'm pleased with my high ISO results.
I'm looking forward to exploring the F600EXR's many features. All of that will be detailed in my upcoming full review. Meanwhile, here are some colorful outdoor images.
Sample Images


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My friend has been pissing me off lately. She keeps complaining that some UGLY (she's very superficialit pisses me off) guy likes her and keeps sending her candy and flowers and it gets on her nerves. I know she has the right to be mad about the fact that he wont back off, but she keeps talking to me about it like I know what it feels like (I wish). It makes me mad because she just can't be glad that someone (or actually everybody) likes her. People always call me ugly and it makes me mad when beautiful people complain that only ugly people like them when everyone already does. I know I may sound irrational but it actually makes me furious. I don't even know what my question is, because it just makes me so angry.
If you are a friend, you should be able to listen to your friend's problems. And as her friend, you should also be able to let her know if you think that her "problems" are no big deal. Friends don't always have to agree about everything but they have to respect one another's feelings. Let your buddy know that whenever she complains about "ugly" people liking her, you feel jealous that people like her and you feel insecure because you think you're ugly.
That said, you can't get all of your selfesteem from other people. Teenagers can be horrible to one another, so, just because you've been called ugly, that doesn't make it true. Chances are, someone has figured out that you don't feel good about yourself and the most surefire way to hit you where it hurts is to attack your appearance. You've heard "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder." It's true!
It's so easy to believe the worst about yourself. You've got to start working harder at feeling good about yourself. Having a million people like you or who think you're gorgeous wouldn't change how you feel about yourself. Start doing things that make you feel better about yourself. Read positive, intelligent books. Exercise, do yoga. Hang out with people who appreciate you and who make you feel good about yourself. Gradually, you'll lose that "angry girl" edge that's making your life so miserable.


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My players have reached the Blind tesserect and, to make a long story short, they do not want to activte the Iron daughter. Given the players roleplay choices, past behavior and their understanding of the blind tesserect, I feel that this is a valid choice on their part and I am reluctant to force them along the scripted path.
So as an alternative, I was considering the option of letting the players escape the room. They have an antimatter bomb, which they are willing to use to blow their way out.
This brings me to the question, if the room of the iron daughter is a creation of Haarlock, what does the blind tesserect actually look like? I am thinking that it could be some type of eerie open plain, were the players can see various visions of the past and future.
Each player would have a vision, seeing the various events they would have seen in the portals, but not participating in them.
I would think about assigning 1d10 insanity points because of the mind bending reality of the place.
Finally, they see a portal manifest, 'calling' them away. This portal would be created by the dusk hag and bring the players to Dusk.
I am inclined to have the players burn a fate point here as this is effectively a rescue from death by insanity.
From dusk, the players could continue as normal, but now, Haarlock will not return as the door has not been opened.
Does this sound feasibile? Has anyone else encountered this problem and what did they do?


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When discussing his teaching philosophy with reporters from Central Florida Lifestyle, the owner of Salsa Heat quipped, "if you can walk, you can dance." He himself didn't know much about dancing when he took his first salsa class in the early 90's, but he caught on after just a few sessions, falling in love with the dance's energetic spins and rhythmic movements.
Today, a team of professional dance instructors teach salsa spins and footwork to students of all experience levels. Zumba and bachata classes provide tutoring in other Latin dance styles, and salsa classes for kids teach youngsters dance fundamentals that hone coordination and motor skills. Throughout the year, the staff hosts special events on their spacious dance floors, such as salsa socials, salsa Christmas parties, and salsa-infused celebrations of Robert Heinlein's birthday.
Melanie LaJoie's dance career began almost three decades ago and has since taken her to Morocco, Egypt, and Russia, where she developed her expertise in an impressive number of ethnic dance traditions. Today, she directs the instructors at A Magi Temple Belly Dance and choreographs and performs pieces at local sites such as Universal Studios, Walt Disney World, and the House of Blues. Her students, who can include ladies age 10 and up, learn everything from warm-up exercises to routines in Bollywood, belly-dancing, and flamenco classes scheduled five days per week.
Established in 2007, Pulse Performance Studio is a performing arts school offering classes to students of all ages and levels in ballet, jazz, tap, hip hop, drama, voice, flamenco, and contemporary styles. With and award winning company and a professional staff, Pulse has become E. Orlando's best school of performing arts
For more than three decades, the Orlando Ballet has infused the stage with a mixed repertoire of graceful classical ballet and fiery contemporary programs. In the second production of "Battle of the Sexes," male and female dancers surge forward with sensual volleys of arms and legs timed to the choreography of Robert Hill. Gaze in awe from the middle or upper balcony as sultry silhouettes perform flying leaps and spins in tandem under red lights and full-bodied music. En pointe enthusiasts can purchase multiple Groupons and accompany their family, friends, or passing tour group to the ballet.
In 1926, it was called the Orlando Little Theatre. Since then it has undergone four name changes, two mergers, and five expansions. Today, the Orlando Repertory Theatre (REP) enriches the lives of families with theater performances based on classic and contemporary children's literature and outreach events designed to get young audiences involved in the arts.
Every year, approximately 40,000 children attend the REP's productions, which change seasonally and will include The Voyages of Doctor Dolittle, Dr. Seuss' The Cat in the Hat, and The Adventures of Tom Sawyer in the 2012–2013 season. Children with hearing impairments have access to assisted hearing devices, and one performance of each production includes ASL interpreters. A product of the REP's goal to target families, the Sideways Series showcases plays with challenging themes to encourage children to think outside the box and ask serious questions. The REP also sponsors a number of youth and community-outreach events, including a writing workshop, summer camps with student-led performances, a theater-tech academy, and theatrical-training workshops for underserved youth.


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While preparing for the British Columbia Championships in 2003, I found myself in the largest blackout in Canadian and American history. This meant that I would be without power, with translates into no gym, fresh chicken, or even gas for a taxi to get anywhere.
It was August, 2003 just a few weeks from my figure show. I was in shock when I heard that I would be stuck in a hotel, stranded in Toronto, Ontario between flights as I traveled from Nassau, Bahamas to Victoria, BC Canada. My new 'home' was actually in Mississauga, and to create a workout, I relied on the only power around. My 'will power'.
Here are the basics I always use when it comes to staying fit anywhere, and at anytime! (Repeat circuit at least two more times for a total of three sets. Do up to five sets.)
The other part of 'The looking and feeling great equation' is eating right. It was very hard finding the right foods without power, but do your best. Come contest time you will thank yourself! If you can get to grocery store, you will find canned tuna, protein bars, and in the deli there may be foods that are safe to eat such as rice, and salads. Be sure to also drink lots of water. Use this time to break from the television and read. You can be sure the newspapers are full of facts and speculations on why you are in the dark!
If you have a show coming up, or want to train just for your health and well being, use this workout anytime you are in a bind, or have little time to spare. In just 15 - 20 min, you would have done your heart, mind and spirit a favor!
The end result for me, was placing 2nd in the figure short class. On July, 3rd 2004. I competed at the Canadian Nationals in Brantford, Ontario and place 9th out of 28 extremely talented athletes.
By Fawnia Mondey
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Jamshied Sharifi By Jill Ettinger Published July 22, 2008 One Ceres
Iranian-American Jamshied Sharifi's musical influences range from traditional Persian to jazz, classical and gospel. On his second album as a leader, he brings all of these a little closer together. Backed by a world-class band featuring oud, kora, clarinet, saxophone and a slew of percussive goodness, Sharifi blends his signature synthesizer stylings with vocalists from all corners of the globe his gifted ear detects potential marriages between cultures so beautifully, it's a wonder that they've existed without each other for this long. The album opens with the title track, featuring haunting vocals from Tibet's Yungchen Lhamo and Mali's Abdoulaye Diabaté—a testament to Sharifi's harmonious vision that continues on "Charlotte Sky," which infuses Grammy winner Paula Cole's moving take with gorgeous Gnawa vocals from Morocco's Hassan Hakmoun. One keeps delivering moments like these, from the angelic sounds of Tehran's Sussan Deyhim to the cascading vocal runs of North Indian ghazal singer Vishal Vaid, who makes any record unforgettable.


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Coppermine, great course, great weather, great people, great bikes....and some great beer.
This year's Epic winner Robin Reid, got in quick before the beer queue got too big.
T-Rex 2nd place, "I'll be back"
Ethan Glover, 3rd place with a puncture...just trying get get in before the queue for food was too big!
Andy Reid, 4th place, Nomad, Single Chain-ring and so close to riding all of Boulder Valley.
Don't forget he got 2nd at the kiwi brevt just over a week ago.
Harriet Harper, 1st women....and probably a lot faster than you think.
Current National DH Champ too.
Susy Wood, 2nd place, a lot faster up hill than you could possible imagine.
Ask James Hufflet.


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Beauty and the Beast
Oct 8 - 13 , 2013
Enchanting Smash Hit Musical
Disney's BEAUTY AND THE BEAST, the smash hit Broadway musical, is returning to the Triangle! Based on the Academy® Award-winning animated feature film, this eye-popping spectacle has won the hearts of over 35 million people worldwide. This classic musical love story is filled with unforgettable characters, lavish sets and costumes, and dazzling production numbers including "Be Our Guest" and the beloved title song. Experience the romance and enchantment of Disney's BEAUTY AND THE BEAST at DPAC!
- Show Length: Act One: 80 Minutes, Intermission: 20 Minutes, Act Two: 50 Minutes
Content Advisory: Most parents would find this program suitable for ages 5 and above. All guests require a ticket, regardless of age. No one under the age of 5 admitted into the theater, and children must be able to sit quietly in their own seat without disturbing other guests.
Event Dates/Times
- Tuesday, October 8, 2013 - 7:30 PM
- Wednesday, October 9, 2013 - 7:30 PM
- Thursday, October 10, 2013 - 7:30 PM
- Friday, October 11, 2013 - 8:00 PM
- Saturday, October 12, 2013 - 2:00 PM
- Saturday, October 12, 2013 - 8:00 PM
- Sunday, October 13, 2013 - 1:00 PM
- Sunday, October 13, 2013 - 6:30 PM
Event Details
- Oct 8 - 13 , 2013
- DPAC Seating Chart
Best availability on Wednesday and Thursday performances.
Buy at 919.680.2787, Ticketmaster, or the DPAC Ticket Center.
To purchase Groups 10+ now, visit our Group Services page.
- Photography and Video Recording is prohibited. All electronic devices (cell phones, smart phones, tablets, digital cameras) must be turned off before entering the seating area. Cameras with detachable lens are not allowed into the building.
- Visit the DPAC Parking Guide
Please note that Ticketmaster is DPAC's only official online ticketing service. Tickets purchased from websites other than DPACnc.com or Ticketmaster.com may be stolen or counterfeit, and often carry service charges that greatly inflate the overall price of your tickets. When purchasing tickets online you should only purchase from websites you can trust, DPACnc.com and Ticketmaster.com