City Of The Amazons
Previously… Leopard Ladies Of Mercury Buxom Amazons Of Jupiter Sex Sirens Of Saturn I opened the door as the echo of the ringing bell finally faded to nothing in the stone hallway and was instantly blinded by the sunshine that flowed in and around the silhouette of a buxom young woman standing there. I blinked and shielded my eyes. “Albert’s girth!” I exclaimed. “Elizabeth!? Is that you?” “It is, doctor,” she said, stepping inside without invitation and allowing me to cast my eyes over Carruthers’ niece from a more favourable angle. She was a sight for sore, watering eyes, and more besides, but I regained my composure quickly and glanced outside. Of Carruthers there was no sign; only a tandem penny farthing stood propped against the wall that mostly surrounded my country retreat in Sussex. Over my best attempt at a cup of tea – one really doesn’t appreciate a housekeeper as good as Mrs Amersham until she is of necessity called away to attend a family bereavement; a cousin killed just the weekend past by an anti-suffrage mob in Brixton – Elizabeth told me that it was imperative I accompany her to her uncle as he was certain he had found the fabled City of the Amazons and felt the chance of success in such a mission would increase with my accompaniment. It was difficult to say no to Elizabeth and I suspected that had been Carruthers’ intention. “Elizabeth, dear Elizabeth,” I said, trying to find the right words. “As you know I have not been well ever since that horrible incident that saw the three of us set foot on Saturn. I have self-administered a dose of trepanning but the mental ailment that yet still afflicts me has left me with little desire” – I choked on this word and blushed, I’m sure – “for adventure or the company of man. I find myself thinking dark thoughts from time-to-time and I have not fully gotten over the loss of Mr Hawkes, I’m certain.” I glanced at the empty picture frame on the mantelpiece; it ashamed me that my intention to sketch my former spacefaring companion in tribute had been scuppered by a frightening inability to recall his features. “I am sure your uncle can cope without me. Indeed, he may be better off without worrying over what I might say or do next as it’s a constant threat at the back of my own mind.” “My uncle wouldn’t ask this lightly,” answered Elizabeth. “And neither would I,” she continued, fixing a stare at me that I hurriedly broke. “Normalcy may be just what the doctor should be...
Bad Space Hotels
Subtitled Reviews from another world! and published in 1975, Bad Space Hotels was quite likely partly the inspiration for the Space Vacation novels by Joachim Tung-Deprezant of a few years later. Unlike those novels, though, Marshall Wickstomp’s foray into literature disregards storyline in favour of fictional reviews of hotels (with problems) on planets throughout the galaxy. The book is quite funny to start with – although the use of the word “space” as an adjective does wear thin after a while – but gets darker towards the end, a result of problems in the author’s personal life: house repossession, liquidation of his company manufacturing Space Frisbees, premature baldness, and most influentially, a messy divorce. This is easy to see with a comparison of one of the early bad space hotel reviews with a later one. Early: The Triton Excelsior is perfectly located for the Space Convention Center but our room was too close to the rooftop launchpad. While we appreciated the great view of Space City Gamma and the bonus sight of the entire Spacegridball field during the tournament final my tertiary wife felt the deafening roar and retro rocket plumes that cascaded onto us during our digital candlelit dinner on our 829th floor balcony spoiled our anniversary. Later: I thought this would be the only hotel I’d ever need. I thought I would be able to stay here forever. I was wrong. It looked good on the outside, at first. But inside there was not enough space illumination. The darkness seemed to grow like a cancer. The bed was hard, cold, and unforgiving. The windows were covered in astrosoot. Looking out from inside made everything seem bleak. There is a foulness in the corridors that permeates everything it touches. I would not recommend the Hotel Caroline on Arcturus IX to my worst enemy, although I understand my former best friend Dave likes his regular room in the basement. Wickstomp disappeared in...
Morris Men, Stealing Sheep, And An Apparition
A fabulous music video for the song Apparition by Stealing Sheep featuring the Abingdon Traditional Morris Side and the Oxford City Morris Men. I’ve got some history with Abingdon Traditional Morris having photographed them on one or two occasions before (Mayor’s Day 2011, Mayor’s Day 2012, and the Abingdon Extravaganza) and from having a wife and a best friend, both of whom are cousins of one of the dancers (the bearded one you can see stepping over the broom at the start of the video). The song is great and it’s made greater by the video which is wonderfully choreographed and expertly directed by Dougal Wilson with some lovely effects and a fantastic attempt to feel like a one-take video, without actually being one. Extra points go to the band for learning some of the steps too. Stealing Sheep is Rebecca Hawley, Emily Lansley, and Lucy Mercer. Their sound in general and the sound in particular for this song fits perfectly with this video. Quirky is the...
Movies I’ve Made My Wife Watch
Over twenty years ago, in the period before I met the woman who would soon move in with me and much later become my wife, I used to watch movies quite a lot. This was the golden age of VHS video and small video shops with quality making way for quantity meaning there was a neverending stream of films to rent of every genre imaginable. Some were great, some were appalling, some were both great and appalling. In the period since I met my now-wife I have introduced her to some of these films as they’ve sprung to mind or I’ve accidentally rediscovered them somehow. I love all these films for their nostalgia factor or because I genuinely think they’re fabulous. My wife does not always share my opinion despite repeated attempts to change her mind. Cry Baby My wife – being a woman with eyes – already had a bit of a thing for Johnny Depp. Thus, she had no problems at all agreeing to watch Cry Baby and there was no need for The Restraining Device. This, along with Hairspray, formed my introduction to my wife of the wonderful world of John Waters. Is there a more enigmatic film director on the planet? There is not. The film is a great 1950s-style musical with great songs and wonderful cast. “Look!” I said to my wife. “That’s Traci Lords.” “Should I know her?” she asked. “Er.” “Where do you know her from?” “Er.” Wife’s review: So good. John Waters can do no wrong. The Beastmaster My wife describes this fantastic fantasy adventure (my words; not hers) as my “Hawk the Slayer”, meaning I feel about The Beastmaster in the same way she feels about Hawk the Slayer; she has fond memories of the latter while accepting its many flaws and assumes I feel the same way about the former. I do not feel that way, though. She is wrong. It has Marc Singer, witchcraft, human sacrifice, Rip Torn, scary leathery bird things, and ferrets. That’s the sort of pedigree you won’t find anywhere else. The Beastmaster shits all over Hawk the Slayer. That’s all you need to know. Note: under no circumstances ever watch Beastmaster 2: Through the Portal of Time. Just. Don’t. I’m not kidding. Wife’s review: It’s nice that you like it but it’s not very good. Running Scared Billy Crystal and Gregory Hines. Cops. Sick and tired of getting nowhere with the criminal elements of Chicago they decide to retire to Miami. They’ve just got to survive the homicidal tendencies of Jimmy Smits and a montage to the sound of Sweet Freedom by Michael McDonald....
Birds Of England’s East Coast
Something for ornithologists and amateur bird-watchers alike, a selection of some of the more rare birds you might just spot out and about around the eastern coast of England between late summer and early winter. Factory Swan Named because their black feathers were believed to be the result of soot belching out from late Victorian factories when the birds were first identified living in large groups alongside the Thames estuary these swans are actually 19th century immigrants from Iceland whose colouring made them easy to spot by predators once that country underwent The Coldening during the early 1800s. Their beaks have a very distinctive red flash along the top in adulthood, the result of staining from the swans’ preferred food source of subterranean cherries. Narcissus Tern Visually very similar to other terns along shorelines across northern Europe but distinguishable by silver flecks across the breast and eyes typically 15% larger than other birds of the Sternidae familiy, it is, however, the behaviour of these seabirds that gives them their obvious name; prior to courting – and to a lesser extent immediately before feeding – the Narcissus Tern will often seek out highly reflective surfaces and stare at itself intently, grooming when necessary, but sometimes simply staring at itself at the expense of all other activity. Some bird experts suggest this forms a means of “psyching itself up” although there is no consensus of opinion. Magpie Eagle Not a magpie and not an eagle, but actually a medium-sized hawk typically residing in urban areas in a rough triangle formed of London, Colchester, and Ramsgate during the colder weather, moving to the countryside as the temperatures increase. The bird’s feathers form a black and white fractal pattern that roughly resembles birds in flight but it’s the hawk’s unusual penchant for stealing bright objects with which to decorate its nesting areas – vacant beehives – that gives it part of its name; the remainder being a printing mistake from the definitive 1932 publication of British Hawks & Turtles that’s yet to be rectified. Logan’s Turnstone Like other turnstones the Logan’s Turnstone lives by the coast and feeds on insects, crustaceans, and molluscs, most often in areas with seaweed-covered rocks. Unlike other turnstones the Logan’s Turnstone often throws itself off cliff edges in large numbers once it reaches what is for the bird old age; for reasons not understood it will not use its wings and will either smash itself on the surface below or, if above water, allow itself to drown. The name Logan’s Turnstone was adopted in the 1970s after the movie Logan’s Run, replacing the previous and politically-incorrect name of...
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