Tim And All That Jazz

Buon ferragosto a tutti! Viviamo sempre la dolce vita! 💚🤍❤️ Questi sono i Pilastri della Dolce Vita Lentezza: godersi il momento presente senza fretta. Piacere: valorizzare il buon cibo, il vino e l'arte. Eleganza: curare lo stile e la bellezza nei dettagli quotidiani. Socialità: trascorrere tempo di qualità con famiglia e amici. Spontaneità: lasciarsi guidare dalle emozioni e dalla bellezza del panorama. 🎶🍷🤌🏻

Umbrella As an old saying this side of the Pond goes: Every man is an island, but even islands know better than to leave the house without a brolly. Such a funny little thing called life, innit! It's Friday evening. Work done. Some well-deserved off time ahead. I go to a mall. It's huge. Well, by local standards, that is. I'm looking to buy me an umbrella. Just in case. Mid-autumn is upon us, like it or not. But first I choose to climb all the way up to the food court, because we all know umbrella-shopping yields far better results when one's belly is not yodelling. Or purring. Preferably the latter. So, I grab me a beer and some Georgian cheese pie. Had it not been so nastily lukewarm, it might have passed for a half-decent late lunch. Less yucky, at any rate. Suffer through the meal. Fine, I must admit the beer wasn't that dreadful. Why, who am I fooling! Beer is never, ever a bad idea. Full stop. I ramble off to find what I came for. The very next moment, a giant sign stares me right in the eye: BHS. And I hope I've read it right: British House – not Burmese Home Supplies or something… My thoughts collide and yank on one another: house, British, home, Britain, island, good peeps, prawn sandwiches, bowlers, rain, brollies! Hallelujah! I'm saved. First time lucky! Yay! Yeah, right… No umbrellas. No nothing. A commiserative (or was it condescending?) look from the assistant. And the thought: "This house is about as British as the Holy Roman Empire was all three. They should bloody well get sued for the name." I'm off to catch the commuter train. It's Friday, remember? And Friday afternoons are notorious for turning traffic into one giant cock-up. But before leaving the mall altogether, I decide to give it one last shot and peek into another shop on the ground floor. A brand so popular I've already forgotten the name. Which begs the question: is it truly that popular, given that a) I recognised it right away, and b) I forgot it faster still and can't recall it for the life of me? I enter. Cue the usual up-and-down from the rent-a-cop half-standing, half-sagging by the Bobby Moore. I casually approach them anyway, oblivious to the apparent unease. With a tinge of… is it hostility I sense? I ask if they have, you know, umbrellas. The lad is apparently tops when it comes to simulating intellectual activity. An eternity later, he procures an answer: "I don't think so. Better off asking at the till." Not that I'm excited or anything, but I thank him anyway and give that little polite smile you come to expect from the likes of me. The shop proper is quite spacious, and all I see is shoppers – not staff. Having put the maze of racks, mirrors, piles of shoeboxes, and mannequins behind me, I finally stumble upon the till. I diligently repeat the sole true question burning through the best part of my afternoon. The assistant-slash-teller asks, ever so casually, whether it's raining outside. Startled, I say no. I'm here because I need an umbrella. That's it. I spell it out. Just an umbrella. Just in case. Luckily, they do have umbrellas. But not of the sort I wanted. You know, the proper canes – not the flimsy telescopic jobs that invert at the first gust, nor the wee baguettes you'd see the butcher beat their mother-in-law with, nor not the folding affairs that snap if you look at them sideways. Meh. Lucky me… I guess? Time's now starting to get the better of me. I dash for the exit. It's Friday evening already. And of course it's packed. Dodging the occasional stroller and tipsy gents in their umpteens, I approach the revolving door. Slow as a bloody grapevine snail. The door, that is. To my bemusement, it's even more crowded outdoors. People are crammed right next to the entrance. Someone's smoking, others vaping – that godawful fad of today – still others talking at – rather than to – each other. I must admit that’s the way we all tend to talk these days. Makes you sad, don't it? I'm weaving my way through the crowd. It's as yet unknown territory for me, and I'm running out of time to catch the suburban. But I do get through. Hop on the tube, and off I go. Time to spare, no less. Above me, drivers anxiously honking to – or yet again at – each other, cars perilously close, pedestrians getting in the way to create an even bigger conundrum of chaos and confusion. The streams going above and beyond the pavement. Drains overflowing, gasping for air. People, here and there, those tiny teeny ants braving a flood beyond all natural measure, hop from one dry patch to the next, only to be splattered head to toe by a passing car mere seconds later – its sudden, impatient lurch born of the bedlam. It's not raining. It's bucketing! And I'm just glad I've got my earbuds in. Otherwise, I’d drown. And I don’t mean the noise. Rain. The last day of September. The street-river. Crowds upon crowds of merry revellers, bone-weary sloggers, tourists, immigrants, prams, onewheels, vapers, cabs, trolleys. And dwarfing all that – water, water everywhere.  Now, safe and sound – even though not home and dry, just yet – with that lukewarm pie somewhere inside me and the beer gently putting me at ease, deep down in the belly of the beast this metropolis is, I can't help smirking. Apparently, that was no ordinary teller, but a fortune teller all right!

В прозу тож могу И без этих ваших искусственных интеллектов, естественных тупостей и этикет-шметикетов check it out ⬇️⬇️⬇️

the ship and just like that off we went setting our course for uncharted waters full to the brim with hopes, ideas, memories free at last of values, tastes, prejudices that weren’t even ours, to begin with a mere word, said en passant, was the very wind filling our sails our hearts the wheel our eyes the rudder whatever storms we might face, whatever perils lie in wait, we shall overcome for the ship we’re on is called ‘love’ 2023 ⛵ #hearttoheart #onelove

Ambling Unshod 💔 #createdonthate #landscape

Деловой На вечер запланирована встреча, На следующее утро – завтрак деловой, И где-то днём толкаться будут речи, А после – нувориши в гостевой. И вроде бы насыщенною жизнью Ты каждый день из года в год живёшь, Не замечая, как желтеют листья, Надеясь, что вот-вот свой куш сорвёшь. И вроде ты считаешься успешным, И снова в полдень деловой обед… Но будь хотя бы сам с собою честен: В твоем цейтноте смысла жизни нет. 2018 🦆

Почти fortnight прошло с финала ЧМ. Только начало "отпускать". Лебединые песни легенд получились совсем разными. Сонни вылетел вместе с Кореей ещё из группы. Ронни и Лука схлестнулись в 1/8 (или 1/16? столько матчей — я уже не упомню всего). Но Ронни потом всё равно выбили гишпанцы. Нойер бесславно отхватил от Парагвая. Много весёлых, неожиданных матчей. Много heartbreak. Много эмоций, мыслей и впечатлений. Такой и должна быть лучшая игра на свете! It's coming home. Just not this time around. 🚩

Кстати, про Питер ^^ #attraversiamo #keepwalking #spb

Петроградка 2020 г. Стас Мирошников 🎨 русский арт

¡Vamos, España linda! ¡Vamos, España linda! La tierra de paz y amor, la mejor, la más fuerte, la guinda, el equipo del arte y de calor. ¡Vamos, gente honrada! más allá, con toda su alma, ni un instante desesperado. ¡Sí se puede! Tranquilo. Calma. ¡Vamos, España grande! lucharemos por el futuro, el poder en cada instante. Ganaremos. Siempre. Seguro. 19-07-2026 ❤️😍❤️ #hastaelfinal #onelove #vamos #vamosespana #poesiaviva

Басё говорил: «Нужно любить то, о чём пишешь». Однажды осенью он и Кикаку шли по рисовому полю. Увидев красную стрекозу, Кикаку сложил: Оторви пару крыльев У стрекозы – Получится стручок перца. — Нет, – сказал Басё, – это не хайку. Ты убил стрекозу. Если ты хочешь создать хайку и дать ему жизнь, нужно сказать: Добавь пару крыльев К стручку перца – И появится стрекоза.

“I’m your wave, — I told her — Lay your head right here, Softly, on my shoulder. Let your thoughts roam free.” “You’re my air, — she told me — You’re my life and sun. Singly we are nothing. Allied, we are one.” “I’m your fire, — I uttered — Burning bright and mild.” “That be true.”— she muttered. Slender, sound and wild. When we are together, Nothing holds us down The unwashed may blather, Let them laugh and frown. Floating through the cosmos On the marble blue, With the odds against us, Making dreams come true. ♒️ #onelove #hearttoheart

Перед грозой 1960г. Леонид Фокин 🎨 русский арт

Watching Tuner rn Highly recommended! 🍿 #allthatjazz

Ici c'est Paris 💙🤍❤️ #donthatecreate #paris #sketching

рассвет я бегу по росе, чтобы встретить рассвет. обнимаю округу взором. я, как стрелки часов, ускоряю свой бег под бескрайне-пустым небосводом. я тропу проложу, чтоб по ней чередой промелькнули столетья-мгновенья... приходи помечтать под луной голубой и вдохнуть новый день с упоеньем! 2021 🌅 #поэзиявечности #inspiredbynature #вдохновлённоеприродой #отсердцаксердцу