tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69082786802119374782024-03-22T01:24:51.758+00:00YOUR OLD MAN SAYSYOUR OLD MAN SAYS. Wrinkles should only indicate where smiles have been. So said Mark Twain. As time marches on and your child is now a man, you realise that there might be a few words to say that have some universal worth. Good judgement, as it happens, comes from experience, and a lot of that comes from bad judgement. So this public forum is an outlet for me to pass it on. My thoughts. My images. My words. We are all, no matter what age, in this thing together.D Eric Pettigrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16568996160202876154noreply@blogger.comBlogger259125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908278680211937478.post-87082704953486448312020-03-19T07:46:00.001+00:002020-03-19T07:46:11.585+00:00EDUCATED - Tara Westover<img id="id_e42f_f7f0_5a86_86f0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/lATawR8k4mnDUlG56Mr3BOmf2jeqqlHNhO7nbadg2kRXUQbwVODUpuDtVTNU9Fs" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 161px; height: auto;"><br><font face="Trebuchet MS">EDUCATED Tara Westover</font><div><font face="Trebuchet MS"><br></font></div><div><font face="Trebuchet MS">An unlikely journey of escape, discovery and intellectual growth </font></div>D Eric Pettigrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16568996160202876154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908278680211937478.post-60662188276249556592018-08-18T06:59:00.004+01:002018-08-18T07:00:18.275+01:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>LE COUSIN DE M MAGRITTE</b></span></div>
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D Eric Pettigrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16568996160202876154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908278680211937478.post-57549042663154831152016-08-05T16:47:00.001+01:002016-08-05T16:47:51.098+01:00MAY I HAVE HALF A WORD PLEASE?<div><br></div><div><br></div><div>There has been a furore about the overuse of the F word on the airwaves....how it has devalued our language and our morals and deadened our senses. This is especially true in the US presidential election of Trumpistan, where feelings run high and almost anything is fair game. </div><div><br></div><div>Words are indeed powerful. They evoke an automatic response from our consciousness. In a sense, they do our thinking for us. They are contextual, however, and if used too much, either lose their meaning entirely or indeed mean exactly the opposite of their intention. Consider the epithet FxxxxxxA. It no doubt used to be an insult; now it is more an expression of surprise.</div><div><br></div><div>Why not use a half-word instead? A half-word will not explain anything for us; it will force us to think to understand. Of course it will be a euphemism for its full partner, but it will require active participation for comprehension and will stop us cheapening our language with all-purpose potty words that, in fact, may mean anything or nothing at all.</div><div><br></div><div>Take the half-word It, for example. No prizes for guessing its full partner. But use it for a while, and you will quickly find just how confused our language can become when overuse turns into saturation, and where context then becomes everything.</div><div><br></div><div>IT has amazing properties to transform itself.</div><div><br></div><div>For example, someone who knows his IT is seen as smart; someone who knows IT, dumb.</div><div><br></div><div>Both good IT and bad IT can be good, usually when followed by the word man, as in: This is good IT, man, or this is BAAD IT, man.</div><div><br></div><div>You can either take a IT, or have a IT, or just plain IT, and it all means the same thing.</div><div><br></div><div>Being IT hot is good, being a hot IT is seen as selfish and egotistical.</div><div><br></div><div>Being full of IT, or a IT head is also bad, but if you have your IT together that is good.</div><div><br></div><div>If you don't give a IT it is also bad, whereas saying he gives a IT means in fact he doesn't.</div><div><br></div><div>And so on and so on.</div><div><br></div><div>By stripping away the full word you will make people think about what you are saying, and make you think twice before you say it.</div><div><br></div><div>And if someone should ask you what you are doing, just say you are using half-words, and if they ask you what the other half of IT is, just look at them and respond quietly: "What you should tell yourself the next time you mindlessly say IT:........Sh....</div>D Eric Pettigrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16568996160202876154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908278680211937478.post-41465734728690187972016-07-26T06:31:00.002+01:002016-07-26T06:31:31.831+01:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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D Eric Pettigrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16568996160202876154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908278680211937478.post-76662141147003879582016-06-13T09:51:00.001+01:002016-06-13T09:51:14.426+01:00THE GREATEST<div>A MEMORY OF MUHAMMED ALI</div><div><br></div><div>I was fortunate to have met Muhammed Ali twice.</div><div><br></div><div>The first time was in the Miami airport when I was a student. I noticed a huge hullabaloo in the baggage claim area, and spotted the distinctive Eraserhead grey frizz of Don King’s afro. My mate and I went over to investigate.</div><div><br></div><div>Don King was in terry cloth slippers looking like a bum, literally, and there perched on the baggage carousel surround by a mob was Ali, signing autographs. Most people gave him large dollar bills to sign….20s and 100s and the like. He signed and signed, hardly looking up. I waited in the massed queue (not really a queue, more like a rugby scrum) and passed him the only bill I had, which was a one-dollar bill.</div><div><br></div><div>He stopped and looked up.</div><div>“A Dollar?” he said.</div><div>I shrugged my shoulders. “I’m a student. If I use a twenty I’ll have to spend it. Now I’ll keep it forever.”</div><div><br></div><div>He shook his head, smiled, and signed.</div><div><br></div><div>The second time was in the early 1990s when he was on a book tour in London on Old Broad Street in a bookstore. I bought the book, and tried to approach him, hoping he would sign my dollar bill, which I always carried in my wallet. By this time he was shaking like a leaf from Parkinson’s. His minders were not letting anyone near him. I said: “Do you think Muhammed would sign this dollar bill? He signed it for me in 1978 when I was a student.” The minder shook his head.</div><div>“No autographs.”</div><div>All of a sudden Ali, who heard this exchange, mumbled something, and gestured for me to come over. His face was all puffy, and it was impossible to decipher what he said, apart from “Come…come” in a very slurred speech.</div><div>I was in my mid thirties at this point, but I felt like a schoolboy. I showed him the dollar, and he scrawled his signature on it. You could make out the M and not much else. It only took a second.</div><div>There was something magical about the man. The energy which flowed off of him was like standing next to a heater. I will never forget it.</div><div>When I found out he died, I cried. The first time for a public figure that I can remember.</div><div><br></div><div>The dollar was subsequently stolen along with my wallet, and no doubt spent by someone for whom it meant nothing.</div><div><br></div><div>No matter. I shall always have the memory.</div><div><br></div><div>The word great is bandied about way too much. But he was a great man.</div><div>The Greatest. </div><div><br></div>D Eric Pettigrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16568996160202876154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908278680211937478.post-37603051991085685952016-04-17T10:27:00.000+01:002016-04-17T22:21:40.971+01:00FAST EDDIE ARBS THE SYSTEM<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
WRITTEN IN 2010..... POLITICS EH? Originally written on 27 Sep 2010....long before this interloper ran for Prime Minister......<br />
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Would you even consider a leader who wasn't even elected by the members of his party? Who gets in power by an alliance with unions but in the next breath disavows them?<br />
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Do you really ever want a government in place where behind the scenes a union boss can call on a strike without EVEN A MAJORITY OF HIS OWN MEMBERS?<br />
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Well, that's what you have got with the latest Labour party farce.<br />
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After an election process which, let's face it, was completely off the radar screen, Fast Eddie won the battle of the brothers, sneaking up at the last moment with the unions in his pocket (or he in theirs). Neither the majority of party members, MPs, or MEPs voted for him. And some of the union members are not even in the Labour party.<br />
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What a system, eh?<br />
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D Eric Pettigrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16568996160202876154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908278680211937478.post-90483114490365004462016-03-26T16:09:00.001+00:002016-04-12T08:31:34.280+01:00AN EASTER TO REMEMBER<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Spring in England always carries with it the kind of mixed messages carried by harbingers who are slightly unsure of what they are supposed to be carrying. A lovely sunny day can easily be followed by the grey wet which has preceded it, pulling the springtime rug straight out from under the psyche desperate to jump onto it after a grey dull winter. There are no magic carpet rides in the British spring.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">This year especially, I will have an Easter to remember. Bad news comes in threes, and the past month has seen me have an ear operation to remove a basal cell carcinoma (skin cancer), an interior job which is very slow to heal as it is on the inside of the ear. Then food poisoning. Then <i>le comble </i>as the french say, the finger incident. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Riding home on the Tube, straphanging as one does on the newer carriages, the driver hit the brakes just after leaving Sloane Square. My left finger got caught in the strap as I hurtled to the floor, knocked off balance by the twisting of the strap and the suitcase on the floor next to me. The finger stayed behind. Snap.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I fell down, and one gentleman helped me up and offered me his seat. Are you alright? he said. No, I broke my finger I said, and held up my hand for him (and the rest of the carriage) to see. Gasps and horrified looks. But mostly averted gazes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">A nice gentleman next to me said quietly:the closest hospital is Chelsea and Westminster. I stumbled off the train at South Ken, crossed the street to hail a cab (but not before a young girl scuttled across the road to nab the one I was heading for). I found the next one in the rank, and showed him my finger. Ouch, he said, and carried on a sympathetic conversation. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My finger was dislocated and fractured in three places (those with a nervous disposition should look away now).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The NHS rocks. After an hour wait, I got a very competent and friendly doctor (Kate MacEwan, like the lager she said although she is a Mac and not a Mc).After diagnosis and X-rays, the Filipino med assistant cut off my wedding ring. 20 seconds of nitrous oxide, and Kate pulled the finger back into place. The whole process took about four hours. Now I have to go next Tuesday to a specialist to see if they need to put pins in.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The point is not the rich vein of bad luck I seem to have tapped into, but the reminder that the body is a very complex and fragile instrument, and that despite whatever happens, you will figure out a way to cope, and there are a hell of a lot of other people worse off who should be remembered at Easter. But in this faux spring as the water drips down on what should be a nice Easter Saturday, this will be an Easter which I will remember. And do take care riding on those new trains. Those straps can be lethal (think of a hangman's noose which closes around you).</span><br />
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D Eric Pettigrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16568996160202876154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908278680211937478.post-84707893474820855912015-11-24T22:35:00.003+00:002016-02-23T06:34:31.413+00:00SPHERES OF INFLUENCE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>CRANE BEACH</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih0Ps23QlyuVY8Y9-d7vXWCf5Xiv9Q8IloOgYqJqNmCT3x0uzVm-j9stgqPZ83DlFAs32S-I4cOk_qYmmsP1AuuH6YJF3gnGBK9f_OAWMJon2ZuD5LcybErF7eEfSIuir8ehR52wIHdT4/s1600/DARK+SPHERES1200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih0Ps23QlyuVY8Y9-d7vXWCf5Xiv9Q8IloOgYqJqNmCT3x0uzVm-j9stgqPZ83DlFAs32S-I4cOk_qYmmsP1AuuH6YJF3gnGBK9f_OAWMJon2ZuD5LcybErF7eEfSIuir8ehR52wIHdT4/s400/DARK+SPHERES1200.jpg" width="285" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>OUTER SPACE</b></span></div>
</div>
D Eric Pettigrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16568996160202876154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908278680211937478.post-30676827438804280762015-11-19T22:27:00.002+00:002015-11-19T22:27:25.010+00:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFOYTdTITlov4DqZGxAxX0unTdAorl96WriRzk861Yizr_FkN68iTMbQYMEoyQ9_zDE25BNtLBIu5O0fO4J6KocU3O9toj6A5M2QNAr_sOgIhex6RMirQ1wuT-8e1adTwSWhI-UfVVS58/s1600/THOU+SHALT+NOT+PASS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFOYTdTITlov4DqZGxAxX0unTdAorl96WriRzk861Yizr_FkN68iTMbQYMEoyQ9_zDE25BNtLBIu5O0fO4J6KocU3O9toj6A5M2QNAr_sOgIhex6RMirQ1wuT-8e1adTwSWhI-UfVVS58/s400/THOU+SHALT+NOT+PASS.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>THOU SHALT NOT PASS</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">A beautiful afternoon on a day in Boston.</span></div>
</div>
D Eric Pettigrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16568996160202876154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908278680211937478.post-55896091863238494312015-05-25T19:05:00.005+01:002015-05-25T19:05:43.658+01:00A FLY IN THE OINTMENT<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There always is....no?</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikD5rgyGtJvl_0DVWF5tQIM-skGYq95JWMsX-B49mET6hePtjW0yuEuDmIDz0EO-KELDkG8cUXY3FSR1QdEu993Irzy7VdLDGsfk4sdcU73LAGdY5r26C6iU_CNMfqMtVyRE0xSfU3pms/s1600/THERE+IS+ALWAYS+A+FLY+IN+THE+OINTMENT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikD5rgyGtJvl_0DVWF5tQIM-skGYq95JWMsX-B49mET6hePtjW0yuEuDmIDz0EO-KELDkG8cUXY3FSR1QdEu993Irzy7VdLDGsfk4sdcU73LAGdY5r26C6iU_CNMfqMtVyRE0xSfU3pms/s320/THERE+IS+ALWAYS+A+FLY+IN+THE+OINTMENT.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A FLY IN THE OINTMENT</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
D Eric Pettigrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16568996160202876154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908278680211937478.post-29371460174796518982015-05-10T14:39:00.001+01:002015-05-10T14:39:24.038+01:00HAPPY OR NOT?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsmKh2Fit-U6eS4ro0l6Nh4i49N_NM5P_Vned8iX9f3danAiawaiwXbScHz2WpiSDp-OyI3bicLaH3ZCp9auPPnI45gIZr3gX9GDFPBwEwIKtkmBQwsbMfABks0Uww4Yw_hYlG4iRz3ss/s1600/HAPPY+OR+NOT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsmKh2Fit-U6eS4ro0l6Nh4i49N_NM5P_Vned8iX9f3danAiawaiwXbScHz2WpiSDp-OyI3bicLaH3ZCp9auPPnI45gIZr3gX9GDFPBwEwIKtkmBQwsbMfABks0Uww4Yw_hYlG4iRz3ss/s320/HAPPY+OR+NOT.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">AT HEATHROW AIRPORT</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You get to choose. Or at least press the button....</span></div>
</div>
D Eric Pettigrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16568996160202876154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908278680211937478.post-54327315445438817932015-04-26T14:51:00.003+01:002015-04-26T16:27:13.062+01:00LAST LOOKS<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">How does one say goodbye to a house after 46 years, when the mere act of looking out the window puts you in a past you cannot touch any more, but will stay with you always. The pictures are off the wall, ready to be taken away and their absence will leave an empty room. The ghosts and the memories of your life are in the past. But the sun still shines through, and will shine through on someone else's memories. Someone else's life. The last look is always the most vivid. And the most painful.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi36lrBGlA3TQeLZfCHythwxxw_T7M9nreDAlxbUIgQrOEiAhd4yyyk9A77n2B4hjLaV32dYFqJLfuv5vKr9712e5mP6sc32y1AcOS_F62Tp1-AUcqcZQFHTDjfV6DiWS7eY0NaNkjJrB8/s1600/LAST+LOOK+NO.4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi36lrBGlA3TQeLZfCHythwxxw_T7M9nreDAlxbUIgQrOEiAhd4yyyk9A77n2B4hjLaV32dYFqJLfuv5vKr9712e5mP6sc32y1AcOS_F62Tp1-AUcqcZQFHTDjfV6DiWS7eY0NaNkjJrB8/s1600/LAST+LOOK+NO.4.jpg" height="297" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">LAST LOOK NO. 4</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOkNWqftWvEr165Zib4kOycDwmJ2_6qcP9L4Am537bGgxMk1kanGVwS5YV8Ck-Ksurp-NfYidr537L3RqupR8rLXNpkVz_Excw93ue8hXQhv4NsIMdnF1jpmI5GUBQtkWelUitUaXkyhE/s1600/LAST+LOOK+NO.1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOkNWqftWvEr165Zib4kOycDwmJ2_6qcP9L4Am537bGgxMk1kanGVwS5YV8Ck-Ksurp-NfYidr537L3RqupR8rLXNpkVz_Excw93ue8hXQhv4NsIMdnF1jpmI5GUBQtkWelUitUaXkyhE/s1600/LAST+LOOK+NO.1.jpg" height="320" width="278" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">LAST LOOK NO. 1</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMUEGon9A7Nf5kHUw1M_LHMdnCG-rX0KxZr0DqzTI6RTsk-rfonRE5yyZAGc-7ARfZ0_cT4xMwT97sYktaW_nKfJRZPmoCphIKNTAHKMdIUMzRf7Yx_mBsx6NA-kuJQWflYgaeTYZRSiM/s1600/LAST+LOOK+NO.2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMUEGon9A7Nf5kHUw1M_LHMdnCG-rX0KxZr0DqzTI6RTsk-rfonRE5yyZAGc-7ARfZ0_cT4xMwT97sYktaW_nKfJRZPmoCphIKNTAHKMdIUMzRf7Yx_mBsx6NA-kuJQWflYgaeTYZRSiM/s1600/LAST+LOOK+NO.2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">LAST LOOK NO. 2</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNrgfInBJcQM8nu54Vwu9eYgw2JgLWX77IJNFfwg5-8mwVg0NRJjNv9DYpWOXqKOr1TQ81fJJ0zr_KpB46rm8lRJ3nmhm22tmYu6doIfpM1IX5Wzk16WNVd-Btj7lk_4u-otfU8ZV49VY/s1600/LAST+LOOK+NO.3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNrgfInBJcQM8nu54Vwu9eYgw2JgLWX77IJNFfwg5-8mwVg0NRJjNv9DYpWOXqKOr1TQ81fJJ0zr_KpB46rm8lRJ3nmhm22tmYu6doIfpM1IX5Wzk16WNVd-Btj7lk_4u-otfU8ZV49VY/s1600/LAST+LOOK+NO.3.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">LAST LOOK NO. 3</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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D Eric Pettigrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16568996160202876154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908278680211937478.post-37876614322665529842015-03-17T06:35:00.003+00:002015-03-17T06:36:12.002+00:00THE MIGHTY WAD-LITERATURE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhapOgiKr0XaolB_kNWDQzAVsfhz9Ghj1zrvQQAhTY2zDYw6Ici6X4mjnpakssEx9yqxuJ_N6DHmXgGmiUxcrLzTbV-8BBHDVj20mV6CabwG1vAuRW7Rp2yUAo3H9ezRZWJzhyphenhyphenU3qLwFVI/s1600/TWEETS+AND+SMILEY+FACES.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhapOgiKr0XaolB_kNWDQzAVsfhz9Ghj1zrvQQAhTY2zDYw6Ici6X4mjnpakssEx9yqxuJ_N6DHmXgGmiUxcrLzTbV-8BBHDVj20mV6CabwG1vAuRW7Rp2yUAo3H9ezRZWJzhyphenhyphenU3qLwFVI/s1600/TWEETS+AND+SMILEY+FACES.jpg" height="271" width="400" /></a></div>
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D Eric Pettigrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16568996160202876154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908278680211937478.post-40246426959519568332015-01-24T16:58:00.001+00:002015-01-24T16:58:26.938+00:00BERLIN<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8DwyFW4aDGGktuKCk0PtuZKv1AwcTx5Gns-6SFwo30Qn24PWLRGzuVnrylx1MkhuBxesXW2WjiGOKPlgmGCUl84XVX3QHt_hhTmPthiVqcw8lns8bM7TsWt4vqbbp893-qsQzKqcB9MU/s1600/AQVARIUM-1200x1800.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8DwyFW4aDGGktuKCk0PtuZKv1AwcTx5Gns-6SFwo30Qn24PWLRGzuVnrylx1MkhuBxesXW2WjiGOKPlgmGCUl84XVX3QHt_hhTmPthiVqcw8lns8bM7TsWt4vqbbp893-qsQzKqcB9MU/s1600/AQVARIUM-1200x1800.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>AQVARIUM</b><br />Berlin<br />December 2015</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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D Eric Pettigrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16568996160202876154noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908278680211937478.post-86186539191894737212014-12-23T17:31:00.001+00:002014-12-27T12:30:46.517+00:00RUMINATIONS FROM ROMAN TOBIAS<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div>
A wise man heeds the voice of his son. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The world is composed of order and chaos, of love and conflict. Where do we find ourselves on this axis? Have a look and ask yourself. You might be surprised. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr4LFyrcNiuOVzuUkJDEhQAbMIapLttwMRVwQ-ZMgsrH91cJvNyryF6fqT-IanSuU1rpphvi4YelBkuKd39HJNIjujr__vXqFhOwaFif0rGTbPiVRhANvlUEuPYv5cDW9fuOswABMh7cY/s640/blogger-image-1493970140.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr4LFyrcNiuOVzuUkJDEhQAbMIapLttwMRVwQ-ZMgsrH91cJvNyryF6fqT-IanSuU1rpphvi4YelBkuKd39HJNIjujr__vXqFhOwaFif0rGTbPiVRhANvlUEuPYv5cDW9fuOswABMh7cY/s400/blogger-image-1493970140.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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D Eric Pettigrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16568996160202876154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908278680211937478.post-57489396827532580512014-11-29T09:43:00.000+00:002015-04-16T20:11:13.924+01:00OLD SCHOOL<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-e9krWv0Sw4KshMrG6EU3sE9lpOU-3WJIlBCtfVCOFR98CVyip9wsCd2AvpuAtb47VmXSL-Niqk0Q-POZj8aiptzbG262qCSlqUiE-4xQlGvoJtQ9Bf0XWgZmhhFISH4EAdw3mH5TzPo/s1600/ModiglianiWoman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-e9krWv0Sw4KshMrG6EU3sE9lpOU-3WJIlBCtfVCOFR98CVyip9wsCd2AvpuAtb47VmXSL-Niqk0Q-POZj8aiptzbG262qCSlqUiE-4xQlGvoJtQ9Bf0XWgZmhhFISH4EAdw3mH5TzPo/s1600/ModiglianiWoman.jpg" height="200" width="132" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>OLD SCHOOL</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="Body">
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<div class="Body">
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<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The doors opened. He quickly cast a practised eye down the
carriage and spotted an open seat. They were like gold dust, with commuters slumped silently in this moving sepulchre, each person in
their own private world. Gratefully he eased himself down, and assumed what he
called the position, his rucksack on his knees, his wrists looped through the
straps on each side, his arms thus balanced needing no armrest. After thirty years
of commuting on the Tube, he had developed the ability to fall asleep in this
position almost immediately, head erect, feet flat on the ground, knees evenly
spaced. At this time of year, with the shortest day only a week
away, the distinction between day and night was horribly out of kilter. Life
was lived in a crepuscular funk, the grey of London sleepwalking each day
through different shades eventually to black, only to start the same cycle all
over again. Christmas was less than a month away, but with his children long
since gone, the familiar mixture of angst and creativity (what present should
he be getting?) had dulled with time, replaced with a vague sense of dread.
Life should be lived forward but remembered backward, he had read somewhere,
but at this point in his life the road ahead seemed very short, and the rear
view mirror filled with too many images and feelings. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He closed his eyes, but having been ill the previous week, he was
not hopeful that sleep would come easily. The antibiotics he had been given
heightened his senses, he thought. Each cough or sniffle down the carriage was
a coded signal for his body to react in the same way, and he didn't want to
give into another coughing jag. All he heard was the rustling of papers, the
squeal of the brakes as the train stopped, and the mellifluous tones of the
pre-recorded announcements. He gave up on sleep and began glancing around at
his fellow passengers, oblivious to his attentions. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Across from him sat a middle-aged woman in black with
precision-cut highlighted blonde hair, Anna Wintour-style. She was very thin with wrinkled skin like parchment and her mouth was set in a permanent frown. Her eyes were fluttering, and it
was clear she would have no trouble whatsoever falling asleep, he noted
jealously. Her lids drooped, opened, drooped again, fluttered, and stayed shut.
Her head pitched forward onto her chest (too thin to call it anything but a
chest), and he noticed the tiniest chink in her otherwise perfect coiffure, the
faintest hint of her dark roots. Sic transit gloria mundi, he thought to
himself, and his gaze turned elsewhere. The train stopped, a seat came free
diagonally opposite to his right, and a young girl sat down. He looked at her.
His wife always admonished him for staring at people in public. His rejoinder was that it was not staring, but observing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The girl was twenty-ish, dressed in de rigeur jeans, and somewhat
anachronistic Doc Martins. Her ears were pierced in several places, with a
delicate hoop through the top of one ear. No tats, as far as he could tell.
She would only be called edgy by someone on <u>his </u>side of the age divide. She
wasn't beautiful, but striking. Yes, striking, that was it. Her hair was
plaited and wound up from the nape of her neck in a lopsided bun. Her face was
like a painting, long like a Modigliani painting, with a thin nose and lips
which seemed too narrow for her face, as if they had been painted on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A Madonna with no child possibly. He was
intrigued. Because of the angle, he could observe unnoticed. She was unaware of
him, or if she noticed, she didn't care. That was for certain, but was par for
the course. He had long since reconciled himself with the unpalatable fact that
he had become for all intents and purposes, invisible. Especially to anyone
under thirty. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The woman in front of him, her head at an unnatural angle,
started and woke up. He looked at her but her eyes registered nothing, and her
mouth remained fixed downward. He threw in the towel, and put on his earphones
and closed his eyes. By and by, a sad song came on called Lost Soul,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>one which for him had taken on a special
poignancy. It was a duet and the lyrics, like all good lyrics, seemed to have
been written for him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He sat alone with a pencil in his hand<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">All day long he drew careful on the paper<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In the end just a picture of a man<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Just a picture of a man. Too right, he thought. Aren't we all just pictures of ourselves? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When the chorus came on and the singers' harmonies meshed
perfectly, he felt a lump in his throat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A lost soul coming down the road somewhere between two worlds. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He opened his eyes, and for some reason his attention was drawn
directly to the girl at right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her face
was turned in his direction, but she was not looking at him. Gazing at her own
thoughts, possibly. But slowly her eyes welled up, and a tear fell from her eye
onto her left cheek. She wiped it away, but not self-consciously. She was lost
in herself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He looked around the carriage. No one else looked up. He looked
back at her and her eyes were still welling. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What makes people do the things they do? Our lives are full of days
identical save the scissor cut, like those paper dolls cut from patterns which
string out once they are unfolded. What makes one of those paper dolls step out
and start dancing on their own? What makes a certain moment special, or even
memorable?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He closed his eyes and began to imagine what possibly had made
this girl cry. He thought back on his past, a distant past when youthful
feelings fresh as snow were now buried in the permafrost of his memory. He was
lucky to have married young, the best decision he had ever made, but this had
nothing to do with his wife, or indeed his life. People cry when they see
autumn trees in a mist, at movies, for the most obscure reasons. Who could ever
know the real reason?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Impulsively he opened his rucksack and pulled out his notebook
and a pen, turned to a page near the back which he could afford to tear out,
and began to write. Urgently, the words poured out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I <span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">don't know who
you are</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I don't know why
a tear</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Is falling down
your face</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I don't know
what or who</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Has caused this</span>
pain<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And led you here
to this sad and lonely place</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He looked up. He closed his eyes and thought a moment, and
continued writing. The words came a little harder, as if he were wrestling with a deadline. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Still I know no
matter what</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Moments like
these will never last</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">You may think
heartbreak is the danger</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But as sure as
tomorrow shall come</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Heed the
timeworn words of this old stranger:</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This too shall
pass</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He read what he had written. He looked at the girl. Her expression
had not changed. She of course had no idea what was going through his mind. Nor
should she. He tore out the page, and folded it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He had made up his mind what he was going to do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He always acted on impulse. Over the course of his lifetime, sometimes it worked, and sometimes not. But once an idea came into his head, no matter how crazy, he generally acted on it.</span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The train came to the next station. The young girl got up from her seat and came towards him to exit, as he was sitting right by the door. As she passed by, he reached out and touched her arm. She paused, and looked at him. Excuse me, he said, and handed her the piece of paper. Their eyes met briefly, a quizzical look replaced by an infinitesimal moment of what...recognition? Her brow knitted. She took the note and hurried past. The doors closed.</span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He sat back in his seat and looked around. No one else had seen this moment. The woman in front of him was fast asleep, her head pitched forward as before. He remembered what he had read about practising random acts of kindness daily. This thought comforted him. He closed his eyes and turned up his music, now on a happy song. Maybe individuals can make a difference.</span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">----------------------------</span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Chloe was late. She was supposed to meet Justin at Sloane Square, but just before she got to the station he had texted her. Sorry, hun. Can't make it. Something came up. Hun. She hated when he called her that. Something. It was always something. This was just another in a long series of disappointments kept. What an asshole, she thought to herself as she sat down. She would just go home. Another evening ruined. She started to feel sorry for herself, and her eyes stung with anger and regret. </span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She stayed on the train to Barons Court. Maybe she would go buy groceries and fix herself a meal. As she turned to get off the carriage, some man touched her on her arm. She looked at him uncomprehendingly. What the hell? He handed her a folded piece of paper. She rushed off the train. </span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What was that about? she thought to herself. </span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She unfolded it and started to read it.</span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I don't know who you are.....</span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Just what I need, she thought. She read no more, crumpled the piece of paper, and tossed it on the platform before heading up the stairs and out into the night.</span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">--------------------------- </span></div>
<div class="Body" style="border: none; mso-padding-alt: 0cm 31.0pt 31.0pt 31.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body" style="border: none; mso-padding-alt: 0cm 31.0pt 31.0pt 31.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The
old school is no more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Everyone is yearning<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">No one is learning<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Society is burning<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Yet the world just keeps on turning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Wake up people. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Before it is too late.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<br /></div>
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D Eric Pettigrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16568996160202876154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908278680211937478.post-19345617403481180442014-11-19T17:12:00.001+00:002014-11-19T19:30:45.952+00:00LAYING ON YOUR BACK IS NOT A GOOD IDEA...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">With post-nasal drip. </span><br>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I know. It is not the next line you were looking for. But that is my life this week.</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My friend Tom Wells told me he cracked a rib once from a coughing jag. Sure, I thought to myself when he told me. Hard to imagine. Not any more. My ribs are sore. I have gone through four boxes of tissues. I briefly blacked out and hit the closet door after one particular violent upheaval, anything to get that grotesque cloying, tickling, gagging effluence out of my body. Suffocating from within. And all because of some microscopic organism, or even worse, a collection of RNA strands coming from God-knows-where, invisible to all but an electron microscope, which have latched onto my cells like some unwanted interloper and have wreaked havoc. At least it is not Ebola.</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But back to this post-nasal drip thing. The body's answer to Chinese water torture, a slow steady almost imperceptible stream that courses down the back of your throat while you lie there trying to fall asleep, timed precisely to hit critical mass (expectorable mass, or hocking velocity for the uninitiated) at the exact moment you have dozed off again, setting off another involuntary reaction of coughing.</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What kind of sadistic barbarian invented this body defense mechanism? I have done the lot. Sleeping propped up on two pillows to steepen the angle of attack. Lozenges. Night Nurse. Day Nurse. Robitussin. Olbas steam inhaling (now there's a good one, if you want to try and see your body turn itself inside out once that supercharged eucalyptus steam hits your lungs). A brief respite, but only brief. The more times you wake up, the more tired you get, the more your body fights, the more you wake up, the more tired you get and on and on. It has been four days. At least now I can write about it.</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I know what you are thinking. Man up, you big baby. Self-indulgent claptrap. Yeah...well you're probably right. Pretty small potatoes in the grand scheme of things. </span><br>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But I have gotten it off my chest, if not out of my chest, if you catch my drift. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
D Eric Pettigrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16568996160202876154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908278680211937478.post-25727431723155078442014-11-12T07:45:00.000+00:002014-11-12T07:50:21.859+00:00TO STRIVE, TO SEEK, TO FIND, AND NOT TO YIELD<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtPs_NdTnOIJEnxbs6tSEqXbmQge6nuWjQRsJWW7IEfY7qRRpSryyPWyaoFXAdMPLNk5nDJcl-TPvUQVEli06CwbTpvwJwV_j6vSOi_lfO715ybSw4iaKGHXAz6Cbc8KTFVtA483whR88/s1600/B3-BEVELLED+ROUND.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtPs_NdTnOIJEnxbs6tSEqXbmQge6nuWjQRsJWW7IEfY7qRRpSryyPWyaoFXAdMPLNk5nDJcl-TPvUQVEli06CwbTpvwJwV_j6vSOi_lfO715ybSw4iaKGHXAz6Cbc8KTFVtA483whR88/s200/B3-BEVELLED+ROUND.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
...though much is taken, much abides; and though<u></u><u></u><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">We are not now that strength which in old days<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are-<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<strong><i><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">One equal temper of heroic hearts</span></i></strong><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">,<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Made weak by time and fate, yet strong in will<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Alfred Lord Tennyson</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">ULYSSES</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Brian sent this, forwarded on by Ned, and it sums up the spirit of the weekend. It shall be engraved on the trophy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">To quote the polar explorer Ernest Shackleton: The old dog for the hard road.</span></div>
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D Eric Pettigrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16568996160202876154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908278680211937478.post-33079365503766048792014-11-06T22:43:00.001+00:002014-11-07T06:35:58.443+00:00B3. A WEEKEND CELEBRATION<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTu2mC7h2SEGvnOP1jzPfcTnOR7jnaU69yle50EtCtbnbQYMhxpwcZSR79PR7y4hCtKsVHJESkwle52h6vH8F37jV28cla8tVeBvJnQGeel0zDx5AaZG12dqmFex06Al1Nn1m1d03q6kY/s1600/B3_BlueButtonSquare.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTu2mC7h2SEGvnOP1jzPfcTnOR7jnaU69yle50EtCtbnbQYMhxpwcZSR79PR7y4hCtKsVHJESkwle52h6vH8F37jV28cla8tVeBvJnQGeel0zDx5AaZG12dqmFex06Al1Nn1m1d03q6kY/s1600/B3_BlueButtonSquare.jpg" height="294" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>BILLYSBURG BIRTHDAY BIATHLON</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Williamsburg Va</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">31st October-1st November 2014</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Two days of intense competition </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The USA vs. Europe in tennis/golf and the substitute sport, bowling.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">To celebrate the birthday of Randy Case</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYOUv8dvpbR0LjyrfMKM-vSruZuzXr1IvYn192zwhwaOwj4IF_PEdXWVTILqWnwviTemOWPLK1pCxQJ-L3Q_k1NwV2TSRM2E8sPGEhVNWXeHnaLg6zV-aFJ2Sxls2Ttmsc-5gbTz5KiJY/s1600/B3+2014+THE+TEAMS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYOUv8dvpbR0LjyrfMKM-vSruZuzXr1IvYn192zwhwaOwj4IF_PEdXWVTILqWnwviTemOWPLK1pCxQJ-L3Q_k1NwV2TSRM2E8sPGEhVNWXeHnaLg6zV-aFJ2Sxls2Ttmsc-5gbTz5KiJY/s1600/B3+2014+THE+TEAMS.jpg" height="245" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Andrew, Rob, Chad, Ned, Eric, Randy, Mike, Tom</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">with Brian and Robbie</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPCACWDQRND8OU-CZfImy7vnZmUzHMPT8DZQbJJ6rHBRy8PZSBKN8jAokWP8JF8UwuElwQliu2rw0GVuy4LDytNEfNZU2tjFOeWUxu9t2mFzOt7OFoNyikTuBndKesqyJOA2iaGHJNhX4/s1600/AWARDS+CEREMONY.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPCACWDQRND8OU-CZfImy7vnZmUzHMPT8DZQbJJ6rHBRy8PZSBKN8jAokWP8JF8UwuElwQliu2rw0GVuy4LDytNEfNZU2tjFOeWUxu9t2mFzOt7OFoNyikTuBndKesqyJOA2iaGHJNhX4/s1600/AWARDS+CEREMONY.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> The awards ceremony</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMsB4Gh9bpvKiJFwhQacT2fadmT-x3U16UL-u7Rr7VKzfOcdXUqMx6VSRy5ElCC344cfXnUrOmpgyGmsQwdh8D6w-X3GBt9NE5CWI9OB2XviAV3m6RkM2pg3_gmRXDmw0HKfxd69lDQpE/s1600/CAPN+ERIC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMsB4Gh9bpvKiJFwhQacT2fadmT-x3U16UL-u7Rr7VKzfOcdXUqMx6VSRy5ElCC344cfXnUrOmpgyGmsQwdh8D6w-X3GBt9NE5CWI9OB2XviAV3m6RkM2pg3_gmRXDmw0HKfxd69lDQpE/s1600/CAPN+ERIC.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnA470pLJu7c63XAnrDkWORkFU8zrOF8lENWlIUT45xCNiOKTuHhmgI__3zN5_VhCCuh5cLrh-to5-dUK9u0dPaJDs6CkT8cqJdwozrFsHd5CgS1V0SVHiIUMZieJ-TD8KpsFJzjxJlJw/s1600/CAPN+RANDY.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnA470pLJu7c63XAnrDkWORkFU8zrOF8lENWlIUT45xCNiOKTuHhmgI__3zN5_VhCCuh5cLrh-to5-dUK9u0dPaJDs6CkT8cqJdwozrFsHd5CgS1V0SVHiIUMZieJ-TD8KpsFJzjxJlJw/s1600/CAPN+RANDY.jpg" height="320" width="242" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The Captains, Eric (Europe) and Randy (USA)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Brian and Ned</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyA5kH6jmIto_0wAqAARt3D1CttVs_lOSVjcHOXrhGE8JbsfUzl2Vjmkhk83Qk6-efCTVXvtaQWS1JiYEOTJCJCAHAemCHr3UJguQprh5bhyh9rs6zVccbof8Rqj7ghgbSl33qymPjdTs/s1600/EURO+TEAM+TALK.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyA5kH6jmIto_0wAqAARt3D1CttVs_lOSVjcHOXrhGE8JbsfUzl2Vjmkhk83Qk6-efCTVXvtaQWS1JiYEOTJCJCAHAemCHr3UJguQprh5bhyh9rs6zVccbof8Rqj7ghgbSl33qymPjdTs/s1600/EURO+TEAM+TALK.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpYG0M4-PTGIrt55S-78sq0C67XDFNIdUVQYdNrCAMCRQkWs9L6OEpQDOLWt5jxDtqBZOIYe1tPvoWfsvrwJBBHwZ05dkt0xM20It2FwIRCo21liAa-P734OJgkLH_630C0LCpXZCh6Ew/s1600/MIKE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpYG0M4-PTGIrt55S-78sq0C67XDFNIdUVQYdNrCAMCRQkWs9L6OEpQDOLWt5jxDtqBZOIYe1tPvoWfsvrwJBBHwZ05dkt0xM20It2FwIRCo21liAa-P734OJgkLH_630C0LCpXZCh6Ew/s1600/MIKE.jpg" height="320" width="232" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Andrew Mike</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMEm0wf86JTNnGSn29SuSRRjfgLsREBgWsD87eCKt7BuUk5pBHnN2scp6S8S5SjzBmje9fC2cwQerSsgMsT3LdFGCbV3M9l3wJsacdL0ooS8UpJQJRebzhAhHo8qgGxjK8slVE1w7wboI/s1600/NED.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMEm0wf86JTNnGSn29SuSRRjfgLsREBgWsD87eCKt7BuUk5pBHnN2scp6S8S5SjzBmje9fC2cwQerSsgMsT3LdFGCbV3M9l3wJsacdL0ooS8UpJQJRebzhAhHo8qgGxjK8slVE1w7wboI/s1600/NED.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjS3PrjZM8Fu71zeOFbMyYSBwAcLSw-G7Y7LEQ7iwtKaKNw04whYOdl0bpvALGMnHqxhVlgJo6KV4YDISJsCtAh3r3WrWJJyft9OZSXJlNjL8j5FR2zdkeuQNLkUr4d_fvNe1NWjm3JeM/s1600/ROB+AND+ERIC+GOLF.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjS3PrjZM8Fu71zeOFbMyYSBwAcLSw-G7Y7LEQ7iwtKaKNw04whYOdl0bpvALGMnHqxhVlgJo6KV4YDISJsCtAh3r3WrWJJyft9OZSXJlNjL8j5FR2zdkeuQNLkUr4d_fvNe1NWjm3JeM/s1600/ROB+AND+ERIC+GOLF.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Ned Rob and Eric</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSsVJPoL5ZLucJ5iKcNyOyjmjwe1izEB7K816GssCu0cwHqTDIa8Wq0gB1_DMcW35-Njq3ZYb8vnkXLPRIygF60NRGblpRceVDjlqxIfVhRg2giHxTwbGyQRTmTpryugUCgPZKyxZ7-9A/s1600/PAPA+CASE-WHERE+IT+ALL+BEGAN.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSsVJPoL5ZLucJ5iKcNyOyjmjwe1izEB7K816GssCu0cwHqTDIa8Wq0gB1_DMcW35-Njq3ZYb8vnkXLPRIygF60NRGblpRceVDjlqxIfVhRg2giHxTwbGyQRTmTpryugUCgPZKyxZ7-9A/s1600/PAPA+CASE-WHERE+IT+ALL+BEGAN.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS6YnycFOu-Pq5lcDVVt_PUS_mYFIYN6uiFVvO4kJXSx5IZn_-dgtKt_-4KnKDvVUEbhCwyDQB6lGUod2k-gQlfSd3o1eDjfpfXglH-tE2CrPcAuUDeCIR4H4qbWbMgIgY2ehZbiRoc1s/s1600/PREPARATION+IS+KEY+AT+OUR+AGE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS6YnycFOu-Pq5lcDVVt_PUS_mYFIYN6uiFVvO4kJXSx5IZn_-dgtKt_-4KnKDvVUEbhCwyDQB6lGUod2k-gQlfSd3o1eDjfpfXglH-tE2CrPcAuUDeCIR4H4qbWbMgIgY2ehZbiRoc1s/s1600/PREPARATION+IS+KEY+AT+OUR+AGE.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Papa Case Tom and Mike</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjER-NEnLIEHIPdVguSYKSpfLh3M7czCzwed1p6Gg6aRT0Ss7l7QezOLsLxYHDR8qXoUFbIuVOln3QbreHUPybCHCwIOK-dv94c57IVu1MDboUz-gFM5mMDtSAkOVS2qmrOCJQd1uHkCl8/s1600/SHELLEY+FEEDS+THE+MASSES.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjER-NEnLIEHIPdVguSYKSpfLh3M7czCzwed1p6Gg6aRT0Ss7l7QezOLsLxYHDR8qXoUFbIuVOln3QbreHUPybCHCwIOK-dv94c57IVu1MDboUz-gFM5mMDtSAkOVS2qmrOCJQd1uHkCl8/s1600/SHELLEY+FEEDS+THE+MASSES.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Shelley feeds the masses</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> The CASE clan, including Papa and Mama Case</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The Golden Horshoe</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNeIm5OO8FgmmkQ5weQlYXVn0vZCCPujRZbHlNVnPNLqzhEUKbvR8dKJZ7qfpoc3tVIK9y67SQEXDwHgAeJMkbAdXzdrfOqj_AOWZ4Z_NNbbctyawfEUO8j3mlPEo9bm-dXVsmxQGA7aY/s1600/THE+WIT+AND+WISDOM+OF+TOM+DORAN.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNeIm5OO8FgmmkQ5weQlYXVn0vZCCPujRZbHlNVnPNLqzhEUKbvR8dKJZ7qfpoc3tVIK9y67SQEXDwHgAeJMkbAdXzdrfOqj_AOWZ4Z_NNbbctyawfEUO8j3mlPEo9bm-dXVsmxQGA7aY/s1600/THE+WIT+AND+WISDOM+OF+TOM+DORAN.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Tom</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9OpnD5zOxqUN7A2pv4dSDjwxhkQsBtr6FrQ7DG7ix0OTx0FL4TzQKnFs_ualX3bVdj2qF7iZdMxvf2DQyBrSTx8Y8Z_myQYumEksxa6w7xr6ff-ASPjaIVQ-FLgHQn16Up-fUPFw1oZI/s1600/TRINITY+OF+FRIENDS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9OpnD5zOxqUN7A2pv4dSDjwxhkQsBtr6FrQ7DG7ix0OTx0FL4TzQKnFs_ualX3bVdj2qF7iZdMxvf2DQyBrSTx8Y8Z_myQYumEksxa6w7xr6ff-ASPjaIVQ-FLgHQn16Up-fUPFw1oZI/s1600/TRINITY+OF+FRIENDS.jpg" height="230" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Los Tres Amigos</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVMW48a-VHKWOFUig2QSwY7SlSL1ARVDMm0QbnD8l6xEaZAjD9i4EwFBNqsAcydyQx5bnb1n-lC2Ogxe_jdZ0MhAkabbNtQ2fAE7cwztm3fIlQjdrLSWlx0oad4LhvceD897n8xKRnA84/s1600/THRILL+VS+AGONY.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVMW48a-VHKWOFUig2QSwY7SlSL1ARVDMm0QbnD8l6xEaZAjD9i4EwFBNqsAcydyQx5bnb1n-lC2Ogxe_jdZ0MhAkabbNtQ2fAE7cwztm3fIlQjdrLSWlx0oad4LhvceD897n8xKRnA84/s1600/THRILL+VS+AGONY.jpg" height="320" width="281" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The BB (Big Ben) Trophy and the Runner UP EPIC FAIL! button</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The US won, and put down the first marker (see red square). The next one will be in Spain in May 2016, when Europe will try and put in the next blue brick. See you there!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It was all about friendship, really.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">Thanks to Rob Case for his photos!</span></div>
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D Eric Pettigrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16568996160202876154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908278680211937478.post-79929793656315003492014-10-26T22:09:00.002+00:002014-10-26T22:09:16.032+00:00LOOK<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkx3F621grLnSeARQvaYnBwO8hyphenhyphen1wDq0In4Knf5mVfxrs3LyLpVTYLbgm0M0VbIbpfwV9aS0v91JUyP59RwKD7fVvbVjSyRGOok9m8tHOoUAZsMeDTUxDcnQF1q96xvE1ed9DT0IKyqU0/s1600/LOOK.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkx3F621grLnSeARQvaYnBwO8hyphenhyphen1wDq0In4Knf5mVfxrs3LyLpVTYLbgm0M0VbIbpfwV9aS0v91JUyP59RwKD7fVvbVjSyRGOok9m8tHOoUAZsMeDTUxDcnQF1q96xvE1ed9DT0IKyqU0/s1600/LOOK.jpg" height="320" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>LOOK</b><br />Euston Road<br />Oct 2014</span></td></tr>
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D Eric Pettigrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16568996160202876154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908278680211937478.post-42188550255769761882014-10-11T08:32:00.002+01:002014-10-11T08:58:23.328+01:00'71-MOVIE REVIEW<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In 1974, as a student in the UK, I took a train from Edinburgh to London, sharing a compartment with a young squaddie back from duty in Northern Ireland. A ginger-haired Geordie with bad teeth and long bright red sideboards out of kilter with his close-cropped hair, I personally witnessed him drink 19 bottles of Newkie Brown (and somehow miraculously not pass out) whilst he railed on about life in the Army. I was a young product of US Southern life of roughly the same age, and I was amazed, appalled, and frightened, to be frank, as he would tilt over towards me and confide in beery breath: "British army, Best in the world, mate". I would nod and resume nursing the beers he proffered me as his drinking taillights disappeared into the distance.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I saw the movie '71 last night about a young squaddie in Belfast in 1971, and I was taken back to that train compartment, and I realised that then, and perhaps now, I just did not have a feckin' clue.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">'71 is an astounding first film from Yann Demange about the kaleidoscopic moral inferno which was Northern Ireland at that time. It is a film where the bad guys are indistinguishable from the good guys, where fear, hatred, intimidation, treachery, manipulation, strength, frailty, stupidity and even mercy all exist side by side in a hellish maelstrom. The hero is a young squaddie from Derbyshire played brilliantly by Jack O'Connell (watch him and learn) who is caught behind enemy lines (ie. on the wrong side of the street in Catholic Belfast) when a house search goes horrible wrong, a riot ensues, and he is separated from his squad with a fellow squaddie who gets his face blown off. O'Connell is the type of actor who says little but says everything with a glance, a dip of the head. His performance is mesmerising, and halfway through the movie you find you have been drawn into his terror, your stomach knotted with fear, as somehow he has to survive the night and escape in an utterly alien landscape with, as they say "the enemy within."</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There are almost too many fine performances to pick out. Kudos to Demange for extracted every last ounce from everybody, and making everyone very very believable. There is an astounding cameo from a young Loyalist kid old way beyond his years, the nephew of a para-military commander who intimidates everyone twice his size as he roams the night plotting against the Finian basterds. There are so many discordant notes in this symphony: the rat faced ruthless intelligence officer, the posh lieutenant in way over his head, the West Indian staff sergeant trying to mold young scared soldiers who can't see who they are fighting or why, the dead eyed young IRA footsoldier press-ganged by the Provos into becoming a gunman, the ex-Army doctor and his daughter who save O'Connell's life. It is a world where black and white have long disappeared into the grey of moral confusion from which no-one emerges unscathed. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And this is all woven by the gifted conductor Demange into a masterwork which captures the sharp ambiguity, if that is possible, of those times. As I replayed the movie in my mind in the middle of the night (always a sign of a very good film) it brought back those memories of a naive schoolboy next to a drunk boy who had already become a man whether he wanted to or not. I really didn't have a feckin' clue.</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">**** </span></div>
D Eric Pettigrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16568996160202876154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908278680211937478.post-2078652747275491802014-09-05T22:51:00.001+01:002014-09-05T22:58:23.915+01:00250. A film of film<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMikRECGVUK5WIR9xYr71Jd-3zx1NSjBhNf8BbI1ba6VSabJsmWZ8TfO58s3__hKVF-sIyMs_z2pa-Yi6Hqz7TgpMaF9sUrysXBG1Nr6wTi-M3zvcAIiiYczkkD8dQwzRy4r22ImuupUs/s1600/250film+of+film.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMikRECGVUK5WIR9xYr71Jd-3zx1NSjBhNf8BbI1ba6VSabJsmWZ8TfO58s3__hKVF-sIyMs_z2pa-Yi6Hqz7TgpMaF9sUrysXBG1Nr6wTi-M3zvcAIiiYczkkD8dQwzRy4r22ImuupUs/s1600/250film+of+film.jpg" height="200" width="100" /></a></div>
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<b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"> </b><b style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">250</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>A film of film</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> by </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> D. Eric Pettigrew</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Music by </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Roman Tobias Pettigrew</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">250 images. 250 memories. 250 moments in a life.</span></div>
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D Eric Pettigrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16568996160202876154noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908278680211937478.post-76109714086114862992014-07-24T06:38:00.002+01:002014-07-24T06:38:31.538+01:00THE Ts OF MARRIAGE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I saw a programme about India's Hill Railways. At one point, a man who had been married for 28 years and whose obvious happiness was borne in the love he shared with his wife, said the following about marriage.<br />
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Marriage is about four Ts.<br />
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TRUST.<br />
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TOUCH.<br />
<br />
TALK.<br />
<br />
and<br />
<br />
TIME.<br />
<br />
True words. Simple. But simple things last.</div>
D Eric Pettigrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16568996160202876154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908278680211937478.post-59679884258371207432014-06-11T22:34:00.003+01:002014-06-11T22:35:14.322+01:00PERSPECTIVE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
These are three views of the same painting in our friend's house in Asthall, a painting which changes as you walk down the hall in much the same manner as the eyes which follow you around the room. It is all a matter of perspective, as explained Leonardo Da Vinci in his notebook. Mathematics. The brain. The vanishing point. Perspective.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3iuG4KTKw5ez5Y0a60TDschXw-87VUU5twBtL0lJ3R0Ri-hxZ7hlaDv3Yy5uoQ6vvqK6lOhcRrAzhs5rtc4kkAJanlehysSRd_oxs8vEmZ6V9x2UnjhDy9ejZIp3Q6-sBOP683KwkHQA/s1600/PERSPECTIVE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3iuG4KTKw5ez5Y0a60TDschXw-87VUU5twBtL0lJ3R0Ri-hxZ7hlaDv3Yy5uoQ6vvqK6lOhcRrAzhs5rtc4kkAJanlehysSRd_oxs8vEmZ6V9x2UnjhDy9ejZIp3Q6-sBOP683KwkHQA/s1600/PERSPECTIVE.jpg" height="196" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h3>
<b><br /></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><br /></b></h3>
<h3>
<b>PERSPECTIVE</b></h3>
Asthall<br />
June 2014</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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D Eric Pettigrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16568996160202876154noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6908278680211937478.post-21615047175490053752014-06-04T15:08:00.001+01:002014-06-04T17:34:57.488+01:00THE ROAD AND THE CONCRETE: LOCKE. starring Tom Hardy<div>Where does a road lead? Away, especially if you have resolved not to turn back. Locke is a road movie, but a road movie unlike any you have seen before. One road, one man, one night. A journey inside the mind and heart of a man whose life is about to change forever. A road trip which hurtles unavoidably towards a denouement and proves that an action movie needn't have much action in order to be taut, compelling, and totally engaging.</div><div><br></div><div>Locke is a construction project manager responsible for pouring the foundation of gargantuan buildings. His character is like the concrete he pours; dense, slow, measured, and ultimately solid. Each pour is a complicated mix of materials, men, red tape, and timing, and there is no room for mistakes. Everything must be perfect. First time. Only time. Except it isn't, of course. Humans are involved, with all their foibles. There is a crack in the edifice, and the crack has to do with a woman. Locke is leaving his job to attend the birth of a child he has fathered as the result of a one-night stand with an unstable older woman who has made her own choice. They don't know it yet, but he is leaving behind his wife and the two boys he adores. He is also quitting his job the night before the biggest non-nuclear project pour ever in Europe.</div><div><br></div><div>But you don't know this immediately (unless you have read this). All you know are the hands-free phone conversations that Locke (played immaculately by Tom Hardy in a mellifluous Welsh accent) has with his boss, his Irish tippler assistant Donal, his wife and kids, and the other woman. All you see is Locke's face and the reflections of the lights in the rain as the road draws him inexorably through the night towards London and an uncertain future.</div><div><br></div><div>Locke is faced with a perfect storm of unpalatable choices of his own creation. His dialogue with his wife (played admirably by Ruth Wilson), his other woman and his work colleagues are excruciating. And exhausting. The night rolls on. Locke has to decide. The road or concrete. Crack, or crack on.</div><div><br></div><div>A must see.</div><div><br></div><div>Five stars. </div><div><br></div>D Eric Pettigrewhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16568996160202876154noreply@blogger.com0