November 2013

All posts from November 2013

But then, birds just fly high

by Christos Pantazis on November 14, 2013 2 comments

The artilleryman agreed with me that the house was no place to stay in. He proposed, he said, to make his way Londonward, and thence rejoin his battery–No. 12, of the Horse Artillery. My plan was to return at once to Leatherhead

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Christos PantazisBut then, birds just fly high

Sometimes too much to drink is barely enough.

by Manos Proistakis on November 2, 2013 3 comments

Now, mustering the spare poles from below, and selecting one of hickory, with the bark still investing it, Ahab fitted the end to the socket of the iron. A coil of new tow-line was then unwound, and some fathoms of it taken to the windlass, and stretched to a great tension. Pressing his foot upon it, till the rope hummed like a harp-string, then eagerly bending over it, and seeing no strandings, Ahab exclaimed, “Good! and now for the seizings.

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Manos ProistakisSometimes too much to drink is barely enough.

No time for games, let’s play

by Christos Pantazis on November 2, 2013 3 comments

Since then he had been skulking along towards Maybury, in the hope of getting out of danger Londonward. People were hiding in trenches and cellars, and many of the survivors had made off towards Woking village and Send. He had been consumed with thirst until he found one of the water mains near the railway arch smashed, and the water bubbling out like a spring upon the road.

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Christos PantazisNo time for games, let’s play

We are masters of the unsaid words.

by Christos Pantazis on November 1, 2013 2 comments

Now, mustering the spare poles from below, and selecting one of hickory, with the bark still investing it, Ahab fitted the end to the socket of the iron. A coil of new tow-line was then unwound, and some fathoms of it taken to the windlass, and stretched to a great tension. Pressing his foot upon it, till the rope hummed like a harp-string, then eagerly bending over it, and seeing no strandings, Ahab exclaimed, “Good! and now for the seizings.

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Christos PantazisWe are masters of the unsaid words.