what time was I oor Kornies
what time was I
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What time was I his keeper?
Res yw dhymm godhvos lemmyn.langbot langbot
what time was I
My a gara Maria.langbot langbot
What time was I his keeper ?
Losow a dyv.langbot langbot
But it was clear, the rascal thought that what had happened was only bad luck. He charged at me again, again whirling his arms like windmills. The same thing happened. But this time I had set my feet firmly and I extended my left arm in a powerful jab.
Nyns yw res dhis bos ena.langbot langbot
How was the weather in Italy? It was hot, certainly, very hot. What sort of salesman is James? Which man is your father-in-law? See over there! The short, fat person. Who was her true friend? We all went down to the beach together in order to swim. What is that behind the cupboard? It's surely an old newspaper. The abridgement of the book was too short, I think. I bought twelve new eggs at the farm. What time was it when she came home again? A few words are the best. There was not much wine left for dinner I wanted to go. I was between the rock and the sea. Aren't you cold by the door there? Put some oil in the engine; it's empty it seems. The story 'A Thousand and One Nights' is not one story but many stories in one book. How was the weather at that time? It was cold, very cold. There was a hole in the roof of her house and that same hole was wide.
My a wrug eva an dowr.langbot langbot
“If one in six zombies will recover,” she said, now somewhat incredulous, “and is therefore now being killed unnecessarily by our forces, then that’s ...” “...a major war crime,” I completed her thought. “Yes, I think that was what I said the other day to anyone who cared to listen – before Dr Mengele had me silenced. Am I right?” Ingrid ignored my question – and the reference to ‘Dr Mengele’, her superior officer . “But this is simply appalling,” she continued. “If it’s true what you say, we are bombing, shooting and burning thousands of kids who would otherwise recover. Why didn’t you say anything about this at that first lecture, when you had the chance?” I raised my eyebrows at her in mild surprise. She had obviously stopped listening to me - both now and back then. I let it pass. “Cast your mind back to that lecture, doctor. Firstly, you may recall that I was rather rudely interrupted before I was able to finish my comments to the assembled troops ...” Ingrid cast her mind back – and nodded a sheepish concession to me. “ ... and, secondly, what exactly do you think our ‘military planners’ would do differently if they thought the ones who might survive were probably ‘just a bunch of poofters’ - or ‘faggots’, as the doughboys would call them. Ingrid nodded again – slowly this time. She understood what I was saying only too well. The armed forces of the 1970’s did not tolerate gays within their ranks – and the generals would have little care if some gays were ‘wasted’ as ‘collateral damage’. Official tolerance of gay personnel would have to wait until the 21st century. Maybe Ingrid herself was gay – I didn’t ask and was not told. (How ironic – in view of the US military policy which was to come, much later.) In any event, she fell silent for a time and we continued to sit opposite each other at that small wooden table in a stuffy interview room.
Eus mona dhedhi?langbot langbot
The Corporal was, of course, correct on both counts – neither Ingrid nor the U.S. Sergeant, both theoretically superior in rank, had any authority to order him about. Stalemate. I could see the Sergeant was going to move – even more – into bullying mode. I judged that it wouldn’t work on the Corporal – who obviously knew very well what was the proper chain of command. So, it was time for me to stand up and be counted. I crawled from the back of the first jeep and stood uncertainly beside it. I called out weakly to the guards: “Gentlemen, I’m the reason these officers are here. I’m the one who has caused the rioting over on the parade ground ...” I paused, giddy from standing, before completing my thought. “ ... If you don’t let these guys lock me up for my own protection, you’re going to have a lynching on your hands. I suspect the Camp Commandant will not be well pleased when he has to explain to his superiors why my body is swinging from the flagpole in the morning – when you could have saved him the trouble simply by obeying the orders of the officers now standing in front of you. So, what do you think?” Both the Sergeant and Ingrid turned, as one, and gaped at me in amazement. (Why hadn’t they thought of that?) The guards knew who I was and why I was being held in the camp – it seemed everyone did. The Corporal looked at the Sergeant. “You wanna lock this guy up? Why didn’t you say so in the first place? That’s easy – no orders required.” And, with that, I joined the Sergeant and Ingrid, the guards stood aside and we entered the building without further ado. Then the Sergeant briefly turned back and spoke to the now-confused driver of the second jeep – who was apparently in on the overall plan and had been listening to everything that had just been said: “You’re dismissed, soldier. I will see you later.” The driver of the second jeep, briefly, looked puzzled.
Yth esa an kathik owth eva leth yn-dann an voos.langbot langbot
I don’t know what was said at half-time but in the second half the Pirates were far more aggressive – something which was lacking in the first half – and soon turned the tables and were putting the pressure now on the Worcester defence. This pressure was rewarded and following some brilliant interplay amongst the back line, The Pirates scored under the posts. With the score now 14-24, things didn’t seem so bad, and slowly the Pirates started to rule matters. Their scrum was pushing back the Worcester scrum and they were putting together some very dangerous attacks. In the 70th minute Shay Tucker broke though the Worcester defence and scored under the posts – 21-24. The last 10 minutes belonged to the Pirates and a tiring and pressurised Worcester team seemed relieved to hear the final whistle. Final score, The Cornish Pirates 21, Worcester Warriors 24.
Yeyn ov.langbot langbot
Shaking all over from the exertion, I managed to do this – not so gently. I had no strength at all in reserve and marvelled at the fact that the two of us had managed to carry this massive thing so far. I stopped and, trying to control my quivering, listened. No snoring was audible. It was still night and the guard’s snoring had been clearly audible from this distance on the night before. “Anyone there?” came a stern-sounding voice. Bugger – I had been heard by the guard. (What ever happened to the imprecation “friend or foe” that I had been taught in my time as a toy soldier?) Or, maybe, he had merely been awakened by the noise without really hearing it. (Or so I hoped.) I motioned to David to remain still. I heard the guard noisily lifting his rifle – the sound of the thick, woven strap casually slapping the butt was quite distinctive for me. The sound of heavy boots, equally familiar, started approaching us. Fight or flight? Neither – stay put! “Anyone there?” the voice repeated, with perceptible uncertainty. Uncertainty? Yes, that’s what we wanted. I decided we should stay put and, soon the footsteps retreated without the guard having seen us. I knew the plan had gone too far for us to abandon without raising suspicion – and, probably, initiating a detailed search of the cemetery which, as far as I knew, had not previously been done. (After all, who hides in a cemetery?) David and I stood, frozen to the spot for about twenty minutes before we heard the resumption of the guard’s snoring. Time to move. The main driveway to the cemetery was, unfortunately, relatively flat. So, for silent running, it needed both of us to push the khaki-coloured ute, me from the driver’s wheel and David from the rear. (It took some little time to indicate to him what it was that I required but I needed his strength. So, I persisted until he understood.)
My a vynn kavos dha woos.langbot langbot
‘If you were in a hurry, the road would have served you better,’ said the farmer. ‘But I wasn’t worrying about that. You have leave to walk over my land, if you have a mind, Mr. Peregrin. And you, Mr. Baggins - though I daresay you still like mushrooms.’ He laughed. ‘Ah yes, I recognized the name. I recollect the time when young Frodo Baggins was one of the worst young rascals of Buckland. But it wasn’t mushrooms I was thinking of. I had just heard the name Baggins before you turned up. What do you think that funny customer asked me?’
Res yw dhymm prena bleujyow rag ow hares.langbot langbot
THE MISSING BIT OF THE STORY I don’t know what happened next. I wasn’t there and never heard. At the relevant time, I was drifting in and out of consciousness in the infirmary – still feeling like shit whenever I awoke properly. (In more recent times, doctors have told me that they are amazed that I survived at all. As well as my lungs being badly scarred, there was evidence of bleeding in the brain, revealed by an MRI years later. The doctor who did the scan told me that I looked like a boxer who’d had too many fights. But, surely, he must have exaggerated – after all, I ended up pursuing a reasonably successful career (though, I confess, I often feel a bit vague these days.) In any case, over the years, I have ‘filled in’ the missing bit of the story – in my own mind, at least. This probably bears no relationship to what actually happened but I’ll share this version of the missing piece with you. If you ever find out what really happened, write and let me know – I’m still curious. o0o The Prince of Wales Hotel, Emily Street, Seymour, Victoria, Australia. This was a favourite watering-hole for Australian troops returning to Puckapunyal from the zombie ‘battle’ front. (Others favoured the Terminus Hotel and the Railway Hotel – but you don’t need to know that.) The overseas troops who were still on the base – and who had not yet been deployed to the battle front – also favoured the Prince of Wales. How shall I describe the Public Bar of the Prince of Wales, circa 1970? Ever been to a country pub that has not been renovated since around that time? If so, you’ve seen the Public Bar of the Prince of Wales: definitely no soft surfaces, a worn and cracked linoleum floor (for easy cleaning) and a number of ‘tall’ wooden tables around which knots of drinkers gathered and upon which they rested their glasses.
Yma dhodho kath wynn.langbot langbot
I hit the big green button at the side of the doors and they slid open just as normal. (The doors had been barricaded but never disabled – I knew this well.) I stepped through the doors and calmly – well, not that calmly – stepped towards the spot where David lay. The doors closed behind me, muffling the urgent yelling that was coming from the foyer of the library. As one, the zombies stopped their aimless milling about – and fixed me with their dead eyes. I kicked David, now twitching incessantly, in the ribs: “Get up, you lazy shit! I think I’m going to need you.” He kept twitching but didn’t exactly bounce to his feet. This was, shall we say, disappointing. The zombies started closing in my direction, forming an ever-tightening semi- circle about me. I was starting to doubt the wisdom of my plan. So, I kicked David again – much harder this time. “Come on, Dave. Your friends think I’m the first course!” This time he responded. (I never doubted him, really. Really, truly.) Groaningly, he rose to his feet and he, too, fixed me with his new-found zombie- stare. He stared at me for what seemed like (but probably wasn’t) a long time. It was plain that he knew me – I felt this in my own bowels – but how would he now regard me? (Not as lunch, I hoped.) The circle tightened further. First one, then another zombie reached out for me. Glancing touches – no grabs or bites just yet. I kept my eyes firmly on David’s: “Um, now would be a good time to have a quiet chat with your mates,” I said – with more than a little urgency. “Dave? Mate?” David got the message – eventually.
Yma tri hi dhymm.langbot langbot
There were two viewing windows to the chamber. I guessed that I was the show. At one window, stood what would now be considered an ancient video camera of considerable bulk. My ‘show’ was to be recorded. The chair into which David was securely tied was placed at the other viewing port. He had a perfect view of me – and I of him. A second ancient video camera was pointed at David. I was not hooked up to an EEG machine this time but, curiously, David was. He had all the electrodes stuck to his shaven scalp – just like last time – and these led by wire back to a screen. But for me? Nothing. What did this remind me of? Suddenly, I became very anxious and loudly demanded to be let out of the chamber. Could they hear me? Would it have mattered if they could? David could see my anxiety and started to roar. None of this mattered to the Captain. Did Ingrid know what was about to happen? I screamed for mercy – in a flash, I had remembered what all this was about. I had seen the horrific archival film from Auschwitz. This guy really was Mengele’s successor and I was about to die an agonising death. Why? Was there a reason? “Start the vacuum pump,” he ordered loudly – and I heard the electric motor thump into action. Fuck! I looked through the window at David – he was no use. He was just complaining, as usual. Dr Slimy-smile was peering intently at me from behind one of the cameras. Ingrid was not visible to me but, no doubt, she was somewhere in the background. Soon the air began to thin and my breathing became more rapid. Just as with a mountain climber’s body, my body was trying to compensate for the lack of oxygen by making me take in more air. More air meant more oxygen. It would only work for a short time – I knew that.
Yma dha gi omma.langbot langbot
For the moment, I put this to one side. I entered the Student Union shop – which seemed relatively unscathed. The shop contained the usual university memorabilia: tee-shirts, trophies, commemorative plates etc. But I was not interested in those. At the back of the shop, sitting unloved on the shelves, was a pile of bedding sets: sheets and pillowcases. That’s what I needed. I collected two sheets emblazoned with the university crest and motto (“Postera Crescam Laude”) and took them outside to where Meryl lay. Collecting her remains into the sheets was not pleasant but it was done swiftly – as the sated zombies lounged about the scene of her death, looking on with what seemed like puzzlement. There was no time to bury her, of course, but I gently placed her remains inside a large wooden planter box which was otherwise vacant at the time. I mumbled a Hail Mary and an Our Father – no time for a whole decade of the rosary – and then covered the planter box with a few branches that I hastily pulled from some nearby garden bushes. That’s as near as I could get to a funeral for Meryl. (Afterwards, I remembered that she’d told me her father was a lay preacher in the Methodist church. Perhaps, I’d had this in the back of my mind at the time? Dunno.) After concluding the prayer, I sighed deeply and turned away from the planter box. There, standing before me, was my dear zombie brother, grinning happily, his stomach full of fresh meat. About his face was smeared the drying remains of our recently deceased classmate. A little gore hung from his (then) fashionably long hair. He seemed very pleased with his efforts. Without thinking, I slapped his face hard. He kept grinning. Then, he placed the back of his hand lightly on my own belly and emitted a satisfied groan. For just a moment, I felt a flash of warmth within my own, empty, stomach. I felt what he was feeling.
Yw hi medhoges?langbot langbot
For the moment, I put this to one side. I entered the Student Union shop – which seemed relatively unscathed. The shop contained the usual university memorabilia: tee-shirts, trophies, commemorative plates etc. But I was not interested in those. At the back of the shop, sitting unloved on the shelves, was a pile of bedding sets: sheets and pillowcases. That’s what I needed. I collected two sheets emblazoned with the university crest and motto (“Postera Crescam Laude”) and took them outside to where Meryl lay. Collecting her remains into the sheets was not pleasant but it was done swiftly – as the sated zombies lounged about the scene of her death, looking on with what seemed like puzzlement. There was no time to bury her, of course, but I gently placed her remains inside a large wooden planter box which was otherwise vacant at the time. I mumbled a Hail Mary and an Our Father – no time for a whole decade of the rosary – and then covered the planter box with a few branches that I hastily pulled from some nearby garden bushes. That’s as near as I could get to a funeral for Meryl. (Afterwards, I remembered that she’d told me her father was a lay preacher in the Methodist church. Perhaps, I’d had this in the back of my mind at the time? Dunno.) After concluding the prayer, I sighed deeply and turned away from the planter box. There, standing before me, was my dear zombie brother, grinning happily, his stomach full of fresh meat. About his face was smeared the drying remains of our recently deceased classmate. A little gore hung from his (then) fashionably long hair. He seemed very pleased with his efforts. Without thinking, I slapped his face hard. He kept grinning. Then, he placed the back of his hand lightly on my own belly and emitted a satisfied groan. For just a moment, I felt a flash of warmth within my own, empty, stomach. I felt what he was feeling.
Ny allav gul henna.langbot langbot
Darkness came and the cat’s eyes continued to glow in the dark. It was relatively quiet, the zombies largely torpid. Then came midnight. (The witching hour?) A number of new arrivals (all zombies, of course) came into the basement, young guys I’d never seen before. They were agitated, seemed to have been running. Then came some others – and, among them, older males, definitely non- students. They, too, were agitated. Where had they come from? I roused David – a bit more gently than had been my custom (no kicks this time round). I took his hand and pulled on it, suggesting we needed to go upstairs to see what was going on. This was one of my better moves, as it turned out. David sensed the agitation of the new arrivals – or so it seemed – and came willingly with me. Upstairs there were more new arrivals, many more – with still more pouring through the doors of Union House. The large foyer area was rapidly filling and soon it would be hard to get through the press in order to get outside. So, I made this a priority and my brother and I forced our way through, exiting via the Northern door. The sight that greeted us was astonishing – even for those times. There was a sea of zombies, thousands of them, filling North Court and extending beyond the Beaurepaire Centre (the pool and gymnasium). If fear and panic could be discerned in dead eyes, I could discern it there. David himself became panicky but I stuck with him and decided to lead him, by the hand, further away from the Union building – to see what was driving this crowd of zombies in our direction. Looking across the throng for the first time in the dim light, I could see they were of all ages and sizes (but, of course, there were no females at all). There were even a few children. I guessed they were mainly second and third-generation zombies, those that had been infected by the first wave which, as you may recall, was composed entirely of young men. Spawned away from the centre of the outbreak, something was driving them back to it.
Yth esov vy ow redya lyver.langbot langbot
THE ROWDEN WHITE GALLERY Perhaps the entry of the truck – and/or the resulting crashes and bangs – had been heard. And perhaps the person hearing this had decided “It’s now or never” – and had made a desperate dash for freedom. I will never be quite sure. In any event, as I trailed along behind David towards Union House, a scream split the air – the scream of a living person. David halted briefly to assess the sound – and sniff the air. Then came another scream and David was off at a gallop. The screams seemed to come from Union House and, naturally, that was the direction in which David was running. I tried to keep up with him but he already had a head-start on me. As we entered the building via the South entrance (the Western entrance did not exist at the time) the screams stopped abruptly – in mid-scream. David’s pace did not slacken – if anything, it quickened and I fell further behind. I saw him leaping up the stairs, taking three at a time – the basement was now ignored and a crowd of zombies was coming forth from that evil pit. David, however, was ahead of that pack and, for my own safety, I needed to keep in contact with him – a feat which I just barely managed. David’s bloodlust was definitely up and all thoughts of protecting me seemed to have disappeared. Fortunately for me, the zombies following David were likewise distracted – for the moment at least – and paid me little heed. By the time I reached the Rowden White Gallery cum library on the third floor of the building, it was all over. The person who had been screaming so desperately had been killed by the zombies. I don’t think David arrived in time to participate in the actual killing – though I can’t be sure – but he was certainly participating in what followed.
Lavar neppyth!langbot langbot
“Tanks,” I croaked. (Not a fulsome expression of gratitude, maybe, but the best I could muster in the circumstances – for my torturer-turned-saviour.) Ingrid nodded in shy acknowledgement. “David’s back in the cells,” she said. “He’s okay now.” She had known he was on my mind. “I want to tell you what happened to him,” she continued, very quietly. It was my turn to nod. “In the first experiment, when you were suffering, David’s EEG readout went from a complete flat-line to a sort of jagged, irregular, spasmodic thing – like I’ve never seen before. No normal brain could produce such a pattern. Your suffering turned David’s brain on – or so it seemed.” She paused, looking downcast: “I guess that’s why the Captain devised the second experiment. He didn’t really consult me on it. I ask you to believe me about this,” she said. I did – but this only confirmed that she was fully aware of – and consented to – the first experiment (and the cruelty it had inflicted on me). “Anyway, the second experiment followed the same pattern as the first – up to a point. You suffered and David’s zombie brain came alive – sort of. The same EEG pattern: jagged, irregular lines, some still flat, others off the scale. But then, ...” She paused again. I think she had started to weep – but she quickly regained control of herself. (Weeping is weakness, it seems.) “Then, you stopped breathing and went into cardiac arrest. David abruptly ceased to roar and protest at what was happening to you. He went completely impassive and just sat there in his chair. He simply ‘stopped’ at the same time as you did. There was a complete flat-line in his read-out again.” What did this mean? I couldn’t say but, perhaps, because he was my identical twin, born of the same fertilised egg – and because I was not a zombie – he was unlike other zombies. Until I, too, died.
Yma dhodho mab aral.langbot langbot
In short, in my view, it was a strategic fuck up. It reminded me a little of the Japanese bombing of Darwin and Townsville in WWII – of which the Australian general public was kept largely ignorant. Likewise, the battle of the Kokoda Trail in New Guinea to which my own father had been scheduled to go until a ‘Sliding Doors’ moment happened – but that’s another story. (If we pretended it wasn’t happening – and no-one was panicking about it – wouldn’t that mean that the militarily superior Japanese Imperial Forces would simply go away?) Perhaps those comparisons are not really apt. I’m no military historian. But I could see no value in keeping the public ignorant of our present problem until waves of homicidal zombies were actually on their doorsteps. They were not simply going to give up and go home. They had no home. So, you say, what was the part of the picture that Paul and I had not guessed at? Well, there was, as I’ve said, an area with a radius of about 200km around Melbourne which was completely controlled by the zombies and, so far, they were largely unchallenged. ‘Do the math!’ as they say. That’s over 100,000 square kilometres of existing infestation – with ‘new’ zombies being created all the time to spread the infection even further. But – and this was what I learned from the BBC News – the plague was behaving more like a bushfire than a mere epidemic. Ahead of the infection that physically travelled with the vanguard of the zombies, there were, in effect, ‘spot fires’. Men got bitten but escaped before they showed any symptoms, before they underwent the ‘change’ into zombies. By the time they became infectious – and started biting people – they were often hundreds of kilometres away from the place of infection, having fled in cars, trains, planes and boats. Some fresh outbreaks had been observed as far away as New Zealand and Samoa – and, more worryingly, given the still isolated and rugged topography and rudimentary infrastructure, in Papua New Guinea.
Py liw yw an vleujen ma?langbot langbot
Bilbo stood for a moment tense and undecided. Presently he sighed. ‘All right,’ he said with an effort. I will.’ Then he shrugged his shoulders, and smiled rather ruefully. ‘After all that’s what this party business was all about, really: to give away lots of birthday presents, and somehow make it easier to give it away at the same time. It hasn’t made it any easier in the end, but it would be a pity to waste all my preparations. It would quite spoil the joke.’
Res o dhyn gweres Tom.langbot langbot
What did he hold in his hand? Show it to me, please! Are there any goats in the field? Yes! How many? Four goats. What time was it when she came home? Ten minutes after six. Put coal on the fire. It's cold. He has much money. He's rich. This is not the same bag as the first one. I want to ascend that high hill. I am not a good salesman. They wished to go then when they were not pleased with what I said. You cannot play football in that field. We love an amusing story. What colour are those jars? They are yellow. We do not see the Cornish flag above the church tower in this town.
Dowr yeyn, mar pleg.langbot langbot
FLIGHT I was dozing in the infirmary. It was around midnight. Outside, on the parade ground, there was a heck of a commotion going on. The sounds of fist upon face and boot upon other body parts could be clearly heard. There were soldiers screaming and yelling, Aussies and Yanks – name-calling and dire threats. Others vainly trying to contain the brawling. Orders disobeyed. Whistles of MP’s. Soon, the whole camp had turned out onto the parade ground and there were hundreds of troops fighting an extremely vigorous pitched battle. Suddenly, I was wide awake – adrenalin does that. At first, I simply thought: “What is going on?” But then I guessed that the seeds I had planted in the minds of the Doughboys might now be bearing fruit. Seeds of doubt. Seeds of conflict. Young men, decent guys, were both injuring and being injured out there, on the parade ground. Maybe, I wasn’t such a nice person, after all. But, nice person or not, I needed to use the commotion that I had triggered to make my escape. In a panic, I undid the bindings which had been holding me to the bed – actually, I could have done this at any time but had been too ill to even bother trying. I swung my legs off the bed and put my feet on the floor for the first time in some days. I tried to stand. Shit! I was still very weak from the torture and flopped back, breathless, onto the bed. What to do? I couldn’t let this confusion pass without trying to take advantage. This golden opportunity would not come again. From outside, I could hear raised voices, Australian voices, saying things like: “Kill the fuckin’ spy! Get the zombie spy! Kill the little mongrel.” (And so on, like that.)
Ny welis Tomm.langbot langbot
2 CORINTHIANS 12 Paul’s Vision and His Thorn 1I must go on boasting. Although there is nothing to be gained, I will go on to visions and revelations from the Lord. 2I know a man in Christ who fourteen years ago was caught up to the third heaven. Whether it was in the body or out of the body I do not know—God knows. 3And I know that this man—whether in the body or apart from the body I do not know, but God knows— 4was caught up to paradise and heard inexpressible things, things that no one is permitted to tell. 5I will boast about a man like that, but I will not boast about myself, except about my weaknesses. 6Even if I should choose to boast, I would not be a fool, because I would be speaking the truth. But I refrain, so no one will think more of me than is warranted by what I do or say, 7or because of these surpassingly great revelations. Therefore, in order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. 8Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. 9But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. 10That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong. Paul’s Concern for the Corinthians 11I have made a fool of myself, but you drove me to it. I ought to have been commended by you, for I am not in the least inferior to the “super-apostles,” even though I am nothing. 12I persevered in demonstrating among you the marks of a true apostle, including signs, wonders and miracles. 13How were you inferior to the other churches, except that I was never a burden to you? Forgive me this wrong! 14Now I am ready to visit you for the third time, and I will not be a burden to you, because what I want is not your possessions but you. After all, children should not have to save up for their parents, but parents for their children. 15So I will very gladly spend for you everything I have and expend myself as well. If I love you more, will you love me less? 16Be that as it may, I have not been a burden to you. Yet, crafty fellow that I am, I caught you by trickery! 17Did I exploit you through any of the men I sent to you? 18I urged Titus to go to you and I sent our brother with him. Titus did not exploit you, did he? Did we not walk in the same footsteps by the same Spirit? 19Have you been thinking all along that we have been defending ourselves to you? We have been speaking in the sight of God as those in Christ; and everything we do, dear friends, is for your strengthening. 20For I am afraid that when I come I may not find you as I want you to be, and you may not find me as you want me to be. I fear that there may be discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambition, slander, gossip, arrogance and disorder. 21I am afraid that when I come again my God will humble me before you, and I will be grieved over many who have sinned earlier and have not repented of the impurity, sexual sin and debauchery in which they have indulged.
Ymons i ow tybri avalow.langbot langbot
Actually, although the entrance was badly collapsed and barely passable (Boofa and Chooka had real trouble squeezing through) the walls of the tunnel seemed to be in surprisingly good shape. The wooden props had clearly rotted out and many of them lay about on the floor of the tunnel in a random fashion – but the walls themselves showed little sign of crumbling. The cool, damp rock seemed pretty firm. We wandered about for a while – one of the ‘mummy’s boys’ had a panic attack and, I confess, I felt first touch of claustrophobia, too. But I was okay and, after half an hour or so, before we actually lost anyone in what turned out to be more of a labyrinth than a mere tunnel, the squad emerged back into the daylight to resume our pointless wanderings. Had I ever intended to go back? No, but that’s where David and I were now headed. I had estimated it would take David and me approximately an hour to find the tunnel. That was how long it had taken my squad to march out of the bush once my squad’s ‘rescuers’ had arrived. But they, unlike me, had known what they were doing. So, this time round, it ended up taking a little longer than I had expected. By midday next day, I was exhausted, having been stumbling about in the bush for hours and, apparently, no closer to our goal. I sat down on the hard earth and wept a little. (Okay! I was fuckin’ tired and still pretty sick! Don’t forget that I could barely walk when I’d been picked up at the infirmary and the adrenalin rush was, by this time, long gone.) David was moaning – of course. I fell asleep in the sun – but, on this occasion (unlike my unplanned snooze in the Castlemaine Gardens), it did not lead to dire consequences. I’d say it was an hour or so later when I awoke. I could hear David groaning – not a surprise – but it was in the distance and now there was an urgency about his groaning. I followed the groaning for, maybe, two hundred metres up the hill upon which I had been sleeping. David was standing (in triumph?) at the mouth of the tunnel, grinning and roaring.
Rych ov.langbot langbot
After I composed myself, I realised that we had the rest of the day to fill in. I’m sure David would happily have gone back to the Hell-hole at Union House – so that he could lounge around with his zombie mates. But I was not going to cross swords again with that bitch-face “Gween” if I could possibly help it. “Hey, Dave! I’ve got a treat for you,” I exclaimed suddenly. “I’m going to take you to the movies.” I gave him no choice and firmly herded him out of Genevieve’s and into the Bug House. I had no idea if he still remembered what a movie was but I didn’t care. David was going to the movies whether he liked it or not. The shabby foyer of the Bug House was relatively untouched. There must have been no-one in it when the Apocalypse passed through. Did it happen at mid-day or thereabouts? No ‘session time’ then, I suppose – not during the week at a small single-screen suburban theatre. (Can you remember what one of those was?) I walked up the narrow staircase to the projection room. Now, you may think I would have no chance of getting the projector operating so that we would view a movie. But that’s where you’d be wrong. Dead wrong. This was in the days before video recorders, well before DVD’s, Blue-Ray and so on. So, schoolteachers needed to know how to operate simple movie projectors to show educational films to their classes. I was no teacher – but my dad was! Dad had done a proper Bell and Howell course and come out with a proper projectionist certificate – very pretty, very impressive. I asked him to bring the school projector home and show me how it worked. He obliged my demands and thus I knew the rudiments of the projectionist’s craft. That said, the projectors (there were 2) that confronted me in the projectionist room of the Carlton Movie House were very different to the one that Dad had brought home from school. A lot bigger. A lot more buttons and levers. I got one of them working in under half an hour (but I think I might have, sort of, broken the other one – sorry, Mr Projectionist).
Tom res eth dhe’n gweli.langbot langbot
53 sinne gevind in 16 ms. Hulle kom uit baie bronne en word nie nagegaan nie.