Almighty Father, of Whom every family in heaven and earth is named: One of my greatest joys in Community was to rescue from a roof leak, sort out and read through the Archives.
Forty-nine of us, forty-eight men and one woman, lay on the green waiting for the spike to open. We were too tired to talk much. We just sprawled about exhaustedly, with home-made cigarettes sticking out of our scrubby faces.
Overhead the chestnut branches were covered with blossom, and beyond that great woolly clouds floated almost motionless in a clear sky.
Littered on the grass, we seemed dingy, urban riff-raff. We defiled the scene, like sardine-tins and paper bags on the seashore. What talk there was ran on the Tramp Major of this spike. He was a devil, everyone agreed, a tartar, a tyrant, a bawling, blasphemous, uncharitable dog.
When You, came to be searched, he fair held you upside down and shook you.
If you were caught with tobacco there was bell to. Pay, and if you went in with money which is against the law God help you. I had eightpence on me.
Then we set about smuggling our matches and tobacco, for it is forbidden to take these into nearly all spikes, and one is supposed to surrender them at the gate. We hid them in our socks, except for the twenty or so per cent who had no socks, and had to carry the tobacco in their boots, even under their very toes.
We stuffed our ankles with contraband until anyone seeing us might have imagined an outbreak of elephantiasis. But is an unwritten law that even the sternest Tramp Majors do not search below the knee, and in the end only one man was caught. This was Scotty, a little hairy tramp with a bastard accent sired by cockney out of Glasgow.
His tin of cigarette ends fell out of his sock at the wrong moment, and was impounded.
At six, the gates swung open and we shuffled in. An official at the gate entered our names and other particulars in the register and took our bundles away from us. The woman was sent off to the workhouse, and we others into the spike.
It was a gloomy, chilly, limewashed place, consisting only of a bathroom and dining-room and about a hundred narrow stone cells.
The terrible Tramp Major met us at the door and herded us into the bathroom to be stripped and searched. He was a gruff, soldierly man of forty, who gave the tramps no more ceremony than sheep at the dipping-pond, shoving them this way and that and shouting oaths in their faces.
But when he came to myself, he looked hard at me, and said: He gave me another long look. It was a disgusting sight, that bathroom. All the indecent secrets of our underwear were exposed; the grime, the rents and patches, the bits of string doing duty for buttons, the layers upon layers of fragmentary garments, some of them mere collections of holes, held together by dirt.
|Tone: A Matter of Attitude||Posted on April 8, by Scott Alexander I.|
The room became a press of steaming nudity, the sweaty odours of the tramps competing with the sickly, sub-faecal stench native to the spike.Pile Foundations Design Offshore Pile Foundation to be designed to Euro Code and investigated against forces that might act upon it to sustain the jacket platform plus a .
A friend of a friend told me that he tried to set the price of his game to some figure or other but that Valve vetoed it and set it to something else. FREE COURSE THE WORLD, THE JEWS AND THE SCIENCE OF HUMAN SURVIVAL Anti-Semitism, division, separation, violent conflicts and a general breakdown of the institutions of human society.
New Left Review 87, May-June Save a PDF file; Send an email; Print article; wolfgang streeck HOW WILL CAPITALISM END? There is a widespread sense today that capitalism is in critical condition, more so than at any time since the end of the Second World War.
 A version of this text was delivered as the Anglo-German Foundation Lecture at the British Academy on 23 January Paul Kingsnorth is a writer and poet living in Cumbria, England. He is the author of several books, including the poetry collection Kidland and his fictional debut The Wake, winner of the Gordon Burn Prize and the Bookseller Book of the Year Award.
Kingsnorth is the cofounder and director of the Dark Mountain Project, a network of writers, artists, and thinkers. The Elgin Marbles (/ ˈ ɛ l ɡ ɪ n /), also known as the Parthenon Marbles (Greek: Γλυπτά του Παρθενώνα), are a collection of Classical Greek marble sculptures made under the supervision of the architect and sculptor Phidias and his assistants.
They were originally part of the temple of the Parthenon and other buildings on the Acropolis of Athens.