A new miscellany for the year 1737. Containing I. The vision of the golden rump, ... II. A dissertation upon kicking, ... IX. Fog´s journal, July 16.: See Notes, See Notes Multiple Contributors
Kicking the Property Ladder:Why buying a house makes less sense than renting - and how to invest the money you save in shares, gold, stamps and more Robin Bennett
A new miscellany for the year 1737. Containing I. The vision of the golden rump, ... II. A dissertation upon kicking, ... IX. Fog´s journal, July 16. ab 20.49 EURO
No sport has gone through the seismic changes that rocked tennis when the game, long a holdout against professionalism and creeping commercialism, abandoned its roots as a genteel, amateurs-only enterprise and became a pro sport, vying for the heart of the public with rivals like soccer, NFL football, or NBA basketball. Peter Bodo, who has covered tennis since the dawn of this ´´Open´´ era as the chief writer for Tennis magazine, was there to witness this transition and what it promised, what it delivered. He has covered the game on every continent since the early 1970s. The Courts of Babylon is more than a collection of essays, most of them growing out of a deep familiarity and, often, relationship with subjects that include Bjorn Borg, Chris Evert, John McEnroe, Evonne Goolangong, Jimmy Connors, Tracy Austin, Ivan Lendl, and Martina Navratilova. It is also a commentary on what was lost and what was gained by the transition to professionalism, and how the new, ´´Open´´ era delivered - or failed to make good - on the promise that professionalism would make tennis a more inclusive, egalitarian, accessible game. Relying heavily on formal, in-depth interviews conducted over two decades and his status as an ´´insider´´ in an insular game, Bodo´s book is both a meditation and exposé, a polemic and a tribute to the players who dragged tennis, often kicking and screaming, to the forefront of the public´s imagination - even when those players got it all too fast and too young. Bodo delves into the darkest and most controversial areas of the game, chroniciling the follies of overzealous parents and pampered athletes. He fearlessly wades into sensitive issues stemming from sex and gender, politics and commercialism. He celebrates the game while holding it to task, all the while acknowledging the reality of the demands and distortions that come with a way of life that is both difficult but glamorous, and eagerly embraced by athletes who, in some cases, ar... 1. Language: English. Narrator: Welland Scripps. Audio sample: http://samples.audible.de/bk/adbl/010493de/bk_rhde_002536_sample.mp3. Digital audiobook in aax.
Munchkin is about kicking down Doors, killing Monsters, and stealing their Treasure. But where are the dank walls of the subterranean labyrinth where our heroes engage in their murderous exploits?Demented Dungeons introduces a new twist on Munchkin. Now you can enter the Dungeon of Elvish Excess, where everyone is an Elf. Or take a Portal to the Dungeon of Manga Wrangling, where tentacles are even more dangerous. Or power up in the Dungeon of Unexpected Epicness - although it´s hardly unexpected,´´ given the name. Or all of them at once!Each of the 20 double-sized Dungeon cards adds a new rule that affects the entire party, and maybe the monsters too! Use the 16 Portal cards to jump from one Dungeon to the next in your search for gold and glory.´´
(2016/Sundazed) 7 tracks. C.A. Quintet´s legendäres Album aus dem Jahre 1968. Psychedelic Rock, gepresst auf goldenem Vinyl. The C.A. Quintets journey to Hades burned hot enough to melt the ice in their frigid Minnesota environs. A coveted collectable since the psychedelic record collecting disaster whirl first started over 30 years ago, Trip Thru Hell (1968) is rightly regarded as the epitome of local psych-cum-garage rising above its humble roots into something truly monolithic. Evolving from the local circuit into a hellish beast of keyboards, lysergic lyrics, trippy guitars and even subtle trumpet parts, the C.A. Quintets vision of the netherworld glowed in flaming orange, red and yellow as their instincts took over. Kicking off with the chilling psychedelicized keyboard-led instrumental title track, the album singes the psyche of the listener with an array of atmospheric beelzefuzz on Colorado Mourning, sitar-like solos intertwining with fuzz and horns on Underground Music, and the more benevolent Lucifer on Smooth As Silk, which swirls with keys and harmony vocals to underscore a brilliant melody. Mortals dare not venture to the sinister realm of the Cold Spider and especially not Sleepy Hollow Lane, a mistier place than even the Chocolate Watchband could dream of visiting. As the first label to give this distinguished work the treatment it deserved 20 years ago, Sundazed returns with this gold vinyl reissue reproducing all of the original artwork and ensuring the authentic analog sound of psychedelia.
Take a mining townlet like Woodhouse, with a population of ten thousand people, and three generations behind it. This space of three generations argues a certain well-established society. The old County has fled from the sight of so much disembowelled coal, to flourish on mineral rights in regions still idyllic. Remains one great and inaccessible magnate, the local coal owner: three generations old, and clambering on the bottom step of the County, kicking off the mass below. Rule him out. A well established society in Woodhouse, full of fine shades, ranging from the dark of coal-dust to grit of stone-mason and sawdust of timber-merchant, through the lustre of lard and butter and meat, to the perfume of the chemist and the disinfectant of the doctor, on to the serene gold-tarnish of bank-managers, cashiers for the firm, clergymen and such-like, as far as the automobile refulgence of the general-manager of all the collieries. Here the ne plus ultra. The general manager lives in the shrubberied seclusion of the so-called Manor. The genuine Hall, abandoned by the County, has been taken over as offices by the firm. Here we are then: a vast substratum of colliers; a thick sprinkling of tradespeople intermingled with small employers of labour and diversified by elementary schoolmasters and nonconformist clergy; a higher layer of bank-managers, rich millers and well-to-do ironmasters, episcopal clergy and the managers of collieries, then the rich and sticky cherry of the local coal-owner glistening over all. Such the complicated social system of a small industrial town in the Midlands of England, in this year of grace 1920. But let us go back a little. Such it was in the last calm year of plenty, 1913. A calm year of plenty. But one chronic and dreary malady: that of the odd women. Why, in the name of all prosperity, should every class but the lowest in such a society hang overburdened with Dead Sea fruit of odd women, unmarried, unmarriageable women, called old maids? Why is it that every tradesman, every school-master, every bank-manager, and every clergyman produces one, two, three or more old maids? Do the middle-classes, particularly the lower middle-classes, give birth to more girls than boys? Or do the lower middle-class men assiduously climb up or down, in marriage, thus leaving their true partners stranded? Or are middle-class women very squeamish in their choice of husbands? However it be, it is a tragedy. Or perhaps it is not.
When their small charter plane goes down in a freak electrical storm in the Bermuda Triangle, FBI Special Agents Quinn MacAllister and Mariah Connors must keep their civilian comrades safe on a mysterious island filled with dangerous sentient lifeforms...and a deadly assassin on their trail! Can they escape unscathed, or will their lives be changed forever? ~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~ ´´Mac!´´ Mariah stared in blank horror as the plane's shattered nose sank beneath the choppy storm-darkened waves, leaving behind only a trail of shimmering bubbles. ´´Mac!´´ Someone was holding her back, pleading with her, clutching her arms in a fierce paralyzing grip. ´´Let me go!´´ she yelled, wrenching free. ´´He's my partner!´´ The bubbles were slowly fading away. She dove, kicking hard, following the plane's lazy descent. Icy darkness enveloped her. Her lungs began to ache and fiery spots danced before her eyes. More rising air bubbles suddenly exploded in her face, blinding her. Then her groping fingers brushed against something slippery. Mac's leather jacket! One last frantic surge of energy moved her weakening legs, propelling her upward again, dragging his heavy weight behind her. Cold rain suddenly lashed against her upturned face. Sputtering, she sucked in deep breaths of precious air. Lightning flared overhead, painfully bright against her dilated eyes as she fought to keep Mac's sagging head above the waves. New energy surged through her aching frame when Reuben's hand locked around Mac's limp arm. ´´Hurry!´´ she shouted. ´´He's not breathing!´´ Esther leaned out perilously far to help, and slowly they hauled his long body into the raft. Then it was Conners' turn, and she wanted to sob with relief as the ocean reluctantly loosened its death-grip on her thrashing legs. Mac was sprawled face-down in the sloshing raft. ´´Help me roll him over!´´ she gasped. Oh God, his lips were blue, and his open eyes were glazed. Helpful hands steadied her as she bent to push air down his windpipe. Again. And again! And again! Suddenly his limp body convulsed, and a gush of salty water erupted from his open mouth. Conners tilted his head to one side and let the water drain. ´´Breathe, Mac!´´ she ordered, pushing hard against his ribs one last time. ´´Come on, damn it! Breathe!´´ He jerked again, and this time she heard the sweet rush of air filling his lungs. His chest began to rise and fall in a slow, rhythmic cadence as his taut muscles relaxed. Another huge wave crashed into the raft, drenching them with icy spray. ´´How long will this storm last?´´ Reuben shouted in her ear. Suddenly the black clouds and shrieking winds vanished. For one ageless, nauseating moment, the entire world seemed to whirl in dizzying spirals. Then a soft, warm rain began to patter down around them. She bolted upright and stared wildly around. ´´What the hell...´´ It was impossible. Fierce squalls didn't just appear and then disappear in the blink of an eye. But the violent electrical storm was gone. The gigantic crashing waves were gone. And as they watched in stunned disbelief, the hazy gray clouds overhead simply melted away, and the golden sun began to shine down from a perfectly clear blue sky. The ocean around them was calm, gentle...and empty. The other life raft was nowhere to be seen.
Eight madcap tales of unpredictable dragons - including one made of ice, another that takes refuge in the General Post Office, and a fire-breathing monster that flies out of an enchanted book and eats an entire soccer team! The Book of Beasts (Excerpt) He happened to be building a Palace when the news came, and he left all the bricks kicking about the floor for Nurse to clear up-but then the news was rather remarkable news. You see, there was a knock at the front door and voices talking downstairs, and Lionel thought it was the man come to see about the gas, which had not been allowed to be lighted since the day when Lionel made a swing by tying his skipping rope to the gas bracket. And then, quite suddenly, Nurse came in and said, Master Lionel, dear, theyve come to fetch you to go and be King. Then she made haste to change his smock and to wash his face and hands and brush his hair, and all the time she was doing it Lionel kept wriggling and fidgeting and saying, Oh, dont, Nurse, and, Im sure my ears are quite clean, or, Never mind my hair, its all right, and, Thatll do. Youre going on as if you was going to be an eel instead of a King, said Nurse. The minute Nurse let go for a moment Lionel bolted off without waiting for his clean handkerchief, and in the drawing room there were two very grave-looking gentlemen in red robes with fur, and gold coronets with velvet sticking up out of the middle like the cream in the very expensive jam tarts. They bowed low to Lionel, and the gravest one said: Sire, your great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, the King of this country, is dead, and now you have got to come and be King. Yes, please, sir, said Lionel, when does it begin? You will be crowned this afternoon, said the grave gentleman who was not quite so grave-looking as the other. Would you like me to bring Nurse, or what time would you like me to be fetched, and hadnt I better put on my velvet suit with the lace collar? said Lionel, who had often been out to tea. Your Nurse will be removed to the Palace later. No, never mind about changing your suit; the Royal robes will cover all that up.... About Edith Nesbitt: Edith Nesbit (married name Edith Bland ; 15 August 1858 - 4 May 1924) was an English author and poet; she published her books for children under the name of E. Nesbit . Nesbit published approximately 40 books for children, including novels, collections of stories and picture books. Collaborating with others, she published almost as many more. According to her biographer, Julia Briggs, Nesbit was the first modern writer for children: Nesbit helped to reverse the great tradition of childrens literature inaugurated by Lewis Carroll , George MacDonald and Kenneth Grahame , in turning away from their secondary worlds to the tough truths to be won from encounters with things-as-they-are, previously the province of adult novels. Briggs also credits Nesbit with having invented the childrens adventure story . Noël Coward was a great admirer of hers and, in a letter to an early biographer Noel Streatfeild , wrote she had an economy of phrase, and an unparalleled talent for evoking hot summer days in the English countryside. Among Nesbits best-known books are The Story of the Treasure Seekers (1898) and The Wouldbegoods (1899), which both recount stories about the Bastables, a middle-class family that has fallen on (relatively) hard times. The Railway Children is also known from its adaptation into a 1970 film version . Gore Vidal called the time-travel book, The Story of the Amulet one in which Nesbits powers of invention are at their best. Her childrens writing also included numerous plays and collections of verse . She created an innovative body of work that combined realistic, contemporary children in real-world settings with magical objects - what would now be classed as contemporary fantasy - and adventures and sometimes travel to fantastic worlds. In doing so, she was a direct or indirect influence on many subsequent writers, including P. L. Travers (author of Mary Poppins ), Edward Eager , Diana Wynne Jones and J. K. Rowling . C. S. Lewis was influenced by her in writing the Narnia series and mentions the Bastable children in The Magicians Nephew . (Wikipedia)