Photo about Miscanthus sinensis var zebrinus ornamental grass at the shady stream bank in the park. Zebra grass plant with striped arching foliage. Image of stripes, nature, silver - 285700772
Download this stock image: Tiers of screened in Gabion riprap (rock) line a stream to control river bank erosion and flooding - HPGGBW from Alamy's library of millions of high resolution stock photos, illustrations and vectors.
Pangi Nala stood out very clearly during our 10 days road trip to Spiti Valley. Should we call it a high pressure water stream, waterfall or something
Stream flowing in he mountain trees on the bank Nature Canvas
Dry stream rock bed. How to build a creek bed. Creek Meanders lanscape. Streambed design. Making a discharge. Planning and digging. Installing landscape fabric and rubber liner. Joining two pond liners. Put the river cobbles and river stones. Small waterfall. Finishing banks and naturalization.
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Two brothers who love drinking, talking about beverages and playing a game or two. Gameplay starts daily at 9am pst. Thursday is live podcast recording night! Join us in the tasting room to discuss the beverage in hand. Business inquiries at: [email protected]
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3060 Mountain Rd, Port Royal, PA 17082 is currently not for sale. The 1,605 Square Feet single family home is a 4 beds, 2 baths property. This home was built in 1850 and last sold on 2016-10-19 for $435,000. View more property details, sales history, and Zestimate data on Zillow.
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Sometimes I consider ditching this blog forever. *Is deafened from desperate cries of 'Noooooo! Don't say that! Please keep writing!* Oh all right then. If you insist. Quasi-journalism archives right there. Blogging on a weekly basis can go one of two ways. Either, I wake up in a cold sweat, drag the corners of my brain for a topic, and try to conjure upwards of eight-hundred words whilst trawling my camera for random photos that might illustrate the contrived notion. Or, it's really hard work. Some weeks I cop out and give you a recipe. A good recipe but still, something that takes mere minutes to upload. (Those are the times I'm on holiday.) Other weeks, when an idea has bugged me and the thoughts need to be explored, I give you potentially-Pulitzer-winning quasi-journalism. I'm sure we can all agree on that, yes? Excellent. We're of one mind. I know from experience there is no signal in this pub. And look how happy I was about that, last year. I'll be recreating this photo at the weekend. So why am I giving you a peek behind the process? What's my reasoning in explaining the grind of a weekly blog to the single-figure readers that might care? Well, the grind of the whole thing is on my mind at the moment. This time of year is when my top-notch organisational skills are really tested. From the first May weekend onwards, the month is a mass of annual events, squeezed around any writing schedule I'm trying to attempt. The family caravan holiday kicks it all off, setting the tone for the madness that follows. That tone peaks on the Bank Holiday Monday morning as I hunt for elusive WiFi in a pub with a children's play area, attempting to post and promote that week's blog, before getting into my car and driving home to sleep in an adult sized bed once more. Identical scenes every year. Chatting nonsense with Martin Adams from a previous time. When I talk Eurovision I do it via the phone. After that, there's Eurovision prep. I'll probably be on Martin Adams' Saturday afternoon radio show on Eurovision day (radio show TBC but Eurovision is May 18th) and I'll need to know my stuff. Other than reading the odd fan-blog, I know nothing. I need to get up to speed. Then there's Eurovision itself. A week of live-tweeting, and party-planning, as friends message me because they know how much it means, whilst I try to find a non-cruel-yet-witty takedown of the costume choices of a former Eastern bloc country. It'll be intense. But this is what happens every May. It's standard May. Usual May. Nothing out of the ordinary May. But this year - the year of our Lord two thousand and nineteen - May is anything but these phrases. This year's May is intensified, riddled with one-off experiences, and off-its-tits. This year's May is going to be huge. Breaking in the best bit of my wedding outfit. (NB: Doctor Who is not part of the hat.) It's all based around a family wedding. My brother and his girlfriend are getting hitched, and facilitating all the excitement that entails. There'll be a family mini-break in a cottage, a day of wearing posh clothes, unwalkable shoes, and lots of cork-popping and toasts to the happy couple. Hurrah! It's going to be so bloody marvellous. On top of that, there are Australian cousins flying in for the shebang. My house will be a hub for family get-togethers. The contrast of having a houseful of people in a place where there's often just me and my thoughts, will be stark. It'll be loads of fun, but won't result in much work being done. Just contemplating some witty musings. Natch. So far, I've got brief outlines of the next few posts for this blog. I try to keep things topical and not write ahead of skej, but it'd be daft to wing it, hoping I find a quiet few hours each week. I'm assuming I won't. My plan is to do my best to avoid reverting to a weekly recipe. Instead, I'm going to write sentences and thoughts, brushed up into something readable, and loosely based on what's happening at the time. Or as the header above states, 'Weekly musings on all kinds of irrelevancies, with occasional book updates and a smattering of author insight.' Snappy, yeah? Annnnnd breathe... I've planned ahead as much as I can. It'll all pan out, I'm sure. For now though, I am SOOOOO happy to be going to the seaside at the weekend. From the second I smell the ozone and hear the seagulls, my mind and muscles will involuntarily relax. By the time I open the wine, I'll have all the tension of a melted marshmallow. May your own weekends be as lovely, and as weirdly described as mine. Have a lovely week, folks.
It's countdown to another Bank Holiday, folks. This time next week, we'll be in the final throws of a three-day weekend. (Apologies to non-UK peeps who don't get to experience such fun. We have to get our kicks where we can these days.) As I've mentioned before, the Family Bond has a regular jaunt to Wales each May - the first Bank Holiday of May. Returning to a caravan park of our youth, we load up our respective cars with the basic necessities required to survive a cramped, often rainy weekend alongside a mish-mash of family members. This boils down to beer and wine. Beer, wine and blankets. That's what's needed to get through. As I type (whole days before the event) the weather at home is bright and breezy. I have no doubt that the second we arrive for our Welsh weekend, the sky will have greyed and the rain will fall. It will fall for as long as we're there. But that's fine. It's what we expect. Skimming stones, a couple of years ago. Who needs swanky luxury with that horizon. There is an additional frisson of excitement this year, though. I imagine that's been obvious as you've been reading this. I'm sure you can sense how I'm fizzling with anticipation. Are you ready to be put you out of your misery? Excellent. Well let me explain. For the past decade, the grown up Bonds have holidayed in the caravan park that we used to visit in the early to mid-90s. I was a young teen. It is...and I'll whisper this quickly... a tiny bit scruffy (shhh!) but it's set on cliffs overlooking the beach, so regardless of a lack of gourmet restaurants, and some unsightly water-stained buildings, it has the sensory pleasure of crashing waves, swooping seagulls and the twinkliest night's sky on the walk back from the pub. It's lovely. But.... What the new management said to the old management. Probably. Yes, there's a but. This year the caravan park has had some sort of take over! There's 'new management'. I know! I imagine the phrase, I own 51% of this company has been been shouted Alexis Carrington-style at a board meeting at some point. Everything we know is up in the air and as a result of this, DISASTER has struck.* The office has not been able to take our booking. We've held on for a while, wondering if they'd get themselves sorted in time for our set-in-stone, annual jolly, but it seems they could not. We've had to find somewhere else. Now here's the thing. Bonds don't like change.** It has to be in the same area, with the sea nearby, on a caravan park, with a club offering children's entertainment, and two disabled-friendly caravans in close proximity to each other. There can be no variation to any of this criteria. It has to be the same every year. Happily, despite only sorting it mere weeks ago, my brother - who takes responsibility for this gig - found somewhere that met our needs. And now THIS is where my excitement comes from. Tethered to a washing line LIKE A DOG. I'll be retrospectively ringing Esther Rantzen. Grabbing a crisp with my bowlhead while a couple does a slowie behind me. Bonds on Tour is trying somewhere new. Except, not really. It's not actually new. We've been there before, like a million years ago. It's the caravan park we went to when I was a really little kid. 1980 was the first time, and we returned repeatedly throughout the decade. Whereas the younger member of the family buzzed off the nostalgia of the boardroom-chaos caravan place of more recent years, I had earlier memories of the one a couple of miles along the seafront. It's the holiday destination that is linked to my sense memory. Whenever I smell chippy chips, the ozone, suntan lotion or beery pub fumes, my mind turns to this particular location. I am giddy that I get to go there again.*** It's cold, or my Dad's not beach body ready. Zipped up cagoules for a mother and daughter day at the beach. I've already looked through old photo albums at previous visits. There's lots of me on the beach, several of me with an ice-cream, and a few sitting in the caravan eating sandwiches. It was all go in the 80s. Next week, I'll no doubt be doing those things again. Along with the beer, wine, and blankets. If you want to see drunken shenanigans and sibling seaside banter, I'll be adding photos to Insta****. I'm called @bondiela. But for now, I hope everyone has a great weekend, whether you're wallowing in childhood nostalgia or cracking on with your usual routine. Have a lovely week, folks. *Obviously disaster didn't strike. Some people have real shit to deal with. It was just a hiccup. But still. ** #notallbonds ***More randomly, my mind goes back there whenever I hear the Pet Shop Boys' song, It's a Sin. The lyrics were published in my holiday copy of Smash Hits and I learnt them in the car, en route to the caravan. Sometime around 1987. ****I believe that's what the kids call Instagram. You're welcome.
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Living in a far distance from a noisy and busy place and experiencing the ethereal beauty of infinite water is something luxury they have. They live beside the river banks where every day new stories and myths are made. They kind of live in an illusional world where the rhythmic sound of the river stream and calming breeze take them to a dream-like magical world. It just feels serene and quiet yet they feel so brave to embark on their journey to the infinite water to catch fish.
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HSLC 2020 Board of Secondary Education, Manipur
