Three hours after war was declared, it ended.
Both sides agreeing that the whole episode had the potential to end rather nastily. Neither wanted that.
Yes, they had their differences but who doesn't?
Best bet for everyone was to just sit down and talk about it.
Then, the location of these 'talks' became important - they needed to be on neutral territory.
Neither side could agree.
At first, one side offered a site on their side of the border. Perfectly fine looking site it was too.
This was refuted by the other side who instead suggested their own. With predictable consequences.
Due to no peace agreement having ever been signed, the upcoming conflict remained officially active.
So, troops reluctantly mobilised.
Each side massed at their own border, interpreting the others' movements as an act provocation.
The same shared trait that prevented agreement on talks locations would now result in hostilities.
Bugger.
Sunny Outlook
The sunglasses protect my eyes from the blinding sun.
Relieving them.
Allowing lines of protection to relax.
So I say.
Relieving them.
Allowing lines of protection to relax.
So I say.
Angry Horace
Horace had become an angry man - a very angry little man indeed.
He'd only noticed it recently.
He was angry with the government for screwing up the economy. Angry at his low level of job satisfaction. At the driver who hit his car when he was shopping and drove off.
At the supermarket queue for being too long, the weather for being too cold and his WiFi for being too slow.
He was angry at Mars Bars for getting smaller, phone bills for getting bigger and his savings for staying the same.
For not having one real friend, for never getting married and for Man United losing.
He was angry at his neighbours' parties. Angry that he stopped playing the clarinet. Angry that the boiler was on the blink.
But to all of these, Horace threw his eyes to heaven, smiled and said "Oh well".
And that made him angriest of all.
He'd only noticed it recently.
He was angry with the government for screwing up the economy. Angry at his low level of job satisfaction. At the driver who hit his car when he was shopping and drove off.
At the supermarket queue for being too long, the weather for being too cold and his WiFi for being too slow.
He was angry at Mars Bars for getting smaller, phone bills for getting bigger and his savings for staying the same.
For not having one real friend, for never getting married and for Man United losing.
He was angry at his neighbours' parties. Angry that he stopped playing the clarinet. Angry that the boiler was on the blink.
But to all of these, Horace threw his eyes to heaven, smiled and said "Oh well".
And that made him angriest of all.
Lydia. Going Out
Lydia. Going out.
Make up. Two hours. It's not easy looking this amazing you know.
Lipstick, foundation, eye shadow, blusher, mascara, oils, creams, teeth whitener, eye drops, clothes, accessories, shoes.
It all has to look the part.
Out.
Into the city.
God. What's everybody looking at??
Make up. Two hours. It's not easy looking this amazing you know.
Lipstick, foundation, eye shadow, blusher, mascara, oils, creams, teeth whitener, eye drops, clothes, accessories, shoes.
It all has to look the part.
Out.
Into the city.
God. What's everybody looking at??
Old Jane
It was pleasant, strolling through the park. Ambling between the huge old oak trees, watching as they danced in slow motion to the rhythms of the late afternoon breeze. Down the freshly mown grassy slope towards the sparkling stream, promising adventure and thrills.
For eighteen month old Jane, being here with her older brother and father reminded her of Orleans and Jean Claude.
She flinched slightly as her father called out to "be careful".
His voice reverberating through the ages.
She knew this was just part of being the oldest person in their group.
For eighteen month old Jane, being here with her older brother and father reminded her of Orleans and Jean Claude.
She flinched slightly as her father called out to "be careful".
His voice reverberating through the ages.
She knew this was just part of being the oldest person in their group.
SU245
Sometimes there is an confusing difference in what you expect to feel and what you actually feel.
Shannon airport Ireland, October 5th 1982.
The crew of the Ilyushin 62 climbed up the steps and entered gingerly, leaving the drizzle and low cloud to someone else.
Captain Koftinoff, First officer Menchev and Flight Engineer Lemkov. Each dressed sprucely in full blue blazered correctness with military style hats positioned on their heads - extra starch.
Body language reserved and purposeful, eyes darting about in hesitant anticipation as they placed their polished shoes upon the carpet.
"This is our view" exclaimed Captain Rogers, sweeping his arm as if to reveal the cockpit consoles of the Pan Am Boeing 747 - the aircraft they would command to New York JFK in ninety minutes time.
The Soviet flight remained tired and weary after it's arrival from Havana thirty minutes previous.
The American crew happy to extend the hand of friendship to their aeronautical counterparts. Not exactly kicking a football in no man's land on Christmas Day but some sort of small gesture between people instead of principles.
Welcome to our world, it's not too different from yours, is it?
No words and small gestures - the Soviet crew nodded and smiled.
Thoughts censored even to themselves. Unable to reciprocate.
Was it cold in there?
Shannon airport Ireland, October 5th 1982.
The crew of the Ilyushin 62 climbed up the steps and entered gingerly, leaving the drizzle and low cloud to someone else.
Captain Koftinoff, First officer Menchev and Flight Engineer Lemkov. Each dressed sprucely in full blue blazered correctness with military style hats positioned on their heads - extra starch.
Body language reserved and purposeful, eyes darting about in hesitant anticipation as they placed their polished shoes upon the carpet.
"This is our view" exclaimed Captain Rogers, sweeping his arm as if to reveal the cockpit consoles of the Pan Am Boeing 747 - the aircraft they would command to New York JFK in ninety minutes time.
The Soviet flight remained tired and weary after it's arrival from Havana thirty minutes previous.
The American crew happy to extend the hand of friendship to their aeronautical counterparts. Not exactly kicking a football in no man's land on Christmas Day but some sort of small gesture between people instead of principles.
Welcome to our world, it's not too different from yours, is it?
No words and small gestures - the Soviet crew nodded and smiled.
Thoughts censored even to themselves. Unable to reciprocate.
Was it cold in there?
Que?
Jose and Jesus met Joseph and James for the first time.
It was going well until someone offered them juice.
It was going well until someone offered them juice.
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