Fiecare baiat a trebuit sa ofere 5 trandafiri... fetele care au minim 3 trandafiri sunt PROTEJATE.

Mihai - 1) Georgiana 2) Roxana 3) Valentina 4) Alina 5) Violeta
Gabriel - 1) Georgiana 2) Oana 3) Violeta 4) Laura 5) Valentina
Alexandru - 1) Violeta 2) Alina 3) Georgiana 4) Valentina 5) Oana
Stefan - 1) Roxana 2) Laura 3) Georgiana 4) Alina 5) Violeta
Bogdan - 1) Valentina 2) Oana 3) Alina 4) Roxana 5) Laura

Georgiana a primit 4 trandafiri... la fel si: Valentina, Alina, Violeta
Roxana a primit 3 trandafiri... la fel si: Oana, Laura

Astfel, ele sunt cele 7 fete protejate.

Nominalizari

D-na. Stela a numit-o pentru nominalizari pe Mihaela... la fel si D-na. Ildiko.

Mama saptamanii - Stela [62,5%]
Mireasa saptamanii - Roxana [41,5%]

Mihaela a fost protejata de votul telespectatorilor (locul 2 cu un procent de 24,4%)

NICI O FATA NU A PARASIT COMPETITIA IN ACEASTA SEARA.

Precis som förra veckan har jag och Robin arbetat med filmen med bilder från tågluffen. Nu är både själva filmen och fodralet klart, och resultatet blev superbra. Det som saknas är en trailer, undertext och att bränna den.

Helgen började med sushi i fredags, hemma hos Alice även denna gång. Det blev jag, Anna, Alice, Stefan, Robin, ST och Ebba som fick ta del av riktigt bra sushi. Senare på kvällen åkte vi över till mig och såg Cleaner.

Igår blev en lugn dag, jag städade lite hemma, Anna jobbade och alla andra tog det nog ganska lungt också. På kvällen skulle vi till Robin för att se en film, men det slutade med att jag och Anna stannade hemma hos henne.

Idag ska jag städa lite till, sen tror jag att det blir middag med, Pappa, Kerstin, Helena, Kattis och Björn någonstans ikväll.

Ia uite-i pe participanti la cateva ore dupa plictiseala organizata cum aplica  in practica  ce  au discutat dimineata.

[googlevideo=http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=3460085275042080736&hl=en]

Mult noroc si sanatate va doresc  !

 "Nu am avut niciun contact cu domnul Pinalti", a spus Elena Basescu.

Sa-i dea Dumnezeu sanatate ca ne aduce zambetul pe buze constant , frumoasa si manechina la Luxten  e ,taticul e Comandant , maine-poimaine e la Bruxelles in PE ,  minte ce-i mai trebuie...

Ştefan - primul care a intrat este fiul doamnei Stela. Grijulie, mama i-a recomandat mai multe fete, printre care şi Roxana, dar Ştefan s-a oprit şi asupra Laurei.

Cel de-al doilea băiat, Alexandru, este fiul doamnei Ildiko. El a declarat că nu s-a decis încă între Violeta sau Alina, deşi mama lui, îi recomandase pe Andreea şi Mihaela.

Gabriel, fiul doamnei Gabriela, a mărtirisit că o place şi el pe Roxana, în timp ce mama lui ar fi preferat-o de nora, pe Laura.

Cel de-al patrulea băiat, Mihai o preferă şi el pe Roxana, dar şi pe Alina, iar mama lui, doamna Maria, e de accord întru totul cu preferintele fiului.

Bogdan a venit neînsoţit de mama lui. El a spus că are o preferată, dar nu vrea să dea nume. A dezvăluit doar că este blondă cu ochi verzi sau albaştri.

Roxana este în topul preferinţelor băieţilor, Florentina şi Lavinia părăsesc competiţia

Aşadar, fetele i-au cunoscut pe cei 5 concurenţi! În acelaşi timp, au trecut şi printr-un moment dificil, mamele făcând din nou nominalizări. La finalul serii, Lavinia şi Florentina şi-au luat rămas bun de la NORĂ PENTRU MAMA.

La final, fiecare dintre cele 10 fete rămase în competiţie a primit câte 10.000 lei, devenind concurente cu drepturi depline. În momentul de faţă, în casă se află 100.000 lei, dar valoarea totala a premiilor este de 500.000 lei. Rămâne de văzut cum se vor câştiga cei 400.000 lei.

De săptămâna viitoare, doamna Maria şi doamna Gabriela nu vor mai putea face nominalizări deoarece nu sunt concurente. Numai concurenţii cu drepturi depline vor avea acest drept. Adevărata competiţie de-abia acum începe!

Sursa: www.kanald.ro

3.20am, 95.8fm

The eager young science teacher of the 3am to 6am slot informs the insomniac and international audience of what I’ve known was going to happen for a good few hours. Not massive news to anyone, wherever they may be in their beds. The man in the van, already on his way ladies and gentlemen, no need to panic, no need to adjust your frequencies, the man in the van is already on his way. I look out ahead and realise the ticker tape parade is on hold, at least for now.

Read the rest at The Brooklyn Voice

The heavy downpour had been on ever since late last night. By now the sky looked clear white, but the rain persisted at the same constant rate. The leaves of trees seemed to sparkle a shade of green so pure it only seemed possible in paintings. Puddles had formed here and there, and one could see people running to and fro, having to work but eager not to get wet.  A stray dog lay curled up under a big tree, wet and shivering. A boy in his early teens sits by the window, looking longingly at the outside world of wild breeze and hard rain. Of course, he would much rather go out in the rain, for a game of football with the other kids. But no luck there! His parents had actually allowed him to skip school today, just so he would not have an excuse to go out in the rain. When parents let you miss school, you know things are serious! Sitting in his room, by the window, the boy sighed, longing for the day he would be old enough to decide when or when not to go out.

Read more at The Brooklyn Voice

Wat een mooi weekend is dit zeg. Het weer is beter dan we deze zomer gehad hebben. Dat was dus het ideale weekend om weer eens op de fiets te kruipen. Samen met Tom erop uit getrokken voor een kleine 2 uur op de koersfiets. Het was 7 weken geleden dat ik dat zadel nog gevoeld had. Maar ik heb me rot geamuseerd. Tom en ik hadden ook wel wat bij te praten, want buiten enkele telefoontjes hadden we elkaar de laatste weken veel te weinig gezien. Uiteraard door omstandigheden, maar toch! Het maakte de training (als je dat zo al mag noemen) alleen maar plezanter. 's Middags stond de eerste kayaktraining met Gerrit op het programma. Dat was dubbel lachen. Al een geluk dat de verhuurder van de kayaks ons vertelde hoe we moesten instappen of we zouden waarschijnlijk eerder in het water dan in onze kayak beland zijn. Na twee uur in een stralende zon te peddelen kwamen we terug aan. Ik heb gedurende deze training al gemerkt dat Gerrit dit beter kan dan ik dus ben ik al direct aan het rekenen geslagen hoe snel ik moet lopen en fietsen om voor hem te blijven. Bewust heb ik mijn rekensom niet afgemaakt! Het is niet belangrijk! We  gaan naar Kasterlee om een fijne namiddag te hebben en om ons te amuseren. Ondertussen heeft Tom ook een MTB voor die bewuste dag en zal ook hij starten! Dat wist je nog niet he Tom;-)! Hopelijk kunnen we de WET kleuren ook daar goed in de verf zetten. Ondertussen staat ook mijn nieuwe MTB machine thuis en omdat mijn vrouw een weekend bij haar ouders op bezoek is kan deze schoonheid voor korte tijd in de living staan. Hoe meer ik ernaar kijk hoe bangelijker ik deze bike vind. Ik kijk ernaar uit om hem eens deftig aan de tand te voelen.

Greetz

Stefan

Pulled the trigger on a pair of vintage Adidas Stafan Edberg's this week. Edberg was my favorite player in the mid-80's; he and Mats Wilander. I had at least two pair of these when i was in middle school. This too...

UPDATE: Shoes came to my work today, half-size too small. Bummer.

/S

Het derde weekend op rij dat ik geen seconde gesport heb. En vermits ik in de week momenteel ook al niet veel tijd heb, heeft dat natuurlijk zijn effect op de conditie. Omdat het winter wordt is dit natuurlijk niet zo erg, maar ik wil toch wel wat bezig blijven. Aangezien ze tijdens IM Klagenfurt Christiane haar bijna nieuwe MTB gestolen hebben waren we op mountainbikegebied aangewezen op improvisatie aangezien we dezelfde MTB gebruikten om naar het werk te rijden. Binnenkort gaat daar een einde aan komen want het voorbije weekend hebben we een nieuwe telg aan onze fietscollectie toegevoegd. Met trots meld ik jullie de komst van een Canyon 'Grand Canyon 9.0'. Dit pareltje zal onder mijn achterwerk te bewonderen zijn. Het mag duidelijk zijn dat zo een machien de motivatie in de hand werkt dus ik sta te popelen om hem te kunnen testen. Hopelijk kan ik hem rap gaan afhalen. Dan zal er terug wat meer getraind worden op de fiets zodat we de 'echte' trainingen niet vanaf nul moeten aanvatten maar dat er toch al een brede basis is.

Mvg

Stefan

The whiff of cigarette smoke threatens to choke her as she starts down the path to the front gate. It takes the edge off another glorious afternoon in the making. She wrinkles her nose, puzzled, wary even. No one comes up the side path in this part of town. They are front door people.

‘Sorry to bother you, Mrs Byrne.’

He appears round a bush. She stares accusingly at the cigarette.

‘As I said, sorry.’ He grins amiably. ‘Just in the area–’

His face seems vaguely familiar. Rather attractive, in a hard sort of way. Possibly he’s been before. All these salespeople have a patch. 

‘Look I’m sorry too,’ she starts to dismiss him politely. She explains she has no time now, is off to fetch a friend – she means, someone – from hospital. It just isn’t convenient.

His eyes on her are liquid and unfathomable. Someone probably just hired him for his looks, the appealing lock of hair taking a few years off his age. Pity about the cigarette. Seductive poison in a tube.

But he is disturbing her. She tries to pass him as he keeps pace with her down the path.

‘That’s okay, Mrs Byrne. Name’s Stefan. I’m canvassing for a new mail order supplier of bulbs. I see you keep a great garden.’

A swift talker, a flatterer. And he knows her name. Though probably from the electoral roll, nothing sinister. After all, he’s being polite, even charming. She simply has to reach her car and drive off, ignore her feelings of being rude and unreasonable. 

He fumbles for a pen, juggling his cigarette. She panics.

‘Look. I really mean it. I’m too busy.’

‘Maybe if you just give me your email address?’

‘Email?’ 

He is a step ahead of her, confusing her.

‘Sure. I’ll email you the catalogue and you can order the same way when you’re ready. We deliver free of charge and invoice you. I’ll just jot down your address and you can get off to your friend.’

He’s right. It will be quickest to comply. ‘Helen at Byrne dot clara dot net.’ 

The air feels strange when he has gone, and she shivers as if a dangerous wind has turned aside, leaving the day safer. He’s only doing what he’s paid to do, she tells herself resolutely. And she has given in, that’s all. It must be the sun. 

Safely in the BMW, she swings past a green car on the corner of the cul-de-sac and drives to the hospital via the building society.

***

At two o’clock Helen finds Carla dressed and waiting. 

Helen is anxious and the ward seems over-warm (a welcome breeze has sprung up outside during the late morning). She unbuttons her linen jacket and greets Carla, who is looking fresh and not at all fragile in a striped cotton grandad shirt and loose-fitting trousers. 

The tiny figure in the bedside cot is swathed in a shawl with no sign of hands or feet. 

‘Have you decided on a name?’ Helen asks, glad of something obvious to say.

‘Dinah. Addison chose it. I think she looks like a Dinah, don’t you?’

Helen has no idea. For that matter, she has no idea about any of this. Suddenly she is aware of the enormity of her ignorance. She wouldn’t even know how to pick the child up, let alone feed it or change it. She’d probably smother it accidently. 

She picks up Carla’s holdall. ‘Do you have to see anybody before we leave. The ward sister? The doctor?’

‘They checked me out an hour ago, but I’ll tell someone we’re off as we pass.’ Carla lifts the baby carefully out of the cot and holds it close. ‘Hope I don’t stumble! Her head’ll probably break off. Have you seen how big it is!’

Helen relaxes a little. At least Carla is not self-conscious in her new motherhood. ‘Come on,’ she says. ‘It’s not far to the car. I’ve put a blanket and some old cushions in the back so you won’t wobble around too much.’

‘At least you’ll be protected from us this time!’ Carla says.

Helen is mortified that Carla sees straight through her, as though she were a hologram to be tilted and viewed from an angle other than the one she presents. It leaves her vulnerable. 

Later, as they drive through the car park and out onto the main road, they slip into inconsequential exchanges. After a while Carla says:

‘Look, I’m really grateful for your help. It’s a bit of a cheek really. Addison would have come in a taxi but–’

Helen assures her hurriedly that it’s no bother. She is almost brusque with the girl.

She worries that Carla will be a chatterer and, if so, whether she can manage to keep the conversation on the safer more distant grounds she is used to. It is hard to resist the girl’s enthusiasm but harder still to hold back from the more friendly relationship that is developing almost of its own volition. 

Told you so! warns the voice in her head. Watch out.

But Carla becomes absorbed with Dinah who is asleep in her arms, so Helen drives through the city centre in silence, a pensive frown on her face. A chance encounter. A polite visit. And a good turn. So little and yet so much in less than a week. She senses an unfamiliar yearning inside her. The passion she has begun to feel for the new, the unknown, has little in common with the affectionate acceptance, even indifference, she feels for Malcolm after a lengthy relationship.

She yearns for an eruption to obliterate everything that went before.

The cry from the girl makes her swerve.

‘What–?’

She pulls over and looks into the back. The girl is white like a tombstone. ‘The baby?’

‘No... no.’ Her voice is strangled. ‘I just saw– No, it was nothing. I’m going silly.’ She laughs a tiny bit hysterically. ‘My mother would say, someone walked on my grave.’ 

Helen watches her, worried. The girl is staring round the road. There are few pedestrians, though rather more cars. After a moment, she appears to regain some calm, returning to look at the baby, who has missed the drama. 

Helen says: ‘Well, I’m glad they weren’t jumping on it, then. I couldn’t stand it.’ She turns to set off again. It’s not her business to pursue the matter. She would prefer not to, in fact.

continue reading

A unit based fridge system that combats the hassle of messy flatshared fridges. Designed by Stefan Buchberger.

Via FormFiftyFive

Tocmai am aflat ca nu se numeste hip-hop crestin, ci hip-hop spiritual :)

Plus doua bonus-uri. Primul, un fel de manea religioasa.

Al doilea bonus, un fel de Cenaclul Flacara fara Paunescu!

      Timpul vindecă orice rană. Oricât suferi după ceva sau cineva, în timp trec toate. Nu m-am vindecat complet şi cu siguranţă am să-l iubesc [într-un fel] toată viaţa, şi oricât mi-aş cere iertare prin orice metode [pentru că ştiu şi vreau să cred că eu am greşit în totalitate - este o formă de idolatrizare a persoanei iubite, care nu are voie să aibă defecte din moment ce o iubeşti] nu voi primi răspuns, sau iertare. Îmi cer scuze pentru nota gay a acestui post, promit că Green Girl revine, dar pont: Nu luaţi prea în glumă conceptul de iubire, chiar este pentru toată lumea şi niciodată [dar niciodată] să nu credeţi că ce aveţi vi se cuvine [ziceţi merci lui Dumnezeu, sau Buddha sau celui pe care îl veneraţi voi] şi luptaţi chiar şi anticipativ să păstraţi ce aveţi! Succes:)

Si me estás buscando a mi: Stefan Aichholzer, ¿por qué no visitas mi blog? -el que actualizo regularmente-

http://aichholzer.name

Senare på kvällen åkte jag, Robin och Stefan till ST där han och Alice var. Senare gick vi mot caféet och mötte upp Matto, Isabelle, Anna och Mathilda också. 

Kvällen blev jättebra, vi träffade en hel del andra också, bland annat Kristoffer och Johan. Kristoffer fick en specialdrink utan alkohol (eftersom han körde) med olika frukter med en fransk flagga bredvid av mig, för snart åker han dit för att plugga.

Vid tretiden begav vi oss mot donken på Norrnalmstorg som vanligt, tyvärr jobbade inte vår käre långsamma Jon där, men vi fick mat ändå (och snabbt). Sedan skjutsade Stefan alla hem och vi var hemma runt halv fyra.

Dumnezeu sa-l aibe-n paza.

Chapter 4

Lewis helped me light the massive wood burner in the front room. The wood caught easily and the room, so suddenly, smelt and felt different. I closed my eyes and I could almost hear Dad’s knees creak and crack as he straightened from the hearthrug and the soft clapping as he dusted ash from his large hands.

The kitchen had taken most of the previous afternoon after we got back from the Witch. Grendel watched everything from a distance, skittering away whenever Lewis tried to stroke him. He watched us pile bin bags outside the back door, filled to bursting with ageing food, tins, crockery, cookware, books, pens, kettles, irons. They were all things that had sat in their places for years. The kitchen looked strange and cavernous without them but I kept reminding myself that this was my house now. That’s what Dad wanted, surely.

I ventured into the front room early the next morning, the night only just starting to give up to the day. I’d spent the night concentrating on not thinking about Theo. I’d stopped myself at six in the morning, one hand on the front door handle, about to march out to Sinclare House.

The door to the living room was very stiff and the room was pitch and stuffy, the drapes pulled tight against the last night Dad saw. I wrestled them open, coughing in the dust. The morning rising outside, weak and white as it was, was clean and alive and unmistakably winter. So much of the house had always been shut behind doors or curtains that were rarely ever opened. I wanted it to breathe a little.

Lewis joined me, fresh and awake, as I was half way through packing Mum’s books, faded and neatly sorted by author, into boxes. He didn’t say anything as he came beside me and started helping.

We lit the fire to stop our teeth chattering and worked on in silence. I rubbed at my eyes, damp and sore with lack of sleep and floating dust. The only reason I was aware of time passing was the voice of the clock on the mantle, steadily ticking away the seconds. The room gradually emptied itself into boxes and bags, space gathering on shelves and in cupboards.

“Stefan, look,” Lewis said. It might have been five minutes or two hours later. He was stood by the mantle, holding something out something to me. “I found it behind the clock.”

I took it from him, laid it flat on my palm. A small key, old, quite heavy for its size. “What’s it for?”

Lewis leaned over and looked at it. “For the attic, I think. I never knew where Dad kept it. Trust him to keep it right here under our noses.”

“The attic?” I closed my hand over the little bit of metal and made for the stairs. The floorboards of the landing creaked loudly the further down I went. I had to duck through the low doorway at the end, into the darkened room. I blinked in the gloom, felt my way to another pair of heavy curtains that hung across the window. I opened them and spluttered in another great flurry of dust. I grabbed a chair from under the window and dragged it underneath the hatch in the ceiling. Lewis stood with his arms folded, watching me. I stared up at it. “What do you think is up there?” I squeezed the key tighter in my hand.

“Junk, Stef. Another massive room of junk. I don’t understand why you’re so excited.”

“Aren’t you curious?”

Lewis’s face had once again fallen into a heavy frown. “I was done with this house a long time ago. I thought you were too.”

“So did I. Running away didn’t achieve anything though, did it? And I’m tired of being angry with this place.”

Breathing deeply, I stepped up onto the creaky chair and reached up. It was an awkward angle to turn the key from. Finally, the lock clicked and the weight of the door pushed down. I lowered it gently and thick clots of wood dust billowed down. After I’d finished coughing and wiping at my eyes I reached up and grabbed the end of a battered collapsible ladder. I juggled it down, the old metal screeching in protest, the feet fitting into faint grooves in the carpet. I shook it and it held. With one more deep breath I started up into the black mouth.

Coming up out of the light, the darkness seemed complete. The air had a stale taste. The light shining up from below died weakly around me, falling on wooden flooring. I tested it with my foot and stepped off the top rung of the ladder, the floor creaking quietly. I bounced a little, cautiously.

“Well?” Lewis’s face tilted up below me.

“Is there a light?”

“I don’t know, do I? I – ” He cut off. Looking down I saw he was staring off back down the corridor.

“What?”

“Nothing…”

I frowned. “Did you hear something?”

He didn’t answer. I shook my head and tried a few more steps into the dark. My toes cracked against something solid. “Wasn’t there a light up here? I’m sure I’ve seen Dad turn on a light. Lewis?”

I peered back down the ladder but he was gone.

As I blinked my eyes into adjusting to the dark, shapes began to form in the gloom, large and hunkered like giant, misshapen beetles. Feeling about along the closest wall I found a switch that produced a click but nothing else. Peering around again, I saw the room on my right was somehow lighter than the rest. I stumbled forwards and found a slice of thin daylight falling across the far end of the room, disturbed flecks drifting in and out of the beam. The end of the beam fell across the middle of one of the heavy mounds and two eyes, wide and black, stared right through me from the strip of light. I flailed, stumbled back but came up short against a pile of junk.

Breathing heavily, I saw the eyes weren’t moving. Fumbling my way towards it, I reached out and my fingertips brushed against rough canvas. The painted eyes gazed up between my fingers. I felt the outline of a frame and pulled it out of its pile, angled it in the light. I saw bits of dark hair, a silver necklace, a white neck.

With one hand clutching the painting and the other outstretched I edged my way across the crowded and creaking floor, towards the source of the thin finger of daylight. After a few more crashes and some dusty dead ends I laid my fingers on what I’d thought would be nailed shutters but found were curtains. They were extremely thick and heavy, even slightly velvety and, of course, belched out great clouds of dust when I heaved them apart. The white winter sun flooded the room.

She stared up out of her wooden frame with silent, black eyes. There was no smile on her mouth and her chin was tilted up slightly, to look me right in the eye. Her black hair was pulled back tight from her brow, held down with a jewelled pin that the artist had expertly pricked out with light and shadow. The silver necklace was rendered in the same exquisite detail. It was draped delicately under the tsiff collar of her plain dress. Charlotte swirled in black lettering across the solid pendent.

I searched the corners and the shadows of the picture but couldn’t find an artist’s signature. She was in eighteenth century costume, but the style was of no artist I was aware of from that time. She was almost a photograph, but warmer. I felt that if I reached out and touched it I would feel the soft black of her hair and the heat of her expertly-blushed skin. Even holding it right to my face I found it hard to see actual brushstrokes.

“Lewis,” I called, my voice deadened by the silent mounds and dust floating around me. “Lewis, come and look at this.”

He didn’t answer. I called again, starting to clamber back but still nothing. Only now did I look up and around at the rest of the room. I stopped and stared. One pathetic, dead bulb hung from the angle in the ceiling but even when it worked I couldn’t imagine it would have been able to light the whole room. It stretched out in front of me, under the whole length of the roof. At the other end I could just make out in the remaining shadows another window behind drawn curtains.

Carefully propping the painting on the windowsill I scrambled across the length of the room to the other window and threw open the curtains. The icy winter sun flooded the whole place. The window frame had been painted over but with some creaks and splinters I shouldered it open, let the cold freshness come tumbling in to ease the thick and mouldering air. Leaning out I could see further out across the island than from any of the bedroom windows. The drive stretched away from the house on one side under its thin elms. The fields spread out from it on either side, grey under their skin of frost. The finger of the church spire down in Hoodwin clawed black against the backdrop of pale hills. Leaning out still further and squinting I thought I could see the top of Stonehill. I fancied I could even pick out the black fragments of the ring of standing stones on its top.

I didn’t understand how either of my parents could bare to have this room shut up and curtained off. A quick bitterness rose in me. I might have understood Dad locking it away, but not Mum. With the large windows opening up onto the sky like this I felt I was at the top of the whole of the island. The pieces I could have produced from up here…

I pushed the habitual regret away. I was letting go of all that. Lewis was wrong. It was all gone, the bitterness and fear. It was another time. The only way it would spoil anything else was if I let it. After all, Theo had come back. And he had it worse than the rest of us.

I leaned out as far as I dared to see if I could see Sinclare House, perched on its hill north of Hoodwin. I could make out the north road but it disappeared off into trees.

A shiver rippled my skin from the outside air and I was just ducking back in when a movement caught my eye. I leaned out again and squinted at the end of the drive just in time to see a figure duck away behind the hedges of the road. I frowned. The person had definitely been on the drive, not just passing in the road. I hung there until my fingers were numbing but they didn’t come back.

Shaking my head I turned back into the room, rubbing my arms and teeth chattering. The sheeted mounds lay silent around me in the pale light. I felt my excitement wither a little as I took in the sheer expanse of it. I was just trying to decide where on earth to start sorting it all when there was a metallic creaking from the direction of the obscured entrance hatch.

“Where on earth have you been?”

Lewis ascended, coughing in the dust and looking pale in the wan winter light. “Nowhere, I just thought I heard something.”

“Did someone come to the door?”

“What? No.” He gazed around the room, dusting his hands. “It was Grendel. He’d knocked over a pile of books in the living room.”

“I thought I saw someone on the drive.”

He shook his head, not looking at me. “A lost tourist, maybe.” He stared around at the room with his hands on his hips but it didn’t look like he was seeing any of it. “I’m going to get some bin bags,” he said, turning back to the ladder.

“Was he ok?”

“Who?”

“Grendel,” I prompted.

“Oh. Yes, of course he was.” He disappeared and I chewed my lip, watching the space where he’d gone.

Shaking my head, I turned back to the room and started pulling the dustsheets off everything. There were wooden chests, pieces of old furniture, more chairs of more different types than I had though imaginable in various stages of disrepair. Piles of folded and unidentifiable linen, holed by moths and mice. Chests and buckets, piles and piles of boxes, wooden, plastic, cardboard, locked and open, brimming and bursting with anything and everything people collect over their lifetimes. Books, pictures, toys, stacks of newspapers and magazines, long-unused brewing barrels that, even now, smelt of moss and malt. Photo albums with crumbling spines and records packed away in paper sleeves and the broken record player next to them.

“Most of it’ll burn,” I said to Lewis’s worried look when he came back up with bin bags. “And there’s a skip coming from Oldport tomorrow.”

“You’re more organised than I thought.” I didn’t like the way he said it but couldn’t think of any way to reply. I ignored him and bent to start loading magazines into a bin bag.

“What’s that?”

I looked up and followed Lewis’s gaze. Charlotte stared back at him impassively from where I’d propped her. “I found it near the window.”

“What, it was up here?” He looked pale again.

I nodded. “I don’t recognise the artist. It’s old. She must have belonged to Mum.”

“Why?” The word came out bluntly.

I shrugged. “I…I don’t know. I thought Mum must have got it from her mainland family. Why?”

Lewis shrugged deliberately. “Nothing…it’s probably worth a fair amount, right?”

“I imagine so…”

“I know a good auctioneer for that kind of thing. On the mainland. No one around here would be interested.” He was almost glaring.

“Well, I don’t know, I haven’t decided yet.” He ignored me and tore a bin bag from the roll. “Have you seen it before?”

“Of course not.” He began shoving old linen into the bag. “I’ve never been up here before, have I?”

I frowned, first at my brother and then at the picture. “Do you not like it because it looks a bit like Mum?”

Lewis’s movements took on a more deliberate force. “It would raise a fair whack, Stef,” he reiterated. “I wouldn’t want to pass that up, especially if I wasn’t selling the house.”

“Look, Lewis. You got his savings, I got his house. I’m just choosing to spend my inheritance in a different way. Why is that such a problem to you?”

He paused. I could see him breathing. He clutched at the bin bag but didn’t look up. “I really thought you’d managed it, Stef. Left this bloody place behind. Like me. But it looks like it’s too late for you as well as Dad.”

De kogel is door de kerk. Ik heb gisteren besloten om niet mee te doen aan de marathon in Eindhoven. Door allerlei omstandigheden kwam (en kom) ik er niet toe om momenteel langere duurlopen in mijn weekplanning in te passen. Voorlopig zal daar ook geen verbetering in komen. Dus ga ik de looptraining terug afbouwen en kan ik eindelijk terug op mijn fietske kruipen want dat heb ik ook wel gemist. Zwemmen gaat ook terug omhoog van 1 naar 2 trainingen, ook al omdat ik in de buurt van de Wezenberg avondschool heb en daar de tijd wat ga doden tussen het werk en de avondschool. Maw we concentreren ons terug op wat we graag doen, triathlon! Maar eerst gaan we dit weekend nog champagne proeven!

Greetz

Stefan

What gets me is the use of melody. The harp is working this beautiful line, and she is following it with the kazoo. That works well, because the quality of her voice is still coming through that crazy ass kazoo. CocoRosie has always had this beautiful battle between gorgeous and creepy as hell. It works so well.

Le travail de Sehler a déjà été montré par la galerie, y compris lors du dernier Show-off, l'an dernier. Sehler parvient à donner une sorte de texture à sa photographie, il parvient presque à en faire une sorte de lavis ou d'aquarelle moderne, toujours sur la base d'éléments botaniques ou végétaux. Les grands formats utilisés, sur plexiglas, sont impressionnants et ré-interprètent la "manière" du lavis.

Les images sur le web ne rendent nullement compte du travail réalisé et de l'impression produite.

Allez voir !