I met Drax and we went over to a sandbox, Alphonso Pidgeon had kindly given Drax one of his Slea-z-boy chairs and we were looking forward to trying it out.  Drax looked relaxed in the chair as he put it through its paces. 

He suddenly thought it might be a good idea to fly the tarn again, the Gorean bird that he hasn’t practiced with for some time.  It’s a giant vicious looking black bird with nasty talons and a sharp beak.  As we intended flying over a Gorean city I put my new Freewoman Dress on (it’s lovely, pale blue and very floaty, plus you get the headdress with it too).  Off we sped and soon arrived over the rooftops of Thentis.

Drax soon got the hang of the tarn, turning and twisting above the city, it was a smooth ride, the tarn screeched and you could hear it’s wings flapping as it gained height.  Eventually Drax brought it down safely within the city walls and he jumped off.  I followed but landed near the vicious beak of the tarn who tried to bite  and scratch me with his huge talons, what a bad-tempered bird!

(You may notice I have blocked part of the pictures out with a blue square.  I took loads of pictures over the day and had forgotten to untick the bit on the camera that shows the interface of chat boxes and text, so it was a bit of a disaster.  There’s a real lesson to be learned for me to make sure I put the camera controls back the way they were at the end of using the camera to shoot the interface (I use it to photograph some pictures taken in-world).  I had a whole day of nearly wasted pictures.)

After Drax put the tarn back in its cage we decided to go to Avilion, which was great, as I already had my long dress on.  The Avilion ballroom is so pretty and we had a couple of dances until we had to return to real life.

Cet article n’a absolument rien à faire sur un blog “politique”, je sais…
Mais si je devais choisir entre “politique” et chocolat, je choisirais certainement “chocolat”…
Pourquoi me direz-vous? Je vous répondrai que c’est ancré dans mes gènes, mon père m’ayant  certainement transmis l’ADN chocolat! (Coucou Papa, je sais que tu me lis : -)  )
Et si un jour nous devions tous être fichés par une prise de sang déterminant notre ADN et  notre identité génétique, je pense que l’on trouverait plusieurs couches d’ADN chocolat dans ma carte génétique!

Tout ça pour dire que j’ai passé un bon moment au salon du chocolat: papilles, odeurs, couleurs, d’autant plus que ce salon est couplé à celui des Artisans d’Art.

A remarquer, la cathédrale Sainte Cécile, en chocolat, qui figurera au Patrimoine Mondial de l’Unesco en 2010, pour l’occasion cette belle oeuvre a été confectionnée par les jeunes apprentis chocolatiers de l’Ecole des métiers, la jeune chocolatière et ses compagnons créant sous nos yeux de belles sculptures…
Mille merveilles pour les gourmets, des maîtres chocolatiers venus de toute la région, un régal!  Une fontaine à chocolat assaillie par les fondus de chocolat, des fruits confits pour la fondue, des pains d’épices artisanaux, de la vanille de Madagascar, du “Nutella” aveyronais artisanal, (bonjour Olivier-kag!) j’en ai acheté 4 pots pour le prix de 3!

Il y avait même des robes en chocolat! Et également des animations pour les enfants et une exposition!
Seul bémol, mon fils (10 ans) me dit: “mais un salon du chocolat où Belin (grand maître chocolatier Albigeois) n’est pas là, est-ce un vrai salon du chocolat? Bon de toute façon il est connu dans le monde entier, donc il a pas besoin de venir là, lui!”
La vérité sort parfois de la bouche des enfants, n’est-ce pas?
Donc je vais goûter toutes ces belles douceurs avec mon amie qui va bientôt venir boire le thé  et je vous dirai si les chocolats achetés au salon étaient meilleurs que ceux de chez Belin…

Heureusement que je me déplace souvent à pieds ou en vélo, le chocolat, ça vaut bien ça!
AUTRES PHOTOS DU SALON

Allow me the indulgence of breaking habit, and posting something athletic-footwear based on this blog. I’m aware there’s another sit for this kind of thing, but alas, at time-of-writing, all things army are tinged with controversy and matters of Ministry Of Defence military issue quality are deeply topical. I’ve been known to complain about build on a product, but when it’s a matter of life or death rather than cracked paint on the sole, it’s something else altogether.

As a result, the release of Nike’s Special Forces Boot earlier in the year was a subdued one rather than a bells and whistles affair.  So I thought I’d spotlight it here instead in a rare moment of product focus. I also think a lot of the writeups I’ve seen elsewhere have been pretty dry.

Seeing as I’m surrounded by the things, I don’t get very excited by shoes any more. The same happened when I work experienced in a comic book store – never bought another funny book after October 1993. The experience of retail and cost pricing taught me just how disposable they are. When it comes to shoes, it takes an awful lot to pique my interest to purchasing point rather than mere freeloading. The SFB is one of those times (and no, this isn’t payola-led). I’ve sung the praises of the glorious ACG Air Tarn here before, but I love the Baltoro, Air Rhyolite and the Air Superdome (not the terrible Max Superdome though, which deserves the purgatory of outlet store hell). Until Timberland staged a comeback lately, it seemed that the Goadome love could spread from Washington D.C. to anywhere the big boot look could thrive. But I wanted to see some progression beyond the vintage revisits that are substantially responsible for my frequent bouts of sneaker narcolepsy. I think the SFB brings it.

“Those are ugly!” is music to my ears when it comes to this kind of thing. Some of these shoes have the upper only an oddball could love, but they slap me out of snooze-mode. I’d been waiting for Nike to drop something like this after adidas’s age-old black-on-black GSG9 army model, often criticised for traction issues, but clean in appearance continued to shift units. I love tactical/army and desert boot design. The GSG9 even been followed with a sequel, the GSG9.2 that employs Climacool and adiPRENE into the model. It’s okay, but Oakley’s Elite Special Forces S.I. Assault Boot was a more exciting big-brand design – as I understand, Oakley’s army-standard verson was US-made, with a China-made civilian version. Britain’s Hi-Tec, who made the abominable Silver Shadow and Squash, enjoying brief success with hi-tops for those too poor to afford adidas Ewing Rivalrys before succumbing to cut-price shame had huge success with their Vibram soled Magnum line for police and military, but the Hi-Tec name is still a repellent for me, regardless of whether Kinetic Effect wore ‘em for press shots circa. 1994.

We’re all preoocupied with all things rugged and old at present (I’m writing this in a pair of Mountain Lights), but progression can be necessary in military products. Boot design has taken vast leaps this decade taking chunks of tradition and performance breakthroughs too. I can only imagine the contempt anyone who’s signed up for combat would feel for the likes of me eulogising the aesthetics of army attire. I don’t care either. Specialist forums are riddled with reviews based on marches and tours of duty as well as a healthy contempt for posers. I speak only as a footwear fanboy. How many hoarders of Vans have touched a board in the last twenty years? The recent ALIFE 40 Below proves there’s plenty of life in the big boot movement, and those look pretty reserved compared to Nike’s offering.

Old styles like the German Para boot are a no-no, appropriated by too many trustafarians, but I firmly believe that the DNA of contemporary army footwear styles lie in two design classics – 1977s waterproof M77 boot from Alfa Skofabrik for the Norwegian army, still an army-issue there, and Israeli elite forces Commandos boots from Paladium with their hardwearing union of canvas and polyurethane.

Twinning an army desert boot upper with a sole that looks like the underrated Free Trail model, the faux-leather and polyester on the  SFB’s upper, approach to surface grip and flex, thermoplastic on the forefoot and real-leather/Kevlar protection lower down is an interesting adaptation of existing technologies.  They’re lightweight too as well as breathable, meaning trench foot chances are minimised. But a benefit to a serviceman but hinderance to a hipster doofus like me is that height. Those recoiling at the towering cut need to focus on what’s visible under denim – my aim wasn’t to rock them like a ‘Funk Your Head Up’ era Ultramagnetics affiliate, or to look like I’m making a field trip to Endor. Still, quick lacing or not, it’s a daily chore that’s a potential dealbreaker.

The chukka version might not fall in line with the full milspec intent, but after Hiroshi Fujiwara (who showcased a good black/purple high pair) and Hirofumi Kiyonaga got their hands on it, this tactical design was brought in line with their Uniform Experiment collection. I assumed that the UE ethos would omit anything quite this roughneck, but seemingly not. Trimmed down, it’s an easier wear, and black-on-black minimses any aesthetic concerns regarding the duality of a more rounded upper and futuristic jagged sole unit. It’s a less challenging wear, and one of the best things Nike have executed in years. I can forgive them for the ‘Year Of The Pig’ Air Max Footscape 360 and years of nondescript Max reworkings if standards remain this high.

Recently I’ve been taking a look at the army offerings from more conventional suppliers like Lowa, Belleville, Meindl, Garmont, Danner, 511, Zamberlan, Redback and Altberg. North Yorkshire’s Altberg rarely get the spotlight they deserve for their handcrafted output.

Altberg Desert Microlite

Redback Terra Combat

Zamberlan Wild GT

511 Desert

Belleville ABU Waterproof Combat

Danner Acadia

Lowa Desert Mid

Lowa Seeker Desert

Meindl Desert

XXX. John Ford: Cheynne Autumn (1964)

Pitkä. Jimmy Stewart -väliaika. Lopussa törkeä taustaprojektio, jottei Robinsonia olisi tarvinnut raahata erämaahan.

XXX. Victor Fleming: Red Dust (1932)

Kova! Palvelija. Mogambo heti jonoon, jotta voin pettyä.

XXX. Visa Mäkinen: Mitäs me sankarit (1980)

Tässä oli muistaakseni pari oikeastikin hyvää juttua.

XXX. Godfrey Reggio: Koyaanisqatsi (1982)

Jopa parempi kuin odotin. Kaupungin yö hienointa.

XXX. Ken Hughes: The House Across the Lake (1954)

aka Heat Wave, millä ei mitään tekemistä. Yllättävänkin kulkeva pikkunoir näköjään ohjaajan oman romaanin pohjalta, vaikken taaskaan uskonut femmen voimaa. Hughes kasvoi näköjään isompaan: CCBB! Päähenkilön ja aviomiehen dialogi biljardipöydällä alussa nautittavaa kieltä ja näyttelemistä.

XXX. Gary Tarn: Black Sun (2005)

Huonossa asemassa Koyaanisqatsin paikalla seuraavana yönä eikä siksi voinut mitenkään olla tuottamatta pettymystä. Täytyy katsoa uudestaan ainakin muulla musiikilla ja ainakin kertaalleen monologilla, josta oli nyt koko ajan tietoinen.

XXX. Abel Ferrara: Bad Lieutenant (1992)

Parempi kuin odotin The Funeralin jälkeen. Keitel on hyvä.

XXX. Godfrey Reggio: Powaqqatsi (1988)

Ei niin hyvä. Musiikki ei toimi koko aikaa. Kärsi ehkä Black Sunin tavoin silti Koyaanis-varjosta. Naqoy tilaukseen, 5,49.

Lxxx-xxx. Jörn Donner: Aamua kaupungissa (1954) & Näinä päivinä (1955-ELONET/1956-YLE)

Mukavat ja sympaattiset!

XXX. Don Siegel: The Duel at Silver Creek (1952)

Räjähtävää energiaa! Ajattelin etukäteen, ettei selviä kokoelmassa, mutta olin väärässä! Tämä oli maukas. Audie Murphy ei edes toimi protagonistina tässä, mikä tuli yllätyksenä. Näyttää nahkatakissa kovana jätkänä hellyyttävältä hymyineen, kuten pahis Johnny Sombrerokin Sokeanhölmöä sheriffiä esittävällä Stephen McNallyllä on liukasta karismaa. On näköjään ollut Criss Crossissakin.

I awoke this afternoon to find ladybugs all over the house! Hundreds of them. Soon, they were all over me.

Ladybug butt

They’re supposed to mean good luck, right? Maybe I’ve hit the jackpot.

Besides photographing critters, here’s what else I’ve been doing:

Dyeing T-shirt yarn with tea! (Looks like weird pasta, huh?) I’m taking Stefanie Japel’s upcycled T-shirt yarn class online. Very fun. Been cutting up shirts into yarn and dyeing them. Here’s how my first batch of tea-stained yarn turned out:

Stack o' yarn

That’s all for now …

June 2, 932

Well, it worked. That’s about the best I can say for what happened today. I could tell you more about the battle, but what’s the point? The bandit’s who attacked us are captured or dead, and they will not prey on innocents any longer. We sprang the trap at dawn, just as planned, and it worked perfectly. We only suffered two men killed and a half dozen with wounds of varying degrees – a slight butchers bill for the removal of a score and a half of bandits. And so, to quote the old joke, “There was much rejoicing.”

So why am I not happier?

Honestly? I’m not sure why I’m sad this night. I mean,besides winning a ferocious fight, we’ve been told that because of this mission, we will be skipping the graduation ceremonies. Not that I was looking forward to them all that much what with no one coming to see me become a soldier anyway. Nope, they’ve told us that we’re already soldiers, and that there is nothing another ceremony will do to change that. In fact, most of my command is being ordered to a little border town called Traazon Keep, and, as I am the only member of my unit with “noble blood” in his veins, I’ll actually be in command of the unit for the five weeks it will take us to arrive there.

Hells, I was surprised about that as anyone else. Of course, I won’t really be in command. Old Baldy is going along as well; according the orders that Mage Tiller received from Albeld, the garrison at my new post is depleted after a series of raids by several orc clans. From what I’ve been told, their garrison is depleted enough at the moment that we’ve been told to “expedite our arrival.” Or, in plain speak, we get to ride instead of march all those leagues.

So I should be happy, right? For the first time in as long as I can remember, I know what I’ll be doing, who I’ll be doing it with, and that I’ll actually enjoy doing it. On the other hand, I’m leaving behind everything I’ve ever known; on top of that, I’m leaving behind a lot of dead friends here as well.

Oh, I didn’t mention that yet, did I? Turns out Anhil was killed in the fighting yesterday. I mean, I’ve only known him for a few months, but he was the closest thing I’ve had to a real friend in as long as I can remember. So, yes. I’ll admit it: I’m pretty torn up about it. I’m trying to put up a good face and not let how hard his death is hitting me show in front of the other men, but his death hurts. Really hurts.

And he died in such a stupid, stupid way, as well! The battle was over; at least it appeared to be. We were routing the last surviving bandits out from their hold-out inside a pair of overturned wagons they were using for cover.They had to know they were beaten! Of course, I suppose they also knew they faced a death sentence if they surrendered. That meant we had to dig them out. And Anhil, being Anhil, called a group of men to him and led a charge.

Oh, they took the position all right. But those bastards took out Anhil in the process. One of the last arrows they loosed before our men were upon them found a chink in his armor, and that was that. Right between the joints in the mail plates covering his throat.

For what it’s worth, the healers say he didn’t have time to suffer. That’s a small consolation. On the other hand, I’m sure that won’t make his family feel any better. Unlike me, he had a family, even if he hadn’t seen them in years. I don’t know how much they’ll miss him, but anyone at all is more than would miss me if our positions had been switched.

Shrug. I can’t dwell on it too much. I’m a soldier now. A Kings Man! As Old Baldy said, nothing can change that now, no matter what happens.

I guess that does mean something; and that there is something to be said for the “brotherhood of arms.” I may not have any family to miss me, but I do have brothers in arms now. I do know that while the men may not have wept at the little roadside burial we gave Anhil and the others, but they’re wasn’t a dry eye, either.

At least I have that knowledge. Hells, I may die tomorrow in some other pointless skirmish, but even though my father may not want me, the army does. And that my brothers there will remember me – even if no one else does.

That has to count for something, right? At least this time I can say it does.

RIP, Anhil. You will be missed.

June 1, 932

Not much time to write tonight. Yesterday, we pushed hard, working to catch up to the bandits. Then, I don’t know how, but someone – or something – tipped them off. Result? They knew we were coming, and fled there camp. Thankfully, they’re still bandits. Fleeing into rough terrain may stop most people, but not the king’s soldiers.

That means that we pushed hard today as well, trying to “steal a march” on them. Oh, not all of us. Most of the men are still back at the head of the valley the bandits moved down, “demonstrating,” in military terms. In other words, 2/3rds of the troops are back there doing the best they can to look as loud and conspicuous as possible. Meanwhile, one of the Captains from Kooman’s Keep took the other third on a forced march to the narrow end of the valley, and all of the survivors of our training march where with him.

Why? We’re the attacking force, of course. Come dawn, the main force will stop “demonstrating” and begin their “attack.” The bandits, being bandits, may stand and fight, but will probably flee down the valley.

Straight into us.

In other words, they’re situation is hopeless, and they don’t know it. Either they flee into our trap, or they stand and fight, in which case we attack them from the rear shortly after the festivities kick off. Whichever happens, they’ll be dead by noon.

Well, that being said, I need to get some sleep. We marched forty miles today to get into position- not that we needed to march that far as the crow flies, but we needed to stay hidden. So we marched two or three times the length of the little valley, just to make sure no one saw us. Between that and a coming battle at dawn… Yep. I’m as tired as I’ve ever been.

Heh. Guess all that training in full kit really was worth while.

I’ll try to write more tomorrow, assuming I live. If not, and someone finds this… Well, I leave all my worldly possessions to Anhil. He’s been a true friend, and hopefully he can make use of them, somehow. Hells, if nothing else, he’ll buy a good ale for the men in my memory before he spends the rest on cheap ale and cheaper whores for himself.

With that, I better get some sleep. To continue after that last thought would just be too damn depressing…

May 30, 932

Who would have thought that a bandit raid would have turned into such a major issue? I mean, sure, a crime was committed when those scum attacked us last week, but two hundred men to hunt down a couple dozen bandits? If I wasn’t so upset at the death of my comrades, I’d say it was overkill.

Yet, when we started out from the Keep at dawn this morning, that’s exactly what there was. One hundred professional soldiers from the Keep. All forty-plus able bodied men from my own unit. Father Khelvan and two of his acolytes. Grooms. Squires. Gra’than the scout. Even an apprentice mage, who, I’m told, specializes in third order magic – a battle mage, so to speak. Heh. Once the scouts find those bandit scum, they won’t know what hit them.

I certainly hope so. After all, who likes a fair fight?

Gra’than says he has the trail, and that their lair isn’t more than a couple days from here. “Tracking them,” he says, “Is about as hard as tracking a pack of mongrel dogs.” (Strange metaphor coming from him, I think…but that’s another story.) “They have no trail sense. They move as if they are the only thing out there, and as if nothing can harm them. They act,” he snorted, “Invincible.”

On the other hand, I do have to admit that, despite all the things they have stacked against them, the bandits do have certain advantages. They’re few in number (as far as we know), they’re mounted, and they know the terrain like the back of their hands. Yet, even so… they are only bandits. They can be the best organized and led bandits ever, they’re still only bandits. Unlike us, they do fight like a pack of mongrel dogs. After all, what else did we just spend the last six weeks learning how to do?

Yep. Discipline. Even a number of troops as small as this will use “proper” infantry tactics. Shield walls. Hedgehog pike formations. Linear formation tactics. And more – after all, what good are twenty men on horseback if they lack in ability to hurt us, simply because they can’t get at us? But that’s what discipline will do for an army. It’s why Averim conquered the orcs, defeated the Highlanders, and keeps the elves and dwarves at bay.

Or so the officers would have us believe. I mean, we recruits had that same training, right? And didn’t our officers tell us that we did nothing wrong? Yet, if that were true, then shouldn’t we have not lost anyone at all?

Heh. Truth is, even if a leader performs perfectly, he’ll still lose men occsionally. I mean, the other guy trains just as hard as you do, right? OK, maybe the bandits don’t. But they’re still not idiots. Idiots wouldn’t be smart enough to kill my comrades; these guys are.

That’s why we train. I think I’ve just realized that. I mean, the other guy trains to, right? So the key is to train more and better than he does. That way, when the arrows really do start flying, you’ll be more prepared than he is. That’s our advantage over the orcs – they’re bigger, stronger, and generally faster. But they fight stupid. Orcs “scream and leap,” relying on their ferocity and physical strength to win. These bandits are pretty much the same. Killing an unarmed merchant is one thing, but a king’s soldier? That’s a different story. We know how to fight. We won’t break and run at the first sign of blood, or a fallen comrade. And we’re smart enough to rely on each other to do the same thing.

I hope. I mean, I can speak for myself. I can speak for my comrades, too. I trained with them, after all. And these men from Kooman’s Keep are veterans, right? But…

I just hope that I can silence the doubts in the back of my mind. Either that, or ignore them. Because these men need to pay for what they did.

Or so I keep telling myself.

Nesta quarta-feira, dia 30/9, a Itália respirou rugby, com a quarta rodada do Super 10, a primeira divisão profissional do país. Na França, Castres e Albi se enfrentaram em partida atrasada do Top 14.Vamos aos resultados!

O derby da região do Tarn era a última partida que faltava ser realizada das duas rodadas em que o Castres foi obrigado a suspender seus jogos devido à gripe H1N1. O Albi recebeu o Castres buscando diminuir sua distância para o penúltimo colocado Montpellier. Mas a boa fase do Castres se impôs. Com três tries anotados, os olímpicos venceram por 25 x 21 e alcançaram a inesperada vice-liderança, com o mesmo número de pontos do Clermont, 25. O Albi somou 1 ponto-bônus, chegando a 8 pontos, ainda na última colocação.

Pelo Super 10 italiano, a liderança ainda é do Treviso, que derrotou o Rovigo, um de seus grandes rivais do Vêneto, por 17 x 12, em casa. No outro confronto entre duas equipes vênetas, o Venezia Mestre foi derrotado pelo Petrarca Padova, 36 x 3. O outro clássico da rodada foi o derby de Parma. As duas equipes da cidade – Rugby Parma e Gran Rugby – se enfrentaram, e a supremacia histórica do Rugby Parma se confirmou. Vitória por 36 x 15. Viadana derrotou Roma e o Prato saiu da rabeira, com vitória histórica sobre L’Aquila.

Resultados:

Gran Rugby 15 x 36 Rugby Parma, em Parma

Benetton Treviso 17 x 12 Rovigo, em Treviso

L’Aquila 20 x 29 I Cavalieri Prato, em L’Aquila

Petrarca Padova 36 x 3 Venezia Mestre, em Padova

Viadana 29 x 10 Rugby Roma Olimpic, em Viadana

Classificação, após 4 rodadas:

1 – Benetton Treviso – 15 pontos

2 – Rugby Parma – 15 p.

3 – Petrarca Padova – 14 p.

4 – Rovigo – 12 p.

5 – Viadana – 11 p.

6 – Venezia Mestre – 7 p.

7 – I Cavalieri Prato – 5 p.

8 – Gran Rugby – 5 p.

9 – Rugby Roma Olimpic – 5 p.

10 – L’Aquila – 4 p.

Well – that’s my excuse for being away from this blog!  The week off went by in a flash.  As usual nothing went to plan and my spare room still is in a mess – I’ve just got to hope for a nice rainy weekend to sort it out instead.

I spent alot of last week driving – I put an awful amount of petrol in my tank (‘tank’ as in ‘petrol tank’ and ‘tank’ as in the size of my car) (time to think about downsizing the car).   Most of it was around a surprise visit by my SO – he’s gone off again now but his visits always churn up the household and it takes a while for everything to calm down!  I must be wearing a groove in the road between here and the other side of the Cotswolds – every time I get to Malvern I think about exploring it a bit more but get fed up with sitting in the permanent (well – there’s always one when I’m there) traffic queue on the ring road round Worcester.  Does anyone know when it’s quiet on that bypass????  I spent 2 days with one of my sisters wandering around the garden centres of Oxford (as you do ! ??) – I started to feel like a ‘lady who lunches’.  Luckily I got away with only spending £4.99 on a new loaf tin in a Lakeland that was hidden near a Wyevale Garden Centre.  I had skipped hopefully in there looking for an oven thermonitor but the shelf where they should have been was empty.   Luckily they had the bread loaf tins near the front door so I picked one up.  I have a silicon loaf tin at home and it has worked well for a couple of years but with my current fresh bread (don’t allow myself to buy bread) making – which is only one loaf a week – it has decided to die.  I had thought that these silicon bakeware ranges were indestructible/lifelong/nuclear bomb proof – but both my loaf and muffin ones have decided that if I put anything in them they won’t release them!

So other than being out and about and drinking beer when I wasn’t driving – I didn’t get anything done.  My sister did ask me if I wanted to do anything off my ‘list of things to do’ but by that stage the cottage was nice and tidy and the thought of messing it up with all the stuff from the spare room was too much!  The weekend was taken up with the usual family stuff, visits and gossip – and a quick dash up the dual carriageway to the wool shop to book tickets on the coach to the Knitting and Stitching Show at Alexandra Palace in a couple of weeks time.  Since then I’ve been browsing the internet for knitting patterns – mainly for knitted dresses – ones that will look good with a pair of leggings and black boots.  Then I can look at the show for wool for it!  I also went slightly mad in Borders on Saturday and spent £15 on knitting magazines – it only got me 3 but they’ve given me plenty of inspiration.  I try not to buy magazines – just concentrate on books – but after browsing through them with a cup of coffee I couldn’t decide which to buy!  So much for my financial diet   I should be concentrating on the cardigan I am knitting – not looking for what to do next! – the morning stroll is getting nippy and I could do with a nice, warm aran cardi to keep the chill off until I’m in the car.  (can you see me slapping my hands? silly woman – stop the browsing and do the knitting).  I could browse and knit but not when I need two hands to keep the cats out of my line of sight – sigh.

Oh – and we’ve booked the Xmas day meal at the pub like last year.  We took the last few places and it’s not even October yet – we were lucky – goodness knows what we would have done if we couldn’t have got a table! At least Xmas is sorted.  Don’t have to do anything now other than to turn up on the day

(todays photo is looking back down the waterfall at the top of Easedale Tarn – there had been alot of rain the day before and the ground was really waterlogged)

Ce petit retour sur mon blog pour vous transmettre le document du bilan de la première année des commissions thématiques du MoDem animées par Corinne Lepage: la synthèse 2009 des commissions thématiques…

Il fait beau à Albi, je me suis achetée un beau vélo de ville tout blanc (pas électrique) et tout léger pour mes doux déplacements… et un casque (blanc également)!
Mes enfants sont bien rentrés (et 3 loulous, même s’ils sont grands, ça occupe!)

A part ça, pour éviter de me pencher au-dessus de l’ “abîme de la vie politique”, j’ai fait le choix de m’investir en parallèle dans des activités de proximité: j’ai donc hérité de la Présidence du l’Association de mon  quartier (Albi Grand Centre Faubourg Vigan), merci Jean  “de m’avoir refilé le bébé”, sourire… !
Je participe également aux conseils de quartier, divers thèmes sont proposés, ces conseils sont obligatoires pour les villes de plus de 50 000 habitants, donc si vous habitez une ville de cette taille et que vous ayez des choses à dire sur la vie de votre quartier, je ne peux que vous inviter à participer à ces conseils qui permettent d’établir un dialogue et une concertation entre les habitants et les municipalités.

J’ai repris mes activités artistiques et les cours auprès de mes élèves et je prépare  une exposition à  Tours:  le Salon Art et Poésie de Touraine, pour laquelle je suis invitée d’honneur en sculpture, cette expo se déroulera du 2 au 15 novembre 2009.

Toutes ces raisons font que je suis moins présente sur internet, je mets plus les mains dans la terre que sur le clavier, et mes pieds sont sur de vraies pédales, ça évite de pédaler dans le vide en ce moment!!! Si vous voyez ce que je veux dire…  

CI DESSOUS LE TEXTE TRANSMIS POUR LA COMMISSION SPORT:

La commission sport s’attache à penser un projet pour le sport en prenant en compte les nouveaux défis de notre siècle: aspects sociaux et solidaires, aspects environnementaux, aspects économiques et géographiques.

Ce travail a pour but de fournir des éléments de réflexion pouvant également permettre aux mouvements départementaux de se positionner sur diverses questions liées au sport, et aussi d’élaborer une stratégie pouvant permettre au sport d’occuper une place de régulateur pendant cette période difficile que vivent une majorité de nos concitoyens: l’aspect « bien-être et sport pour tous» nous paraît très important, même si d’autres enjeux sont également à prendre en compte. L’animatrice est Sylvie TIGER, elle est aidée par Bertrand CAULY. Christophe CALONNE est rapporteur général, Christophe MADEC est rapporteur Internet, Laurent VILLEBRUN est modérateur du forum, Amandine BRACCIALI est responsable “Veille et Alerte”, Christophe CORTIAL est délégué(e) “développement durable” et Maxense ANCEL est délégué(e) “français de l’étranger”.

1) Travaux année 2008-2009

Sur la question de la crise

Nul ne peut nier que le sport peut être un moyen de cohésion sociale en cette période de crise : projet commun, solidarité, convivialité, dépassement de soi, goût de l’effort sont autant de clés qui peuvent permettre de «résister» à la crise. Dans le même temps, on assiste à la désinstitutionalisation des pratiques sportives, l’esprit club est moins prononcé qu’avant laissant la place à un esprit plus individualiste: activités «à la carte», refus des contraintes liées à un club, besoin de liberté conduisent à une remise en question du modèle d’organisation du sport français…

D’une façon générale la crise affectera moins les sports bien implantés culturellement que les sports plus confidentiels.

De plus les clubs vont être confrontés à des difficultés financières: la baisse du pouvoir d’achat induira une baisse des recettes de billetterie qui pourrait être compensée par une hausse des prix du billet, l’attribution des subventions sera plus difficile et elles seront moins élevées pour cause de restriction des budgets, il y aura moins de sponsoring d’entreprises, certains sportifs renégocient actuellement leur contrat à la baisse, et dans le même temps subiront une forte hausse des budgets transports, entre autres…
Comment permettre à ces clubs de continuer à fonctionner de façon à préserver le rôle social qu’ils jouent encore lorsque les subventions se font rares ? Le sport reste pour le commun des mortels, un loisir, et ne fait pas partie des dépenses indispensables…

Au niveau des infrastructures la crise va aussi avoir des conséquences: l’entretien des locaux, la construction de nouveaux lieux de sport risquent de pâtir de cette situation.
Un autre risque est celui de voir exploser les paris sportifs: «du pain et des jeux !», sans omettre les pratiques douteuses dans certains clubs, notamment en ce qui concerne le transfert de joueurs…

Par ailleurs, à l’heure actuelle, un texte de projet de loi est en cours d’élaboration pour limiter les avantages fiscaux des sportifs à très hauts revenus qui seront donc assujettis à l’impôt de façon plus juste.

La crise atteint également l’image de la “richissime Formule 1″ qui doit déjà faire face à des réductions budgétaires sans précédents: le président de la FIA annonce que les coûts sont impossibles à maintenir et des écuries telles HONDA et BMW se sont retirées de la F1 pour se retourner vers des recherches sur des véhicules plus écologiques.

Les JO de Londres subiront aussi ces restrictions de budget, à l’heure actuelle, un budget de 11 310 millions d’euros est prévu (pour Pékin, le budget “historique” s’est élevé à 28 milliards d’euros). L’enjeu des prochains JO est donc de ne pas perdre en crédibilité tout en “assagissant” les dépenses…

En conclusion, malgré les difficultés financières qu’engendrera la crise et qui affectera surtout le sport professionnel et les sommes colossales qu’il brasse, le sport peut être un remède “anti-crise”: le retour à des choses simples: une ballade à vélo, une randonnées entre amis, une après-midi à la piscine  avec ses enfants, sont des loisirs peu onéreux mais sont des plus bénéfiques pour la détente et le plaisir de redécouvrir l’activité physique.

Au cours de cette année, la commission s’est intéressée aux sujets suivants:

- fermeture de la moitié des CREPS ( Centre Régional d’Education Populaire et de Sports) de France: la commission en a analysé les enjeux et s’est vivement opposée à ces fermetures décidées sans aucune concertation et qui auront certainement coûté sa place à Bernard Laporte… Un communiqué de presse a été écrit sur cette question

- trafic des jeunes sportifs: Bertand Cauly, animateur de la commission, travaille sur cette question depuis des années, il a participé en tant qu’expert, en juin 2009 à une réunion de préparation à Lisbonne en vue de préparer une réglementation européenne qui permettrait de limiter certains abus

- les enjeux des sports mécaniques : comment, en cette période de mutation des modes de transport qui s’annonce, les sports mécaniques vont-ils évoluer ? Quels sont les enjeux de cette mutation ? Comment favoriser la reconversion des circuits vers des circuits permettant des tests ou des compétitions pour des véhicules du futur? Un lien transversal avec la recherche et les transports peut être fait en ce domaine

- sport pour tous, prévention-santé, sport en entreprise: l’entreprise peut être un lieu de pratique sportive, un bilan a été fait, des propositions sont en cours d’élaboration. Un des objectifs est aussi de penser à des dispositifs permettant aux femmes de pratiquer une activité sportive via l’entreprise

- sport et handicap: le sport est un facteur d’intégration et «reconnaissance de l’autre dans sa force et dans sa différence». En France, le clivage handisport/sport adapté et sport «ordinaire» est bien trop marqué alors que dans d’autres pays dont la Norvège, les fédérations sont tenues d’accueillir en leur sein les sportifs handicapés, il n’y a pas de fédérations parallèles… Nos mentalités ont du chemin à faire en ce domaine…

- sport et dopage: ne nous dirigeons nous pas vers deux systèmes: le sport pour tous d’un côté et de l’autre, le sport spectacle hypermédiatisé et le lot de «dopages de toutes sortes» allant avec ?

Comment prendre en compte la complexité de ces enjeux dans le respect de la dignité humaine et d’une éthique sportive ? L’Education et l’Ecole n’ont-elles pas un rôle primordial à jouer dans le rapport des enfants au sport? Le débat est lancé.

- gouvernance du sport: sur l’initiative du Comité Olympique Français, s’est tenue la 1ère Conférence Nationale du Sport à la maison du sport français, le 20 novembre 2008. Celle-ci répondait à la nécessité d’échanges approfondis entre les principaux acteurs que sont le mouvement sportif, l’État, les collectivités territoriales et les entreprises afin d’exprimer les attentes et d’entendre les points de vue des parties prenantes sur l’évolution de la gouvernance et du financement du sport. La commission sport était présente à cette conférence à travers deux de ses membres, ce sujet fera l’objet d’un travail approfondi dans les prochains mois.

2) Perspectives 2009/2010

Les thèmes  que nous avons prévu de traiter dans les 12 mois suivants: gouvernance du sport, financement des associations, aspects sociaux du sport, éthique, le sport féminin, handicap et handicap, sport et tourisme.

Bien entendu, en fonction de l’actualité, la commission sera très certainement amenée à traiter d’autres thèmes liés au sport.

L’Europe ne dispose pas pour le moment d’une compétence sport, d’où la difficulté d’harmoniser les politiques sportives européennes: exemple du trafic de jeunes joueurs…

Le problème de cette absence de «compétence sport» au sein des institutions européennes devrait être réglé lors de la ratification du Traité de Lisbonne qui prévoit de la créer.

3) Enjeux des élections régionales

En vue des élections régionales, la commission souhaite aborder les thèmes suivants:

- Comment favoriser une politique de déplacements doux (vélo-marche) dans les centres villes ?

- Comment mettre en valeur les ressources sports de nature et tourisme d’une région, en préservant l’environnement ?

- Spécificité des régions qui ont un circuit de sports mécaniques à entretenir

- Aspects sociaux: échanges, organisation de manifestations sportives type “sport pour tous” pouvant contribuer à la convivialité et au sentiment d’identité régionale. (ex.: jeux, raids natures où chaque ville de la région participerait ?)

- Soutien aux entreprises régionales fabricant du matériel sportif et participant à la dynamique du sport… (Partenariat Public Privé ?)

- Quelles priorités pour l’entretien des installations sportives: la question du vieillissement des infrastructures sportives, la question de la construction de nouveaux lieux, qui financera ?

]]> http://tarn.wordpress.com/2009/09/19/from-the-journal-of-tarn-nohmahl-%e2%80%93-22/ Sat, 19 Sep 2009 07:15:42 +0000 aromathus http://tarn.wordpress.com/2009/09/19/from-the-journal-of-tarn-nohmahl-%e2%80%93-22/

May 28, 932

Well, we made it. Kooman’s Keep. I never thought a bare bunk room would look so good.

Kooman’s Keep is nothing like Vale Keep. Old Baldy tells us that this “fort” is far more normal. I knew that Vale Keep was big, I mean, one look at it and you can tell that. Like I said two months ago, Vale Keep is far and away the biggest place I’ve ever seen. So yeah, Vale Keep is big. But Kooman’s Keep seems tiny by comparison. I guess I just assumed that an army fort would be… bigger.

But, thank the gods, it’s big enough to do the job. We’ve turned over the two bandits we captured. They now have nice cozy cells in the stockade, and they will be tried as soon as a magistrate arrives from Vale Keep. Heh. Tried – and executed, with what they’ve done. The Empire of Averim does not look kindly on those who attack and murder the King’s soldiers. Even when they are only green recruits like us.

More important, they have reinforcements. A full company of regulars – another hundred men – to join us. Mounts and remounts for the officers. Supplies and provisions. A priest of Urnomax who has trained with the army to heal the worst of the wounded. And most important of all, a tracker. And not just any tracker. Gra’than isn’t regular army. Nope. He’s a mercenary, and a very interesting one at that.

He’s a gnoll.

Very interesting person, Gra’than. The dog people are a lot like orcs, I’m told – not that I’ve ever met an orc. From what he’s said to me in the few times we’ve spoke, most of his kind tend to follow Grummish, or go off worshiping some dragon as a god. “Silly,” he says. “Everyone knows dragons don’t have that kind of power.” I don’t know, though. Humans know even less about gnolls than we do about dragons – and that isn’t much. Hells, before now, all I knew was the old saying, “Never trust a gnoll, or he’ll bite you in the arse.” Heh.

This one seems honest enough. I mean, once you get used to the fact that he pants a lot and his nose is always wet, he’s a pretty normal guy. Of course, he wasn’t raised by his own kind – he says humans raised him, saving him after his parents were killed raiding a human settlement on the far side of the Ishkar river, so that might explain him as well. He won’t say more than that. I guess that’s his right.

But yeah, Gra’than is very good at what he does. After all, gnolls track by scent. (Yeah, I knew that – honest!) According to what the commander of Kooman’s garrison says, all Gra’than has to do is get a sniff of the scent of whoever he’s tracking, and he’ll follow ‘em back to their hideout better than any hunting dog or bloodhound he’s ever seen.

I hope so. We’ve been given a day to rest and heal up; thanks to Father Mahlcom, the priest I mentioned earlier, we’re all well now. He’s so good you can’t even see the wound Anhil took. Then, tomorrow, we set out to hunt the bandits down.

I’m just glad to be here at the fort. Yeah, I want to go hunt them down, just as much as the next guy. And I’m glad for Gra’than, and for the troops that’ll be coming with us. But for now, I’m tired. As tired as I’ve ever been, I think. And not just physically. Sure, I’m sore. But I’ve been sore before. Nope. It’s the fact that I’ve been through my first real fight.

Old Baldy and the good father tell me that’s normal. I suppose it is. But that doesn’t help the fact that I’ve hardly slept since that fight the other night, and that I don’t seem to be very hungry, either.

I’ve dropped some hints at the old timers, and they say what I’m feeling is normal, that the feeling will pass with time. They say that “your cause was just,” and that the killings we did were fair and right. Heh. I’m sure every orc’s momma tells him that before he sets out on a raid; and I’m just as sure that the bandits we killed felt the same way.

Oh, I know that they were bandits, and deserved what they got for preying on the weak. That helps – a little. I just hope that when we do leave tomorrow, we can find the scum who attacked us. Somehow, I can’t help but think that I’ll rest a little easier once those scum are brought to justice – even if I have to do it myself. Somehow, I imagine that I’ll rest a little easier when they’re gone.

Well, I hear the chow bell ringing. I’d better go try and eat some dinner, at least. If nothing else, it helps to not be alone. Alone, all I do is sit and brood. And I know that’s no good…

C’est à Cambon d’Albi, dans le Tarn, qu’une habitante fait avancer l’affaire de disparition de chats. Elle se rend compte que même les chats des voisins sont victimes de disparition, empoisonnement, blessures aux petits plombs et autres.

Elle a recueilli soigneusement les témoignages de ses voisins, leurs attestations vétérinaires, des photos, des petits plombs retirés sur son chat et même les restes d’un collier de chat déchiqueté.

C’est avec ces preuves que la gendarmerie examine le dossier.

May 25, 932

I will never forget the screams.

Not of the men. Oh, they were bad enough. What I will never forget is the screams of the horses. Horses aren’t like men, you know. A man can overcome his shock, his pain – his fear. A horse can’t. A horse is an animal, and when its sides are laid open by a sword, the only thing it knows how to do is react to the pain.

Thank the gods we didn’t have many horses with us. We were supposed to be marching, after all. But the bandits didn’t know that. They only knew we were passing through “their” territory, and that we didn’t have the horses needed to run them down if their raid went badly.

That was their plan, you know. Prevent any pursuit. That means they went for the horses first. They didn’t care that our half-dozen horses were only pack animals – just about as far as could be from cavalry mounts as they could be and still be horses. So before we knew they were there, the horses were all dead or dying. Horsebowmen, we later learned, striking from horseback. Not so much penetrating power as a bowman on foot, but more than enough to wound, even if shot poorly.

Then they were among us. Were we a merchant’s caravan, we’d all be dead by now. That’s what they must have been expecting. Merchants will set guards, but not enough to fight off twenty men on horseback. Not when attacking at night, certainly.

But we were different. Every one of our men was armed, even if they were attacking at night, and so when the first shouts of warning were raised, our men were grabbing for swords and helmets even as they ran from their tents. I know that saved us. Some of us at least. The others… Well, we did kill several of them before they fled.

We captured some of them, too. Bandit scum to be sure, but effective enough fighters. They thought we were a merchant’s caravan – never bothered to scout us out properly. Gods be praised that they were so long on fighting and short on brains. They watched us for parts of a day, and simply assumed we were merchants. Stupid bastards. Good thing for us they were, though.

I suppose that’s something open to debate, though, isn’t it? I mean, it would have been better for us if they’d had some brains and not attacked us at all. Now, eight men are dead, and seven more wounded to some degree or other. And six of those murderous swine are dead as well. Not that their deaths bother me – they were robbing murderers after all, but even so….

It’s hard. And it always will be, I suppose, knowing that I killed a man last night. The fact that he deserved it doesn’t make it any easier. And the fact that it was him or me doesn’t make it any easier, either. His blood is on my hands. And it always will be.

Old Baldy came to me later, after the fight was over. He told me I’d done well; that there was nothing that he could have done better or differently. That makes me feel so much better. Now, eight men are dead, and Anhil is sitting across the fire from me with a sword gash to his arm that may never heal right, seeing as how we have no healers with us. And the fact that Old Baldy assures me that we’ll come back here and hunt the scum down doesn’t make me feel much better either.

But we’re soldiers now. That’s what we do – fight and die in other people’s wars. All we on the sharp point of the spear can do is hope that the wars we fight and die in are worth it. For what it’s worth, the fact that I will be back here to hunt this scum down does help a little.

Now, though, we’re still a day or two out of Kooman’s Keep. Obviously, with the wounded men, we aren’t moving as fast as we were. It’s too bad we’ve got no horses left – we can’t even send anyone ahead for help. And like I said before, we’ve got no magic users with us, so we can’t call for help that way, either. So the pace is much slower now.

I’m just more tired than ever. Tired of marching. Tired of carrying on my back what the horses had been carrying. Tired of fighting. Tired of worrying about what’ll happen if the bandits come back.

Old Baldy is with us now, though, so some of the responsibility of command is gone from me. Not all of it, but enough that I can handle what’s left. Enough that I can handle it without crippling up in fear and doubt. Enough that I can sit here around the fire and collect my thoughts. But enough of that. I have other things to do.

Like making sure my sword is cleaned and sharp for whatever comes next.

May 24, 932

Writing a journal by campfire light is hard work. Well, truth be told, doing anything by firelight on a night after we marched half a dozen leagues is tough. In fact, you won’t have to twist my arm to get me to admit I’m exhausted.

The first part of our little trip has gone well enough, even though I’m so tired I can barely stand. After all, the first day was easy enough. I just sat in the back of a wagon watching the prairie roll by. Honestly, the worst thing I can say about that day was that my butt was sore from sitting down on a hard wooden seat all day. They could have at least put some hay in those wagons or something. But no. That would be too much effort!

Ha. Pity that a sore bottom is the least of my worries. When Old Baldy dropped us off, he told us we were the better part of forty leagues from Kooman’s Keep. In other words, if we don’t put in twenty-five miles or so a day, we won’t make it on time. Twenty-five is pushing it, let me tell you. I mean, in theory, we could do thirty miles. For a day or two. With healers at the end of the line to magic away our hurts. But, “After all,” Old Baldy joked, “If Justarias’s legions could do thirty miles a day and fight at the end, so can you”.

Riiiiighhttttt. His reassurances an a gold piece will get me a drink of warm spit in a good inn back in Vale Keep. But it sure in all nine hells won’t get us to get all that marching done. And then we still have to follow the practice of the old legions and set up a “proper” camp each night, compete with a ditch, palisade wall, and watch towers. Never mind that there is nothing to make the towers and palisades with out here. I mean, come on! We’re in the middle of the bloody plains here! “Rules are rules for a reason, boys!” Old Baldy said. “If you can do this, you can do it anywhere, at any time. If not…” So reassuring.

So, yes. I am exhausted. And in the minutes it’s taken me to write this journal, every other man around me has already fallen asleep. And me? I honestly don’t know why I’m still awake. Part of it must be what the chuirgeons call “Adrenaline,” what ever that actually is. I’m told, though that it’s something in your blood that keeps you going when you’re wounded or excited or stressed – something like that. All I know is that I should be curled up inside the tent the good King was kind enough to provide for me, yet I’m too excited to sleep. After all, directing fifty men for two days now has had the opposite effect you’d think it would. Rather than be tired, I’m so keyed up, I don’t feel like I’ll have to sleep all night.

I’m sure I’ll pay for it tomorrow.

At least the sentries are awake, even if no one else. Of course, with the way my luck has been running lately, I may be wide awake now, but have to fight to stay awake when I’m supposed to be on watch in a few hours. Sigh.

Wait a minute. What was that? Oh, the wolves off in the distance are suddenly quiet. I wonder why? Huh…. Maybe I should go check in with the sentries. Or, on the other hand….

May 21, 932

Well, Here we are, just a week from graduation. Time for the final field exercise – the one where we prove all the training they’ve crammed into our heads over the last two months was actually worth all the time and effort they spent doing it. That, and they also want to make sure we can survive in the field by ourselves.

Those of us that are left, at least. And that isn’t near as many as I thought there’d be. Turns out that even though the army is just about desperate for warm bodies, they actually do mean to stick to the standards they claim to. I guess that the saying of “a warm body is better than no body at all” isn’t really true. Well, maybe so in wartime, but really not even then. Yeah. Turns out that all that talk about nobles conscripting peasant levies is just that – talk.

Look at the Narvics, for example. The train their bowmen even more than we do ours. A Narvic longbowmen won’t be accepted into one of their field armies unless he can get off six aimed shots in a minute. And those are their “levies.” Yep. All those nobles who conscripted peasants, handed ‘em a pike, and said “Have at it, boys!” during the hundred years war were dumber than stumps. Turns out that all those peasants did was get in the way.

Of course, the nobles back west still think that way, I’m told. And when they fight their little border wars, they call up their levies, their nobles still complain about how all those “bloody peasants” are in the way of their fancy cavalry charges. Some people never learn. What good is a man when all he’ll do is break and run at the first sign of the enemy? All that does is cost the crown money and food – and the work of a man who’d be more useful tending his crops or shop.

But we know better out here. At least so I’m told. That’s why even though the Army of the East spends most of its field time performing mounted patrols and sweeps, we still spend all that time learning how to fight as infantry, performing the old-style drill from the days of the old empire, back hundreds of years ago. Back, I’m told, when we still fought as the Narvics still do – heavy infantry, marching everywhere on our own two feet.

Uggh. I hate to think about all that marching. But that’s what I’ve got to look forward too!

Especially in the immediate future. That’s our final exercise, after all. We’re to be brought by wagon out into the field – where, we won’t know, but at least a days march from here. Then, we’ll have to live off the land as we travel by foot to Koman’s Keep, a weeks march from here. Oh, they’ll give us enough food to survive, and the sergeants will be watching us from a distance, but this is to test our skills. See if we really can make it in the field. Working with mages and clerics for centuries. I mean, I know that sending people places by magic is hard, but from what little I know, words aren’t – that’s something even your youngest apprentice or acolyte can handle. So when will we ever be without at least one apprenctice mage when we’re in the field?

I know. I know. assume the best, but train for the worst. That way, when you really do step in dragon poo, you’ll know what to do. Uggh. If there is one thing I learned in all those classes, it was that. Who would have thought there was as much to being a soldier in the classroom as there was stabbing bad guys with sharp pointy things? Live and learn, I suppose.

At any rate, we leave t dawn. Those of us who are left, anyway. I have to admit, the attrition rate has been a lot higher than I thought it would be. We’ve barely got half the number of men left that we had at the start of training. Some men just couldn’t hack it. Some we’re injured and will go through training when they’ve recovered. Some, like Kholtan, just plain deserted.

At any rate, fifty of us leave at dawn. And it’s up me to make sure they arrive at Kooman’s Keep six days from now. I know I can do it. I’ve paid attention over my training, and I’m confident I can lead them there safely.

But I will admit to being a little scared, as well. What if something goes wrong? There will be no magic users along, like I said. We’ll be cut of, unless something truly major, like say, oh, a plague or a full-fledged orc war band comes along. So all fifty men will be looking to follow me.

I wonder if Justarias the Great was this afraid before he led his Hundred Companions into the breach at Dorfam’s Gate? Or if Lefricthalanassa was this afraid when he broke Narazon’s charge during the Hundred Years War. I suppose not. They were great leaders. I’m just a kid.

On the other hand, what could go wrong on a training exercise in the heart of the Western Marches?

Oh, yeah. Lots. Don’t remind me….

Jeepers – where did that weekend go to?  One minute it’s Friday evening and the next I’m walking up the road to be picked up for work (it’s my week for not driving on the car-share schedule).

I was planning a weekend of reflection and pondering on the path of my life (sounds profound and meaningful ) and instead I spent Saturday helping one of my sisters (no.2) renovate a garden for one of her clients and yesterday catching up on family gossip round the reading table in Borders (otherwise known as ‘a meeting of the coven’).  While we were doing the garden my brother-in-law was using his jet-wash – I love gadgets but had never used a jet-wash before – WOW is all I can say.  The jet-wash managed to find its’ way into my car by Saturday evening and I spent yesterday afternoon using it on my patio – it was just like the adverts! one blast of the jet and I had a white/cream streak of clean slab against the brown/green lichen covered slab.  As I was by myself I found myself talking to the madblackcat, showing her the amazing difference in the tiles, and ‘I want one of these!’, and other excited rubbish like ‘I’m going to give up programming and start up a business jet-washing peoples patios!’ (she just glared at me because I was making a racket and the patio was wet and why wasn’t I feeding her).

That was only one patio – I’ve got the other one to do and that won’t be a quick job.  I’m still shaking after using it yesterday – the same shake that you get when you’ve used the strimmer.  I found it a bit disconcerting while trying to eat my roast chicken last night.  I have to remember that the patio probably hasn’t been cleaned since it was layed – I don’t need to buy a jet-wash as I probably only need to use it once a year and I know that I can borrow it again – I don’t need another DIY gadget dusting up in the shed.  (Don’t ask why I have 3 drills – please – especially has one has one of the automatic chuck things that I can’t use and won’t use because last time I tried to use it I got a serious friction burn on my palm even though I was talked through it very s l o w l y over the phone – I know it’s my fault because I’m impatient and I never read manuals).  Oh, thinking about it I’ve also got 2 sanders – and what did I do on Saturday? yep – sanded down the patio furniture by HAND – I’ll just bang my head gently on the desk for a few seconds while you admire todays photo …

the photo is of Alcock Tarn – above Grasmere (go past Wordsworth’s House, follow bend, left then left, then left a bit – up a bit – sit on bench gasping – move to next bench gasping a bit more – man stops to talk about beautiful spot your sitting at and you try to talk without gasping – so on until you get to the top and wonder at the beauty of it all) – it was in mid-November in the afternoon a couple of years ago.

Well – that’s enough for now – need to move about a bit – my legs are killing me – they’re not used to doing all that gardening.

Hello to anyone that’s reading! and nope – I didn’t get any batteries for the camera at the weekend – I forgot to take my glasses with me so the list was a bit fuzzy

May 12, 932

All I will say about the rest of my journey back to the castle is that it is better left not talked about. Bad enough that I was naked in the middle of one of the largest cities in the empire, but I was also AWOL – absent without leave. In all honesty, the first problem presented me with a minor hardship. The second left me in the same position as that bastard Kholtan. Then again, I have to expect that was part of his plan all along.

After… negotiating… with one of the city watch (who weren’t very happy to see me again), I headed back to the castle as fast as I could. Thankfully, the two soldiers guarding the gate recognized me, but they also informed me that the Captain was “right pissed at me,” and that he wanted to see me as soon as I got back. Joy. I thought. He probably intends to do worse to me than I ever thought of doing to Kholtan.

I headed to the Captain’s office without even stopping back at the barracks to change clothes, and came to attention before the him wearing the constables’ tunic the city watch had provided me with. I stood there like stone, waiting for him to tear into me, but he didn’t.

Nope. He simply sat there quietly for a long while. It seemed like minutes, even though I know it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. After that pause, he looked up from the papers he’d been signing and asked “What did Kholtan have against you that he would hang you out to dry like that?”

That was hardly the question I’d expected, so I stuttered a non-answer rather than saying anything meaningful. He looked up at me, a hint of a smile on his face. “What did you expect? That I was going to take your head off?”

I was too honest to say anything else but the truth. “Ah, yes, sir.”

He laughed next. He actually laughed. “Tarn, you’re taking this way to seriously. After all, you broke no regulations other than being taken in by a con artist and a scum bag like Kholtan. And,” his smile crinkled his eyes, “I think losing your money – and your dignity – has taught you a better lesson than anything I ever could.”

I still didn’t know what to say, so this time I didn’t say anything. The Captain continued to sit there in his chair, tipping it back as he put his feet up on his desk. “Cat got your tongue?”

“What should I say, sir?” I replied, my arms held at my side as I stood rigidly at attention.

The Captain chuckled softly. “Tarn, you have the making of a fine officer, but quite honestly, son, you need to stop taking yourself so seriously.” Here it comes, I flinched. “I have been the commander of this training unit for over five summers, and you show more potential than any recruit I have ever seen. The fact that you are of noble birth with a knighthood ahead of you only adds to your promise. In fact, you have only one flaw, as far as I can see.”

I tried to keep my voice steady and even, but what I said came out as a squeak. “And what would that be, sir?”

“Stop taking yourself so seriously, son!” My head came up; I was sure I hadn’t heard him right. “First of all, you went out of your way to keep Kholtan in the service in a position where I would have flushed him out in a heartbeat. Then, you went further out of your way to try and befriend him. No, don’t deny it,” he replied to my protestations. “Word gets around. But that just proves my point. You did everything possible to turn Kholtan around. You did far more than you had too – far more than I would have. So stop blaming yourself!”

This was about as far from the lecture I had expected as I could imagine. “Tarn, if you learn only one thing from all of this, you have to learn that you must pick your battles, and that some of them aren’t worth fighting. Some people – like Kholtan – simply aren’t ever ‘going to get it.’ Should you try to save people that can be saved? Of course. But people have to want to be helped. Kholtan doesn’t.”

“But sir,” I stammered. “He’s a… a deserter! A traitor!”

“Yes, I suppose he is. But he isn’t the only one, that’s for certain. On the other hand, if we were to spend the time and effort to bring him back, let alone turn him into a serviceable solider, how much time would we spend on him that we wouldn’t spend on other soldiers who don’t have Kholtan’s issues?” I must have shown I was confused, because he continued, “We only have so much time in each training cadre session. Now, if we were to spend the effort required to beat sense into someone like Kholtan, we’d have to ignore other people. People with real promise – like your friend Anhil.”

I blinked, a hint of understanding coming into my head. After all, hadn’t Minica just said something very similar to that earlier this morning? How ironic. “So… you’re saying I should focus on the ones we can save instead of dwelling on the ones we can’t?”

“Something like that,” the captain nodded. “Now as for what happened, Kholtan’s name has been turned over Lord Blainesdale’s mages. Some of his apprentices need practice with sending spells, and will transmit his image around the empire. We’ll find him, and then he’ll be doing time in the mines of Ark-nohr for certain.”

I felt a smile come to my face. “Now,” the Captain grinned, “Beyond that, don’t you have something better to be doing than standing here listening to me?”

I snapped a salute and replied, “Yes, sir!”

“Now get out of hear,” the captain replied, “I’ve got work to do,” and he waved me out of his office.

Thentis was a wonder. I’d never spent any amount of time in the mountains before. The surrounding lands were lush and green. The city itself nestled safely in wild, high mountains.
I saw houses built in great, huge trees. And swarms of tarns flying low over the city. Dragger and his companion lady Aria were wonderful hosts. My performance there went well. Panner spelled me between works and it turned into a back-and-forth pupil vs teacher set. It was a load of fun, the audience was entertained and my tip bowl gained lots of coin. We even had representation from Port Kar when Jake came to listen with two slaves at his heel.

Of course, I had prepared a special outfit specifically for this performance. Something lovely and warm to wear in the cooler weather of the mountains, but fashionable enough for a performer.

Most darling little leggings and slippers went very well and kept my ankles and toes toasty warm all the evening long.

«Hun er russisk!» sier min russiske kollega og peker på et av bildene mine fra Karlovy Vary, Tsjekkia. Ei eldre kone henter vann fra en de helsebringende brønnene, som i sin tid ga byen ryktet som et av Europas beste steder for kurbad, kanskje bare slått av Baden Baden, som ifølge min kollega var mest for de svært rike. Hit til Karlsbad, som byen dengang het, dro de litt mindre velstående på jakt etter helse, deriblant en mengde russere.

Ung og gammel henter vann i Parkfontenen. (Foto: Oda Bhar)

Tsar Peter den store besøkte Karlovy Vary i 1711, og samme år ble det første kurhotellet bygd. Hundre år seinere kom den virkelige storhetstiden. I 1870 ble byen knyttet til det europeiske jernbanenettet, og fram til 1. verdenskrig var de innom her alle sammen: det europeiske jetsetet og kunstnerne med navn som Goethe, Schiller, Dostojevskij, Freud, Marx, Leibniz, Beethoven, Brahms, Chopin, Dvořák, Wagner, Liszt og vår egen Grieg.

Slettelandskap i Nordvest-Böhmen. (Foto: Oda Bhar)

Selv skal jeg til byen sammen med redaksjonen i Montages, for å dekke den internasjonale filmfestivalen som finner sted her hvert år i juli. Vi reiser i festivalens minibusser, som plukker opp og leverer fra flyplassen. Det blir en fin kjøretur gjennom det nordvest-böhmiske slettelandskapet, tross øsende regnvær. Vi ser enger, treklynger, humleplantasjer, landsbyer med fine kirker og bergtopper med borgruiner.

Humle-plantasje i det nordvestlige Tsjekkia. (Foto: Oda Bhar)

I baksetet skravler gutta kontinuerlig om film. I forsetet sover Agnethe og jeg fotograferer, med regnværet på bilruta som naturlig softfilter. (Flere bilder fra kjøreturen her.)

Eng med valmuer ved veien, Praha – Karlovy Vary. (Foto: Oda Bhar)

Russere drar fortsatt til Karlovy Vary, men det gjør mange andre folk også. Så hvorfor tror kollegaen min at kona på bildet er russisk? Er det noe med klærne, fargene, det røde og brune? Eller det blomstrete skautet, grønt med knallrøde roser, et vanlig folkloristisk plagg på landsbygda i Russland. Jeg så det selv langs den transsibirske jernbanen: Hver gang toget stanset var perrongen full av små koner med stakk og blomstretet skaut, som solgte opptenningsved eller bunter med gulrøtter.

(Mulig) russisk kone drikker vann i Dvořák-parken.

Kona setter seg på en benk og drikker fra den medbrakte plastkoppen sin. «Jeg er sikker,» sier kollegaen min. «Russisk hun er.» Jeg liker når hun høres ut som Yoda, den gamle jedi-mesteren i Star Wars: Morsom hun er. Jeg liker den slaviske aksenten, og holdningen, det litt bryske, av mange forvekslet med uvennlighet, men jeg tolker det helst som motvilje mot bullshit, et ønske om å skjære gjennom.

For å beskytte kurbadgjestene mot dårlig vær ble det bygget tak over springvannene, slik at du kunne gå tørrskodd mellom dem. Her, den staselige Møllekolonnaden. (Foto: Oda Bhar)

Det finnes mange teorier om hvordan du bør drikke vannet i brønnene. Før frokost for at effekten skal bli størst, fulgt av en halvtimes rask gange. Eller til bestemte tider på dagen, og aldri mindre enn 2 dl på 2 minutter. Selv prøvde jeg flere av de 14 kildene, og mest påfallende var hvor ulikt de smakte. Noen hintet om svovel, de fleste var salte og minnet om hav.

Springvann i Møllekolonnaden, Karlovy Vary. (Foto: Oda Bhar)

Som nordmann er jeg vant til å drikke fra fjellbekker med hendene som skål, derfor brydde jeg meg ikke om å ta med meg en kopp. Noe som gikk greit de første par gangene – helt til jeg stakk hånda inn i en stråle og ble skoldet. Jeg lot som ingenting, tok hånda rolig ut og slurpet i meg vannet. Men seinere prøvde jeg ingen ukjente fontener uten kopp.

Torget foran Møllekolonnaden, Karlovy Vary. (Foto: Oda Bhar)

Karlovy Vary er en vakker by. Gjennom historien har den vært herjet av branner, oversvømmelser og krig, men i likhet med tyskerne er tsjekkerne glade i å bygge opp igjen og restaurere gammel bebyggelse.

Hotel Romance og Markedskolonnaden. (Foto: Oda Bhar)

I Norge blir denne typen «kopier» sett ned på, ekspertene foretrekker å bygge nytt, siden kongstanken er at alt skal uttrykke tida det bygges i. Dermed ender vi med svært uensartede bykjerner, i motsetning til Sentral-Europa, hvor du kan gå omkring som i nykonstruerte historiebøker.

Böhmisk krystall er verdenskjent for sin høye kvalitet. Dette gjelder ikke minst Karlovy Varys lokale variant, Moser-glass. (Foto: Oda Bhar)

Da Donau-monarkiet falt etter 1. verdenskrig ble Tsjekkoslovakia opprettet av de tidligere tyske regionene Böhmen og Mähren, samt det nordlige Ungarn. Karlovy Vary ligger i det gamle nordvestlige Böhmen, og majoriteten av befolkningen var tysk fram til 2. verdenskrig.

Yoghurtis som faktisk smaker yoghurt! (Foto: Oda Bhar)

At byen ble internasjonal lasarettstad hindret ikke amerikanske fly fra å bombe den mot slutten av krigen. Selv store og godt merkede bygninger dekket med Røde Kors-flagg ble rammet, og mange liv gikk tapt. Etter 1945 ble mesteparten av den tyskættede befolkningen fordrevet, og tapte alle verdier. De nye innbyggerne kom for det meste fra Sentral-Böhmen.

Den russisk-ortodokse kirken i Karlovy Vary. (Foto: Oda Bhar)

I 1946 ble kurbadene statlige, og først etter kommunismens fall i 1989 ble virksomheten igjen rettet inn mot et internasjonalt publikum. Idag er ifølge Wikipedia en tredjedel av alle hoteller og underholdningssteder (som kasinoet) eid av «private investorer fra Russland og andre tidligere Sovjetrepublikker», ifølge en tsjekkisk bekjent i Norge en omskrivning for mafia.

Becherovka er byens kjente krydderbrennevin. Den smaker pepperkake og ble utviklet av tyskeren Jan Becher. (Foto: Oda Bhar)

Karlovy Vary International Film Festival (KVIFF) ble startet i kommunisttida (1946), men har først de siste 20 årene blitt en virkelig internasjonal arena. Hotel Thermal ble bygget spesielt for filmfestivalen, og inneholder opptil flere kinosaler og konferanserom hvor det kan vises film.

Den lille elva Teplá krysser Karlovy Varys historiske bykjerne, før den renner ut i elva Ohře. I midten ser du sovjetblokka Hotel Thermal, av mange kalt byens styggeste hus. (Foto: Oda Bhar)

En morgen er det fullt på filmen jeg planla, dessuten er jeg lei av bykjernen. Jeg rusler avgårde i en tilfeldig retning, og kommer snart til et område hvor husene er mindre bløtkakeaktige. Som mange sentraleuropeiske byer ligger Karlovy Vary der en elv renner ut i en annen, i dette tilfellet den smale Teplá, som krysser den historiske bykjernen, og den brede Ohře (tyske Eger), som seinere munner ut i Elbe.

Jernbanestasjonen ligger litt utenfor bykjernen. (Foto: Oda Bhar)

Jeg finner en bro over begge elvene, klatrer opp en liten ås og havner ved den gamle jernbanestasjonen. Her går jeg på jakt etter graffiti. Jeg finner ikke mye, men noe er det alltid i nærheten av toglinjer.

Sjablonggraffiti på jernbro over toglinjene. (Foto: Oda Bhar)

Mitt neste funn er et boligområde med moderne sovjetblokker og utsikt over den brede Egerdalen. Jeg surrer rundt og fotograferer litt, før jeg krysser et friområde med grasplen og kløver og store trær.

Boligområde nord for sentrum, Karlovy Vary. (Foto: Oda Bhar)

Her snubler jeg over en kirkegård, ulik alle andre jeg har sett. Urnene er plassert i små glassmontre, stablet oppå hverandre og murt sammen til en slags boligblokk for døde.

Kirkegård hvor de døde har vinduer. (Foto: Oda Bhar)

Det fine er at folk har satt små fotografier og pyntegjenstander inne i montrene, noe som gjør tanken på den avdøde klarere, ihvertfall for meg, enn om de bare var markert med en enkel stein.

De dødes vinduer mot livet. (Foto: Oda Bhar)

Fra kirkegården prøver jeg å finne tilbake til sentrum, men går meg vill og trasker til føttene verker. Hvorfor skjer dette nesten alltid når jeg går på oppdagelsesferd, særlig utenfor kantene på kartet?

Selv ugresset er vakkert i Tsjekkia. (Foto: Oda Bhar)

Etter en laaang strekning langs ei gate som aldri tar slutt (men jeg vil ikke gi meg, nekter å snu!) møter jeg et skilt hvor navnet Karlovy Vary er streket gjennom med rødt. Jeg er ved bygrensa. Der er det heldigvis også en holdeplass med oppslåtte rutetider og et gjenkjennelig navn, slik at jeg kan ta bussen tilbake.

Bratt skog sett fra fløybanen i Teplá-dalen. (Foto: Oda Bhar)

Stort sett er hele Montages-gjengen opptatt med filmer og skriving (og litt øl) uka gjennom. Først den siste dagen, søndag når vi skal reise hjem, tar vi en felles utflukt på dagtid. Det er en fløybane av liknende type som i Bergen, som fører opp til et utsiktstårn i de grønne åsene øverst i Tepládalen.

Utsikt over Karlovy Vary fra utsiktstårnet Diana. (Foto: Oda Bhar)

Herfra ser jeg det alt sammen igjen: Det store brune festivalhotellet, bygårdene i jugend- og barokkstil, den russiske kirken med løkkuplene, forstedene utenfor bykjernen med pastellfargete blokker.

Hotel Thermal og den russiske kirken sett fra utsiktstårnet. (Foto: Oda Bhar)

Når jeg ser på bildene fra utflukten synes jeg vi minner om et band på tur. Et band i den happy første tida, før alle stridene begynner, mens alle ennå tror at ingenting ondt kan skje.

Bad ass Montages: Karsten, Trond, Oda, Eirik og Agnethe.

Jeg har mange flere bilder fra denne turen. Hardcore-interesserte kan se dem på Flickr (oversiktsside her). Du kan også gå rett til lysbildeshow: 1) Gatene i den historiske bykjernen, 2) vandringen min til forstedene, 3) detaljer fra den fine kirkegården, og 4) bilturen til og fra byen fra Praha.

Du kan også lese den forrige posten min, som handler om selve filmfestivalen, ikke minst filmene jeg så. Her gir jeg noen gode råd om hvordan du kan velge filmer blant flere hundre på en festival.

The tarnsman is the bravest of the red caste. Not only do they have to fight enemies as their brothern, they also have to face the reality that at any moment their tarn may forget the goad and decide his Master will make a good meal. The tarn is trained by the caste of the Tarn Keepers. They train their birds with a tarn goad, a device that sends electrical shocks of the Priest Kings through the body. The young tarn quickly learns to fear the goad and a ring is worn around the adult’s feet to remind them of the hobbling wire and the goad. However, these devices are only temporary to the tarn. As Tarl affectionately called his bird, he is the Ubar of the Skies. And as such, he is feared and revered in Gor. For he will quickly grab a human in his sharp talons, taking them to his nest where he will slowly peck at their flesh as he feeds, his razor sharp beak easily chewing through the bone of a common man of Gor.

So a tarnsman trusts his life to the will of the Priest Kings every time he mounts the beast, hoping his tarn has fed as he climbs the five-rung mounting ladder to the saddle on the back of the great bird. The tarn is guided by a throat strap to which are attached five reins fixed in a metal ring on the forward position of the saddle. The tarnsmen uses each strap to motion the great bird in various directions. For example, to land or lower the bird, the four strap is pulled, exerting pressure at the throat of the bird. The tarn moves to the least resistant point. Thus when exerting pressure on the great bird, he minimizes by going in the direction indicated. To rise, the tarnsman pulls the one strap, located at the back of the tarn’s neck. The other straps indicate directions, north, south, east and west.

The tarn also responds to verbal cues as well. When a tarnsman cries, Tabuk, a common Gorean antelope, the tarn understands that he can find prey as the tarnsman stays mounted on the back of the bird. It is the signal that the tarn may hunt.