Fourteen years ago, I arrived in London to work for an antiques dealer. The city fascinated me, its history hanging in the air like a salty tang. My days were spent amongst eighteenth-century objects, from milk jugs to gold boxes. Who had made them? Where did they live? What were their lives like? In looking for answers, I found tales of men, women, children, wealth, crime, poverty, the erotic, the exotic and the quiet desperation of the mundane.
Monarchs, politicians and aristocrats grab the historical limelight but the ordinary people were my quarry: the Londoners who rode the dawn coach to work, opened shops bleary-eyed and hung-over, fell in love, had risky sex, realised the children had head-lice again, paid parking fines, cashed in winning lottery tickets, fought for good causes and committed terrible crimes. Behind their stories, I saw modern London emerge between the Restoration of Charles II and the arrival of Queen Victoria on the throne. One Sunday, in the summer of 2009, I stood on the steps of St. Paul’s Cathedral and listened as the bells called to worshippers and tourists alike. People loitered chatting, or climbed the steps and went inside. I imagined this clamour was almost exactly the same as it had been three centuries ago. I recorded it on my telephone and walked home.
For years, I dragged my husband to churchyards, houses, demolition sites, public monuments and hidden memorials, telling him the stories of people long dead: cabinetmakers, slaves, domestic servants, weavers, chimney sweeps and prostitutes. Back at home, I played him the recording of my precious moment of shared experience with the Londoners of the past. His dry recommendation was to start blogging about the tales I had accumulated and what I believed about Georgian London (perhaps hoping to deflect my endless enthusiasm on to the miasma of the World Wide Web). The blog gained instant traction as it explored relationships, crime, literature, disability, personal hygiene, jobs, sexuality, charity, sport and shopping. This book has sprung from its loins, a tribute to the people of the eighteenth-century city and testimony to the eternal feeling that if I could just run fast enough through London’s endless archives, I will catch them, grasp them by their coat-tails and make them tell me everything about being a Georgian Londoner.
The preface of ‘Georgian London: Into the Streets’ by Lucy Inglis.
Paul surprising Ringo for his 70th birthday on the 7th July 2010.
Ringo played a star studded concert at Radio City Music Hall, New York as part of his 70th birthday celebrations. Paul had sneaked in for a rehearsal and sound check earlier that day but left before Ringo arrived. During the show, Paul and Nancy sat on the back row, for the most part unnoticed, though eye witnesses report Paul was singing along and takings photos on his Blackberry (not an Apple?!) and a video of the performance of Yellow Submarine.
The show ended with With A Little Help From My Friends and then Give Peace A Chance, during which a cake in the shape of a Ludwig Drum was wheeled out. Ringo cut the cake with a pair of drumsticks instead of a knife.
After, Ringo left the stage and the lights went down. Paul stole onto the stage, Hofner bass in hand, and began to play Birthday for Ringo. At the end, they hugged, bowed and left the stage together.
Happy Birthday Ringo! We love you very, very much!!
It’s really been over half a decade since we lost you, Paul. We’ve been without your face, your music, and your touching nature for six years. We can only say so much for how much you’ve impacted the entire world, how you’ve saved lives and given hope to countless people of every age and race. You’ve created a monster that is growing in size and creativity and this monster is Slipknot. This monster has grown into such proportions that you’ve got millions of people that love you and will always have you in their hearts.
“The world will never see another crazy motherfucker like you… The world will never know another man as amazing as you…” – “Skeptic”
We miss you, Paulie. That laugh, smile, adorable horseplay, and that awesome lefty playing. Keep watching over the Maggots. We love you.
77 years ago on this day, legend has it that the birth of a Liverpool lad rocked the world so to its core that it started the first world war? A poor boy born in the Dingle of Liverpool in the 1940’s had not much of a future other than to become a product of his own poverty. Illness, family troubles, and social class tried to beat him down but against all odds, this lad would always outshine his trials and tribulations and showed the world that you must be your own hero. The drumbeat in his heart would become the backbeat of his band, a reliable and irresistible mate that always wanted to support his friends in making their dreams come true. Just like his drumming, he is a steady, friendly, simple, yet meticulous man who is loved by so many everywhere. So famous for his alias, you might have even forgotten it’s not his real name! We wanted him to be president in 1964 and tried again in 2016 but he’s just too cool to be a political leader. He digs peace and love and is able to bring nations together with his music so maybe we should make him president of the United Nations instead? He is the BEST drummer in the Beatles (John and Paul what?), the funny Beatle, the chill Beatle, but most of all, he is the most loved of the bunch, regardless of what anyone says. He’s most definitely a STARR in so many ways but to me, he’ll always be a galaxy. HAPPY BIRTHDAY RINGO!!! WE LOVE YOU!!! ❤❤❤❤