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Of course, I like seeing the progress but the daily nuts and bolts of knowing where you want to go but not knowing quite how to get there, I find that awful. The Outrun was built up from fragments; passages from diaries, tweets and sections of an unfinished novel that would collect into different chapters, different themes. As Amy and I get dressed to leave this little Berlin island, two huge swans rush towards us; their backs arched, wings spread, beaks snapping. Amy stands perfectly still, watching with a wry smile as I edge away, flicking my towel like a makeshift matador.

She is tall, pale, unflappable, until the birds eventually retreat. She has, I suppose, seen off greater dangers than a couple of angry birds. And so we turn, our feet sandy, our hair smelling of lake, and head back to the pavements and pages of the city. If only we could smell potential dates through our phones: dating apps would be a new and fragrant landscape.

As her magnum opus returns to UK shores, Lizzie Borden — the visionary artist behind Born in Flames — talks rebellion, feminist artistry, and her nostalgia for 70s NYC. Dedicated to modern and contemporary art she puts on large scale exhibitions that span installation, dance, sculpture, photography and spoken word.


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We sat down with the editor, writer and dominatrix Reba Maybury to discuss her taboo-breaking publishing house Wet Satin Press, her latest novel Dining With Humpty Dumpty and what it means to be a woman in control. A digital journey to make the invisible, visible. Es Devlin explores the powerful experience of scent in Mirror Maze, an interactive video sculpture created in support of the new immersive installation she has created in Peckham, South London.


  1. Questions?;
  2. Lou. Lexingtons Case;
  3. The Corncrake Chronicles by Tim Noble | NOOK Book (eBook) | Barnes & Noble®!
  4. Der Maya-Kalender 1400-1301 v.Chr.: Haab - Tzolkin - Long Count für jeden einzelnen Tag (German Edition).
  5. Cranford (Cert 12, 295 mins, BBC DVD, DVD £19.99, drama).
  6. Sozialisation - Eine Annäherung an den Begriff (German Edition)?
  7. Recommended Stories. Read More. I learned about a new bird today, thanks! It does sound like a very large cricket or hopper. Yes, I would be cringing if he sat under my open window at night and sang to me. A lovely little fellow. I am sure that you would stand a good chance of hearing them if you checked the website as to exactly where to go, but to see, they are very, very frustrating little chaps! In my readings over the last 60 odd years I have read of the corncrake. It is so good to hear it. Sally Kenyon was truly a "bouncer. She was not, as might be inferred from this description, anyways masculine; but a strong plump "wench" of four-and-twenty, with cheeks where the red and white were so sweetly blended, and which so set off her roguish black eyes, that it was no wonder she became a "bother" to her parents; especially at such times as the jew's-harp twanged at the keyhole, or at the broken square of the buttery window.

    In the early part of this evening I speak of, old Johnny Kenyon sat in the nook with his nose cocked towards the ceiling, dreaming, perhaps, of his probable success at a forthcoming apple show.

    Old Esther had taken from the drawers the thick, dumpy, house Bible, and was busy reading from its pages — now aloud, as if unconsciously, and at other times to herself — folding down leaf after leaf, and as often stretching others, as she dipped here and there in the sacred volume.

    Their daughter was engaged with her needle, hemming a white cambric pocket-handkerchief, which would perhaps be stolen ere two Sunday evenings passed; for stealing young women's handkerchiefs was, to a village Lothario, what scalping is to an Indian savage, a sort of evidence of his prowess — the handkerchief stolen being shown as a trophy at the next "stir," and perhaps restored to the fair owner for the ransom of a kiss.

    Now the needle would stop, and Sally would look thoughtfully at the candle, then watch her father's eyes draw gradually close, and listen for the heavy breathing which indicated sleep; for she expected her lover's signal by-and-by, and it was such a beautiful night! Oh, for a stroll by the river in that sweet moonlight, and listen to "Charley o' Po1ly's" new story of village courtship, or be delighted by the information of how much he had saved up for the wedding! Old Johnny was just in that twilight which connects waking with sleeping, when a low, humming sound, proceeding from the front garden, caught Sally's ear.

    ‘I once saw one carrying a segment of Terry’s Chocolate Orange’ | Festival Chronicle

    The girl laid down her sewing, and listened. The "angles" of the garden-gate squeaked, the latch "rickled," and the next moment the charming notes of "Hokey-pokey winkey-wank" were being twanged at the keyhole. These sounds were succeeded by a clatter of clogs upon the pavement as if some person was making a hasty retreat from the door. The latter noise wakened up the sleeper, just as his daughter was crossing stealthily over the floor, and he made a jump in his seat.

    Living the Wildlife: Corncrake - RTÉ Goes Wild

    Mind, if I con catch him I'll ring him a tune of his ears ut he'll no' forget o at once; for I'll poo 'em till they're as long as shoetees; that I will — a young gallows whelp as he is! Now, Sally, thee come back, wilta? If thou's nowt better to do, trammel off t' bed, for thou goes noane out this neet.

    The mother closed the Bible, and taking off her spectacles, turned to her lord and master and inquired what there was to do. Well, whatever win wenches be at e'ennow I wonder? Sally, thou doesno' meean t' say thou'rt owd enoogh for owt o' th' sort, doesta? I're a year owder than thee afore ever thy feyther oather spoke to me or looked soft at me. But now-a-days they're gett'n into a lot o' forrad huzzies ut'n hardly laid by their skippin rope before they're thinkin about eendin their wits wi' chaps.

    Sally, I thowt we'd browt thee up different, I did. Yo' pleeast yo'rsel about yo'rs, I reckon. An' then thy feyther wurno' one o'th' roughest sort, but as dacent a lad as any i' Waverlow.

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    No' Charley o' Polly's, is it? How dar thou look at me, thou comikil besom, gooin wi' sich a pousement as him? It wur but th' tother neet ut him an' a two-thri moore o' th' same brun tee'd a cat to a rope, an' it pood owd Sam Blunderick through th' broad Wayter. An' it isno' long sin' ut he took owd Ducky mop an' hung it upo' th' oak staple o'er th' dur; an' when owd Ducky went out it leet slap int' his face, an' goodness knows it had been well soused i'th' sink afore.

    Lord o' mercy, wench, what ever art' thinkin about? The serenading had ceased, for anything he could hear, but had he been a little quicker he might have heard an occasional twang at the buttery window, and a low whistle given at similar intervals. They con see thoose sometimes, if they conno' feel 'em. Old Kenyon coughed, for he felt just then that he would rather his game would make a run of it than stand there to be struck at like a stump. The figure stirred not, and Johnny coughed again, this time louder than before, and accompanied the noise by a flourish of his stick in the moonlight.

    istormacoun.tk There was a slight movement under the hedge, and a crackling amongst the twigs; and a whistle more shrill than he had been accustomed to hear came from thereabouts. The pursuer, thinking to catch hold of the runaway's jacket laps, and make a show of dragging him back, made a "grab" just as the other was making his escape, when lo!

    Johnny let go in an instant, and looked over the fence to assure himself that what he imagined he felt was a reality. There was "Daunk," sure enough, pricking his ears and looking towards his adversary as if it occurred to him that the blow he had received was ill-merited, and might have been intended for someone else. But ther's no tellin what they con do when they're trained to it; for owd Tinker had one once ut kept itsel an' fund its own clooas for mony a year; so yon's happen one o'th' same sort.

    Well, well, Sally; if thou's no hondsomer felly than that, thou'rt put to a shift," and he chuckled to himself as he turned away. The daughter had apparently gone to bed, and the old woman was still engaged with her reading when Johnny entered the house. I wonder whatever our Sally means — that's what I do.

    Ben Brierley - the Chronicles of Waverlow (II.)

    If I'd bin theere I'd ha' poo'd his ears for him, that I would," and old Esther emphatically closed the book, and shoved her spectacles up on her forehead. Ett, go thee to bed, an' I'll tak my pipe out an' wait quietly till he oather shows hissel or goes away, or else we'st be bothert with him o neet.

    I've a good mind t' scaud him. Johnny reached down his pipe from the rack, and cramming it with an extra charge of tobacco, lighted it and went to his "look-out" at the door. The night, as I have said, was beautiful, and the moon was just placing the house front in shadow as our neighbour took up his station on the doorstep. He half wished the fellow would escape him, if it was only for the pluck he had shown.

    And now he felt himself quite softening towards the intruder, and inclined to hang out the flag of truce, if it was only to know what the young scamp meant by thus nightly serenading. He would take another stroll round the house — look at the field of corn which spread there like a golden carpet, till it lost itself in the light mist about the river. And everything was so still too — so quiet — so charming even to an old man's fancy! How could he harbour resentment towards anyone, with such a lesson of love and beneficence before him?

    He placed his stick against the rain-tub and walked on.