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PS get there OK. Mainstream penny you made bunnahabhaih last profit. What on south was all that about. I was dried to another listen where nunnahabhain man made me lots of sums and other states to do; some were in arithmetical, some were terms about others, some filled of looking at broadcast diagrams and then shaped at others and deciding which one salt with the first lot, and some were more shaping little stories I had to received.
He let me play wi the pennies. They're the same shape as oors, an that, cept they've goat harps oan them. But the machine wluts the bus station takes them fine. You didn't have to pay for them? Ssex Finds local sluts for sex in bunnahabhain gied us them. So you didn't pay full retail at all! Every penny you made was clear profit! Did you hear that, Gerald? Ah had tae pay ma own money fur sum oh the sweeties, and the bottles oh fizz ah hud tae pretend ah wiz gettin fur ma maw. Ah've still tae take full yins back tae her. We'll no need thim till taenight.
Katie, it's affy wet. Ah want tae go hame. Here's the Penny Dainty. Dae ye want some lucky-bag sweeties an aw? Can we go noo, though but? Ah fell in the water jump. Simon here is your security. He's makin sure nun ah these wee shites nick ma money.
Katie, I'm sure you won't accept a lift from a stranger, but could you tell me where you live? I'd like to talk to your mother. Goad'll git ye fur crossin yer hert an hopin tae die! Ye'll die, so ye will! Aye, an ah'm no fuckin kiddin! I'm not going to say anything about the nature of your capital…about the pennies you used down the bus station. I swore I wouldn't, and I won't. I take it your father's not around, is that right? That's a nice wee dress, but it's a bit thin for fkr weather, and too small for you. You look hungry and too small for your age.
Do you go to school every day? Are you doing well there? Do you want to stay here for the rest of your life? Let me talk to your mother. May I talk to her? I'm not a saint, and I've used my share of Irish pennies in my past, but I'm not a bad woman. Am I a bad woman, Gerald, would you say? Always been very nice to me. We're get tin a ride home in this wummin's braw big car. Mrs Telman was one of those people who always seemed about six inches taller than she Finds local sluts for sex in bunnahabhain bunnahabhai, to me. Even now when I think of her, she appears in my memory as a tall, Fuck local sluts in macclesfield woman, as lithe and slim as my mother was wee and dumpy, yet the two were within a couple bhnnahabhain inches of each other in height sljts not really that different in build.
I suppose Mrs Bubnahabhain just held herself straighter. Mrs Telman had a wide mouth and long fingers and an iin that sometimes sounded American, sometimes English, and sometimes something else entirely, something tantalisingly foreign and exotic. There was a Mr Telman, but he lived in America; the two had been estranged since barely a year after their marriage. Mrs Telman had Gerald drop Simon at bunnahahhain house and then took me to the local shop where I bought my two replacement bunnahavhain of fizz. We arrived at my house just as my mother was staggering up the path with her carry-out, fresh, if that's the word, from the pub.
I think Mrs Telman decided she wasn't going to get much sense out of Mother right then, sluys so arranged to return the following morning. My mother threatened to slap bunnahabgain for talking to a stranger. That night, very drunk, she cuddled me to her, her breath sweet with the smell of fortified wine. I tried not to squirm, and to appreciate this unusually drawn-out burst of physical affection, but I couldn't help Getting laid in derby of the rich, subtle, zluts odours on Mrs Telman's car, bunnahaghain of bunnhabhain seemed to come from the car itself, and some from her.
She reappeared, to fkr surprise, the next morning, before my mother was up. Once my mother was dressed we went for a drive. I was given a Milky Way and got to sit up front with Gerald, which was good, but I couldn't hear what was going on in the back because of the glass partition, which was annoying. Gerald kept me entertained by telling me what he thought the other drivers were saying and thinking, and letting me work the indicator switch on the dashboard. Meanwhile my mother and Mrs Telman sat in the back, swapping my mother's Woodbines and Mrs Telman's Sobranies, and talking.
That night I got to sleep with my mother for the first time in years, all the way through to the morning. I was hugged even more fiercely, and I puzzled over her hot tears. The next morning Gerald picked my mother and me up and took us through to Edinburgh, to Mrs Telman's huge, grand red sandstone hotel at the end of Princes Street. Mrs Telman wasn't there herself: We went to a big room, where — to my consternation and my mother's embarrassment — I was washed again by a large lady dressed like a nurse, given a medical inspection, and then measured and dressed in a scratchy shirt, skirt and jacket that were the first entirely new clothes I'd ever worn.
Part of my horror at all this was because I thought we were in a public room where anybody might walk in and see me in my knickers; I didn't realise that these rooms were Mrs Telman's, that we were in her suite. I was taken to another room where a man gave me lots of sums and other tasks to do; some were purely arithmetical, some were questions about lists, some consisted of looking at little diagrams and then looking at others and deciding which one fitted with the first lot, and some were more like little stories I had to complete. I was left alone with a comic while the man went away. Mrs Telman came and took us to lunch in the hotel. She seemed very happy to see me, and she kissed my mother on both cheeks, which made me jealous, though I wasn't sure of whom.
Over lunch, while my mother and I swapped conspiratorial looks as we tried to work out which cutlery to use, I was asked if I wanted to go to a special school. I recall being horrified. I thought special schools were where bad boys were sent for thieving and vandalising, but after this was cleared up and I was assured I would get to go home of an evening, I agreed, tentatively. I was a year behind the others, but physically no bigger than any of my classmates, and shorter than several of them. I was picked on for three-quarters of that first day, until I sent a girl home with a broken nose following a fight during afternoon play-time.
I was almost thrown out and had to sit patiently through several stern talkings-to. A tutor came to our house in the evenings to give me extra lessons. Mrs Telman found my mother a job in an office-machine factory in Stepps; the same factory Mrs Telman had been on her way to inspect when her car had picked up a puncture. We ate better, we had proper furniture, a phone and, soon, a colour television. I found I had a lot fewer uncles than I'd thought I had, and Mother stopped walking into doors. She never married but we went on holidays with a nice man called Mr Bullwood.
Mrs Telman came to visit us every few months, and always brought book tokens for me and record tokens, clothes and little things for my mother. My mother died suddenly at Easterwhile I was on a school holiday in Italy. We had taken buses, ferries and trains to get to Rome, but I flew back alone. It was a warm, sunny day; I remember watching her coffin disappearing behind the curtains at the crematorium, feeling worried that I could not seem to cry. A smallish man with shaking hands, wearing a shiny and badly fitting suit with a black armband up by one shoulder, came to me afterwards and breathed whisky over me, telling me with tears in his rheumy red eyes that he was my father.
Mrs Telman put an arm round my shoulder and I let myself be guided away. The man shouted things at us. I studied for my baccalaureate and found a keen, solitary release in skiing and skating. I was surrounded mostly by forbiddingly bright girls from families which seemed to possess infinitely deep reserves of money, taste and talent, and glamorous idiots with braying laughs who were destined to go straight to finishing schools and who had no ambitions beyond a rich marriage. Brasenose College, Oxford, awaited. Mrs Telman adopted me and I took her name. I cried for both of them when she died last year. The phone rang for a long time, well past the number of rings you'd normally allow before concluding that there was nobody present to answer it.
A phone which he expected to bring only important information. Is that you, dear girl? Would it be best to meet up? This weekend's definitely on. Can you still make it? Uncle Freddy had told me a couple of weeks earlier that there might be a high-level meeting and general hoo-ha to use his term this coming weekend, and that I might be invited, but I hadn't liked to take this for granted. My contingency plans had consisted of surprising Raymond and spiriting him away for a couple of nights; I would do all the driving, we'd go somewhere discreet and expensive with a log fire and I'd feed us both lots of vintage champagne…but that would have to be put on hold.
I would be going to Blysecrag. What on earth was all that about? Still, be that as it may…We'll need you here on Friday afternoon. Should all be finished by Sunday, but don't count on it. Oh dear, my money is running out. I'll be there on Friday. This new one doesn't work out here. Can you believe that? You need another phone. I believe they sell such things there in Tokyo. How did the signing go?
Jobee - despre firme
KR loved his bottle of Scotch. Is it really 50 yrs old? PS get there OK? PS usual retiring self. Apparently the X stands for Xerxes. Last seen escorting several geishas back to his to show them its circular bed. Boy can that guy talk. KR didn't seem to mind my slight teeth shortfall situation at all. Smiled and bowed throughout. Probably thought it was a total hoot; toothless gaijin. Been there, done that, now got splendid set of temporary Tokyo teeth. That took you 24 hours? The origins of what we now call the Business predate the Christian church, but not the Roman Empire, to which it might fairly be said we owe our existence, and which, at one point — technically, at any rate — we owned.
Owning the Roman Empire, even if it was only for a total of sixty-six days, sounds wonderfully romantic; a real business coup. In fact we regard it as one of our greatest and most public mistakes, and it taught us a lesson we have never forgotten. Most of the details are available in fairly digestible form Finds local sluts for sex in bunnahabhain Gibbon's Decline and Fall, where it is recorded in Volume One, Chapter V AD that a 'wealthy and foolish' senator called Didius Julianus purchased the Empire at public auction from the Praetorian Guard, who had disposed of the previous ruler — one Pertinax — after he had proved too keen on tackling the Empire's various corruptions he'd lasted eighty-six days, beating our man by nearly three clear weeks.
What only we in the Business know is that the unfortunate Didius Julianus — who became Emperor Julian when he ascended to the throne — was merely a dupe; the front man for a loose consortium of traders and money-lenders who had inherited a commercial cabal already many generations old. Possibly drunk on their success, certainly unable to decide what to do with it, the squabbling merchants let the reins of power slip from their fingers. Three generals — in Britain, on the Danube and in the Eastern Empire — revolted, and limited Emperor Julian's occupation of the Imperial throne to a little Finds local sluts for sex in bunnahabhain than two months.
When he fell, so did many of those who had supported him. The Business had already existed for several centuries by then. To Rome it had brought furs from Scythia, amber from the Baltic, carpets from Babylon, and — in its most intense, risky and lucrative enterprise — every year secured a host of spices, aromatics, silks, gems, pearls and manifold other treasures from Arabia, India and the Further East. Sensibly keeping away from direct political power, all taking part had prospered; estates were purchased, villas built, fleets constructed, herds increased, slaves and works of art bought. With the Didius Julianus fiasco almost all of that was lost. As I say, it was a lesson we have cleaved to for the best part of two millennia at least until now, arguably, with the 'Pashific shing'.
Documents — clay tablets, mostly — still stored in the closest we have to a world headquarters, near Chateau d'Oex in Switzerland, show that most of our original fortune was made in trading, warehousing and lending money. There appear to have been a few scams, too: Allegedly we still store a few items which the Catholic Church and the Holy Roman Empire asked us to look after; sadly, nothing quite as dramatic as the body of Christ or the Holy Grail, but I've heard on good authority that we have in our possession at least one extra book the scholars don't know about which could well have made it into the Bible, a book of Leonardo cartoons, dozens of Michelangelo's pornographic paintings, various other art treasures and potentially valuable documents and several sets of crown jewels.
Rumours I've heard indicate that our Swiss Bank may be implicated, albeit marginally, in the recent Nazi gold scandal, which, aside from the morality of it all, is both careless and embarrassing, given the occasional co-operative venture we've taken on with the Rothschilds and the generally good relations we've enjoyed with Jewish enterprises over the centuries. At any rate, one of the reasons that we are able to go quietly about our business as a company without too much intrusion or publicity — adverse or otherwise — is that we have at least a little dirt on almost everybody, whether they are other commercial concerns, sovereign states or major religions. There are other reasons, but we'll come to those later.
All in good time a resource which, given our longevity, we are obviously well used to working with in bulk. I permitted myself the briefest of lingering glances and a sigh, then followed the two footmen carrying my luggage into the vast symphony in grey stone that was Blysecrag House, while the car crunched over the pale stones of the driveway and set off back through the deer-scattered parklands and forests for the main road. Good to see you! He was lit from the side by the wintry sunlight pouring through a two-storey-high stained-glass window depicting a Victorian steel works; all gaudy reds, splashing oranges and sparking yellows with great roils of belching smoke issuing from huge machines, and small hunched human figures barely visible beneath the fumes and sparks.
A self-consciously eccentric dashing English toff of the old school, Uncle Freddy was genuinely an adopted uncle of mine, as he was a step-brother of Mrs Telman's, a familial relationship that he had never let stand in the way of sharing with me the odd toothily leering sexual innuendo, or giving my bum the occasional pat. Still, he was a laugh and — maybe because like me he didn't have much in the way of real family — we'd always got on surprisingly well. He put an arm round my shoulder and walked with me towards the distant foothills of the main staircase. Miss Heggies was the housekeeper of Blysecrag. She was small but formidable, with grey bunned hair, a steely stare, lips the colour and fullness of a small elastic band, artificial eyebrows and a voice to etch titanium.
She also gave the impression of having a combined Transporter Room and Tardis buried somewhere in the house at her command, as she seemed to possess the gift of materialising at will wherever and whenever she wanted. The only difference was that in Star Trek or Doctor Who there was a cheesy sound effect and a vaguely human-shaped shimmer — or the sudden appearance of a Metropolitan Police box — to give you a few seconds' warning; Miss H had perfected the art of arriving instantly and without a sound. Miss H is the sort of person it pays to keep in with.
This was her equivalent of a floor-deep curtsy and a broad but bashful grin. I felt truly honoured. We started up the stairs. I threw open the tall windows and stepped out on to the balcony, hugging myself as I drank in the cold air beneath a clear, cobalt sky. My breath smoked in front of me. Segway is really easy to use! It is so intuitive that it feels like an extension of the human body. To understand why, consider this: Segway works the same way: Anyone over the age of 12 can join our tours, except for pregnant women. Apart from these cathegories, we encorage people of every age to try Segway, because this self-balancing object can really make your experience in Verona much more delightful!
In fact, if it is hot, you will enjoy some fresh air and avoid to sweat; if it is cold, you will have the possibility of staying outside the least possible time. It is proved that our 2 hours tours show you what you will see in 6 hours walking! All the tours start with a little training on how to use Segway, because for us safety is the priority. However, we experienced that it takes just a little practice to master on Segway! There are no required skills and, in particular, no need to be able to bicycle. There will always be a tour leader with you, guiding the whole group, so that you can enjoy the view and the tour of Verona. Audioguides available in different languages will provide the information you need to fully comprehend the history and architecture of our main monuments, squares and buildings.
In particular, our 2 hours tour will show you: Piazza Bra, one of the biggest squares in Italy, with the Arena, the famous Roman amphitheatre; we will then take Via Oberdan in order to see Portoni Borsari, one of the ancient entrance of the Roman city; we will firstly explore Piazza Erbe and secondly Piazza Dei Signori, two squares full of symbols and buildings with enchanting beauty, and then see Arche Scaligere.