A novel dining experience is being offered at the American themed Grand Central restaurant in Chelmsford, Essex.
According to the Daily Express, owners Steve and Jo Haslam have offered to cut the bill of people who eat there – if they surrender their mobile phones!
On "phone-free Friday"customers will receive 10 per cent off their bill if they surrender their phones on arrival.
Manager Chelsea Day said: “It all just started because Steve was sitting in the restaurant eating dinner with his family and saw most of the other diners, mainly couples, on their phones.
”He was thinking about how we can get people to communicate more and that's when we came up with phone-free Fridays.
“It's been absolutely great, it's a fantastic idea and has made a huge difference to the restaurant- the customers love it.”
People who live in cities would back their taxes being spent on building cycle lanes, according to a study outlined in The Guardian.
Cycling and walking advocacy group Sustrans found that although just six per cent of people commute to work by bike, 75 per cent would like to see more money spent on cycling infrastructure and 78 per cent support building more protected bike lanes, even if this could mean less space for other road traffic.
The charity surveyed more than 1,000 people in Newcastle, Cardiff, Belfast, Bristol, Birmingham, Edinburgh and Greater Manchester.
Xavier Brice, Sustrans chief executive, commented: “People riding bikes played a crucial role in our past and will play an important role in our future. Cycling will shape how we get about in our towns and cities. It’s good for our health, for air quality, for the local economy, and for making our streets more liveable.”
Funds are needed to secure the future of the world's oldest single-span cast-iron bridge, reports The Guardian.
The paper says that the Iron Bridge in Shropshire which crosses the River Severn was built in 1179 but the first cracks appeared within three years.
It has confounded experts by surviving everything weather, floods and geology could fling at it for almost 250 years, while other Severn bridges were repeatedly washed away.
But now English Heritage has launched a crowdfunding appeal to raise £3.56m to secure its future.
Paul Hayes, from Hardwick, Oxfordshire, has paid £4,750 to buy back a motorbike he sold for £75 as a teenager nearly 50 years.
An article in the Daily Express says that Paul was stunned when he stumbled across the AJS model 31 which was once his pride and joy up for sale on e-Bay.
A friend alerted him to the sale of “a bike like yours” and when Paul phoned he realised it was the same one he had sold back in 1969.
Paul said: “ I'm over the moon to have it back. It's put a spring in my step, let's put it that way.”
The Daily Mirror pays tribute to Mali, a Belgian Malinois dog which has been awarded the 'animal VC' for courage in battle.
The dog sniffed out insurgents and bombs under heavy fire as British Special Boat Service and Afghan forces raided a Taliban-held hotel in Kabul.
The Mirror reports that footage from the battle in 2012 shows Mali staying calm as commandos scaled an outside wall and hauled him up several floors to bring him into action.
Unfortunately the dog suffered severe blast wounds and is later seen being carried away by his handler.
He retired from frontline duties after lengthy treatment but is still involved in training.
Mali has been honoured with a PDSA Dickin Medal – the animal equivalent to the Victoria Cross – on the charity’s centenary.
His citation reads: “Mali displayed outstanding courage in the face of fire and there is no doubt that his actions throughout the operation were pivotal in breaking an enemy stronghold.”
Reference list:
The Express (www.express.co.uk)
The Guardian (www.guardian.co.uk)
Daily Mirror (www.mirror.co.uk)
Butterfly Wings - A short story
stay-alive (39) in story • 11 hours ago
Nazir had been sitting in the park since morning. He was staring at the flowers, they were in full bloom, a welcome sign of the spell cast by spring. These brightly coloured flowers with their heady fragrance were enticing all the tiny creatures who had made their homes in the shrubs, trees, flowers, and grass. Among these creatures, there were butterflies, all with brightly coloured wings, flitting among the flowers, each trying to outdo the other with their aerial acrobatics.
He had always been fascinated by the sights and smells of the park, here he reminisced about the past where it had seemed that there was peace, love, and prosperity all around. He was particularly attracted to the colourful wings of the butterflies, and from time to time, he actually tried to catch one, but he never succeeded, they were simply too fast and too agile.
The area he was growing up in was impoverished, basically a slum, and the constant, unrelenting poverty not only stunted his body, it suffocated his soul.
Being the youngest of eight siblings, he was often last in the queue for any attention or care from his parents. He would leave his tumble down home every day, with empty eyes that held no hope. With his clumsy, hobbling gait, picking his way through the rubbish strewn street, he always chose the longest path to reach the school gates.
He had no intrinsic motivation to attend school, the poor condition of the school building and slanderous behavior of the teachers meant he often bunked off, and whenever possible he delayed his arrival for as long as possible. He was often physically punished by his teachers, but that held no fear for him, and his only regret when he was caught was that they would be watching him for a while. The only thing that made his life worth living was the park near the school. It was a well known refuge for many lost souls.
He would be drawn to the park at least once or twice a week, and he spent many hours there. It was a refuge from the piles of rubbish, the filth, the polluted air, the clamor of vehicles, the stench of poor drainage and the appalling news of bomb blasts and terrorist attacks. Apart from the peace and quiet it afforded, he was fascinated by the colourful butterflies. He longed to hold one in his palm and to be able to touch its jewel like wings.
He was never interested in going home either. He felt there was nothing there for him but disappointment, and deprivation. After leaving the park, he felt cheerful and energetic, his heart was lifted, but as soon as he neared his home, it was always the same, his feet began to feel like lead weights; he knew what awaited him: The vicious arguments between his parents about money upset him the most, the constant shifting of blame and the abusive language, it was mortifying.
With the passing of time, he was slowly becoming immune to the upset, and able to filter out the raised voices. He tried to keep busy, but ended up spending most of his time trying to keep out of everyone's way; daydreaming, or playing with the other barefoot urchins. His parents seemed to have no interest in his studies, they were too tangled up in the labyrinth of meeting the basic needs of their family. He had been taken to the welfare school by his older brother, who had really been projecting his own desires; as the eldest he had been expected to contribute to the family finances and as a result had been unable to attend school himself and was determined that Nazir would succeed where he had failed.
Nazir’s mother often scolded him for his untidy appearance, and scruffy uniform, but it was impossible to keep it clean and tidy. He did not really mind or feel bad about his mother’s behavior towards him, he accepted it as part of his life. The only things that he truly feared were the bomb blasts. He had never experienced one at close hand, but he had heard a number of stories from his elder brothers and other street boys. He felt they must be exaggerating, but they terrified him nonetheless.
One day, on his way back from school after a particularly arduous day, he suddenly decided to follow one of the colourful butterflies, to see where it went and find out where they lived. It was getting late, so he ran towards the park, hoping the butterflies would still be there. Entering the park, he whooped for joy as he saw a few butterflies were lazily flying over the flowers. He targeted one and instead of running around trying to catch it, he followed it until suddenly it seemed to disappear. He found himself standing under a huge, old Banyan tree, its long, twisted roots like a kind of mystical writing, as if the tree were trying to tell him something really important. Suddenly, he felt mentally and physically exhausted. All thoughts of catching his butterfly forgotten, he lay down under the tree and fell asleep.
He awoke all of a sudden, for a moment he forgot where he was, a loud sound had driven him from his deep sleep, a sound that had also shaken everything in the park. He thought there might have been an earthquake, it seemed as if everything was moving around, but then as if through a fog, he heard the sound of sirens, and a cacophony of human voices yelling, crying, and screaming for help.
He stood up and ran towards the main gate of the park. There he found a large crowd of people on the main road watching volunteers and rescue teams rushing around. He walked in a daze through dust and smoke, until he found himself in the affected area: smoke and ashes were billowing around burning vehicles. Everything he had heard about terrorist attacks came back to him. He felt as if all the blood had drained out of his body, and he had a feeling of being, elsewhere. He had never thought that he would be a witness to one of his brother’s stories.
He only came out of his trance when a pair of hands suddenly grabbed him, pulling him backwards. He realised he had been walking towards waves of fire. He looked around, but couldn’t see who had grabbed him in the chaos all around.
Stumbling, he rushed back to the refuge of the park, but that too was full of smoke from the blast. With tear filled eyes, he began to touch each flower, as if he was trying to comfort them, consoling them before they wilted in the toxic air. Near the old Banyan tree, he saw something moving in the grass. It was one of the blue, shiny butterflies, but it was dying in the thick smoke, one wing hanging loose.
Tenderly, he picked it up, and held it on his palm, caressing it with his fingers, but he felt no excitement at having achieved his goal to hold and touch the wings of a butterfly. Slowly the wings stopped moving, and he dug a small hole under the Banyan tree with his fingers. As the tears rolled down his cheeks, he placed its small broken body inside, and covered it, stroking the earth into a small mound.
With a heavy heart he headed back to the main gate of the park, staring at his fingers where the earth and butterfly’s wings had left the mixed colours of death and grief.
The news was taken from the site (source) ... - English magazine -
https://english-magazine.org
This post I dedicate to my good friend
and many other friends I can not mention one-on-one images .!!
