Beautiful Helen……. pt2 (erotica)

Continued from Helen part one click ‘pingback here’ and 2 days later here’s the ending, also mild adult fiction.

Boob 2

Quick as a flash, I turned and near ran through my living room door………. 

………………… pulling the front door shut behind me! Helen had disappeared from clipping her pink roses hadn’t she, vanished into thin air?

I paused in my driveway my breathing beginning to steady as a spinning brain caught up after a very surreal last half an hour. One minute I’d been jerking myself off watching my gardening neighbour’s jiggling boobs within her yellow blouse, the next Helen over the road lifted the cotton top, showing me her pert round breasts and on reflection I’d say they’re a B cup!

Anyways now I’m perspiring searching for Helen who, if you read part 1, had incredibly beckoned me over to her home!

A thought crossed my mind, ‘the minx was playing games, she’d caught me watching her garden and teasingly flashed her tits’, oh ‘blank’ my heart sank! Helen’s getting her own back, leading me on with intentions of………. ?

A feeling of disappointment seeped into my mind, no more a worrisome thought, perhaps she’d cleared off to tell her husband I’m a Peeping Tom! ‘Oh God No’ as I quite involuntary felt an ache in my stomach, then my mature wet dream with a smiling face appeared from behind the corner of her house.

Waving her arms vigorously, Helen beckoned me a second time calling out,

“Andrew!……………….. Andrew, hurry up man” taking a sideways glance up the road she turned and continues,

“Hurry up, we haven’t much time!” All the while her arm waving me over and quite vigorous it was to, yummy mummy Helen really DID want me OVER!

Hurriedly stepping off the pavement I ran across the road remembering to glance both directions,

“Jeeze I don’t want to be hit by a car not now of all days”, I muttered.

My mind now trying to comprehend what an earth was happening in my life, at the same time a beating heart pounding within my chest blood pumping into my brain giving a numbed headache, a sexually excited thought consumed me as I jogged toward her garage and down a tiled path toward an alleyway leading to her rear garden, ‘doe’s she want my hard dick I wonder?’

From gazing out my window to jogging this claustrophobic pathway is but a minute yet felt like a lifetime, I mused “Hell’s fire, is this crazy woman tripping on drugs?” 

No sooner had I finished saying what could be my final sentence here on earth, my pace slowing to a briskness as I walked from the shadowed confines of a tight walled alley into the glaring sun of a VERY surreal late afternoon!

I stopped, soon followed by a near heart attack that could have taken my final breath as Helen jumped out from behind the house, flinging her arms around my shoulders she drew me closer as her back hit the wall and rather too hard to be comfortable.

Helen’s arms encircling my shoulders, my face but inches away from hers I felt warm breath against my mouth, and pulling me yet tighter into her body my two hands moved aside her hips as curling fingers held Helen’s waist. So close now our bodies touching from chest to thighs I felt her warmth through thin cotton fabric, her bosom rising with every intake of excited breath, my bulging groin now pressing deep into Helen’s crotch, and so large was my thickened dick it felt uncomfortable to move.

We kissed, passionately two adulterous lover’s wet lips parted open, the tips of our tongues touching entwined and dancing, my eyes wide open, Helen’s closed as her head moved from one side to the other her gorging lips devouring mine. For several minutes we deep throat kissed until finally one of us said something breaking a pre coitus silence.

Pulling her face from mine, Helen quite out of breath said,

“Andrew we haven’t much time”, smiling so sweetly her lips pecked me on mine and my heart began to sing, now my frenzied brain had finally caught up with the past 5 minutes near dreamlike incredulity. ‘Oh yes I’m quite alive’ I mused while standing in Helen’s rear garden pressing her against the wall kissing cuddling and for this brief moment her soft wet lips showed all I ever needed to know, ‘Helen wanted me, needed me, loved me!’

“My husband’s buying paint at the DIY store” she smiled a wanting fire lit in her eyes, “there’s no time to f### right now”, that was a shock and a half I can tell you……. ‘WHO SAID ANYTHING ABOUT SEX?’ “But I will jerk you off this time” she continued with a grin “I could see you staring at me and wanking, you dirty devil Andrew!”

Pausing blushing and smiling at my adulterous siren, Helen went further, “I was watching your right arm jerking, tell me did you come?”

“NO, and stopping near killed me Helen!”

Me open mouthed, a look of shock across my face, I just about got a questioning “you mean my curtain’s are actually see through?” 

Then at the very point of Helen answering, my torso pulled back, the palm of my open right hand thrust into her crotch groping and squeezing her intimacy, my fingers prising her thighs apart as they curled underneath her fanny bridge, warm soft no doubt twitching and ready.

Helen gasped whatever she was about to answer unable to come from her mouth.

I squeezed her crotch tighter cupping my palm ever wider, the other hand now tugging at the button of her jeans a sexual excitement overtaking any lingering inhibitions. My imagination had long ago dissipated now replaced by a carnal primeval lust, the only thought ‘my fingers are going between her pussy lips whether she stops me or not!’

(Remember 🙂 this is a tall tale)

My fumbling fingers having unbutton her jean’s 28″ waist I pulled down the cold metal zipper, excitedly tugging at the raw cotton sliding down her shapely thighs, bending my knees as I crouched. Standing again my left arm reached around Helen’s hip an open hand squeezing a buttock feeling it’s roundness beneath soft cotton panties. As my right hand felt her ass, fingers of my other hand fumbled again into Helen’s crotch as I pulled her pantie gusset to one side, wriggling dexterous fingers in between parted folds of moist labia, all the while our faces but inch’s apart staring into each others eyes and both breathing ever deeper.

She smiled again, whimpering panting then catching a breath again as my dancing fingers touched a sacred pleasure spot, and after what seemed an age of fingering Helen’s dripping wet treasure, she worriedly repeated her stark warning,

“Paul won’t be long, we’ll f### another day Andrew” betraying a sadness in her eyes, she continued “you feel so big and thick against me, I’ll take you inside I promise”, then glancing down at her wrist watch and looking terrified, she said,

“Omg he’ll return in minutes, you have to go! NOW!” Such a crying shame I mused with my hand deep under Helen’s crotch and fingers searching for god knows what inside her warm pussy?

The excitement all tooo much for me, remember I was at a point of climax but ten minutes ago, I felt my ball’s rising as their storks shortened, my throbbing penis bucking as gorgeous sensations excited the nerve endings around the rim of my ‘bellend’, “I can’t hold back any longer” I whispered, panicking thoughts of ‘this passion’s all to much for me’ flooding my mind numbed drugged and slightly euphoric.

My eyes losing contact with hers, my head jerked back as I ejaculated thick creamy semen into my boxer shorts, warm and sticking to my thigh, an audible “I’m coming” gasping through open lips as I released, and God how I kept releasing!

The End.

(All very tame content with zero sex, oh and BTW my last erotic sexy tale for a while 😉 )

©A. Shepherdson 2018

 

 

Beautiful Helen from across the road (erotica)

Click ‘here’ for ‘Beautiful Helen from across the road’ The Ending!!!

Boobs 4

I’m standing close behind the living room window gazing at my neighbour Helen across the road, but don’t worry she cannot see me I’ve got net curtains that’s why, and take note I’m not a curtain twitcher or a peeping Tom looking at what others are up to in their spare time. No it’s just people pass by and used to look through the window into my living room, so UP went the net curtain!

But watching Helen busying herself pottering around her front garden is different, and I’m not being nosey mind, certainly not because this is me time, a time to gaze and appreciate my beautiful neighbour from across the Road.

Helen’s an elegant young looking fifty year old, with a slim and slender body now crouching on the lawn facing me, one knee pressed into the grass, a trowel in hand weeding around the bases of her delightful and loved rose trees.

Every so often she’ll lean forward her pretty face a picture of concentration as her arms tug at stubborn dandelions the most invasive of plants, and I watch and wait for these very moments because invariably at the same time as her vigorous gardening the looping neck line of Helen’s baggy yellow blouse opens to reveal pendulous firm boobs waving from side to side. Then if I really concentrate my gaze I can just about see her nipples, large dark disks of areola they are, chocolate brown in fact now vividly contrasted against her milk white skinned boobs.

Omg there must be a particularly hard weed to pull out because she has to stand up bend forward and tug with all her slender might, and joy of joys the neck of her oversize blouse drapes further and opens even wider to reveal both breasts now swinging untethered by a tight fitting bra. Oh thank you Sweet Jesus for summer gardening days such as these!

A questioning thought suddenly crossed my mind, jeeze I pondered, Helen doesn’t half spend a long time weeding that same patch directly opposite me! Glancing down at my wrist watch, and now very shocked to see my neighbour in the early autumn days of her life hadn’t moved from weeding that single pink flowering rose tree for, I stared at the dial and quite taken aback I realised for the last ten minutes……… I physically gulped in shock! A cold shiver went down my spine, omg I thought to myself, ‘Helen knows I’m watching, my curtains aren’t blocking my voyeuristic playtime as well as I’d hoped and assumed.’

‘Holy f*ck!’ my brain momentarily in seizure, ‘jeeze what happens now’ I thought with beads of sweat forming on the skin of my brow, and all the time I rushed to let go of the shaft of my hardened penis, tugging at the elasticated hem of my boxer shorts, because yes I’d been masturbating whilst gazing at Helen’s pendulous swinging boobs with chocolate coloured nipples!

As you can imagine my mind’s in a state of excited panic, my heavy breathing isn’t only because I’d been caught watching, no minutes earlier I’d very nearly climaxed. creamy jizz soon to squirt into a white tissue held with the other hand, my excited hard shaft bucking and twitching about to shoot its load!

Yet more panic as I reached down to pull up my jeans and all this time Helen stood like an ashen faced manikin straight out of a teen horror movie, motionless, erect her face staring unnervingly straight at me through a net curtain more see through than I’d ever assumed!

‘What an earth happens now?’ I thought. ‘Does she run for her husband? Call the Police to arrest the peeping Tom from across the Road?’ A myriad of awful doom laden thoughts flashed past my mind as I finally zipped up my jean flies, my clothing now straight!

I felt my cheeks burning hot, cold droplets of perspiration trickling down my torso, my armpits now as warmed as all other erogenous parts of my body, then Helen did something so incredible, so close to unbelievable I nearly cannot write of the shock right here! Helen lifted her two arms, hands clasping the hem of her vivid yellow flouncy cotton blouse, only to pull the garment to first passing her waist, pause, then yet further still up and over her bosom so revealing two round breasts…………….. both approx a palmful therefore from experience I’d say a fulsome c cup.

So previously close to orgasm I nearly jizzed inside my boxer’s there and then!

Open mouthed my face a picture of bewildered incredulity, Helen smiled from across the road and for a second I don’t think I’ve felt such a mixture of relief and happiness mixed into one. But hold on her right hand no longer holding the garment’s waist hem, Helen raised her arm and with a curled up first finger my beautiful neighbour from across the road beckoned me closer.

Quick as a flash, I turned and near ran through my living room door……

To be continued and the link to part two you’ll find at the beginning!

©A. Shepherdson 2018 original and written by me.

Roald Dahl’s advice to short story writers – a response to LA

‘Today’s post is a response to ‘LA’ over at Waking up on the wrong side of 50, a slightly irreverent, thought provoking, funny and always entertaining Lady. I’m the first to admit my tales break creative writing rules though I HAVE learnt a few tricks over the months 😉 , anyways LA has intrigued me with her thoughts of creative writing and well her post nudged my mind into remembering this story about the author Roald Dahl………… and his fascinating insight into the use of adjectives!’

kkkkkHmm, I wonder what Roald Dahl’s thoughts on text speak would be? Especially the word LOL 😀 .

The time I’ve spent searching the internet trying to find the letter below……………. (shaking his head in frustration!)……… lol 🙂 ages that’s how long, but seeing as I’m sharing a few thoughts on creative writing I was determined to seek out Roald Dahl’s advice for ALL teller’s of short stories, this 2015 article I’d read many months ago and was determined to find…………. note as you’d expect typewriter written!

Roald-Dahl

I’ve never forgotten Roald’s letter (above) posted back to a young fan who sent him a short story he himself had written, and I love the line ‘surely it is better to say “she was a tall girl with a big bosom” than “she was a tall girl with a shapely, prominent bosom”, or some such rubbish. The first one says it all.

(Is Dahl ‘showing’ us her boobs leaving the shape and size to OUR imagination, rather than ‘telling’ us exactly what they are?)

For some unknown reason Dahl’s acerbic advice is now imprinted into my imagination, and what is SO wrong with ‘shapely and prominent’? Forget her tits for a second, the fact Dahl has scant regard for descriptive adjectives has ALWAYS fascinated.

So all this talk of creative storytelling prompted the topic of writing novels! Do I have one inside me?

Life is full of many universally known phrases whichever your chosen language, I’m referring to sayings rather than inspirational quotes a genre I’m not keen on only because I’m an idle unmotivated bugger!!! But if quotes work for you that’s fabulous, perhaps I should try?

Returning to recognisable phrases and one particularly noteworthy ‘gem’ of advice and interest to WordPress blogger’s, how do I know? Because I’ve read their thoughts on the matter, so here is the universally acknowledged saying of which I speak!

“Each one of us has a Novel inside them!”

:/ Hmm so ‘Andrew’ do I have a novel waiting to be born into this world?

Note the word Novel because we ALL have stories to tell, my blog has many tales of the afternoons spent consensually making love to women (I have 3 more to come!) I cannot speak for everyone but I find writing life stories flow quite easily, I visualise the setting and just put those mind’s thoughts to ‘paper’.………. whether the tale is any frigging good is a whole different question.

So here I return to Roald’s critical advice posted to a young fan and note ‘Jay’ was far from upset, in fact the young lad became a journalist saying he’s quite literally lived his working life by those words…………….. so I got to thinking should I be SO afraid of attempting to write a book when Dahl is SO dismissive of the over use of descriptive language.

I adore Thomas Hardy for his wonderful descriptions of rural England, but jeeze Hardy can be near tortuous difficult reading, I persevere simply because of the sheer brilliance of Chapter One in ‘Far from the Madding Crowd’.

But being serious for a second I ask do each of us have a book inside us? Printable into hard copy, purchasable in a bookshop for actual pounds and pence? Worthy enough to be stocked upon the shelves in a library or deemed such a fun read that you’d share and tell a friend? Hmm yes we all have books within us, Amazon is filled with them poetry humour fun reads but as for a novel I don’t think so simply because I like many people have glaring gaping holes in creative writing, I cannot tell you which but I know for certain I have .

Importantly I have a suspicion serious novel writing has to be fun much the same as blogging because if you don’t enjoy the process then why bother 🙂 ❤

On reflection I don’t have a novel inside, short sexy stories yes but a novel? No I’ve some lessons to learn before attempting that…………….. but you go for it LA, I promise I’ll buy. Novels appear to be a labour of love as all great hobbies should be, they’re difficult to write, structures genres and rules to abide by, but if I didn’t have to share my work with a teacher or classmates then I know I’d enjoy learning how to write creatively.

To wrap up this post I’ll leave you with thoughts of character driven dialogue versus descriptive scene setting, now there’s a writing conundrum if ever I read one.

(After writing this post I stopped by a Roald Dahl fan website and read extracts from his various books, and all I can say is the man was a genius storyteller……… and using a typewriter with NO spellcheck!!………. I’d be f#####d without spellcheck!)

A. Shepherdson 2018

Ray’s Detective writing challenge!

Ray this Detective challenge of yours captured my imagination, my very first picture prompt actually and fascinating to me because three quarters in, without a care in the world I wrote myself into a literary dead end! If truth be told I very nearly deleted but persevered and came up with an ending which I think works but for the reader to decide. Hmm that possibly gives away my style, an idea, write, and see where a tale takes me?

I enjoyed writing Sally’s cheating husband lol in fact I got a little carried away, but it was fun and passed a few happy hours 🙂 , hope you enjoy and thank you. 🙂 ❤

Ray’s Rules:
You are a private investigator. You have worked for Mrs Sally Canetti during the last 3 months – chasing her cheating husband. Write a short note to her (on the following photo).

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Ray’s picture prompt

I am the Private Investigator

I have worked for Mrs Sally Canetti during the last 3 months chasing her cheating husband

Below is my short(ish) note, posted in an envelope to Sally Canetti with photo

The cheating artist in the photo = Mr Canetti

The artist’s nude model = Scarlet Dufrain

Dear Mrs Canetti,

I trust you’ve been keeping well since we last met, would you believe three months have passed, time flies, and I fear this will be reflected in my increased fee (attached receipt), the train tickets swallowed most of your retainer and London bed and breakfast consumed what little was left!

London I hear you say? Yes your husband visit’s London at the weekends and no doesn’t go fishing with his brother, then again you guessed correct the brother is a lying asshole, so beware the girly chats you have with his wife at the salon, a tissue of lies! Because now for certain I know he IS cheating as you suspected, hopefully my evidence will bring closure and off the record possibilities of great wealth……….. please remember that when you appraise my inflated fee.

Now you’ve recovered from reading the much inflated fee I’m afraid there’s good and bad news, your husband is mistrustful consequently takes great care with fidelities. For six weekends I followed Mr Canetti to London Paddington observing him from a carriage behind, and on each time pulling into the platform we’d alight then I’d lose sight as he hurriedly disappeared from view melting into the crowds. However all’s not lost, every Friday evening I’d follow his journey that little bit farther, that first Friday I lost him at the entrance to Paddington Underground………. very disappointing, all was not lost though, the following Friday I waited at said entrance and would follow him approximately 5 minutes more. Your husband is a clever man Sally, first I lost him after he alighted at Belize Park Station, the bastard waited till seconds before the door shut, jumped out passing him as he walked up the platform as I sped into the tunnel, you’ll guess I lost him.

Well not to worry, I surmised correctly our errant husband follows the same route and to the exact same timetable of trains, so having a hunch I took an earlier train than he to London, travelled the Underground to Belsize, sat in the waiting room with a coffee (note all costs are receipted) as the very same train motioned to pull out the station your husband jumped out and briskly strode through the exit with me in tow. I might add sporting a very self satisfied smug grin but it takes a clever man to hoodwink old ‘Sniffer Dobbins!’ Keeping your husband in view, sniffer by name sniffer nature, I followed close behind and on exiting the Station we took the short walk to Belsize Park (yes it really is a Park) and would you believe it I got lucky at last, because sited alongside the Park sat a row of black taxis, then quick as a flash your husband near leaped from pavement into a cab, so with great haste I might add, I jumped into the cab behind has he sped of into the distance me shouting to the driver,

“My man FOLLOW THAT BLACK CAB!”

And Sally what a splendid driver Abdallah was, with a great haste, as safely he could muster, my Pakistani friend followed your husband across busy London, driving up side streets, swerving around pedestrians, a quick left turn, down a one way street THE wrong way perhaps with a fast corner right, which got me thinking your stickler for timing husband and careful subversive behaviour takes the very same taxi every weekend.

I was proved correct!

We followed, or I should say Abdallah drove as fast he dare trying to keep up, I fed him a lie I was Military Intelligence (MI5) following a suspected carrier of Novochek nerve agent heading for Salisbury, a trick of our Trade is gaining friends, it excites people such as Abdallah to get involved.

Your husband’s car slowed down on driving through a quiet street off Piccadilly Circus, Abdalla followed slowly from behind and we two observed the taxi door open, your husband step out and pay his fare, nervously glance up and down said Street, climb several steps and enters a terraced flat. Though be aware Sally! Mr Canetti didn’t knock and wait for someone to open and let him in, no he took keys from HIS coat pocket, glanced up the Street again and disappeared inside.

Receipts for Taxi fares you’ll find in the envelope!

Here at ‘Findum & Catchum’ Private Investigators, our primary work is following wayward spouses, and experience tells old ‘sniffer’ Dobbins letting yourself into a flat only means one thing, and as I suspected your husband owns said Flat because later that afternoon I paid a special visit to Council records, and yes I guessed correct it’s there in black and white, your husband is sitting tenant for his Flat if by a different name, rather clever actually…… Mrs Canetti on full payment of our Bill I will provide you his address and photographs, yes I’d guess the photo of your husband painting a naked model hanging from a wall has been troubling your mind?

Three months passed while tracking your husband’s secretive clandestine fun and games, but there’s more, with every London Visit to his Flat off Piccadilly Circus, ten minutes to the second after your husband entered his flat, a pretty young lady with flowing long blonde hair would knock the door and Mr Canetti would let her in!

Scarlet Dufrain is her name!

So Sally here my tale arrives at weekend last. Friday I’d taken the precaution to rent a room directly to the rear of his flat, a ‘sniffer’ Dobbins hunch, and yes luck was with me, looking through my trusty camera’s Telephoto lens I would gaze into Mr Canetti ‘s living room with skylight, and another lucky break, your husband and Miss Scarlett Dufrain entered. Yes a Miss Scarlet, do you know her Sally? Well I didn’t and on further enquiries she works for a High Class Escort Agency and is not an artist model, Scarlet by name Scarlet by nature!

So what did they do together, I’d guess that’s troubling you now, well Friday evening he painted Scarlet in various naked poses, still life’s I think they’re known as! No she’s not a model Sally, I regret to inform you Miss Dufrain is an escort, a hooker, a rather pricey seller of sex!

I’d guess he pays her hourly fee with the money he receives from renting his flat out Sunday to Thursday……………. answer’s your question how did he pay for that new Mercedes, so you’ll be comforted to know he’s not returned to armed robbery and holding up Post Offices again! Be happy in yourself after all divorce settlements are made no creditors will appear from the woodwork, my suggested solicitors ‘Simon & Tedesco’ should see you right.

So back I come to 4pm Friday afternoon, there I was peering into Mr Canetti’s living room, the afternoon my enclosed evidence was taken and on payment you will receive photos ALL……… AND now’s the time I have to share the gory details of what your cheating husband got up to each weekend.

Very strange goings on Sally the like I’ve never seen in all my hours of hunting cheating spouses, Miss Scarlet walked into the room first, disrobed to naked, then my third ‘stroke’ of luck for you, she didn’t close the curtains! Scarlet wandered around the living room nude, perhaps looked in a mirror, admired her trim figure, plumped her golden locks then near jumped out of her skin when Mr Canetti walked in dressed as, brace yourself!..………… Dressed as Pablo Picasso so he was, all to paint his ‘Pretty Woman’s’ image in oils, the photos will look great in Court! 

But there was a twist Friday last, Scarlet moved her posing chair to below the skylight, Mr Canetti bound rope around her arms, attaching her to the wall though note with her intimacy hidden, then returning to his easel, with his back to me, I watched him paint Miss Scarlet’s image………. the image of her at the Bow of a ship!

After he’d finished painting Miss Dufrain she was unattached from the wall, and there’s more, the expansive brush stokes whipped him into a frenzy so they did, the final act from this artistic drama being he’d rip off every stitch of his clothing, near throw Miss Scarlet to the floor and there they’d lay on top a threadbare deep green carpet making mad passionate love!

I have ALL the photos taken across five afternoon and they’ll be provided when said Bill is settled in full, and I’d like to think you’d pay ‘Findum & Catchum’ Investigator’s a nice healthy bonus, with my diligent private investigation I’ve recorded many explicit images, enough evidence for ‘Simon & Tedesco’ to take him for every penny he has………. there’s even a London Flat for you Sally, and speaking as your friend, I trust you’ve found my rather long winded tale interesting reading, yes rather long but very thorough.

THAT’S the good news of which I speak now for the BAD.

I have the gravest of news for you Mrs Canetti, awful information that I’ve never had to share with a patron before! Usually an errant spouse will take the greatest of care with protection, but alas each time I watched your husband make love to naked Scarlet on that dark Green carpet, Sally I can hardly bring myself to share with you but I must! The gravest of News is…….. Mr Canetti never once wore condoms! No I’m afraid not a single time and oh boy I saw a great deal of lovemaking. 

Where was I? Condoms! No I fear your husband did not use any. Intimate relations between husband and wife are not the business of ‘Findum & Catchum’ Investigators but as your friend of many many years I don’t really need to spell out do I Miss Scarlet Dufrain is an escort, a hooker an expensive prostitute, she engages in unprotected sex with many a client…………… well Sally I need write no further………….. except go get yourself tested!

Kind regards, ‘Sniffer’ Dobbins of ‘Findum & Catchum Private Investigation Agency’.

 

Original picture prompted tale BY A. Shepherdson 2018

Blenheim Palace photos pt2 (& Trump visit)

My photos and please download and save if you wish.

Blenheim Palace July 2017 pan5Blenheim Palace July 2017 026

I know I’ve written many times this is a politics and religion free blog, but Trump’s visit is more a carnival event rather than working visit, (he’s desperate to have tea with our Queen) now like you all I have personal opinions which I’ll refrain from sharing here……………….. only that if Trump is your guy, your chosen leader then that’s called Democracy in action.

Before I begin I will suggest before reading my Blenheim Palace pt2 you should go and look at the photos in Blenheim a photo post pt1, which I’ll ‘link here’, viewing will both help follow my thread of thought ands saves me having to repeat everything twice aka Trump’s visit! Thank you 🙂 .

So having visited pt1 you’ll now know MY photographs were taken walking around the beautiful Palace Parklands, glorious they were bathed in glorious August sunlight, however to begin with I wish to mention something of Trumps’ official UK visit next Friday! Just be aware Blenheim WILL be global news next weekend.

Number 10 confirmed Friday Donald Trump’s 4 day visit will avoid London, with one caveat, he and the wife will sleep one night at the Ambassador’s residency in Regent’s Park and well that’s all he’ll see of London! Incredible because historically Nixon Kennedy Bush Reagan and Obama have ALL visited Number 10 and the Houses of Parliament, shared tea with the Queen at Buck Palace but such is the threat of major demonstrations Trump is in effect banned from London. Our Capital City thank God hasn’t been suicide bombed in a while, and well I’d guess MI5 MI6 have advised against a visit for his and our own security………. all very sad.

Remember in pt1  lol told you he’d miss London in favour of Blenheim, I was right when I said ‘watch this space’ as I shared the fact Trump’s visit is little more than a stop over visit to Fortress Blenheim Palace, lol I told you so…………. ok someone I know who work’s in security informed me that he’d heard the mountain will be coming to Muhammad, the mountain being British establishment, Muhammad being of course Donald Trump.

Ok here’s a brief itinerary ‘yawn lol’ if you’d really like to know, such a shame because Obama was welcomed with open arms and well Trump IS an unwelcome liability. (Courtesy of Microsoft on-line).

  • The US President’s four-day tour will instead include a military parade at Winston Churchill’s birthplace of Blenheim Palace in Oxfordshire, talks with Theresa May at her Chequers country home, and tea with the Queen at Windsor Castle
  • Trump will spend just a few hours in the capital, when he overnights at the US Ambassador’s residence in Regent’s Park.
  • He will not visit Downing Street, Buckingham Palace or the Houses of Parliament, all of which are expected to feature the biggest protests ever seen during a visit by an American President.
  • The ‘working visit’ lacks the status of a full state visit, but organisers of the event on both sides of the Atlantic have tried to meet Trump’s demands for ceremonial pomp, a military theme and rounds of golf in Scotland.
  • Trump coalition is still planning a Carnival of Resistance across the entire country, and demonstrations – against Trump’s sexism, racism and treatment of migrants – are planned not just in central London but also some of the stops on his now public itinerary.
  • With some Britons expected to take days off work to attend the protest, the main demo in London next Friday will start outside the BBC’s headquarters and end at Trafalgar Square.
  • London Mayor Sadiq Khan has given the go-ahead for a giant “Trump baby” inflatable balloon to be tethered above Parliament Square.
    Amid security worries, intense secrecy has shrouded the President’s plans for months, but Downing Street finally announced details of the event on Friday.
    Trump will arrive on Thursday July 12, when he will come directly from the NATO summit in Brussels.
  • The Prime Minister will then host the President and the First Lady for a black-tie business dinner at Blenheim Palace, the ancestral home of the Spencer Churchill family. The event will begin with a military ceremony performed by the bands of the Scots, Irish and Welsh Guards. The bands will play the Liberty Fanfare, Amazing Grace, and the National Emblem.
  • During dinner, the Countess of Wessex’s Orchestra will perform a series of classic British and American hits. The Royal Regiment of Scotland will pipe the President out at the end.
  • Windsor Castle, where President Trump will meet Queen Elizabeth II next week
  • The next morning, the President and the Prime Minister will visit a defence site, yet to be made public, to witness “a demonstration of the UK’s cutting-edge military capabilities and integrated UK-US military training”.
  • Chequers for bilateral talks on a range of foreign policy issues, over a working lunch. Trump and May will then hold a joint press conference, the only point on the visit when media will have direct access to the President.
  • The President and the First Lady will then travel to Windsor Castle to meet The Queen, a key moment of the entire trip.
  • On Friday evening, they will travel to Scotland, where they will spend the weekend. It is understood that the British government will play no part in the Scottish leg of the trip as it is a ‘private element’ of the official visit.

Finally he is expected to travel largely via his ‘Marine One’ helicopter, so along with ‘Black Hawk’s’ ‘Apache’s’ and May’s helicopter Blenheim Grounds will resemble a Heliport!

Returning to my OWN Palace visit here are photos taken as I wandered the track that leads visitors around the stunning beautiful Parkland, new photos you’ll not see in pt1.

The guy wearing a green shirt, holding a blue rucksack and drinking lemon and lime is of course MEE!

Blenheim Palace July 2017 mis1Blenheim Palace July 2017 036Blenheim Palace July 2017 034Blenheim Palace July 2017 041Blenheim Palace July 2017 032Blenheim Palace July 2017 031Blenheim Palace July 2017 029Blenheim Palace July 2017 028Blenheim Palace July 2017 025Blenheim Palace July 2017 021Blenheim Palace July 2017 019

………………….. AND finally to conclude this rather mixed bag of a post, if you hadn’t heard of Blenheim Palace before July 2018…………watch the TV and you will sooon 🙂 .

A. Shepherdson 2018

 

Czesława Kwoka, died in Auschwitz

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A reflective Post this evening, makes a welcome change and good or bad I can guarantee my blog will never be one theme, I’ve enjoyed writing this 🙂 .

I look at Czesława Kwoka’s Auschwitz registration photograph time and time again, her haunting expression isn’t unique, the many other prisoner photos being colourised so magnificently are equally as haunting and devoid of ALL human emotion.

I look at her, and I wish I could do this post justice, convey how I’ve been feeling whilst reading her true horror story. However I fear I don’t have the breadth of descriptive language and yes I think I lack an ability to convey the upsetting emotions I’m feeling…………. I’ll write you humorous posts all day long of tales sleeping with women BUT serious issues I struggle with and that makes me very angry. And for once I break copyrighted photographs legally, Auschwitz-Birkenau Museum don’t mind, I’d guess the reason is because we should never forget man will imprison the innocent, is capable of murder and when you have the sick enigma of concentration camp deniers, you have to allow the photos to be used for good kind and appropriate reasons, then hopefully we never forget. 

Several years ago I saw a British TV documentary challenging Holocaust deniers, the truly scary part was these deluded people with an agenda appeared to be like you and I? Like I said scary and truly frightening not knowing one could be a work colleague.

You may be thinking Andrew why are you beating yourself up over this, not many people read you and if you don’t enjoy writing this post don’t! I’d answer lol I know, secondly this Blog is for me to read and yes I’ll enjoy the creative process of at least trying to.

I guess an answer would be, several days ago journalists released photos of children separated from their parents caged behind steel fencing AND under bright spotlights 24hrs a day 😮 ! Yes Trump says he’ll backtrack on this problem he created but it’s so so easy for lessons from the past to be forgotten, Czesława died behind Auschwitz fencing 1943 by phenol lethal injection into her heart, she was age 17, her mother had been murdered one month earlier.

🙂 I’m not comparing Trump to Nazism, steel wire fencing seemed to fit that’s all.

The first time I came across ‘Faces of Auschwitz’ was recently in my Reader, are they personalised posts or does everyone. Briefly for I’m not going to repeat, this project is a collaboration between the Auschwitz-Birkenau Museum, an amazing digital colourist Marina Amaral all with the one aim of preserving 38,000 photos from over 1,000,000 innocent prisoners who died. A team of academics, journalists and volunteers created ‘Faces of Auschwitz’ to honour the lives of Auschwitz-Birkenau prisoners, and colourising their registration photos truly brings their individual stories to life.

My parents many years ago visited Auschwitz whilst holidaying in Eastern Europe and my father at the time being a secondary school history teacher, you can imagine this horrific example of the awful depravity human beings are capable of affected him, to torture and murder another human being with a total absence of conscience is hard to accept. That there appeared to be no collective conscience to me is worrying for all our futures………………. mankind is truly a dangerous and complex living breathing animal how did we reach a point in time where murdering a child was accepted.

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Czesława 26947 looking tired malnourished and resigned to her lot, yet her eyes are alive and revealing, a very different stare in each photo! If she’d lived in London 2018 she’d be a student or a happy face waitressing in a restaurant, serving in a bar or whatever…………….. The life we live is purely an accident of birth and nothing to do with Gods.

Why have I chosen Czesława registration photograph above all others? On reflection I’ve chosen her above many others because of her eyes in the centre face on picture, she’s not looking at the camera though at first glance I thought so simply because all others are!

Those eyes tell me Czesława is looking at SOMEONE and she’s wary anxious, that person’s in authority and to be listened to! I’d guess that someone is in charge of this sick registration, a catalogue of 1,000,000 faces soon to die. She has the gaze not of a victim (and time and time again I keep looking at her photo my brain stumbling around for words to describe how I feel) Czesława’s eyes neither hide fear distress or foreboding which on reflection most other prisoners don’t either so I guess they’re resigned to life inside a death camp, the young lady understands yet she cannot comprehend why these people think they are human.

My guess only, my best attempt at describing this wonderful photo, but her eyes speak more than I can put down in text and skilful colourising has transformed an already haunting photo…………….. don’t you agree?

I’ll never be able to answer who she’s looking at, and I’d guess not the photographer! This is pre digital, the camera’s mechanical, the photographer is finger on trigger looking through the lens, no I have the overpowering feeling this young lady is highly intelligent, understands exactly what an SS Officer is instructing her to do, she’s looking at authority following order’s with an anxious concentration. Hmm I’ve tried my best, Czesława’s haunting eyes are directly looking at someone yet devoid of revealing all but a knowing concentration that’s how I emotionally react to this picture, a stunning image for many reasons not least Marina Amaral is a truly gifted digital colourist, apparently crowned ‘the master of photo colourisation’ by WIRED Magazine and she’s truly done the prisoners justice. 

She also has a book out.

I’ll finish this post telling you what little is known of Czesława . She was born in Wólka Złojecka Poland, on August 15, 1928 and born a Roman Catholic obviously her mother Katarzyna’s faith, I’d forgotten Jews weren’t the only people to be murdered in Auschwitz. Czesława and her mother were arrested as political prisoners in the town of Zamość, located in Nazi-occupied Poland on December 13, 1942. It was then during processing by KL Auschwitz’s Nazi SS administrators, Czesława and Katarzyna were assigned prisoner numbers 26947 and 26946, respectively. I guess we count ourselves lucky 38,000 remain because all the rest were burnt by the fleeing guards.

Both died behind a fence in Auschwitz!

‘Faked news’, I’ll say nothing of President Trump because my own Country’s politicians equally excel at feeding the public lies, jeeze they’ve ALL got their f#cking Twitter feeds! But ‘faked news’ is far from amusing I have little people for relatives, I asked one to give me her views of what fake news meant because believe it or not at school she’s actually taught in class the tricks to spotting fake news! Don’t you think that’s so terribly sad? The internet was supposed to be this great exchange of ideas for the betterment of mankind instead it’s a conduit for supplying pornography, laundering money and turning true stories into lies then regurgitating and altering into fake news for political agenda! So very sad if the true story of Birkenau Auschwitz, man’s ability to murder is changed and edited in such a way that future children believe it never happened.

©A. Shepherdson 2018, and note ALL my own work.