rogers drums

testosterone poisoning

  “Treat her badly and I’ll rip your balls off and cram them down your throat,” Jamie’s voice said softly, in Gaelic.  

  I glanced at Brianna, and saw that her mastery of Gaelic was sufficient to have appreciated the gist of this. Her mouth opened, but she didn’t get a word out.  

  There was the sound of a quick scuffle outside, ending in an even louder thump, as of a head striking logs.  

  Roger didn’t have Jamie’s air of quiet menace, but his voice rang with sincerity. “Lay hands on me once more, you fucking sod, and I’ll stuff your head back up your arse where it came from!”  

  There was a moment’s silence, and then the sound of feet moving off. A moment later, Jamie made a Scottish noise deep in his throat, and moved off too.  

  Brianna’s eyes were round as she looked at me.  

  “Testosterone poisoning,” I said, with a shrug.  

  “Can you do anything about it?” she asked. The corner of her mouth twitched, though I couldn’t tell whether with laughter or incipient hysteria.  

   I pushed a hand through my hair, considering.  

  “Well,” I said finally, “there are only two things they do with it, and one of them is try to kill each other.”  

  Brianna rubbed her nose.  

  “Uh-huh,” she said. “And the other…” Our eyes met with a perfect understanding.  

  “I’ll take care of your father,” I said. “But Roger’s up to you.”

– Drums of Autumn

Freedom

One of the many details I love about the Outlander novels is how they put a very human face on what would otherwise be dry historical events. And teach us small facts that truly transport us to the eighteenth century - not just the details of daily life, but of politics. And we see that things were just as complicated - and contradictory - then as they are now.


I’d heard Bree and Roger arguing the point—why any of the Highlanders, who had suffered so much under English rule, should have fought on the English side, as many of them eventually would.  

      “Because,” Roger had said patiently, “they had something to lose, and damn little to gain. And—of all people—they knew exactly what it was like to fight against the English. Ye think folk who lived through Cumberland’s cleansing of the Highlands, made it to America, and rebuilt their lives from nothing were eager to live through all that again ?”  

      “But surely they’ll want to fight for freedom,” Bree had protested. He looked at her cynically.  

      “They have freedom, a great deal more than they’ve ever seen in Scotland. They risk losing it in the event of a war—and they know that very well. And then, of course,” he’d added, “nearly all of them have sworn an oath of loyalty to the Crown. They’d not break it lightly, surely not for something that looked like one more wild-eyed—and doubtless short-lived—political upheaval.”

– Drums of Autumn

anonymous asked:

I just realized that Roger and Bree had a parallel to Jamie and Claire during courtship: When Jamie and Claire were on the road collecting rents, Jamie slept *outside* Claire's room with Claire's blanket on him for warmth. He honorably slept on the floor. When Roger and Bree went to the celtic music festival, they were out so late he took her to his place and she slept on his bed, Roger on the floor with Bree's sweater for warmth. Honorable men, both.

Hi anon - I never made that connection, but you’re so right:

For posterity - here is the passage in Outlander:

“You can’t sleep out here,” I said. “Come in; at least the floor in the room isn’t quite this bad.”

Jamie froze, hand on the doorframe.

“Sleep in your room with ye?” He sounded truly shocked. “I couldna do that! Your reputation would be ruined!”

He really meant it. I started to laugh, but converted it into a tactful coughing fit. Given the exigencies of road travel, the crowded state of the inns, and the crudity or complete lack of sanitary facilities, I was on terms of such physical intimacy with these men, Jamie included, that I found the idea of such prudery hilarious.

"You’ve slept in the same room with me before,“ I pointed out, when I had recovered a bit. "You and twenty other men.”

He sputtered a bit. “That isna at all the same thing! I mean, it was a quite public room, and…” He paused as an awful thought struck him. “You didna think I meant that you were suggesting anything improper?” he asked anxiously. “I assure ye, I—”

“No, no. Not at all.” I made haste to reassure him that I had taken no offense.

And here is the passage from Drums of Autumn:

The night before, they had known they were playing with dynamite, and been more cautious. He wondered if Abernathy would actually have punched him, had he admitted that Brianna had spent the night in his bed?

He had driven them down the mountain, torn between trying to stay on the right side of the road, and the excitement of Brianna’s soft weight, pressed against him. They’d stopped for coffee, talked long past midnight, touching constantly, hands, thighs, heads close together. Driven on to Boston in the wee hours, the conversation dying, Brianna’s head heavy on his shoulder.

Unable to keep awake long enough to find his way through the maze of unfamiliar streets to her apartment, he had driven to his hotel, smuggled her upstairs, and laid her on his bed, where she had fallen asleep in seconds.
He had himself spent the rest of the night on the chaste hardness of the floor, Brianna’s woolly cardigan across his shoulders for warmth. With the dawn, he’d got up and sat in the chair, wrapped in her scent, silently watching the light spread across her sleeping face.

Yeah, it was like that.

PINK FLOYD 1968

Original photograph of Pink Floyd, London 1968 by photographer Stuart McIntyre

London 1968. Archival pigment photographic print printed on fine matte acid-free paper. Image size 26,5 x 27,5 cm

Original photograph of Pink Floyd in London January 1968, originally intended for Radio Luxembourg music magazine. From left, : Rick Wright keyboards. (1943-2008) David Gilmour guitar, he had joined the group in december 1967, replacing Syd Barrett who was having mental health issues, (he left Pink Floyd in April 1968), Nick Mason, drums. Roger Waters, bass

Archival pigment print in an edition of only 10 copies was made in Autumn 2016. The print (No. 2) is signed & numbered in hand by photographer

Framed in white woodframe. Please inquire for shipping costs before ordering!

email: tkirkegaard@yahoo.dk