taken in davis!


New Orleans Confederate monument of Jefferson Davis taken down as officials receive death threats

  • A construction crew removed the second of four Confederate monuments in New Orleans before dawn on Thursday, CNN reported. 
  • The crew dismantled a statue of former Confederate President Jefferson Davis, which stood over the city for 106 years.
  • As they had been for the first monument removal in April, the workers were dressed in body armor. 
  • Officials and contractors have reportedly received death threats from opponents of the four scheduled monument removals. 
  • The threats stem from heated debates and court battles that have been waged since the New Orleans City Council voted in 2015 to take down the landmarks. Read more (5/11/17)

follow @the-movemnt


“The procession started outside the church, on Church Row. The lorry was pointed downhill and we were on the back of the lorry. I can still feel the lurch as the driver let the handbrake off on the way down, because you’re standing on the back of a lorry and it’s quite precarious!

“When we were going down King’s Drive, some of the other guys were playing - I don’t know why I wasn’t playing. We didn’t notice him [Rod’s Dad, James Davis] take the photograph. There’s one photograph where John is singing with his eyes closed. I’m standing, leaning against the back of the cab, and it must have been a hot, sticky day because my glasses have slipped down my nose. I’m pushing my glasses back up my nose and the banjo’s at my feet, in the case. Then we noticed it was my dad so there’s a second photograph where we’ve all turned around to look at him, but John unfortunately is obscured by Len. That particular photograph had been undiscovered from 1957 until 2009.

“Paul McCartney arrived on his bicycle and saw us playing. I met Paul in 2005, bumped into him on the seafront in Brighton. He said, “Oh, you must have been there on the day I first met John at St. Peter’s?”

“I said, “Yeah, in the famous photograph, I’m standing behind John’s right shoulder.” So he remembers it, I don’t remember him!

“Apparently at some stage during the day - and there are various contradictory versions of what happened - John and Paul were introduced by Ivan Vaughn (there doesn’t seem to be any doubt about that bit). No one invited Paul to join that night. Lennon is on record in an interview saying, “I immediately saw how fantastic he was and I asked him to join there and then!” Well, no, that didn’t happen. Pete and John were walking home because they both lived very close to each other, and John said to Pete (this is from Pete’s own mouth), “What did you think to Ivan’s friend then? Should we have him in the group?” and Pete said, “Yeah, I think he’s good. We should have him in the group.” So if Pete hadn’t said that, if Pete had said, “No, I think he’s an idiot,” then he wouldn’t have been in!

“I remember going to Aunt Mimi’s and there was somebody else there. I said to John, “Who’s that? Who’s this?” and he said, “Oh this is Paul. He’s come to listen to us practice,” so obviously by that time, he’d been invited to join the group.”

[Rod Davis, Banjo player in The Quarraymen, via The Liverpool Echo, 2017]

Photos - James Davis, taken on 6th July, 1957, the day John met Paul. (John with his eyes closed in the centre of the first photo)

Christine Falling - “The Babysitter From Hell” murdered 5 neighborhood children in Perry, Florida between 1980-1982.

Due to her appearance and mentality, Christine was unable to carry a job, thus resorting to babysitting for her neighbors and relatives. On February 25, 1980, two-year old Cassidy Johnson was rushed to a doctor’s in Blountstown, presumably suffering from encephalitis. Unfortunately, little Cassidy had passed away only three days later. An autopsy discovered she had died of blunt trauma to the skull, leading Christine to explain that the child had simply passed out and fell from her crib. Though these claims were largely unconvincing, the case was quickly closed.

Once arriving in Lakeland, Christine had taken four-year old Jeffrey Davis into her care. The boy had “stopped breathing” according to Christine, and an autopsy revealed he had symptoms of myocarditis, a hardly fatal heart-inflammatory disease. Just three days later, while attending Jeffrey’s funeral, Christine was ordered to sit by two-year old Joseph Spring, a cousin of the deceased. That afternoon, Joseph had died in his crib while napping. Physicians had noted a viral infection which might have killed Jeffrey as well.

Christine arrived back home and soon took up caregiving once again in July of 1981. She tried her hand in housekeeping, but 77-year old William Swindle died in his home the first day of her job.

A short time later, while accompanying her stepsister and her eight-month old niece, Jennifer Daniels, to the doctors for a standard checkup. Christine’s stepsister had stopped at the market on their way home, leaving Jennifer and Christine alone in her car. Shortly returning, she discovered that Jennifer was unconscious, with Christine simply explaining that the baby had “stopped breathing.”

Seen as a victim of unfortunate circumstances, this quickly changed on July 2, 1982, when 10-week old Travis Coleman died in Christine’s care. This time, however, the autopsy showed that the child bored signs of evident suffocation. Christine was finally taken in for questioning, where she readily confessed to killing three children by means of “smotheration,” doing so because of disembodied voices telling her to kill the children.

It’s crazy to think several people had to die without others being skeptical of the girl, but alas, she was sentenced to a term of life imprisonment without the possibility of parole for 25 years.

Good grief. My first portfolio...

Just sent (about 5 minutes ago) my boss and our staff photographer a collection of 100 of my photos taken at UC Davis over the last 5+ years. Our staff photographer is going to do a print preview to see how they look. My boss requested the 100-photo portfolio a little over a year ago.

I am freaking out…

the adventure continues, since there may be more news on my artistic front. There is also the project I am part of, for work, So far, I created the PowerPoint presentation (I give workshops on PowerPoint best practices and the how & why there are so many bad PowerPoint presentations and how best to figure out how to create and present your content in a way that best represents you) and I used two of my photos. The PowerPoint was part of our presentation that got us the $5K grant to create our project.

More to come… 


i need help!!!!

The Stolen Earth Commentary: David Tennant Regularly Shaming Russell T Davies For Leaving His Telly On
  • RTD: You know where I am this Saturday? I’m in the final of I’ll Do Anything with John Barrowman. I’m in the audience! I’ve given up! Even I’m not watching Doctor Who that night. Sorry. I’ll leave my telly on though. In two cities.
  • David: You leave your telly on anyway.
  • RTD: You’ve told me off for that.
  • David: You walk out of rooms leaving everything blaring all night. It’s terrible! Global warning is all down to Russell T Davies.
  • RTD: David, it’s such a lonely life. It’s like I have a friend. I walk back into the flat and there- there’s a voice.
  • Julie: We don’t care. Think about the bees.
  • David: That’s why the bees are leaving.
  • RTD: You know, I came to London today- I switched it off.
  • David: Quite- I’m glad to hear it!
  • Julie: Don’t you feel better?
  • RTD: And as I did it, I thought of [David]!
  • [They all laugh]
  • RTD: I actually did! That is true!
  • David: I’m glad. I’m glad.
  • RTD: I have actually been sitting in Cardiff Bay having a meal with David and across the bay he’s gone “You’ve left your telly on”. Leave me alone!

Prince Simon Snow has been struck down by an inevitable curse, only reversible through true love’s kiss. But when his betrothed, Agatha, is unable to break the spell, all measures are taken- including calling in renowned magician Basilton Pitch.

Basilton arrives at the castle.

one two three four

The outfit they’d stuffed him in was itchy and uncomfortable, and it was far too short in the trousers, so he kept feeling like he needed to pull the ankles down. He knew he looked good, though, posh even, which was both a happy memory and a terrifying flashback. He hadn’t worn clothes this nice since the fire. He looked so nice, in fact, that when the king came out to see him, he’d had to introduce himself (humbly, of course. King Davy had been known to be quite cruel at times). Davy had been looking for a peasant, and what he found looked like something entirely different.

“Basilton Pitch, your highness,” he bowed before the king, his dark hair spilling over his forehead. He tried to hide the tremor in his hands.

“I’ve heard, Mr. Pitch, that you’re a fantastic magician and doctor. Renowned, even. Is that true?” Davy’s words held a biting edge, and Baz hesitated before answering.

“That’s what people say, your grace.”

“And are you skilled in dealing with curses?”

“Depends on the type of curse, I suppose.” Baz bit at the inside of his cheek, a nervous habit.

“Sleeping curses?” The king was fully glaring at him now. Baz felt like he was trembling in his boots, but he held his ground as best he could.

“Yes, your highness, those are quite common, especially in-” he stopped in his tracks. “You mean to say that the rumors are true? About Prince Simon?”

The king’s stare intensified. His eyes were ice-blue, and they looked mean. Baz felt sorry for his servants. “Show him to the prince’s room,” he motioned to one of the attendees, who took Baz by the arm and began to lead him out. “And Mr. Pitch?” Baz looked back over his shoulder at the king.

“Yes, your majesty?”

“I’ve heard other things about you, as well, and about your romantic escapades. My son isn’t… like you. If you try anything with him, the outcome won’t be pretty.”

Humiliation colored Baz’s cheeks a deep rose. He nodded and turned back to the attendant, shuffling out of the room as quickly as possible.


For all intents and purposes, the prince could have been dead. Though when he’d first fallen asleep, he had looked bright and youthful like always, now the color was beginning to drain from his cheeks, and his usually golden skin had a pallor that suggested a far worse sickness lying beneath the surface. The first thing Baz did was check for a pulse, which to his relief, he found quickly. His heart was beating steadily and strong, and now that he looked closer, Baz could see the faint movement of breath under the heavy quilts.

He reached his hand to Prince Simon’s forehead to check for a fever, but he was actually quite cold, his face covered in clammy sweat. His curls were limp and his pink mouth seemed too brightly colored for the rest of him. “He seems to be in good health,” Baz said to the servant. “But he’s too thin, and he’s dehydrated. He needs to eat and drink. It would probably be easiest to sit him up and see if he’ll swallow things when we put them in his mouth.” The servant scrambled to help Baz prop the prince against the backboard. His head lolled to the side. “Go get some water, at least,” Baz told the servant, who rushed off eagerly.

There was no doubt that all the stories about the prince were true. Even in his death-like sleep, he was one of the most beautiful boys Baz had ever seen. His hair was made of messy bronze curls that reflected light like precious metals. His skin was smooth and creamy, dotted with freckles and dark moles. He was tall and broad shouldered and had round, full lips that were parted slightly to reveal obnoxiously straight teeth. Baz resisted the urge to reach out and tuck his unkempt curls behind one ear. It was easy to imagine a lazy smile playing along those lips, and bright eyes (he’d heard they were blue) dancing with mirth.

Breathless, the servant ran in with a pitcher of water. Baz carefully tipped the prince’s head back and poured a bit of water into his mouth. A bit dribbled down his cheek, but when Baz shut his mouth for him, he swallowed. Baz breathed a sigh of relief- he could drink, at least, which was a good sign. As long as he wasn’t asleep for too long, he should be fine. “I’ll need to know the details of the curse, of course,” Baz said to the servant after a quarter of the pitcher was gone. The servant looked uneasy.

“I’m not sure it’s really my place,” he wheedled.

“Look at me,” Baz said quietly, drawing himself up to his full height. The servant glanced up at him in fear. “If there’s any hope of me saving the prince, I’m going to be made aware of every detail, no matter how small, pointless, or secretive. Unless, of course, you’d rather he dies. In which case, I can leave right now.”

“N-no, no, I’ll go inform the king.”


Baz sat, tense and uncomfortable, at the long mahogany table. It wasn’t quite large enough to be used as a dining table, and it was too low to the ground for his long legs to fit underneath without being cramped. He drummed his fingers restlessly on the wood, waiting for the king to arrive.

The room was obviously used for meetings. It was sparsely furnished, with only a few tapestries hanging on the walls, clean and simplistic. In the corner was an easel-type stand with a pad of parchment paper on it and an inkwell in a small stand beside it, presumably for note-taking. There were no windows (privacy and all), but an oil lamp hung on the wall, emitting an incense-like smell and giving the room an eerie glow.

The door swung open and the king entered, looking harsh and untouchable as always. “You requested to see me?” He asked, gesturing to his servants to leave. Making sure the door was shut tight, he sat down across from Baz.

“Yes, your highness. I thought you would be the most appropriate person to talk to about the details of the case with the prince.”

“And what details will you be needing?” A slight edge gathered in King Davy’s voice. Unease, Baz wondered? Or simply hesitation?

“Everything possible, your majesty,” Baz replied in a firm tone. “Whatever ails Prince Simon, it’s not to be taken lightly.”

King Davy sighed heavily. “Very well. But just know, Mr. Pitch, that there are dire consequences if any of this is to leak to the public. I can make your death look like an unfortunate accident.” A shiver ran down Baz’s spine.


“You killed her! You bastard!” Davy struck the old wizard across the face, his wrinkled skin swelling up and purpling on contact. His teeth were bared, his breathing heavy. “I’ll kill you, I swear to Merlin I’ll have you killed!”

“If you’ll simply wait-” the wizard began, but the his words were drowned with another blow from the fuming king.

“Do you know who I am? Do you know how easily I can ruin your insignificant life? Bring her back this very instant, or I’ll-”

“Your highness, if you’ll just listen-”

“I won’t listen to a word that comes from that grimy mouth of yours, you pathetic old numpty!” Davy spat. He swung once more, but the old wizard caught his wrist with incredible agility. Shock ran across Davy’s face and was replaced instantaneously with fear as the old wizard opened his mouth and began to speak. His voice was clearly thick with magic, and his eyes blazed with a thousand-year-old fire that struck Davy to the core.

Listen here, and listen well,“ the wizard began, tightening his grip on Davy’s forearm.
Not even royalty can escape my spell
Your cruelty and rage has sparked my own
And through these words my revenge is won
A lovely wife you now will lose
Whom you would have had with a moment’s pause
A beautiful son is yours to keep
Until a spindle puts him to sleep
On the sixteenth day of his sixteenth year
A death-like sleep, his greatest fear
Will come to be, and then you’ll see
The true meaning of misery
His light will be forever missed
Unless he’s awakened by true love’s kiss.”

The wizard’s grip on Davy’s arm slackened, and then he was gone.

In case you haven’t noticed, there is still magic in this world, but it’s a little bit different then in Carry On (and Simon isn’t a magician). Enjoy! :)

@thecruciblegavemeyou if anyone else would like to be tagged, please let me know)

How Witch Balls Are Made

An excerpt from a story that describes witch balls, similar to elf-shots, which are thrown at victims and cause them incredible pain, illness, misfortune or death. These are gifted to witches by the Devil, using ingredients they collect for him. If they fail to acquire their ingredients they are whipped viciously with a switch of rose thorns by the Devil.

“‘When we met at the crossroads down nigh the graveyard, the Devil fust drawed a big ring 'bout nine feet acrost. The witches rounded up some firewood and built a big fire in the middle of hit. When hit started burnin’ good, the Devil poured a mess of thing on hit to make the blue, green, red and yeller flames. Then, he put a pot on to bile, and threw into hit a bottle of weazel’s blood and a handful of dried baby’s flesh. Then, each witch throwed in the stuff she’d brung into the pot, and the Devil throwed in any stuff they failed to bring. Atter this, we all joined hands and danced 'round the fire while the Devil chanted:

A pair of dead spiders’ legs,
Guts and bladder of a black cat,
Dead baby’s toenails, buzzard’s eggs,
Blud of a weazel and tail of a rat.

The eye of a big, fat sow,
The whisker of a wildcat,
A tit of a milk cow,
And the brain of a bat.

The foot of a toadfrog,
The hair from a murdered man’s wig,
The dried turd of a feiss dog,
The hair of a Poland-China pig.

To this mystic myrrh,
To make a witchball,
I, the Devil, doth stir,
To place curses on one and all.

We let this brew bile for seven minutes then, whilst hit cooled, the Devil handed us candles made outten human grease. We lit the candles from the fire and marched 'round the ring till they were 'most burnt up, then threw them into the fire. Then the Devil took up blobs of the stuff from the pot and wrapped each one with hair each witch had cut from her haid, and this made the witchballs.
Witches who’d brung what they'se supposed to got thirteen balls, and those who jest brung part got seven balls. This wuz all I got. Them that didn’t bring nuthin’ got only three balls. The Devil told us these balls ’d have to last us till anudder Friday the thirteenth when we could make some more. Effen a witch lost one ore let somebody steal one, the Devil would whup her with rose thorns. Thet’s why people don’t find witchballs: the witch slips back to git 'em so’s she can use 'em agin.’”

Collected by Gertrude Blair, Roanoke, Virginia, June 10, 1939. Told to her by Aunt Lucy Skinner, who lived in Montgomery County, not far from Christiansburg, Virginia. This story has been handed down through at least four generations.

Taken here from Hubert J. Davis’ The Silver Bullet and other American Witch Stories

A picture taken by Nikki Davies of Yellow Water Cruises of a giant saltwater crocodile holding a smaller croc in its mouth in the Kakadu region of northern Australia. A five-metre (16-foot) crocodile put on the spectacular display for a passing tour boat, attacking and chomping on a smaller croc before plunging it into an unsurvivable ‘death roll’.
Picture: Nikki Davies/Yellow Water Cruises

Angela Davis. Original Caption: “10/13/1970-New York, NY- Black revolutionary Angela Davis, 26, sought for murder and kidnapping, was captured 10/13 by the FBI. Miss Davis, a former instructor at UCLA and an avowed Communist, usually sports an Afro hairdo, but she was wearing a short wig when arrested. She is shown at left in an FBI mug shot taken after her arrest.”

See Me - Part 2. (Liam Dunbar Imagine)

Part 1 is here, Part 3 is here! Hope you guys enjoy :)

See Me - Part 2

“A banshee. Like Lydia.”


“Well, that explains a lot.”

You probably should have told Liam about the whole banshee thing yesterday after the incident in Davis’ class, but you wanted Stiles and Lydia to be with you to help explain. And now the whole group knows. You’re sitting at lunch with Stiles, Lydia, Liam, Malia, Scott, and Kira, who are all obviously trying not to stare at you right now. All of them except Liam, who is directly across from you and shamelessly gawking. His eyebrows lower and you can practically see the wheels turning in his head. “Wait. Don’t banshees predict, like, bad things?”

“Death, to be more specific,” Stiles says while inspecting your Geometry notebook. Most of the first page is covered in shapes and spirals, but towards the bottom is another series of letters.


Liam looks down at his arm, where the pen has mostly faded. “What did you write on my arm again?” You reach for your phone to open a picture you took of Liam’s arm yesterday.

“Capital O, y, Capital R, e, s, Capital I, h, e, Capital A, t.” Stiles recites the letters he’s already copied down before you can even unlock your screen. “There must be a hidden message, since it’s only letters. I’m assuming the capital letters are the important ones.” He scribbles aggressively in his own notebook and turns it toward us.


Malia crinkles up her nose in thought. “So we just have to unscramble it?”


The entire table begins writing and typing, trying to figure out what the hell your hidden message was. You wish you could remember. Why couldn’t you have just written the letters in the right order? You would’ve saved your new friends so much trouble. What if it just ends up being nonsense and a waste of their time?

“Y/N.” You look over at Lydia, who sets down her pencil and places her hand over yours. “There was nothing else you could’ve done. There are so many ways to translate the voices. What you’ve done here is great.”

Stiles mumbles as he scrawls different combinations of letters. “Yeah, it’s not your fault we’re bad at decoding your genius.” His eyes flicker up at you and he grins.

“Plus, what else were we gonna do at lunch?” Kira smiles at you over her phone.

Malia glares at Kira. “Um. Eat?” Stiles elbows her lightly and she looks confused. Then she looks back at you and her eyebrows raise. “Not that this isn’t fun too.”

Stiles looks back up at you and grins again. “Progress.” He returns to his paper. “Speaking of progress, has anyone else made any?”

“Raptor Duti,” Scott offers. This prompts everyone else to list off their findings.

“Parrot Tiud. Adopt Rurti. Triod Tupar.” Malia seems very proud of herself.

“Pratt Douri. Could Chris Pratt be in danger? Guys, this could be serious.” Kira looks genuinely concerned at the possibility.

“Tuti Or Darp. Turd or Taip.” You giggle at how ridiculous these suggestions are. “What about you, Stiles?”

“The only other thing I can think of is Trap Tu Dior. And that’s a stretch.” Stiles runs his hand through his hair and looks around the table. “Wait a minute. Where’s Liam?”

Everyone looks at Liam’s blank scrap of paper and empty chair. “How long has he been gone?” Scott looks worried for some reason.

“He probably just went to the bathroom,” you point out.

“I’ll go check. Stiles, you call him,” Scott yells over his shoulder as he jogs across the lunch room. Stiles picks up his phone and starts dialing.

“Why does he look so nervous?” You ask. Malia answers without looking up from her growing list of unscrambled words.

“Oh, you know Alphas and their Betas. Especially with Scott and Liam. Mama bear always has to know that her baby bear’s safe.”

The table goes silent.

“What?” Whatever Malia just said went right over your head. Stiles elbows her again and she looks up at you with a start.

“Nothing!” She smiles and returns to her paper.

Scott returns to the table shortly after. “He’s not in the bathroom. I tried to catch his scent, but he’s nowhere near here.”

“Catch his scent?”

“Nothing. Stiles, did he answer?”

“Nope. But I think I know why.” Stiles gestures lamely to an approaching Liam, who is grinning wildly and holding up his phone. “Scott, man, you really gotta get that separation anxiety under control. Here he comes.”

Scott lays a hand on Liam’s shoulder when he reaches the table, as if to make sure he’s really there, and falls back into his chair. Liam’s smile hasn’t ceased since he re-entered the lunch room.

“Why so happy, Dunbar?” Kira pokes Liam’s side as she asks. He looks at you and holds up his phone again.

“I remembered something.” He walks around the table and crouches down next to you, resting his hand on the back of your chair. He smells really, really good. He leans forward and holds his phone in front of you. “Look familiar?”

You examine the image displayed on his screen. It’s a picture taken inside a classroom, specifically Davis’ classroom. It’s of your desk. You can tell it’s yours because of the strange, scrambled writing in the middle of it. Your mouth drops open.

“Oh my god. We didn’t have the entire code.” You look at Liam and realize just how unnecessarily close he is. Not that it bothers you. You return his huge smile and wrap your arms around his neck in a hug. He laughs into your hair, his breath tickling your ear.


You flinch at how weirdly loud your thoughts just became, and Liam unfortunately takes this as a sign to pull away.

“It was nothing, honestly.” He straightens, smiling even wider, somehow. “I just thought about what happened yesterday. When your heart r- I mean, your writing was speeding up so much, I couldn’t help but watch you. And then you closed your eyes. You ran out of paper eventually, but that didn’t stop you. You just kept right on going. You know, I didn’t peg you as a vandal of school property, but if the shoe fits…”

Stiles snatches the phone out of a giggly Liam’s hand and begins copying the letters down next to the other two parts of the code.


“So, if we’re still focusing on capital letters, we have..”


Everyone stares at the letters. “Well,” Stiles says. “We still have 20 minutes of lunch left. Think we can crack it?” Liam sits back down across from you and raises his eyebrows questioningly in your direction.

“Definitely.” You’re determined, now. That crazy, embarrassing episode was not going to be for nothing. You mentally correct yourself. Smiling at Liam, you realize that, even if you don’t crack the code, something good does seem to be coming out of this whole mess.

After a solid 10 minutes of independent code-cracking attempts, Scott speaks his mind. “Alright, so we don’t seem to be making much progress alone. Maybe if we talked through it, we’d figure something out. Stiles? Anything?”

“The best I’ve got is Raindrops Thrust. In other words, I’ve got nothing.”

“Okay…what about you, Malia?”

“Dinosaurs! …with a bunch of gibberish left over.”

Kira speaks up. “Maybe we’re thinking too hard about this. Here, Liam. Look at the letters and say the first word that you spell out.”

Liam studies the list, while Kira and you share hopeful smiles. “Well?” You ask Liam.

“Soap.” He looks up at you, straight-faced.

“Very good. Good job. We’re proud of you.” You stare right back at him. It’s like a sarcasm-induced sexual tension staring contest until Stiles breaks the silence.


You blink and look over at your friend. She’s been silent since Liam found the third part of the code. She’s staring at the line of capital letters with her lips slightly parted.

“Lydia,” Stiles says again, gently. “What’s on your mind?”

Lydia slowly grabs her pencil, and Stiles slides the paper closer to her. She bends over it, writes something down, stands up, and walks away.

You can all read what she wrote from where you’re sitting. Nobody says anything.



Part 3

-I really enjoyed writing this part!! Thanks so much for reading. Also, the next part is going to have a LOT of Liam. So stay tuned. :)


Above is the disturbing image of 29-year-old Kevin Davies, taken from a video, after he had been kept as a prisoner for six weeks by Amanda Baggus, David Lehane, and their accomplice Scott Andrews. Emaciated, barefoot, malnourished and weighing less than 7st, Davies was imprisoned in a small windowless shed in the couple’s garden. Davies, who suffered from epilepsy, was abducted and used as a slave. He was tortured and humiliated for their own sadistic pleasure. The pair carved a crucifix into his buttocks, broke his ribs and burned his genitals and thighs with corrosive acid, among other things.

They made videos of the horrific torture until his death. Unfortunately, because no exact cause of death could be determined, they escaped a murder charge and were jailed for 10 years for false imprisonment.

Brb I’m going to sleep so Ican wake up on Christmas.

Then hope that I get a time machine so I can go back in time and get the presents I couldnt get because I was asleep.

Then I’d go back in time and get my picture taken with Davy Crockett.

Then I’d travel to the future to see if Toto’s “Africa” is considered a classic ballad in the year 2767

Well isn’t this exciting? Andrew Davies to write non-musical TV series of Les Mis.

In Q&A after screening Andrew Davies said his next projects are Les Mis (no singing) and a drama about Nye Bevan and the birth of the NHS

— Huw Thomas (@huwthomas)

February 1, 2016