freswith

Thank you Jen; That would be a huge relief.

I have had another memory failure on my computer. If anyone has downloaded the story I would much appreciate it if they would send me a copy on freswith@aol.com. Then I might be able to write a new story. I look forward to hearing from you. Freswith

Will they replace "Obummers"?

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-13159315/Sydney-Sweeney-leads-row-glamour-sparkling-silver-underwear-Saturday-Night-Live-sensation-joins-Emma-Corrin-Miu-Miu-Paris-Fashion-Week.html?openWebLoggedIn=true&login&base_fe_url=https%3A%2F%2Fdailymail.co.uk%2F&validation_fe_uri=%2Fregistration%2Fp%2Fapi%2Ffield%2Fvalidation%2F&check_user_fe_uri=registration%2Fp%2Fapi%2Fuser%2Fuser_check%2F&isMobile=false Just read the comments!

https://www.theargus.co.uk/news/24104618.lancing-soft-play-boss-speaks-adult-event-seen-fetish-site/

Be my baby A mother in West Sussex has complained after a children’s soft play centre hosted a special event for grown adults who enjoy dressing as babies. According to the local newspaper, The Argus, “The over-25s event offered a ‘nappy change room’, baby food and ‘a lovely story time’ with milk and biscuits.” It would be easy to mock this sort of thing. But I think we should refrain – for a simple but important reason. Each new generation of progressives needs its own oppressed minority to champion, in order to demonstrate how much kinder and more virtuous they are than the rest of us. Now that all the obvious groups have been taken, however, I have for some time been wondering which marginalised community will be the next to benefit from the Left’s patronage. I see no particular reason why it shouldn’t be the turn of adult babies. None of us knows what the future may hold. But in 10 or 20 years, it’s perfectly possible that righteous young Left-wing activists will be marching in support of adults’ rights to wear romper suits, suck dummies and play with the nice teddies and dollies at their local crèche. If you don’t believe me, it’s worth noting how the soft play centre responded when The Argus inquired about the adults-only event. A spokesman said: “Who are we to judge and discriminate?” By displaying such prejudice against these poor, marginalised, middle-aged infants, the mothers of West Sussex may well find themselves on the wrong side of history.

"May you live in interesting times!" is an old Chinese curse. The modern British version might be "May you live in a listed building!" meaning one of historical interest. It might be a privilege but it results in having council jobsworths inspecting and interfering everywhere to ensure compliance with the regulations. Pembroke, unfortunately, was one such "interesting" building, and deservedly so. Dating from heaven-knows-when, and updated every century since, it was a palimpsest of different constructions. The oldest, and least modified, was the old laundry, which had been the kitchen block for the original house, and was now just a bare shell. I remembered it from my childhood with mixed feelings, full of washing machines and driers, with lots of nappies and plastic pants hanging out to dry. I can't think I used all that many, but it was better than hanging them out on the washing line in the public view. Now, with fewer children around it was still convenient for hanging out nappies, mostly those of my daughters, without attracting public attention. Thankfully the girls preferred disposables, and so there were very few of them. Now that Pembroke itself had been largely restored, including a complete rewiring necessitated after I kept getting electric shocks off the water taps, I had to decide what to do with the old kitchen/laundry. My aged parents were getting more aged by the day, and the idea occurred to me that it might be possible to convert the building into a cottage to house them where I could keep an eye on them. Not a bad idea, until the council inspector found out about it. Eventually he was compromised, persuaded, threatened and bribed into agreeing and work proceeded. I just made sure that all the nappies and plastic pants were taken out first, and let the builders in. I did have a bad moment when their young lad presented me with a nappy pin, found in a crevice in the floor, but hopefully I didn't blush too much. It was in excellent condition and I could reuse it. At least I was getting something back from a very costly conversion job. Problems abounded. Grace, my model agency, was not doing so well, and Julian was planning to retire. It needed a shot in the arm of some sort to revitalise it. Christmas was coming and I had been persuaded to host the family, with everybody anxious to see all the improvements I made to the family seat. I was hoping the laundry conversion would show some progress by then, but the builders were being builders and taking their time. Just before the Christmas break they had only got as far as stripping the old plaster off the huge chimney breast that dated back to the days when it was a kitchen for the big house - safely detached in case of fire. I wanted to keep the fireplace bare ; it would make a lovely centre to the lounge. The family arrived bit by bit, until Uncle Percy's family arrived, complete with grandchildren. They all lived locally so there was no need to put the little ones up in the nursery, although it was still proving its worth when they needed changing. They had to be watched; Percy had wound them up with the old legend about pirate Jack Sinclair's treasure being hidden somewhere inside the house, and they were rampaging around trying to find it. I didn't want the walls of my nicely re-decorated bedrooms being pounded to pieces as they tried to find hollow bits. There were plenty of creaking floorboards available, most of which I had tried in my childhood - without success. I went in to the nursery just before lunch, and found changes in progress. Viola's daughter Alison had obviously been done, and was not too happy at being found there, backing into a corner as I came in. Chloe, Alice's eldest, was running her fingers around the leg elastics, adjusting them for comfort as was allowed. Only little Gina was still on the changing table and completely unabashed. At five years old and the youngest, she had no reason to be embarrassed while the older girls were wearing nappies too, and she greeted me cheerfully. I felt a tiny bit envious of their neatly-fitted nappies and the comfort and sense of security they provided, but I couldn't emulate them here. The big ones were safely locked away in the big cupboard at the end. After the holiday, perhaps, over the New Year, I would indulge myself. I went down to the lounge, where Peter was regaling Matt and Percy with stories of the Belize Confrontation over a rapidly-declining bottle of Sherry. I made a point of topping up Dad's glass before retreating to the kitchen, where sister Juliet and her daughter, the indefatigable Sally, were working on the Christmas lunch. Lunch happened in the same old way, but with Matt at the head of the table and myself at the foot, even though Admiral Sir Peter was present; I was the lady of Pembroke, and I took precedence. Such was my moment of triumph. The children sat at a side table, which allowed them a bit of liberty, although Sally kept a sharp eye on them. At least any serious accidents would be well contained. They were allowed to leave the table whenever they were replete, only us adults had to remain to toast the King. Then we went to listen to his speech. We sat a while before Matt got busy on the computer, and arranged a video call to Vickie and Simon in Washington in which we all partook. Simon's position as Naval attaché meant he was effectively on duty all the time, and they couldn't make it over here. The five-hour time difference meant it was still morning over there, but the generation of feeling was still very strong. After a while, the conversation migrated to my restoration of Pembroke, which met with great approval, and I mentioned the work being done to convert the laundry into a cottage, which was met with some cynicism by Percy and Juliet. They asked me how did I expect our nonagenarian parents to ever cope with the stairs? In fairness, I admitted it hadn't occurred to me. "Let's go and look at it!" said Peter and there was a general stirring. We all migrated to the kitchen door, but as I passed the toilet I felt I needed to go, however, I was pushed along by the crowd. It wasn't too cold outside and soon we were in the shelter of the laundry, lit by the naked bulbs of the building team. That was much brighter than I remember, although it's usual decor of drying nappies was absent. Juliet looked around an sniffed "Not much room here. Are you planning to restore the first floor?" I nodded. We looked at the huge chimney breast that dominated the room, now stripped of its plaster and naked in its brickwork. "What's that?" said Alison. "Well that's where the fireplace was. It was a kitchen, so they had a very big one." I replied. Huge, ugly, but a handsome feature. "No, I meant That!" she protested pointing at the arch of bricks in the side of the fireplace. "Oh, that would have been the bread oven, a big hole where they put the lumps of dough to bake into bread." I replied. It was all bricked up years and years ago, but the bricks were modern, not the thin Tudor bricks like the rest of the chimney breast. Alison, the oldest of the three, walked over with a hammer from the builder's toolbag and hit the bricks. "Sounds hollow!" she said. "Oh Gawd," I thought, "we're back to hunting treasure. I need the toilet!" It was becoming pressing. Little Georgina toddled over and reached up, the hemline of her dress lifted and showed that she had already solved that problem and needed a change. For a moment I was distracted, and envied her such a simple solution. "That would be a terrific feature if we opened it up and put some brass ornaments in there to catch the light!" said Juliet "Let's try!" said Haldane, heretofore unusually quiet, and he stepped over to the builder's bag and picked out a hammer and chisel. Peter did the same. This was going to get dusty, so I used the excuse to pick up Georgina and slip out of the door, nodding to Alice and mentioning that I would give her child a change. Alice nodded, and made a beeline for her elder daughter, doubtless with the same objective. Pleasantly relieved, I expected the girls to stay in the warmth of the nursery, but they would have none of it, so they were allowed to put on their coats and return to the laundry. When I, also coated, made it back, there were several bricks missing from the hole and both Peter and Haldane were hammering vigorously. "There's something in there!" exclaimed Alison, jumping up and down with excitement as two more bricks hit the floor. "Big wooden box!" added Haldane. "Weighs a ton!" said Peter. They both reached in, and muscles strained as they pulled the box forward, grinding on the dirt. It reached beyond the lip of the oven when gravity asserted itself and it overbalanced and fell to the floor with a mighty crash. One corner broke open, and a torrent of coins slipped out, gleaming gold in the light of the single bulb.

Eh? What Jewish references?

My apologies for the lack of a new instalment - I think I have painted myself into a corner witht the last one. I have an idea for one more, but that would be the end of this particular story. I am quite busy at the moment, with holidays coming up, but I will try to find some time.

Osemeprazole every day. very effective.

‘Serious red flags’ raised as Canadian artist Sophie Labelle set to talk at Sheffield Central Library ByLouisa Clarence-Smith, EDUCATION EDITOR21 February 2023 • 8:00pm Sophie Labelle says people have 'created all sorts of rumours about my work', which she says 'aims to empower trans youth and illustrate trans joy' A council is facing a backlash after agreeing to allow a trans cartoonist with a “kink” for nappy fetish art to speak to children at a library. Sophie Labelle, an artist from Montreal, Canada, is due to speak at Sheffield Central Library on Monday evening about her book, The Best of Assigned Male, her art and activism, and her experience growing up as trans. Ms Labelle, who identifies as a woman, has spoken publicly about her nappy fetish art, known as “diaperfur art”. It has been defined as images related to someone with an interest in anthropomorphic animal characters and an interest in wearing diapers, typically as part of a baby roleplay. She wrote on Twitter in 2021 that she has “made some diaperfur art”. She said: “I have a kink I indulge responsibly and I refuse to be shamed for it.” The Sheffield library event is advertised as being “suitable for adults, teens and families”. Characters in her book include Stephie Bondu, a school pupil who tells her classmates: “I transitioned over the summer and now you have to use ‘she’ to talk about me. It’s mandatory.” 'Serious safeguarding red flags' Miriam Cates, Conservative MP for Penistone and Stocksbridge, has written to Sheffield City Council calling for the event to be cancelled or for an age limit of 18 to be imposed. She wrote: “Even the most cursory background checks on Sophie Labelle throw up serious safeguarding red flags. “In no way can the work or ‘activism’ of this author be considered suitable for children. It is widely agreed by child safeguarding experts, and across society, that it is wrong and deeply damaging to expose children to sexualised material. “No one who seeks to normalise sexual fetish or who associates children with sexual arousal should be allowed anywhere near children, and they certainly would not pass any recognised safeguarding checks. “I strongly urge you to investigate this matter urgently and to act to safeguard children and prevent Sheffield from being brought into disrepute.” Ms Labelle said: “Some people have been busy at work defaming and disparaging me, and they created all sorts of rumours about my work, which aims to empower trans youth and illustrate trans joy, which is more than needed in this anti-trans political climate. “Since 2014, I have created over 1,600 strips with that intent, which don’t feature any nudity or sexuality (besides a high school character having a boyfriend). I have also done several hundreds of talks and public events in youth groups, libraries, schools - from kindergarten to university - without any incident (besides one or two transphobe-hurling insults).” Council refuses to impose restrictions Sheffield City Council has refused to impose restrictions on the event. Richard Williams, chairman of the communities, parks and leisure policy committee at Sheffield City Council, said: “Sheffield Libraries hosts a varied programme of events. One of our speakers is Sophie Labelle, an acclaimed Canadian cartoonist, author and public speaker who visits cities around the world. “In Sheffield, it is a sold-out ticketed event for guests to hear Sophie speak about her art, and growing up trans. “Sheffield is a diverse and inclusive city and it is right that our programme of activity reflects that. The evening event is aimed at teenagers upwards, but we know that some families do attend Sophie’s talks and did not want to exclude them.”

Anastasia Matt was away, so the girls did play. It usually happened at weekend when he was off at a golf tournament, so there were just the three of us in the vastness of Pembroke House. The girls were well into it by now. They had taken over the back bedrooms, a choice which surprised me until I realised that they had easy access to the old servants' stairs and the back door; they could come and go at all hours of the day and night without us parents being disturbed, or even knowing it. That suited us, too. They would arrive on Friday night armed with a load of laundry, a case of Prosecco, and, very discretely, a bag of large disposable nappies, carefully smuggled up the back stairs. The girls had paid their way through college by taking modelling assignments which I organised for them. They used my maiden name - Grace - as a nom de guerre which allowed them some privacy when they were not in front of the camera. The trunk in the attic had been ransacked of all usable items and they had been discretely laundered and packed into the curtained shelves of the changing table. Into the cupboard went th the collection of overpants, nappy covers and rompers which my old friend Helen had made for me, and couple of onesie sleepers which I had acquired myself. This delighted the girls, especially the strapped romper which Spike had portrayed me wearing in his now-notorious mural. Matt never went in there; he was usually playing golf with his friend, a colo-rectal surgeon, who liked to do eighteen holes a day. It happened as it so often does. Percy's daughter Viola had deserted her husband, claiming violent abuse, and needed to get away from him, taking her eight-year-old daughter Anastasia with her. She asked if she could come and stay in Pembroke while she got herself a new place to stay. I agreed readily - Pembroke was always the family refuge, and no sooner had I said it than they arrived. Viola was still bristling, but poor little Stacey was obviously very upset, as the legs of her jeans testified. She, too, suffered from the effects of the rogue genes that ran through the family. Viola took over the third bedroom, while Stacey was ensconced in the nursery. The wet jeans were swiftly consigned to the washing machine and Viola duly informed Stacey that she was subject to Pembroke Rules, which did nothing to raise her morale. Thankfully, even in her haste to pack, Viola had remembered to bring Stacey's night-time essentials, and a little later she ushered her daughter down to the lounge dressed in a T-shirt and bright pink shorts. Unfortunately the shorts were not exactly new, Stacey was growing rapidly, and the edges of a disposable nappy protruded at waist and legs. However, the bright pink matched her face; she looked close to tears. Stacey was unfamiliar with her grown-up cousins, and stood behind the sofa to conceal her infantile state as best she could. Kate and Liz did their best to comfort her, but she was obviously very unhappy. With her parents splitting up, she had much to be unhappy about, and the precaution was well justified - there is just so much a child can take, and a wet patch in the host's nice new carpet was a scene to be avoided. It was unusually warm, and I decided to lay out afternoon tea on the terrace outside the dining room, an idea which was very well received by all except Stacey. Viola helped me set it all up, but even that didn't tempt Stacey out from behind the sofa, until finally Kate and Liz reappeared dressed in very short sundresses, which were not quite long enough to conceal the pillows of their nappies extending below their hemlines. Stacey did a complete double-take, and stared wide eyed as Liz picked her up, sat her astride her hip, and carried her out onto the terrace. Kate seized a large cushion and put it on one of the chairs, and Stacey was plonked on top. The twins sat either side, and Kate answered Stacey's arched eyebrows with a simple "Pembroke Rules - they're for us, too!" and the matter was dropped. I had put on the best tea that I could, given the short notice, and Stacey enjoyed it greatly, her morale visibly improved. Eventually Kate and Liz got up, and went hand in hand with Stacey to the lawn, and kicked off their shoes to walk on the cool grass, down towards the pond, where the fountain was playing. I thought this a high-risk strategy - I knew what the combination of cool feet and tinkling water could do to a weak bladder. I was not surprised to see them returning a bit heavier between the legs, but still smiling and joking. Viola gave a long sigh: "Bath-time, I think." and Kate and Liz promptly offered to do that duty, leaving Viola and myself to clear the dishes. It gave Viola a chance to let her hair down and tell me all her worries, and how glad she was to be back in Pembroke with her daughter safe and sound. Percy and Clare came round, and at first I feared it was to "talk sense" into their daughter, but I found I had underestimated them. They ended up giving Viola a good Listening To, and succeeded in talking her down out of her agitated state. Percy, in his wisdom, withheld judgement and concentrated on the positive help he could provide. Some of the money I had given him for Pembroke was going to be used to buy Viola and Stacey a house, which was ironic - I had just sold two in London. We emptied a couple of bottles of wine between us over supper. No more, Percy had to drive, and I didn't want a mournfully drunk Viola on my hands. Finally I looked in to the nursery to check on our junior guest, and found that the girls had put her in the big cot, where she laid, bedclothes down to her knees in the still-warm room, three-quarters on her front, and one leg bent to accommodate some bulky padding. To add insult to injury the girls had raised the side of the cot and latched it. I looked closer and saw that Stacey was wearing a large terry nappy and white plastic pants and I wondered how they had ever managed to get her to agree to that. Then I saw an almost empty baby's bottle in her hand, part-filled with a pale liquid. In the bin beside the bed was an empty bottle of Prosecco. She was now sleeping very deeply, and didn't stir when I slipped a finger into the leg elastics of her baby pants for a nappy check. She was still dry, so I lifted the bedclothes up to her shoulders, and tucked them in. No wonder the child, who had been so frightened this afternoon, was now sleeping so soundly. That nappy was going to be much needed before morning. I went to check on my own girls. It was a very similar picture. Thankfully they had had enough sense to wear disposables, and were now passed out in their beds. I did the same: checked their nappies and tucked them in.

Thank you far all the compliments - yes I am quite well, although I have been very busy with other things.. I have an episode half-complete and will get on with it.

Thank you for the kind remarks; there are a couple more episodes in it before the planned finale. I am not sure which of the girls I will "do" then, perhaps I will have an inspiration. The length is in the same order as "Lord of the Rings" (excluding The Hobbit). It would be nice to match it.