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feckcops · 8 months
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Private companies are stealing public parks
“For years now, entertainment mega-corporations have targeted cash-strapped councils as amenable, affordable hosts for their events. From Clapham Common to Glasgow Green, city-dwellers across the UK have become accustomed to basslines vibrating their windows, five-metre fences encircling their playgrounds, and security guards policing what are effectively their gardens.
“Yet as entertainment companies try to recuperate massive pandemic losses with aggressive multi-year deals, while the climate crisis renders urban summers increasingly unbearable, the privatisation of public parkland is becoming harder to swallow.
“In April, dozens of Haringey residents descended on FoFP’s biggest-ever meeting to vent their frustrations, while a recent petition demanding private companies keep their hands off Finsbury Park was signed by thousands ... For the most part, the work of groups like FoFP and FCC is polite engagement with the council to ensure the park is properly maintained. Yet as councils’ approach to major events has become more aggressive, so have the friends groups’.
“In 2016, FoFP took Haringey to court over its outdoor events policy. The group lost the case – though it did win an agreement from Haringey that the money made from the park would be spent on it. Haringey claims to have done this, though to FoFP, the numbers don’t quite add up: while in information obtained by Novara Media via an FoI request, the council claims it spent £871,626 on staffing Finsbury Park in 2020-21, many have questioned where the money is going: the park has had no park ranger since late October, no on-site manager since May. ‘If you’ve got this money […] you sure as hell didn’t spend it here,’ says Simon, pointing to the chipped paint of the bench on which she’s sitting.”
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oh-dear-so-queer · 1 month
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In May 1988, one of Margaret Thatcher's most controversial laws came into force. Section 28 prohibited local authorities and schools from promoting homosexuality and prevented councils from funding any lesbian and gay initiatives. Teachers censored their lessons. Librarians removed books from the shelves. Councillors restricted children's services for fear of breaking the law, since 'acceptability of homosexuality as a pretended family relationship' was no longer legal.
"Normal Women: 900 Years of Making History" - Philippa Gregory
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easterneyenews · 5 months
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davidhencke · 1 year
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National Audit Office investigation: The hidden scandal of rip off landlords cheating the vulnerable and the state
National Audit Office foyer Pic Credit: David Pearson An investigation by Parliament’s financial watchdog, the National Audit Office, this week has cast light on a hidden scandal of how private and social landlords are making huge profits from providing costly sub standard housing to the elderly, disabled, homeless, recovering drug addicts and domestic abuse survivors. Officially called…
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m-ultraarticles · 1 year
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Coronation killjoy councils demand approval for putting up bunting
Councils have told ten million Britons they need permission to fly bunting at Coronation street parties, it has emerged. One in five of England’s population has been told it is “unlawful” to put up mini flags unless they have filled out multi-page application forms and risk assessments, as well as obtaining written approval from their council. Bunting application deadlines closed as long ago as…
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toxictoxicities · 7 months
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Finally got around to designing The Council. These three pretty much the top of Links Colony enforcing customs and traditions, breaking taboos had consequences <3
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iwriteaboutfeminism · 4 months
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instagram
All seven members are women.
Six are women of color.
All are under 40.
All are Democrats.
Well done, St. Paul!
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silverpsychedelic · 7 months
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I was thinking about what exactly the setting is for Cade's Manor and co, because it's obviously got elements of PMD but it's a fair bit different. How I see it is that there are many human influences remaining in the world, which suggests they were a pretty recent thing. The things they left behind are still in pretty decent shape and don't have much decay (maybe just being overgrown a bunch), but the current Pokemon populace speak of them like a far off memory or legend. So it's been a few generations at least. There ARE settlements around the place like in the standard PMD games, ones purely constructed by Pokemon, but there are also towns and even cities that have become populated as well.
I think Humans had evolved and developed to the point of the modern age/technology, BUT some sort of mass extinction occurred. It's why Cade's manor is very much of human function and design, and it borders on a large city of the same influence. It's probably why there are portraits of humans long since gone still on the walls within it, and lots of ads or billboards depicting humans from when they were around. The towns and cities has been taken over and changed to suit Pokemon needs, and they've rapidly adapted to life without humans.
Pokemon had lived beside humans for a long time, which is also why they could figure out how to use a bunch of human technology and resources after a while. And with things they can't, they just sort of fill in the gaps with their own processes. They took things from what they remembered of humans and modified them to suit Pokemon needs instead.
Not at all sure what caused the entirety of the human race to collectively kick the bucket just yet, maybe it was a cosmic event, maybe Arceus decided a factory reset was in order. Like many of my ideas, it simply started off as something that sounded funny: a ghost fights the local Pokemon government over zoning laws.
Here's a small doodle about it
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nientedal · 1 year
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Oct. 10 meeting minutes — made public today shortly after a request from WITF — show council member Paul Swangren, Jr. “requested a line-item review” of the library’s finances to make sure each item reflected “conservative values.”
“He was not comfortable with monies going towards Women Health class because it was related to sexual matters.”
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drumlincountry · 2 months
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Litany against running for local government:
- I'm LITERALLY an anarchist
- I'd hate it
- local government in Ireland is demonstrably undemocratic such that the structure that exists would not allow me to actually represent people well even if I wanted to and they wanted me to.
- what if they found my blog
- my mother would be SO DISAPPOINTED
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whumpacabra · 2 months
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New Tricks
Angst, crying, exhaustion, fever, touch starvation, scars, local anesthetic, stitches, painful wound treatment, pain medication, needle mention, fear of electrocution, anticipated violence, referenced character death, past torture, implied past noncon
[Directly follows Bad Dog]
The Wolf waited. He drank every second of gentle touch he could get and he waited for the price to be exacted on his already rent flesh.
It never came.
He cried himself to exhaustion, nauseous with the knowledge he was too tired, that it would kill him to take any more punishment. (He didn’t want to die.) But the hands that pulled his tear stained face from the agent’s tear soaked shirt were gentle, holding his jaw like it was a fragile thing. And the eyes looking down at him - alien with their pity - had no sharp edges trying to cut into his own pain glazed eyes.
“I - I have a medkit. Would you - do you need help, stitching up your back?”
The Wolf stared up at him, too tired to process the words beyond ‘help.’ He didn’t get help - he got treatment. He recovered enough to be broken again. But there was a finality to the way this man said that word, like it meant something more than a temporary state of being.
“Okay. I’m - I’m just going to get my medkit, alright? Alright.” Jackson was talking more to himself, and the Wolf was fine with that. The words were starting to blur together, the sound of a particular voice that didn’t come with hurt or insults or harsh hands. Jackson’s gentle hands propped the Wolf against the edge of the tub, an arm draped over the side and his head resting against the cool false porcelain plastic. He was so fucking cold. He just wanted to curl up somewhere warm and sleep.
(He wanted to crack open Jackson’s rib cage and slot himself between his lungs.)
He was shivering intermittently when Jackson returned (had he been gone long?) but the Wolf was just happy to have that warm presence hovering near him again. The agent sat beside him, the space between the sink and tub a cramped and uncomfortable place to fit two grown men, but the Wolf didn’t mind.
(How odd, that just hours before he would dread having another warm blooded body close to his, and now - now, with this one, he wanted to cling to that warmth like a leech.)
The click and snap of a syringe being prepped had the Wolf open his eyes, glancing over his shoulder at Jackson, who offered a nervous smile.
“It’s a local anesthetic - is that alright?” The Wolf blinked at him, and then looked away. He didn’t know how to answer questions about his comfort, his wants. (He just wanted to sleep.) The kiss of the needle was expected, but the bloom of cool numbness it bestowed where it pricked his back was a welcome surprise.
“I’m - I need to clean these. Even with the anesthetic it might hurt.” The Wolf could feel those alien eyes watching the back of his head, so he nodded. “Sorry.” Jackson had nothing to apologize for.
The sting of antiseptic was absent, but the pressure and prickle of exposed flesh being prodded and debris teased away was a familiar sensation. His handler had cut into him on the first night, reckless with rage. The Wolf tried not to dwell on the memory, but a tremor shivered up his spine as Jackson worked, gentle hands pausing.
“Are you alright?” Another nod. Another soft ‘sorry’ that felt unwarranted. It was the Wolf’s fault for being weak. He tried to focus on the steady rhythm of Jackson’s stitches, oddly difficult to anticipate with his pain numbed flesh.
Three days of those deep cuts left exposed, open to the air and sweat and worse. They would scar, badly, like the cuts that ran from his right hip to his spine, skin ridged and thick with scar tissue. His handler wanted them to scar badly. He wanted the Wolf to remember - to remember that he -
A sob caught in his throat, the shock collar still heavy around his neck. It wasn’t set to voice activation - he didn’t think it was - but it had shocked him earlier. Had his handler done that? Had his handler survived and was watching and would kill Jackson or have him kill Jackson and - ?
“Easy love, I’m almost done. You’re doing so well.” A voice so soft and so different from the barking orders and snarled insults he was acclimated to. The Wolf blinked away fresh tears, struggling to find his voice, a hoarse whisper rising from his ragged throat.
“Is he dead?” Three little words; a question he couldn’t stand to know the answer to. A question he needed to know the answer to if he ever wanted to sleep again. Jackson’s hands, cold - so cold against the Wolf’s burning, numbed skin - stilled, a steady palm pressed to a small expanse of uncut flesh. But not too hard, mindful of his bruises.
“Yes. Agent Smith is gone. He’s dead.” The Wolf could hear a question in those words, but he was too relieved to consider it. Jackson - anyone - could kill him, let him die badly, alone, and bloody, and he would die happy. He outlived his handler. A victory he didn’t know he needed.
Jackson resumed his steady handed stitches, and the Wolf let his head drop, thoughts running watery and disconnected. The hum of the light above. The creak of the window pane holding back the wind. The footsteps in the room above - light, belonging to a child, a bed creaking and muffled voices soft with sleepy affection.
“You’re warm.” He sure as hell didn’t feel warm. The Wolf looked over his shoulder at Jackson, instinctively flinching as a hand came toward his face, but he relaxed into the icy touch pressed to his forehead. He almost missed it when it left. “Here, are you allergic to Advil?”
The Wolf looked down at the red pill and the almost comically small paper cup with a swallow’s worth of water. His stomach ached, hunger and nausea fighting for recognition even as he downed the medication and splash of liquid. He had taken harsher drugs with less in his stomach. (Not that what was roiling in his gut was pleasant or nutritious.)
With a shudder he rested against the tub once again, Jackson’s hands and sterilizing wipes traveling away from the oldest, deepest cuts. The antiseptic stung, a familiar pain that burned like acid over his wounds. But Jackson didn’t linger, didn’t press the antiseptic deeper into his flesh. He stitched the deepest wounds, bandaged the rest, and worried over surface level burns as though the Wolf could still feel them after the years of his handler’s habit leaving its mark.
By the time Jackson was putting away his medkit, the first grey glow of dawn was seeping through the rain dappled window. The Wolf hadn’t moved in hours, sitting still and as comfortable as he could be while Jackson worked. He was so tired. And when he limped out of the bathroom after Jackson, there was a wonderful nest of blankets and pillows waiting on the soft carpeted floor.
“You take the bed, I don’t mind sleeping on the floor - besides, your back could…” Jackson trailed off as the Wolf wandered to the crude bed on the floor, dropping harshly to his knees and collapsing into the softness.
In his daze of exhaustion, he barely registered the anxious horror of knowing Jackson wanted him on the bed. That was a problem for a well rested Wolf. That was something he could handle tomorrow, that he could survive tomorrow, that he could stomach tomorrow.
Right now, there was a soft surface below him, a heater humming to his right, and a painlessness to his injuries that should have frightened him.
But he was too tired, so he slept.
[Directly before In for a Penny]
(Part of my Freelancers: Changing Tides series)
Taglist: @stargeode
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blackchantilly · 3 months
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Last night I referenced My Immortal (the fanfic) IRL to a bunch of people around my age and nobody knew what I was talking about. Apparently at 35 I'm still learning what is and is not normal social behavior.
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davidhencke · 1 year
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National Audit Office investigation: The hidden scandal of rip off landlords cheating the vulnerable and the state
National Audit Office foyer Pic Credit: David Pearson An investigation by Parliament’s financial watchdog, the National Audit Office, this week has cast light on a hidden scandal of how private and social landlords are making huge profits from providing costly sub standard housing to the elderly, disabled, homeless, recovering drug addicts and domestic abuse survivors. Officially called…
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yohankang · 22 days
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the weather today is so nice ☀️🌸
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