#all your soul Luton

[christianentertainment]

A Guide to Finding Christian Entertainment for Every Occasion

As Christians, we are called to be in the world, but not of it. However, finding wholesome entertainment can be challenging today, where shows and movies with crude language, sexual content, and violence abound. Luckily, there are many great options for entertainment that the whole family can enjoy. From movies to music to books and games, this guide will help you find the right Christian entertainment for every occasion.

Movies: Christian cinema has come a long way in recent years, with films like Fireproof, God's Not Dead, and War Room gaining popularity. These movies not only provide clean and uplifting entertainment, but they also share powerful messages of faith and hope. When choosing a Christian film, look for those that are well-made and have a strong moral message. You can also ask other Christians for recommendations or look for reviews online.

Music: Listening to Christian music can be a great way to worship God and feel uplifted throughout the day. Many Christian music genres include rock, pop, hip-hop, and worship music. Some popular Christian artists include Hillsong United, Chris Tomlin, Lauren Daigle, and TobyMac. When choosing Christian music, look for biblically sound bands and artists with a positive message.

Books: Reading Christian books can be a great way to grow your faith and learn from other believers. There are many topics and genres, including Christian living, theology, devotionals, and fiction. When choosing a Christian book, look for biblically sound ones that align with your beliefs. Always take time to read reviews and consider the author's background before you purchase a book.

Games: Finding wholesome Christian entertainment is easy with games can be a challenge, but there are some great options for Christian families. Christian board games like Bibleopoly, Apples to Apples Bible Edition, and Settlers of Canaan can provide fun for the whole family while teaching important biblical truths. Christian video games like Bible Adventures and Catechumen can also be a great way to engage with Christian themes and stories. They can also be a great way to spend time together as a family. Many Christian board games are available, so take the time to read reviews and shop around for one that fits your family's interests.

Concerts: Attending concerts featuring Christian artists can be a great way to have fun while worshipping God. Many churches host these events, but you can also find them at local venues or large arenas. When choosing a concert, look for one that is appropriate for the whole family and has positive messages.

Banquets: Banquets are popular Christian entertainment as they allow them to fellowship with other Christians while enjoying a feast, hearing guest speakers, and participating in activities. Most of these banquets are free, or you can purchase tickets from the church or organization hosting the event. When choosing a banquet, look for one that is family-friendly and offers uplifting messages. Finding wholesome and uplifting entertainment can be challenging, but it is worthwhile. You can enjoy entertainment that aligns with your faith and values by choosing Christian movies, music, books, and games. When choosing entertainment in Christianity, look for well-made, biblically sound, and have a positive message. With the right event or show, you can grow your faith, have fun with your family, and enjoy wholesome entertainment that honors God. If you're still looking for the best entertainment options, connect to For Your Soul in Luton. The leading conference center hosts some of the coolest entertaining events where you can relish delectable food and get-together with friends and family.

#all your soul Luton #christian entertainment luton #christian entertainment #luton

[tackytigerfic]

Happy happy birthday to @sweet-s0rr0w!

L and I met when I fell in love with such ridiculously good microfics as the seductive, atmospheric Dangerous, and Westbury, which is still one of the most skillful evocations of place and mood I've ever read. I had to go and chat to her, we discovered how wildly similar we are in terms of the things we love (mostly... except for cheese), and the rest was history.

L has both superb taste and a great eye for detail, so it makes sense that her rec lists, such as the brilliantly comprehensive Drarry Round the World series, or her Romance list, are always chock-full of excellent reads. She's also hugely supportive of other creators, both through her sterling alpha work and tiptop Britpicking, and through her Five Favourite Fics series (which is why I'm making her one of her very own today!) Not to mention the fact that she is also sickeningly skillful with her hands, and creates the most gorgeous papercut art.

But I'm really here to talk about her writing - and it's not just me, read this fabulous rec by @sitp-recs, bask in the magnificence of the ficbinding by @a-gay-old-time, and behold the wonder of this art by @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm, among many other recs. Her fics are superb - sharply written, hugely emotional, with all the joy of the breathtaking rush where you know you're hooked right from the start and there's nothing to do but settle in and let yourself get lost in them. I'm going to share my five favourites here, but special mention to Dreaming Skies (Draco x Ron, 20k) which i'm not reccing because we co-wrote it but which was one of the most fun and special fandom experiences I've ever had.

L, thank you for your friendship, for the late nights and early mornings, for the support and the non-screaming, the fics and the photos, the cheese debates, and everything in between. Tell out my soul, the glories of her words!

Read sweet_s0rr0w's fics here on AO3

✨Thameslink, the 07:29 from Luton - G, 1k, Draco in the Muggle world, commuting hell, the coolest premise ever, vibes on max, heartkick factor off the charts, the perfect microfic

Summary: He gets on at Harpenden, you think, although it might have been earlier.

✨National Trust - T, 1k, delicious established relationship with tender Muggle sightseeing.

Summary: Draco and Harry visit the Manor. Things have changed.

✨When the Party's Over - E, 5k, accidental bond, 5 +1, falling in love, a sex scene that makes me get teary-eyed with the tenderness, yes there is a teddy bear (not in the sex though that might not be quite so tender)

Summary: Parties aren't quite so much fun when you're accidentally bonded to your sworn enemy. At least, that's what Harry thinks at first…

✨The One You Feed - T, 10k, werewolves falling in love, getting together, competent Draco like HELLO

Summary: Draco's been a werewolf for almost twenty years now, and he's an expert in helping new werewolves adapt to the change. He's seen it all before - or so he thinks, until his newest client, a recently turned Harry Potter, arrives on his doorstep.

✨Nor All That Glisters - E, 110k, addiction, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, aka the 110k fic that i simply could not put down and that has one of the best OCs I've ever come across in all my years of reading fic.

Summary: Lonely and frustrated on house arrest, with no prospects for the future, Draco begins brewing Felix Felicis in an attempt to improve his lot. Just in the short term, of course. He isn’t a total idiot. But before long he finds himself with a thriving business, a nice flat, some actual (albeit irritatingly Gryffindor) friends, and a very satisfying sex life. What’s more, no-one is hexing him in the street. And Harry Potter is single, and gorgeous, and giving Draco decidedly interested looks. Stop taking the Felix? You must be joking…

#drarry fic rec #drarry rec list #five favourite fics #sweet and indeed sorrow #yes i know thameslink is overground #but it's all about the vibes #much like L's fics ya know

[kabbicompare]

Luton Airport Taxi: Unlocking the top 10 things to do near London Luton airport

London Luton Airport is located in the middle of Bedfordshire, which is a busy county and acts as a gateway to London and the areas surrounding it. Upon arrival or departure from this busy aviation hub, tourists have many attractions to visit around.

In this blog post, we are going to take you through the top 10 things to do near London Luton Airport that will give you an idea about how versatile the place can be when it comes to adventurous souls.

Top 10 Things to Do Near London Luton Airport

Sited in Bedfordshire’s vibrant district, London Luton Airport serves as a busy gateway into the vibrant city of London plus its environs. This airport hub has been attracting numerous travelers who pass through it when going or returning from different places hence being provided with several attractive destinations close by. The area around London Luton Airport offers various experiences ranging from fascinating museums and preserved historic sites to beautiful parks and country estates that appeal to all sorts of individuals.

Come along with us as we unmask for you the top 10 things to do around Luton Airport promising everlasting memories.

1.    Whipsnade Zoo:

Experience animal encounters and help save animals at one of Europe’s largest wildlife conservation parks.  Whipsnade Zoo is really preferred by those nature lovers who are looking for an adventure holiday.

2.    Wardown Park Museum:

Get engrossed in local history and culture at this captivating museum situated in a stunning Victorian mansion.

3.    Stockwood Discovery Centre:

For horticulture enthusiasts, there are gardens with interactive exhibits at this family-friendly attraction that deals with the heritage of the locality.

4.   ZSL London Zoo:

As one of the oldest zoos globally, visit world of wildlife wonders right in the heart of our capital city today!

5.   St Albans Cathedral:

Admire medieval architecture and rich historical pasts found at St Albans Cathedral which is only a short driving distance away from this airport

6.   Ashridge Estate:

In Chiltern Hills Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, take a trip through scenic walks or cycle trails in this picturesque estate.

7.   Woburn Abbey:

Time travel to the past and explore an art collection, old furniture and beautiful gardens at Woburn Abbey.

8.   Verulamium Park:

Take leisurely strolls or have picnics along this vast park which has got Roman ruins, calm lakes and lush greenery.

9.    Dunstable Downs:

With its broad spread of countryside viewings, it is an ideal hilltop for all outdoor enthusiasts who enjoy hiking and kite flying.

10. Hitchin Lavender:

This farm serves as the most peaceful site for anyone wanting to wander through aromatic lavender fields and relish the beauty of nature there.

How to Book a Luton Airport Taxi Online?

A. Selecting a Reputable Taxi Booking Platform:

•             Research different online airport taxi booking platforms

•             Find companies that have positive testimonials, good customer service, reliable payment options

•             Check if they cater specifically for Luton Airport transfers

B. Choosing Pickup and Drop-off Locations:

•             Key in exact addresses of both pickup location and drop off location

•             Specify any terminal or place within the airport where you want to be picked from

•             Consider nearby landmarks or key places that will facilitate your movement around easily

C. Indicating Date and Time of Travel:

•             State the date when you will arrive or leave Luton Airport.

•             Take into account flight duration as well as congestion on roads at that time of day.

•             If possible choose flexible arrangements so that you can change plans in case of anything.

D. Personalizing Preferences & Additional Services:

•             Such as car type, number of travellers or any other things such as baby seats or wheelchair accessible.

•             Explore more services offered by the booking platform like meet and greet services or extra luggage assistance.

•             Book the ride as per your specific requirements and preferences.

E. Making Payment and Confirming Booking:

•             Check the booking details to see if everything is accurate.

•             Go to the payment section and select how you want to pay for it.

•             Check whether there are additional fees or taxes you have to pay before confirming what needs to be paid

•             Confirm payment for my booking with all relevant information and receive a confirmation of my payment.

Benefits of Booking a Luton Airport Taxi Transfers with Kabbi Compare

When traveling from London Luton Airport, a taxi is one of the ways that can be used so that movement can be made easier. The only thing we think about when travelling is how do we get around most efficiently. There is no other better way than using Kabbi Compare, which offers incredible Luton airport taxi transfers. From fixed prices to amazing customer service, when reaching your destination without hassles, choose Kabbi Compare taxis online thus having stress-free journey.

While highlighting some of these amazing places near Luton Airport waiting for our discovery, let’s also go into detail on why Kabbi Compare should be your choice Luton Airport transfer provider.

Expert Drivers:

In the course of driving passengers safely through their journey, polite and experienced drivers are put first by Kabbi Compare team.

Fixed Fares:

You will enjoy an honest pricing policy with Kabbi compare’s flat rate system; this saves customers from being hit by astonish costs or greedy price surges in peak hours.

Service Available 24/7:

Regardless if there are late night flights or early morning ones, Kabbi Compare still operates all day long every day making it possible to cope with them.

Track your Flight:

Kabbi Compare will always keep you informed of any changes in flight schedule and help you to be on time for departure or arrival.

Secureness:

A regulated taxi service that takes into account the wellbeing of the customers is what Kabbi Compare has to offer.

Easy Reservation:

Book a taxi through the website, or get a Kabbi Compare app and forget about irritating moments when booking a cab.

Different Vehicles Availability:

Standard cabs, minivans, luxurious cars – make your choice depending on your needs at Kabbiecompare.com

Free Cancelation Policy:

It is absolutely free in case you need to change your travel plans and cancel your booking with Kabbi compare.

Free Waiting Period:

To let people, have enough time to find the driver after landing, there is a free waiting time at Kabbi Compare.

Large Network Coverage:

Benefit from a wide range of reliable taxi providers using this convenient tool designed by Kabbi compare for different areas within its network to avoid making wrong choices.

Conclusion

Discovering attractions near Luton airport opens up an exciting world where one can dive into the rich tapestry of history, culture and natural beauty found in the region. There are many conveyance options available when visiting various places near Luton airport but only few are as convenient as hiring a reliable cab with Kabbi Compare, which paves way for comfortable transfers throughout the trip. Henceforth take advantage of booking Luton Airport taxi service if you are off for some adventurous sightseeing or going on a simple day out.

FAQs

How do I arrange a transfer from Luton Airport?

•             You can book online for services provided by Kabbi compare that offer pre-booking facilities across multiple platforms. Just a quick and simple search, that’s it.

2. What are the available transportation options for pickups at Luton Airport?

•             These include taxis, private hire cars, shuttle services and public transport such as buses and trains.

3. Can I pre-book a taxi transfer service at Luton Airport?

•             Yes, you may book a taxi or transfer service for your arrival at Luton Airport. Booking in advance lets you reserve your transportation beforehand so that there are no hitches from the airport to wherever you’re going.

4. Are there any extra costs for airport pick-ups at Luton Airport?

•             Luton Airport charges may differ depending on the mode of transport chosen by the customer and if they have special requests such as meet-and-greet services or additional stops along the way.

5. How long does it take to get from Luton Airport to central London by taxi or transfer service?

•             The journey time between Luton Airport and central London using a taxi or transfer service depends on traffic congestion, the time of day and where exactly in London you are heading. On average it takes approximately 1 to 1.5 hours.

#luton airport taxi #luton airport transfer #luton airport taxi transfers #luton airport transfer service #taxi from luton airport #taxi service to luton airport

[lindsaywesker]

Good morning! I hope you slept well and feel rested? Currently sitting in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day. Welcome to the working week although, for those of you working in the NHS, welcome to just another day.

The weekend got off to a weird start. To help my son, I agreed to drive to Luton to pick up The Mighty Josiah from his mum. It was one of the hottest days of the year. We love that, right? But the heat sent Google Maps into meltdown! Did anyone else experience that? Suddenly, Google Maps was telling me to come off the M1 at Junction 8 and go via Hemel Hempstead! I suddenly realised I was getting no closer to Luton and Google Maps had sent me in a huge circle. I rejoined the M1 at Junction 8 (40 minutes later) and eventually got to Luton.

Many thanks to everyone that listened to the radio show live and to everyone that will listen to the show on MixCloud. Many thanks to my cool, new friend Matt Louis for being my executive producer. As Matt knows all the best restaurants in London, I can confidently say I will be double-dating with he and his missus very soon! The Letter O (part two) this Saturday at 1.00 p.m.

On Saturday evening, we were meant to go to a garden party that we were really looking forward to but, at 8.42 pm, The Trouble got home from a craft fair in Acton Vale, slumped on the sofa, and looked like she was ready for nothing but sleep! I quickly sent a text to our hostess, offering our sincerest apologies, and declining her invitation. The Trouble did not move from that sofa for another two hours! And she was sitting in my spot! Next week, The Trouble will be selling her jewellery at the Irie! Dance Theatre Family Fun Day in Fordham Park (SE14) and Di Greeneyez is playing the music too! As I can walk there from the Mi-Soul studio, hopefully I will see some of you there around 4.00?

On Sunday, we were up just before 7.00. It was one of those deeply unsatisfying summer days. It was cloudy and warm but, every so often, you’d get a blast of sunshine or some drops of rain. Make your bloody mind up! Anyway, as The Mighty Josiah was not awake, we left for Windsor without him. A very pleasant day in Alexandra Gardens for the good folk of Windsor, with good vibes flowing from the Mi-Soul V.I.P. tent, of course. I would strongly advise you go to the Mi-Soul website because, in the coming months, we are very busy! Lots of good Mi-Soul events!

On Sunday evening, we were both stretched out on the couch like beached whales, snacking on cheese, crackers and grapes (is it becoming an obsession?) We are both going into the office today, so we needed a quiet evening. Having said that – you know me – we have a busy week ahead!

Did you see that flash flooding in Sheffield? Amazing! I wonder what caused that? (He asked knowingly.)

Have a marvellous and momentous Monday. I love you all.

#mixcloud #mi soul #dj #music #new blog #lockdown #coronavirus #books #weekend #democracy #brexit #cronyism #election #radio

[littlewickedwiccan]

In case you have not heard it, head here to listen to Tom Hardy as Alfie Solomons talking about his childhood and how he became a gangster 😍

https://soundcloud.com/legitimatepeakyblinders/alfie-solomons-rant

For those asking for a transcription, here you go!

You see the idea that I fucking hate the most, right, is that everything starts off perfect, yeh, and then it gets worse.

That is demonstrably not fucking true.

Some things are just born bad.

Some people are born with no intention to do anything good on this Earth and they carry out their plan to deceive and cheat and rob and desanctify all that is holy, just because that is the way that they were born, that’s how they are, that’s what they do. It’s relentless, relentlessly.

Their creed runs thus: if I can, I will rob you, if I must I will kill you, if you let me I will fuck you and when I’ve fucked you I will leave you.

My father, Alfred Solomons senior was such a man with such a creed. A dispenser, a dispenser of semen to the gullible and bewildered, a maker of bastards on a scale unseen since Genghis fucking Khan. A barbarian for whom every empty womb was Rome.

He planted the seeds but he did not tend the gardens, he stayed only long enough to piss on the compost and behead the roses to sell in Summers Town in the market there.

With his stolen roses in his pockets he would leave the garden gate, leaving behind only the scent of rum marzipan, tobacco and Portugal water, which he sold out of his suitcase, right, at six pence a bottle.

At least that is what I’ve been told. Yeh, so I’m fucking told because all I ever saw of him was his fucking hat. It was hanging on a wall with a nail above the sink, where my mother washed other people’s laundry.

That hat was a holy relic, size eight and a half, made in Luton where the hat makers go insane on the fumes of their trade, and leave little messages sewn under the hat bands.

The message in my father’s hat was this, ‘this hat right, is a kettle in which to boil up your wicked dreams and make a soup of your soul’.

It is a hat that actually I wear to this day, it still smells of Portugal water and when I wear it the scheme and proposals come out the darkness as if seeping out the felt and the leather that is stained with his erotic sweat.

My mother washed bed sheets, my father was a fucking hat.

No kisses, no bed time stories just parcels of sheets to deliver to the hotels and brothels of Camden Town for nothing more than flatbread and a pinch from the priest who would then open up his robes when I passed.

And from that I drew my dark and accurate conclusions on religion, so, Alfie Solomons Junior grew untended and wild like a stem with hardly a root sticking up like a skinny cock out of the gutter so every nasty little Christian kid, walking by their nasty little Christian school, with their gropey old Christian masters could kick it down and stomp on it and shout ‘it was you lot that killed Jesus, so have that in your belly and have that in your face and see it as charity. We’re not nailing you up like you did our Lord’.

Well every time I got stomped down I fucking stomped back up again mate. I survived out of spite. And instead of learning how to fight, I learned how to put right the wrongs done unto me tenfold. A hundredfold, a thousandfold yeh unto the fucking stars, right. By using the bit of my body that god had cleverly put inside a strong bone box, so the kicks and the digs could not reach it.

The bit of me that is, my brain.

With the help of the alchemy of my Portugal water hat and the strong bone box, I processed the schemes and solutions that the mad haters of Luton and my father had out there. My brain a factory producing schemes and solutions, dodges and speculations, ways around, ways to undermine, a trickle at night and a flood in the day. When I unlock my bakery and smell the aroma of secrets, and sin and begin the process of accumulation.

I am the chairman of Alfie Solomons aerated bread company, Bonny Street, Camden Town to be precise. My two vice chairman are mister threat and mister violence and the former I prefer, but, but, the latter is necessary to support the former because without violence there is no threat and without threat there is no accumulation and without accumulation well there’s just no fucking point mate.

As a baker, I occasionally sell bread, as a bookmaker I occasionally, let the fastest horse win, as a landlord I occasionally have a roof fixed but mostly I find it is quicker and it is easier to deal with the complainer right, rather that deal with the complaint.

From all of this you are drawing your conclusion, Alfie Solomons begat from a bad man, beguiled by a hat band became a bad man, inspires bad men to do bad things in bad ways to good people with bad bad luck, but is good enough to at least admit he is a fucking bad bad man.

But, consider this right. In all my years yeh, as a baker in Camden Town, I have overseen or organised or otherwise been responsible for the deaths right, of thirty five fucking men. All of whom, I’ll have you know, attend my dreams each night in various disguises, in regular order with no pattern or logic to it, but with the consequence that I wake up each morning in sheets that have to be, they have to be wrung out from sweat right, by my maid Edna. Yeh, who it should be noted, I have never had an evil thought about in fifteen years because when she washes my sweat from the sheets she reminds me of my poor mother. Now residing in hell and washing the robes of Satan himself.

So, thirty five men, thirty five times, I am a bad man. But here is where mathematics comes to my rescue. Logic rides in like an accountant on a penny farthing just in time to wave proof of mitigation before moral bankruptcy is officially declared yeh.

Here is, here is what logic puts forward, in my defense. In France right, Passion Dale for example, take one day, one hour, one fucking second. I am standing, right, in the uncultivated mud, a stem with hardly a root, in my hands I have an artillery shell. It is the size and weight of a newborn baby. A little bastard made in Birmingham. Sharped nosed, the colour of the morning sky.

And in that one second, right, one fucking second of one day of one month of four years, in that one second I feed that baby to the upturned mortar barrel arse first I turn, I put my fingers in my ears and boom. I send my baby into the morning sky. To the only job it was ever, ever intended to do. Two seconds later, another boom, and there in the mud, over there, lie thirty six men. Brown bread.

The thirty six killed by the soldier right, are just as dead right, as the thirty five killed by the baker but the thirty six, they do not attend my dreams and are not there in gods ledger counting the good against the bad. I was given a medal for the thirty six, but I took a bullet from the Peaky Blinders for the thirty five.

So, therefore, my beloved congregation I will leave you with this conclusion right, there is no good and there is no bad that is categorical in this world beyond the calculations of powerful men, right, who shift the definition according to their own selfish schemes of accumulation.

The only things that are categorical are life and death. For arguments sake we say that life is good and death is bad, purely, purely for arguments sake.

Which means, which means my father was fucking right mate. You dispense your semen, you piss on the compost, you dead head the fucking roses, leave the garden gate, take what you’ve stolen to market and you sell it at a reasonable price, leaving behind only your hat and the scent of your fucking wears mate.

That is the creed of Alfie Solomons. A lame Shepard among nimble goats who never the less at the stable door shall be accounted and accumulated as lambs to my gentle slaughter, because never forget this right, Alfie Solomons is always waiting.

#alfie solomons fanfic #peaky blinders alfie #tom hardy #alfie solomons #peaky blinders fandom #peaky fookin blinders #SoundCloud

[drneilfox]

Scarlet's Swords: Music Films Book Blog 10 (July 2021)

A rollercoaster of a month emotionally with ‘the book’. So many moments of insecurity and anxiety washed away by a series of related and tangential moments and experiences. I went on annual leave finally, to await the arrival of our new baby and to spend a few weeks as a family with little to no responsibility or expectation beyond that. It was freeing to put on my out of office at work and simultaneously put a quasi-OOO on the book for the foreseeable. It might have been foolish given how far behind where I wanted to be I am currently, but it was liberating.

It caused me to rethink my approach, or at least know I need to (I haven’t done it yet because I’m stepping back a tad). In the downtime away from writing I have been tinkering and moving forward at a snail’s pace. One thing I did was to map out all the films I still need to see or see again, or at least have told myself I need to see or see again. It’s up near the 300. Obviously I can’t watch that many and write and read and edit and submit my first draft in February 2022. So I stopped worrying that I had to. I have been prioritising viewing and making peace with the fact that I can’t see everything. It’s weird how pervasive that sense is when writing about cinema and how hard it is to escape. The feeling that I am writing about something I love and want to share with people is subsumed beneath the fear of being ‘tested’ on my knowledge and the facts of it all (even though I’m not presenting fact) and what ‘gaps’ might tell people about me. This is sometimes stronger than the feeling that I am just a terrible writer writing a book no one has any interest in ever reading. I wonder if that’s my age, or the social media age, the fact that it’s taken me so long to get to this point or some wretched combination of all three.

The writing of the list certainly helped put the next few months into focus and my sketch of a new plan, once I am back in earnest at the desk, looks ok. I’m excited to work through the final films and get the book into even better shape. Other events in July certainly helped. One was finishing a draft of the fifth chapter on my list, on films about making music. It was a slog time wise, because of so many interruptions, but I got there on the final day of ‘work’ before annual leave. So it felt momentous and a good way to sign off for a bit.

There was also the arrival of some films from the U.S. I took advantage of the Barnes and Noble 50% off Criterion Collection sale and the fact that I have a dear, dear friend in New York (thank you JC!) to post stuff to me that would mean avoiding import tax, to get my hands on some classic films. I mainly wanted them for the extras but also because I love them. I picked up A Hard Day’s Night, Gimme Shelter (a July rewatch), Transes and one I’ve never seen, Murray Lerner’s Festival. I also picked up maybe my favourite ever music doc, Les Blank’s A Poem Is A Naked Person, and a box set of Blank’s work which includes a ton of music, music-centric, or music related works that I can’t wait to get stuck into. Blank is fast becoming one of my favourite filmmakers.

July’s watchlist was heavy hitters galore as I was watching and rewatching for my Milestones chapter so films and filmmakers included The Last Waltz and other Scorsese works (is Rolling Thunder Revue his best music film maybe?), Jonathan Demme, Julien Temple and films about the Beatles, Stones and Bob Dylan. Big. One such film was Demme’s beautiful concert film Heart of Gold, focusing on Neil Young not long after surgery for a brain aneurysm. It’s a warm and soulful film and one I saw on DVD, in New York, on a lazy afternoon before heading home, while staying with my friend John Carlin (the JC who sent posted me some DVDs this month). I was tired, I was all New York-ed out, and John put it on and we loved it. It meant a lot, maybe more, than it would normally had because a couple of years earlier I had written a play called How It Plays Out, that John travelled to Luton to perform in as the lead, and in the play he performed a Neil Young song, Only Love Can Break Your Heart. John Carlin is a brilliant songwriter in his own right. Check out his work here and buy Songs From The Black House, it’s one of the best records ever made, Fact. I love him.

I also read the first book that will feature in my book since I started writing back last year (nearly 12 months ago!), Thomas F. Cohen’s Playing to the Camera: Musicians and Musical Performance in Documentary Cinema. It was invigorating. Not only is it a great book, but it reminded me why I am working on mine. I want to be in dialogue with these other works that exist, reach out to and pull from them and survey the land of ideas that is music documentary and the writing on it. I loved Cohen’s style and confidence too. It gave me strength to be more confident about my own writing. It was also nice to see so much time dedicated to Shirley Clarke’s Ornette: Made in America, a truly magnificent doc I loved writing about.

So over the next few months I shall be reading more and more for the book. I am excited. That trip to the BFI library (where I learned of Cohen’s book), really galvanised me, in ways I’m becoming more aware of as I think more and write less.

Don’t forget, you can track what I’m watching (and maybe try and work out which films I’m referring to above and in the note fragments below) via my Letterboxd list, here.

Don’t forget you can listen in to my book themed playlist here.

Here’s what I was listening to while writing in July:

Finally, a bit of fun. Here are my favourite notes from this month’s viewing sessions:

Demme knows

“I just wanna play well and share the stage with my friends”

“He had a lot of ukeleles in the trunk”

Imagine booing one of the greatest live shows ever by one of, if not the, greatest rock n roll backing bands of all time.

Joan Baez’s Dylan impression is bang on.

“I don’t even wanna get in tune”

People lying around everywhere.

Need a shower after watching this.

Babies, planes and Nick Cave

Bob Marley tats and flags

Coke in the nose

Clapton - boring

Bob looks amazing!

“you booed!”

Keroauc’s grave

“I don’t want this shit to work. I hate it”

Bawdy

Ludicrous outfit Mick

Chilly at the heliport

#book #music films #music #music documentary #film #movies #cinema #documentary.

[tommyplum]

- transcription by maggie of @tommyplum

You see the idea I fucking hate the most, right, is that everything starts off perfect, yeah, and then it gets worse. That is demonstrably not fucking true. Some things are just born bad. Some people are born with no intention to do anything good on this earth, and they carry out their plan to deceive and cheat and rob and de-sanctify all that is holy just because that is the way that they were born. That's how they are. That's what they do, it is relentless. Relentlessly! Their creed runs thus: if I can, I will rob you. If I must I will kill you, if you let me I will fuck you, when I've fucked you I will leave you.

My father, Alfred Solomons Senior, was such a man with such a creed. He was a dispenser, a dispenser of semen to the gullible and the bewildered, a maker of bastards on a scale unseen since Genghis fucking Khan. A barbarian for whom every empty womb was Rome. He planted the seeds but he did not tend the gardens; he stayed only long enough to piss on the compost. And behead the roses to sell at Summerstown at the market there. With his stolen roses in his pockets he would leap the garden gate, leave them behind, only to send around marzipan, tobacco, and Portugal Water, which he did – he sold out of his suitcase, right, at sixpence a bottle.

At least, that is what I've been told. Yeah, so I'm fucking told, because all I ever saw of him was his fucking hat! It was hanging on the wall, on a nail, above the seat where my mother washed other people's laundry. That hat was a holy relic. Was size eight-and-a-half, made in Luton, where the hat-makers go insane on the fumes of their trade and leave little messages sewn under the hat-bands. The message in my father's hat was this:

THIS HAT, RIGHT, IS A KETTLE. IN WHICH TO BOIL UP YOUR WICKED DREAMS AND MAKE A SOUP OF YOUR SOUL.

It is the hat that actually I wear to this day. It still smells of Portugal Water and when I wear it the schemes and proposals come out of the darkness as if seeping out of the felt and the leather that is stained with his erotic sweat. My mother washed bedsheets. My father was a fucking hat. No kisses, no bedtime stories, just parcels of sheets to deliver to the hotels and the brothels of Camden Town for nothing more than black bread and a pinch from the priest who would then open up his robes when I passed and from that, I drew my dark and accurate conclusions on religion.

So, Alfie Solomons Junior grew untended and wild, a stem with a-hardly a root sticking up like a skinny cock out of the gutter so every nasty little Christian kid walking by their nasty little Christian school with their gropey old Christian masters could kick it down, and stomp on it, and shout, "It was you lot who killed Jesus, ahhh! So have that in your belly, and have that in your face, and see it as charity we're not nailing you up like you did our Lord." But every time I got stomped down I fucking stomped back up again, mate. I survived out of spite. And instead of learning how to fight, I learned how to put right the wrongs done unto me tenfold. A hundr—a thousandfold, yea, unto the fucking stars, right? By using the bit of my body that God had cleverly put inside a strong bone box so the kicks and the digs could not reach it.

The bit of me that is my brain. 

With the help of the alchemy of my Portugal Water hat, and the strong bone box, I processed the schemes and solutions the mad hatters of Luton and my father had put there; my brain a factory producing schemes and solutions, dodges and speculations, ways around, ways to undermine, a trickle at night and a flood in the day when I unlock my bakery and smell the aroma of secrets, and sin, and begin the process of accumulation. 

I am the chairman of Alfie Solomons’ Aerated Bread Company, of Bonny Street, Camden Town, to be precise. My two vice chairmen are Mister Threat and Mister Violence, and the former I prefer, but! But. The latter is necessary to support the former, because without  violence there is no threat, and without threat there is no accumulation. Without accumulation? Well there's just no fucking point, mate. 

As a baker, I occasionally sell bread. As a bookmaker, I occasionally let the fastest horse win. As a landlord, I occasionally have a roof fixed. But mostly I find it is quicker and it is easier to deal with the complainant, right, rather than deal with the complaint.

From all of this you are drawing your conclusions: Alfie Solomons, begat from a bad man, and – beguiled by a hat-band – became a bad man who inspires bad men to do bad things in bad ways to good people who have bad bad luck! But is good enough to at least admit he's a fucking bad, bad man! Hnnnnff.

…but. Consider this, right? In all my years, yeah, as a baker in Camden Town, I have overseen – I have organized, or otherwise been responsible for – the deaths, right, of thirty-five fucking men. All of whom, I'll have you know, attend my dreams each night in various disguises, in regular order, with no pattern or logic to it but with the consequence that I wake up each morning in sheets that have been – they have to be wrung out, from sweat, right, by my maid Edna. Who, it should be noted, I have never had an evil thought about in fifteen years because when she washes my sweat from the sheets she reminds me of my poor mother, now residing in Hell and washing the robes of Satan himself.

So. Thirty-five men, thirty-five times … I am a bad man. But here is where mathematics comes to my rescue. Logic rides in like an accountant on a penny-farthing just in time to wave proof of mitigation before moral bankruptcy is officially declared, yeah? Here it is, ahrummm, here is what logic puts forward in my defense:

In France, right, Passchendaele for example, take one day, one hour, one fucking second: I am standing, right, in the uncultivated mud, a stem with hardly a root; in my hands, I have an artillery shell. It is the size and weight of a newborn baby. A little bastard, made in Birmingham, sharp-nosed, the colour of the morning sky; and in that one second, one fucking second of one day, of one month, of four years, in that one second I feed that baby to the upturned mortar barrel arse-first. I turn, I put my fingers in my ears, and … BOOM. I send my baby into the morning sky, to do the only job it was ever, ever intended to do. Two seconds later, another boom, and there, in the mud, over there, lie thirty-six men.

Brown bread.

The thirty-six killed by the soldier, right, are just as dead, right, as the thirty-five killed by the baker. But the thirty-six, they do not attend my dreams and are not there in God's ledger counting the good against the bad. I was given a medal for the thirty-six. But I took a bullet from the Peaky Blinders for the thirty-five. So.

Therefore, my beloved congregation, I will leave you with this conclusion, right:

There is no good and there is no bad that is categorical in this world beyond the calculations of powerful men, right, who shift the definition according to their own selfish schemes of accumulation. The only things that are categorical are life and death, and for argument's sake we say life is good, and death is bad – purely, purely, for argument's sake. Which means … which means my father was fucking right, mate. You dispense your semen, you piss on the compost, you deadhead the fucking roses, leap the garden gate, take what you’ve stolen to market and you sell it at a reasonable price, leaving behind only your hat and the scent of your fucking wares, mate.

That is the creed of Alfie Solomons. A lame shepherd among nimble goats who nevertheless at the stable doors shall be counted and accumulated as lambs to my gentle slaughter. Because never forget this, right:

Alfie Solomons is always waiting.

#tom hardy #peaky blinders #alfie solomons #the gospel of alfie solomons #steven knight

[twobrokenwyngs]

The Gospel of Alfie Solomons

Written by Steven Knight, Performed by Tom Hardy

PART I - LISTEN HERE

You see, the idea I fuckin’ hate the most, right, is that everything starts off perfect, yeah, and then it gets worse. That is demonstrably not fuckin’ true. Some things are just born bad. Some people are born with no intention to do anything good on this Earth and they carry out their plan to deceive and cheat and rob and desanctify all that is Holy, just because that is the way that they were born. That’s how they are. That’s what they do, is relentless, relentlessly. 

Their creed runs thus: If I can, I will rob you; if I must, I will kill you; if you let me, I will fuck you; when I’ve fucked you, I will leave you. My father, Alfred Solomons, Sr. was such a man, with such a creed, who was a dispenser. A dispenser of semen to the gullible and the bewildered. A maker of bastards on a scale unseen since Ghengis fuckin’ Khan. A barbarian, for whom every empty womb was Rome. He planted the seeds but he did not tend the gardens, he stayed only long enough to piss on the compost. And he had the roses to sell in Summerstown in the market there. With his stolen roses in his pockets, he would leap the garden gate, leaving behind only the scent of rum. Miles he passed. Tobacco and Portugal water, which he did. He sold out of his suitcase, right, at six pence a bottle. At least that is what I’ve been told. 

Yeah, so I’m fucking told because all I ever saw of him was his fuckin’ hat. It was hangin’ on a wall, on a nail, above the sink where my mother washed other people’s laundry. That hat was a holy relic, size 8 ½, made in Luton where the hatmakers go insane on the fumes of their trade, and leave little messages sewn under the hat bands. The message in my father’s hat was this: “This hat is a kettle, in which to boil up your wicked dreams and make a soup of your soul.” It is a hat that actually I wear to this day. It still smells of Portugal water, and when I wear it, the schemes and proposals come out of the darkness as if seeping out of the felt and the leather that is stained with his erotic sweat.

My mother washed bed sheets, my father was a fucking hat. No kisses, no bedtime stories, just parcels of sheets to deliver to the hotels, and the brothels, Camden Town for nothing more than flat bread, and a pinch from the priest who would then open up his robes when I passed, and from that I drew my dark and accurate conclusions on religion. 

So! Alfie Solomons Jr. grew untended and wild, a stem with hardly a root sticking up like a skinny cock out of the gutter so every nasty little Christian kid walking by their nasty little Christian school with their gropey old Christian masters could kick it down, and stomp on it and shout, “it was you lot who killed Jesus, so have that in your belly, and have that in your face, and see it as charity. We’re not nailing you up like you did our Lord.” But every time I got stomped down, I fuckin’ stomped back off again, mate. I survived out of spite. And instead of learning how to fight, I learned how to put right the wrongs done unto me tenfold, a hundredfold, a thousandfold, yea, unto the fuckin’ stars, right, by using the bit of my body that God had cleverly put inside a strong-boned box, so the kicks and the digs could not reach it. 

The bit of me that is my brain. 

With the help of the alchemy of my Portugal water hat and the strong-boned box I processed the schemes and solutions the mad hatters in Luton and my father had put there, my brain a factory producing schemes and solutions, dodges and speculations, ways around, ways to undermine, a trickle at night and a flood in the day when I unlock my bakery and smell the aroma of secrets and sin and begin the process of accumulation. 

I am the chairman of Alfie Solomons’ Aerated Bread Company, Bonny Street, Camden Town, to be precise. My two vice chairmen are Mr. Threat and Mr. Violence in the form that I prefer but, but, the latter is necessary to support the former, because without violence there is no threat, and without threat there is no accumulation, and without accumulation, well there’s just no fucking point, mate. As a baker I occasionally sell bread. As a bookmaker I occasionally let the fastest horse win. As a landlord I occasionally have a roof fixed, but mostly I find it is quicker and it is easier to deal with the complainer, right, than deal with the complaint. 

From all of this you are drawing your conclusions - Alfie Solomons, begat from a bad man, and beguiled by a hat band, became a bad man, inspires bad men to do bad things in bad ways to good people with bad, bad luck, but is good enough to at least admit he is a fucking bad, bad man. [grunts]

But, consider this, right? In all my years, yeah, as a baker in Camden Town, I have overseen, I have organized or otherwise been responsible for the deaths, right, of 35 fucking men. All of whom, I’ll have you know, attend my dreams each night in various disguises in regular order, with no pattern or logic to it, but with the consequence that I wake up each morning in sheets that have to be wrung out from sweat, right, by my maid, Edna, yeah who, it should be noted, I have never had an evil thought about in fifteen years because when she washes my sweat from the sheets, she reminds me of my poor mother, now residing in Hell and washing the robes of Satan himself.

So, 35 men, 35 times I am a bad man. But here is where mathematics comes to my rescue. Logic rides in like an accountant on a penny farthing just in time to make proof of mitigation before moral bankruptcy is officially declared, yeah?

Here is, [clears throat], here is what logic puts forward, in my defense.

In France, right, Passendale, for example, take one day, one hour, one fucking second, I am standing, right, in the uncultivated mud, a stem with hardly a root in my hands, I have an artillery shell. It is the size and weight of a newborn baby. A little bastard made in Birmingham, sharp nosed, the color of the morning sky. And in that one second, right, one fucking second of one day, of one month, of four years - in that one second I feed that baby to the upturned mortar barrell ass-first, upturned, I put my fingers in my ears, and boom, I send my baby into the morning sky. To do the only job it was ever, ever intended to do. Two seconds later, another boom, and there in the mud, over there, lie 36 men. 

Brown bread.

The 36 killed by the soldier, right, are just as dead, right, as the 35 killed by the baker, but the 36, they do not attend my dreams, and are not there in God’s ledger counting the good against the bad. I was given a medal for the 36, but I took a bullet by the Peaky Blinders for the 35, so. 

Therefore, my beloved congregation, I will leave you with this conclusion, right. There is no good and there is no bad that is categorical in this world beyond the calculations of powerful men, right, who shift the definition according to their own selfish schemes of accumulation. The only things that are categorical are life and death and for arguments’ sake we say life is good, and death is bad - purely, purely for arguments’ sake. 

Which means - which means my father was fucking right, mate. You dispense your semen, you piss on the compost, you deadhead the fuckin’ roses, leave the garden gate, take what you’ve stolen to market and you sell it at a reasonable price, leaving behind only your hat and the scent of your fucking wares, mate.

That is the creed of Alfie Solomons. A lame shepherd among nimble goats who nevertheless at the stable door shall be counted and accumulated as lambs to my gentle slaughter. 

Because never forget this, right: 

Alfie Solomons, he is always waiting.

#peaky blinders #alfie solomons #the gospel of alfie solomons #i just NEEDED a transcription #for the good of my SOUL #this is just... absolute poetry #beautiful gorgeous poetry #unbelievable insight into the inner workings of this man's mind #into his thought process and his emotional interiority #and i am beside myself

[mintjamsblog]

The Gospel of Alfie Solomons: Part I

Written by Steven Knight. Transcribed from a recording by Tom Hardy.

You see the idea I fucking hate the most, right, is that everything starts off perfect and then it gets worse. That is demonstrably not fucking true. Some things are just born bad. Some people are born with no intention to do anything good on this earth and they carry out their plan to deceive and cheat and rob and desanctify all that is holy just because that is the way that they were born, that is how they are, that is what they do. Relentless, relentlessly. Their creed runs thus…

If I can I will rob you, if I must I will kill you, if you let me I will fuck you, when I’ve fucked you I will leave you. 

My father, Alfred Solomons Senior, was such a man with such a creed. He was a dispenser, a dispenser of semen to the gullible and the bewildered, a maker of bastards on a scale unseen since Genghis fucking Khan; a barbarian for whom every empty womb was Rome. He planted the seeds but he did not tend the gardens. He stayed only long enough to piss on the compost and behead the roses to sell in Summers Town in the market there. With his stolen roses in his pockets he would leap the garden gate, leaving behind only the scent of rum, marzipan, tobacco and Portugal Water which he did, he sold out of his suitcase, right, at 6 pence a bottle. At least that is what I’ve been told. Yeah, someone fucking told ‘cause all I ever saw of him was his fucking hat. It was hanging on a wall on a nail above the sink where my mother washed other people’s laundry. That hat was a holy relic, size eight and a half, made in Luton, where the hat makers go insane on the fumes of their trade and leave little messages sewn under the hat bands. The message in my father’s hat was this:

This hat, right, is a kettle in which to boil up your wicked dreams and make a soup of your soul.

It is a hat that actually I wear to this day, it still smells of Portugal Water; when I wear it the schemes and proposals come out of the darkness as if seeping out of the felt and the leather that is stained with his erotic sweat.

My mother washed bedsheets, my father was a fucking hat. No kisses, no bedtime stories just parcels of sheets to deliver to the hotels and the brothels of Camden Town for nothing more than flatbread and a pinch from the priest who would then open up his robes when I passed. And from that I drew my dark and accurate conclusions on religion.

So, Alfie Solomons Junior grew untended and wild, a stem with hardly a root sticking up like a skinny cock out of the gutter so every nasty little Christian kid walking by their nasty little Christian school with their gropey old Christian masters could kick it down and stomp on it and shout, “it was you lot who killed Jesus so have that in your belly and have that in your face and see it as charity. We’re not nailing you up like you did our Lord.” 

But every time I got stomped down I fucking stomped back up again, mate. I survived out of spite and instead of learning how to fight I learned how to put right the wrongs done unto me tenfold, a hundred…a thousandfold, yay, unto the fucking stars, right, by using the bit of my body that God had cleverly put inside a strong bone box so the kicks and the digs could not reach it. The bit of me that is my brain. With the help of the alchemy of my Portugal Water hat in the strong bone box I process the schemes and solutions the mad hatters of Luton and my father had put there; my brain a factory producing schemes and solutions dodges and speculations ways around and ways to undermine, a trickle at night and a flood in the day when I unlock my bakery and smell the aroma of secrets and sit and begin the process of accumulation. 

I am the Chairman of Alfie Solomons’ Aerated Bread Company, Bonny Street, Camden Town to be precise. My two Vice Chairmen are Mr Threat and Mr Violence and the former I prefer but, but, the latter is necessary to support the former because without violence there is no threat and without threat there is no accumulation, without accumulation well there’s just no fucking point, mate.

As a baker I occasionally sell bread. As a bookmaker I occasionally let the fastest horse win. As a landlord I occasionally have a roof fixed. But mostly I find it is quicker and it is easier to deal with the complainant, right, rather than deal with the complaint. From all of this you are drawing your conclusions.

Alfie Solomons, begat from a bad man, beguiled by a hat band, became a bad man. Inspires bad men to do bad things in bad ways to good people who have bad, bad luck – but is good enough to at least admit he is a fucking bad, bad man. 

But consider this, right, in all my years as a baker in Camden Town I have overseen, I have organised or otherwise been responsible for the deaths, right, of thirty-five fucking men. All of whom, I’ll have you know, attend my dreams each night in various disguises, in irregular order, with no pattern or logic to it but with the consequence that I wake up each morning in sheets that, they have to be wrung out from sweat, right, by my maid, Edna, who it should be noted I have never had an evil thought about in fifteen years because when she washes my sweat from the sheets she reminds me of my poor mother, now residing in hell and washing the robes of satan himself.

So, thirty-five men, thirty-five times, I am a bad man. But here is where mathematics comes to my rescue. Logic rides in like an accountant on a penny farthing just in time to make proof of mitigation before moral bankruptcy is officially declared, yeah. Here is, here is what logic puts forward in my defence. In France, right, Passchendaele for example, take one day, one hour, one fucking second, I am standing, right in the uncultivated mud, a stem with hardly a root. In my hands I have an artillery shell. It is the size and weight of a newborn baby, a little bastard made in Birmingham – sharp nose the colour of the morning sky. And in that one second, right, one fucking second of one day of one month of four years, in that one second I feed that baby to the upturned mortar barrel, arse first, I turn, I put my fingers in my ears and boom I send my baby into the morning sky to do the only job it was ever, ever intended to do. Two seconds later another boom and there, in the mud, over there, lie thirty-six men. Brown bread. The thirty-six killed by the solider, right, are just as dead, right, as the thirty-five killed by the baker, but the thirty-six, they do not attend my dreams and are not there in God’s ledger counting the good against the bad. I was given a medal for the thirty-six but I took a bullet from the Peaky Blinders for the thirty-five. So. 

Therefore, my beloved congregation, I will leave you with this conclusion, right. There is no good and there is no bad, that is categorical, in this world beyond the calculations of powerful men, right, who shift the definition according to their own selfish schemes of accumulation. The only things that are categorical are life and death. For argument’s sake we’ll say life is good and death is bad … purely, purely for argument’s sake. Which means, which means my father was fucking right, mate, you dispense your semen, you piss on the compost, you deadhead the fucking roses, leave the garden gate, take what you’ve stolen to market and you sell it at a reasonable price leaving behind only your hat and the scent of your fucking wares mate. That is the creed of Alfie Solomons.

A lame shepherd among nimble goats who nevertheless, at the stable doors, shall be counted and accumulated as lambs to my gentle slaughter. Because never forget this, right, Alfie Solomons is always waiting.

Listen to Tom Hardy’s performance here.

#peaky blinders #alfie solomons #steven knight #tommy x alfie

[christianentertainment]

Which Are the Popular Church Events That Bring Congregation Together?

Churches remain the center of spiritual nourishment for many believers around the world. It is where spiritual and social growth occurs and helps to build congregational bonds. They offer the perfect opportunity for the attendees to take a break from the routine schedule and monotonous existence. Certain events have been popular since ages and continue to interest people of different strata of the society. In this blog post, we will discuss some major Church events in Luton, UK and the reasons behind their popularity.

1. Worship Services

Worship services are the most important events in church as they provide the space and time for individuals to come together and worship God collectively. In these services, members not only come together to worship, but also to hear the word of God being preached. The events usually include hymn singing, scripture reading, prayers, and preaching. Worship services promote spiritual growth and intimacy with God, as well as provide a sense of community to the members. 

2. Church Picnics

Church picnics are events that congregants look forward to all year round. The atmosphere is usually relaxed, and the event is aimed at building community and strengthening the bonds between members. These church events usually feature games, food, and other fun activities that everyone can participate in. Church picnics help to provide a break from the usual routine and promote a sense of togetherness among the members.

3. Christmas Celebrations

Christmas is a time of the year that is celebrated on a global scale, and many churches use this opportunity to hold events that celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ. The church events on Christmas usually include carols, special services, and performances by choirs and youth groups. Christmas celebrations allow people to reflect on the meaning of the season and to spread love, joy, and goodwill. Install For Your Soul app to find the best Christmas celebrations and festivals around you.

4. Sunday School

Sunday school nourishes children and young adults spiritually. It is an ideal podium for everyone to connect and form affiliation with their peers. The events feature striking biblical teachings, reverence sessions, and group activities. The event inculcates values, morals, and qualities in children and fosters a sense of community within them.

5. Youth Camps

Youth camps are an event that takes place in summer holidays. It focuses on creating a space for young people to grow personally and become more mature. It features worship, spiritual teachings, and pleasurable events like camping, hiking, and games. The attendees can build friendships, create memoirs, and learn vital life skills. Type Church Events Near Me and find the exact schedule of the next youth camps occurring in your area.

6. Prayer Meetings

Prayer meetings are popular as it helps in building communities, where people come together to pray and take part in assembly. Such meetings help devotees promote a profound understanding that fosters spiritual development in a supportive environment.

7. Religious Events

Religious holidays in the Christian calendar spread joy and offer opportunities for the church community to enjoy and revel. During Easter and Pentecost, there are exciting festive activities celebrated with pomp and grandeur. It reflects with the church decorated lavishly, sharing of meals, and the carols.

Church events are essential in the growth and nurturing of a community of believers. They provide a space for congregants to come together and strengthen their bonds, and they also promote spiritual and social growth. Worship services, church picnics, Christmas celebrations, Sunday school, and youth camps are just a few examples of events that have stood the test of time and remain popular among believers. It is important for churches to continue holding these events and create new ones to meet the needs of the members and promote community building. If you’re looking for the best local Church events near you, download For Your Soul, a unique community-based app. Search for Church Events Near Me and get the list of the popular ones taking place around you.

#Church Events Luton #Church Events Near Me #Church Events

[charmyesucks]

My trip to London: A fairy tale turned into a nightmare with a happy ending (?) Part 1

Well, that’s a mouthful.

So I went to London with my family recently and obviously something went wrong. Now, it was an overall nice trip and I had a lot of fun but it could have gone better. MUCH better. 

So, to go from Italy to England you can either use the airplane or be a crazy person and get the train (a 13 hours long trip, Jesus Christ ). And you always travel in a can, either a flying one or one with tires, and that’s reassuring isn’t it? So, we chose the airplane because we wanted to be sure that if the flight went somehow wrong , we’d die, for sure. So we get to the airport at like 8:00 in the morning, we do all the stuff you have to do, and we get on the plane at around 10:00 am. The flight goes fine, and we arrive 15 minutes before we were meant to. Now that we are in the Luton airport we need to get on a bus and get to London and, obviously, all the empty sits are one away from the other. So, being the shy and socially awkward one of the family, I decide to sit down in the back of the bus next to a kid that was part of a group (probably a school trip? Idk) with a bunch of other kids. Now, when I first arrived they were quiet and I thought they spoke English and maybe I could try to engage in a conversation (I mean they were kids and didn’t seem much younger than me, so usually I don’t feel that awkward speaking to someone my age) , but I was wrong, oh boy was I wrong. In the moment the bus moves these kids start to yell and speak loudly in GERMAN to one another. Me and the kid next to me look awkwardly at each other and then he falls asleep. I have headphones on so I try to ignore the screaming kids ( you should know that I HATE with all my soul loud noises and crowded places, but only when it’s not concerts I can luckily enjoy them, and usually these kind of places put me in a really bad mood and I can sometimes have panic attacks) so everything went pretty decently, apart from a kid that was either taking a photo of my DS (Nintendo DS is still the most important object that I have to bring on a trip) or doing a really crappy selfie that had him getting up from his sit and almost touching me with his phone from ACROSS THE EFFING CORRIDOR OF THE BUS. Yeah, he was sitting on the furthest sit at my left and there was a person-wide corridor and a full sit in between us ( ya know like 2 sits on the right side of the bus | corridor | 2 sits on the left side) and the little motherfucker got up from his sit and stretched all the way until his phone was like 5 cm away from my DS. So I gave him the type of look that you would give someone that just insulted your mother in the worst way possible. And you can bet your future grandchildren’s heads his German ass got back on the sit. So after 3 quarters of the trip someone got down of the bus and I had the chance to sit next to my mom, and I did it faster than light. And at 11:40 am I was already done with everyone's shit.

#london #trip #went bad #first part #plane #airplane #airport #funny story #relatable #bad luck #england #italy #lutorn

[crowkingwrites]

Bang Bang!: Guilty (Ch.5)

Pairing: Ramsay Bolton X Reader

Summary: You are now a full-fledged member of the Red Kings. After your first successful mission, Domeric comes with troubling news: they’re being watched and there’s a mole among them. The Red Kings, Ramsay, and You now stand against a new enemy: Stannis Baratheon, a high ranking FBI member out to seek justice who may have his own dark secrets he’s trying to hide.

In this next part of the series, you will be tested, face old enemies, and encounter faces you’d thought you’d never see again. You thought you were safe, but the game has just begun.

Words: 2290

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14454342/chapters/34636814

Ben Bones walked into Strange Souls Brewing Company as if he were the owner. He took his sunglasses off and looked around the large, open floor. He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair and walked across the concrete floor. Chairs were still turned upside down on the wooden tables. Ben’s friends were grouped together at the bar on the far side from the entrance. Industrial lighting hung on the ceiling and the exposed steel beams ran across the ceiling.

Historical decorations were placed throughout the brewery. Plagues about the hauntings here and the souls that lurked the halls above were hung throughout the bar. To the far right, Ben eyed the staircase that led to the upper floors of the building where he and the bastard’s boys stayed while everyone was hiding from Stannis and his eyes.

Ben got a closer look at his friends. Grunt, who had recently had been inked with a girl’s name on his left arm, gulped down a pint of beer. He was still silent and muscle, but valuable nonetheless. Yellow Dick still wore a beanie over his shaved head. His cell was inches away from his hand, but he enjoyed a pint with Grunt. He spoke about how long they may have to stay here.

Skinner stared off into space. He was either too high to function or he wasn’t paying attention. Ben quickly remembered how much skinner self-medicated these days. Some Red Kings didn’t make it out of the Vale, Skinner had been interrogated. The Boltons were grateful he didn’t give up any information, but he hadn’t been the same since.

Luton was fairly new to the Red Kings. He had become a favorite of Ramsay’s quickly. Unfortunately, Luton was also Ramsay’s new victim. His arms were often covered in scratches from Ramsay’s dogs. He considered himself lucky surviving Ramsay’s destruction of the first headquarters.

Ben could smell Sour Alyn’s foul breath, but his ears were listening to the quick-witted Damon Dance who had been describing a recent sexual adventure he had.

“His cock was so big!” he said aloud. “I never wanted to fuck something so bad.”

“Oh shut up, will you?” Alyn responded. He hadn’t been as open-minded as the others, and Damon liked to tease him about it. Ben whistled. Each member looked his way.

“He’s coming. Alert everyone.”

Ever since you became a Red King, Ramsay took ample opportunity to show you off to the boys. He was proud of you. Not in the beautiful trophy girlfriend way, but in the way where Ramsay knew you could kill anyone in that room if you wanted to. You were his favorite weapon, besides your corsos in the backseat.

Bacon and Eggs each looked out their own window as you pulled up to the brewery. The old building had been in decent shape. You were somewhat impressed. You knew that Damon was an organized individual, but Red Kings weren’t known to be the greatest housekeepers.

You exited the vehicle. You fixed your dress and adjusted the gun strapped to your thigh. Bacon and Eggs flanked each side of you. You had trained them to walk when you told them to walk. To speak when they were told to speak. They sat and waited patiently for their father to cross in front of you. Ramsay left his jacket open, his white t-shirt caught some wind under it. You could peek at his chest tattoos when he walked.

Ramsay led the way while all four of you entered into the brewery. You saw Red Kings gathered around. Some were your age, others were much older than you. White hairs in their beards and heads. Bacon and Eggs growled at some of them. Most kept their composure, but you caught more than one cringing at you, as if you were just as monstrous as their leader.

After what happened at the Vale, nearly all the Red Kings knew about you. They knew who you were, what you did, who you killed, and most importantly, who you were to Ramsay. No one dared crossing you.

Ramsay clapped his hands together once, sending an echo throughout the main brewery area.

“You know why we’re here,” he started. “My father seems to think it’s a good idea for us to hide. Find day jobs, take shelter, and wait for all of this blow over. I think he’s an idiot.”

Several Red Kings started clapping and nodding their heads. Bacon sat down next to you, not taking his eyes off his father. You scratched his head. Ramsay paced the room and continued.

“We are Red Kings. We don’t hide. Especially from Stannis. This white-collared-dickless fuck thinks he can put fear into us. I’m not scared of him,” Ramsay pointed to you. “She’s not scared of him. I don’t think anyone here is. That’s why I have a plan.”

Ramsay took out a picture of Stannis and pinned it to the brewery wall with a dagger. You cracked a smile. There was your new target. His grimace stared off into nothing which is what you wanted to make him.

“We’re going to kill him. His associates. His underlings. His spies. Everyone around him. We have the men. We have allies. The underbelly will not be hiding away in fear. We’re stronger than them.” Ramsay’s menacing eyes met yours. A smile tugged at the edges of his mouth.

“How do you expect us to do that?” Sour Alyn shouted. His rude tone was noted by Eggs and she sent a low growl that had Sour Alyn step back once. You quieted her by shushing her in her ear. Eggs was much more aggressive than her brother, but she was a quick listener. She stopped, but kept a careful eye on the cruel king.

Ramsay prowled away from the picture of Stannis and towards Alyn. His blue eyes locked on him. The same smile that tugged at his mouth was now a firm line. “Didn’t you listen to me? We have allies. Bring them together and we have all the pieces we need to get rid of Stannis and put one of our own in power.” The pieces started to fit together in their heads. For a group of assassins and felons, you expected a higher level of intelligence.

You watched your boyfriend roll his eyes for the fourth time today. If this was how today was going to go, you would likely start a tally in your head. Ramsay kept himself in the center of the room. His eyes everywhere.

“We’ll start with an old friend of the family,” his voice louder. “He used to be a weapons dealer and smuggler. He’s still in the business, and he’ll be likely to be seeking revenge. He has his own qualms about Stannis as much as we do.”

“An old friend? Up here?” one of the kings spoke aloud.

“No, more north. Pass the border,” Ramsay’s smile slowly grew on his face. “Mance Rayder.”

“Mance? The North King?” Damon repeated. He met Ramsay’s eyes with confusion. “He’s retired.”

“He’s semi-retired. He’s living among his own people, finding peace,” Ramsay continued. “We go to him. Strike a deal, and we have our weapons.”

“What kind of weapons?” Skinner spoke. You looked at the bags under his eyes. It seemed PTSD still haunted him.

“Anything we want. Mance can get it.”

“How do we know if he even will support us? He’s in Canada,” another king spoke aloud. Ramsay rolled his eyes again. Five times you counted. He took out his gun walking towards the outspoken king. He stuck the barrel on the king’s thigh. Ramsay let out a long exasperated breath.

“Question me one more time, and I’ll unload this,” Ramsay spoke under his breath, but just loud enough for everyone to hear. “You all need to have faith in me. After all, I am your leader. Lack of faith in me means your own demise. I am protecting all of us. I am thinking for all of us.”

Ramsay kept eye contact with the outspoken king. You saw the king wipe the sweat off his brow and he nodded, keeping quiet. Ramsay took the barrel away and walked towards you.

“We start there. We’ll move when we have the things we need.”

When the meeting dispersed, several kings headed out for the day. Others started to open the brewery and flipped chairs from the tables, wiping the tables clean afterwards. Ben and Damon sat by the bar, talking with Ramsay.

“He’s an old man.” “He’ll support us,” Ramsay corrected.

“You don’t know that,” Damon’s brow raised. He sighed. “This is a risky plan. Crossing the border to speak with an FBI Most Wanted weapon smuggler isn’t how we should start this.”

“Do you have a better plan?” you questioned, tired of people questioning Ramsay. You watched Ramsay smirk and look back to Damon, both of you waiting for his reaction.

Damon looked down, his hand massaged the back of his neck. “No, but this is a dangerous plan. Does Domeric know?”

“Does he need to know?” Ramsay retorted. “Everyone needs to stop hesitating and listen to me for once.” Ben rolled his eyes.

“We listen to you all the time. Last time we almost died because of her!” Ben gestured to you. “Sorry, Y/N. No offense. You’re lovely.”

You smiled at your friend, but a quick look from Ramsay faded that away. He shot Ben a dangerous look.

“What happened in the Vale was bound to happen. Unfortunately for us, Lysa was already killed, and Petyr Baelish is still on the loose. God knows where.” Even at the mention of his name, it sent shivers down your spine. Petyr was still very much alive and in hiding. Flashes of memory came to mind. His lying. His manipulation. Him threatening your life.

You could feel the anger bubbling up inside of you, but the fear came crashing in your head like waves. Petyr was still in your head. He was your boss. He was your savior. And you had a feeling he still wanted to kill you. Sometimes you couldn’t sleep at night because of the recurring thoughts in your head.

You were in love with Ramsay, future leader of the Red Kings, but you were still afraid of the man who almost took everything away from you to push forward his own agenda.

A snap of fingers brought you back to the brewery. Ben lowered his hand and then Ramsay turned to you.

“Are you alright?” Ramsay asked. You nodded your head, smiling.

“I’m fine,” you lied. You promised up and down that you would never lie to Ramsay, but this was one thing you had to keep to yourself. At least for now. Ramsay wouldn’t be able to understand. His focus was elsewhere.

You felt his fingers reach out for yours. He squeezed your hand once and let go. Ramsay whistled and both Bacon and Eggs came to his side, they walked out the door with Skinner and Alyn discussing specifics under their breaths.

“You’re not fine, are you?” Ben patted a seat next to him at the bar. You sat down next to him, sucking in your bottom lip.

“No. I’m not.”

“Why lie to Ramsay then?” Ben pointed out. His eyes searching yours for soe hint before you could give it to him.

“He wouldn’t understand. He doesn’t know.”

“Is he treating you ok?” you wanted to be shocked by the question, but you knew what kind of person Ramsay was. He didn’t have girlfriends, and if he did, they never lasted long.

“How many girlfriends did Ramsay have?” it was a valid question. Ramsay never spoke to you about his romantic past. It started several arguments, but it always ended with him telling you: ‘You don’t want to know. You don’t need to know’. Ben leaned back letting out a deep breath. He shut his mouth and then opened it again.

“You know, he told me not to tell you,” Ben said. “One night, he came out with us and smashed pints against the wall. We were kicked out, of course, but he kept on swearing. He told me you two had a fight. Something about his past relationships.”

“I know. I remember.” You recalled that night in the back of your head. You screamed at Ramsay, pointing your fingers at his phone. Ramsay only crossed his arms and waited for you to stop. His blue eyes already turned cold.

“To be honest, a lot of us didn’t think you guys would last this long.” Ben said. A pang of curiosity and hope flickered in you.

“What do you mean?”

“Ramsay’s slept around. He’s fooled around, but he’s never had someone like you. You asked me how many girlfriends he had. That’s not the real question here. What you really want to know is how many serious girlfriends he’s had.”

“And? How many?” your stomach clenched, preparing for the number. Ben cracked a smile.

“Only you.”

“What?” you said in shock.

“Maybe it’s because Ramsay never took women seriously like Domeric did. Maybe it’s because his mother died a long time ago. But, he never had anything serious with anyone until he met you.” Ben eyed the door. Both of you watched Ramsay walk in with Skinner by his side. Ben climbed out of the high stool and turned to you again.

“If Ramsay does something wrong, forgive him. Don’t hide things from him. You don’t know how precious you are to him. I mean it,” before you could respond to Ben’s words, Ramsay walked up to you and kissed your head gently.

“We’re staying here tonight,” Ramsay told you. “Tomorrow we’ll make our way North.”

Taglist:  @angelicshinigami @sugarwastaken @carilov09 @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @i-theredqueen @sleepylunarwolf @trashpandabarnes @loki-0fasgard

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[lindsaywesker]

Good morning! I hope you slept well and feel rested? Currently sitting at my desk, in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day. Welcome to the working week although, for those of you in the NHS, welcome to just another day!

Another wild and varied weekend! I just love how every weekend is different! Different locations, different people, different conversations.

How about that weather on Friday? Thankfully, we managed to get the lessons moved from campus to Zoom, so I didn’t have to leave my study. All the windows were open in my house, there was fresh air circulating and I was never far from my trusty kettle. The Mighty Josiah arrived soon after 5.00 and, after a week of running around in his playground, he had really caught the sun!

Thank you to everyone that listened to ‘The A-Z Of Mi-Soul Music’. My two-hour tribute to Marvin Gaye elicited a lot of response. If a high-profile male music artist decided to date and then have babies with a 16-year-old, social media would probably destroy his career but, before the internet, people could discreetly do whatever they wanted. When it comes to the behaviour of certain beloved artists, people tend to look the other way.

Had a good time at The White Lion on Saturday. Lovely to finally meet Marion Headman, who’s been an active listener to my radio show for quite a while. She had a busy Sunday, so she could only stay for a few minutes. So, we took a selfie and she left but – jeez – talk about a baby face! Marion looks about early-thirties but arrived at The White Lion with a grown-up daughter! Black really don’t crack!

Naturally, Josiah has two grandfathers. The other one is a cool guy called Wayne, part of lovely family up in Luton. On Sunday, I found myself at JRC Global Buffet in Watford, celebrating Wayne’s birthday and father’s day. Obviously, families love these multi-cuisine buffets because: a) they can stuff their faces, and b) no one has to make a decision about what to eat. As usual, I ended-up with a plate piled high with about 14 different flavours! It’s called JRC Global because, by the end of the meal, your belly is the size of a small planet!

I don’t get emotional about father’s day because, every time I go and see Lady Wesker, she tells me another horrific story about my dad. Like millions of women, my mother was promised a certain kind of life by my father and, for a while, from a distance, it probably looked idyllic. When couples break up, people always express surprise. “They seemed so happy!” people will say. What do we know? We know nothing! No one knows what happens behind closed doors. Many people sat glued to the Johnny and Amber case, and what did we discover? Some pretty weird domestic behaviour!

So, last week’s flight to Rwanda ended-up having all its passengers removed. The European Court Of Human Rights mobilised and shut that shit down! At present, the UK is one of the member states of The European Court Of Human Rights. So, what is the UK government planning to do? They are planning to LEAVE the European Court Of Human Rights! What will that mean? The Rwanda deportation flights can take off and we will ALL lose the protection of the ECHR. Every week, this government finds a new way to damage the quality of my life.

If you’re going through some stuff at the moment, I send you a virtual hug of friendship; we’ve all been there. If you’re feeling low at the moment, I hope you get some good news to kill those blues. Have a marvellous and momentous Monday. I love you all.

#mixcloud #mi soul #dj #music #lockdown #new blog #coronavirus #books #weekend #democracy #brexit #cronyism #election

[amarashira]

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[sinky60-blog]

How can any living soul believe this is right, let alone condone it. It's little wonder they are taught this shit in their mosques and no white Muslim only schools. All mosques should be bulldozed to make way for much needed housing. Why not only allow but pay for out of taxpayers money when you would not be allowed to travel and live abroad and build a church of England. If they need to pray a mat will suffice, it was good enough in the 1960's so it's good enough now. Lots of other countries do not allow this crap why should we and that's not racist, that's fact. They will soon become the superior. 20 years they will probably run the country, they get one or two in then spread like a cancer look at Luton, Oldham, Bradford, Leicester, Rochdale etc then turn the clock back 25 years and there's your answer. (at Royton) https://www.instagram.com/p/CCIartHjAyQ/?igshid=1x4gfzqdtxpd0

[hardcorehardigan]

What We Learned From Cillian Murphy And Tom Hardy's New 'Peaky Blinders' Audio Stories

Tommy Shelby and Alfie Solomons' backstories were laid bare

BY TOM NICHOLSON 09/10/2019

Just when you thought you'd had your fill of Peaky Blinders for 2019, in comes a surprise two-hander from Cillian Murphy and Tom Hardy to round off the fifth season.

Yesterday two new audio stories written by Steven Knight turned up on peakyblinders.tv. In the first, Murphy reads a short poem called 'The Ballad of Tommy Shelby', a title which really amps up the Western vibes. It's a little flashback to what Tommy was like as a tearaway young 'un, scampering around Birmingham and getting up to mischief, and then a lyrical explanation of how the young Tommy was traumatised by the First World War and decided organised crime was the sensible option when he got back home.

The second, 'The Gospel of Alfie Solomon' features Hardy in character as Margate's most wanted, Alfie Solomons, doing that thing he does where he tells you a long story which doesn't seem to have any point but is impossible to stop listening to, then suddenly has a very sharp and pointy point which makes you feel a bit scared but a bit thrilled too. So what did we learn from them?

Young Tommy liked attacking people with sticks

Or pretending to, at least. According to the poem, he was "one of them kids, walks around so quiet and brave behind the sleepy lids," one who, "never made a sound he didn't mean you to hear". And he would occasionally leap out from behind bins waving a stick about to frighten people. Just for a laugh, though! Honest!! Just a bit of harmless stick fun!!

The First World War was very much Not A Laugh

What a surprise. Tommy signed up in 1915, the poem says, and "went away in a ship to fight a million other kids and they all drew straws to see who eventually died". His experiences as a tunneller trapped underground are extremely vivid, and you get a suffocating sense of being trapped in the mud and the mire.

The horses were alright though

Tommy's affinity with horses is long-established, but the importance they hold for him is clearly drawn: "the kid came home knowing everyone but the horses lied".

Seeing that devastation brought the Shelby Company Ltd into being

Again, this isn't entirely new ground, but Tommy's motivations in getting the family business together are neatly done. "I'll gather up my brothers and we'll gamble our souls away," Tommy says, vowing to become "the soldier of the living lost". Then there's the key takeaway from the trenches: "It wasn't about what you deserved, but what you got."

Alfie's dad wasn't an ideal father figure

Alfie doesn't like the idea that things become worse over time. "Some things are just born bad," he says. It's like his dad, who he says was "a dispenser of semen... a barbarian". "He did not tend the seed... he stayed only long enough to piss on the compost," he goes on.

His hat is the seat of his power

Alfie says the most he ever saw of his dad was his hat, size eight and a half, made in Luton. That hat is the one he still wears, and it bears this inscription inside from a mercury-maddened hatter: "This hat is a kettle in which to boil up your wicked dreams and make a soup of your soul."

Which Alfie suggests is the main reason he feels compelled to put together plots and plans to advance himself. "When I wear it," he says, "the schemes and proposals come out of the darkness."

Young Alfie was actually quite Bane-y

As an "untended and wild" boy, Alfie had to endure anti-Semitic pummellings from other local kids from the Christian schools, but he drew on the arc of another supervillain. "Every time I got stomped down I fucking stomped back up again, mate," he says. "I survived out of spite." Sounds a lot like Batman's yet-to-be-invented foe Bane, who Hardy played in The Dark Knight Rises.

He's haunted by the murders he's committed

After spending his time trying to find "ways around, ways to undermine" his opponents, Alfie's found that "it is easier to deal with the complainant than the complaint". That means he's had a hand in the deaths of 35 men, "all of whom, I'll have you know, attend my dreams each night in various disguises, in regular order, with no pattern or logic to it". When he wakes up in the morning, his sheets "have to be wrung out from sweat".

But he doesn't feel that guilty, really

Not one tiny bit, in truth. Why? Passchendaele. Take one second of Alfie's time as an artillery man in that battle. "In that one second of one day of one month of four years," he says, he'd swing a shell into a cannon: "Another boom, and there, in the mud, over there, lie 36 men – brown bread." But, he reasons, "in God's ledger," those 36 men mean less than the 35 he's killed since. What's the deal?

Here endeth the lesson

Finally we get Alfie's worldview, in one sentence: "There is no good and there is no bad that is categorical in this world beyond the calculations of powerful men who shift the definition according to their own selfish schemes of accumulation."

#backstories #audio tommyshelby alfiesolomons cillianmurphy tomhardy peakyblinders esquire #uk