welovethebeekeeper:

Just wanted to share an incident from my Dad’s notes about these two on set. 

Doyles’ son Denis was visiting the film set and being very critical about props, the costumes and the set itself, delaying filming for hours. Both Bruce and Rathbone were not happy about it at all. Finally rehearsals began. Evidently they decided to fuck with Denis, who was watching:

‘At the conclusion of the scene, Rathbone deviated from the script. “Goodbye Wattie, old boy,” he said tenderly. Before this sacrilege could register on the astonished cast, crew and observer, Bruce replied, “Goodbye, Holmesy old bean.” And he bent over to bestow a gentle kiss on the great detective.’

Denis stuttered:  “Mr Rathbone, do you think Mr Bruce ought to – ahh – kiss you goodbye? Really, I don’t think my father would have approved!” To which Nigel Bruce replied, “That may be, but I doubt your father would have been suprised!”

september-before-a-rainfall:

Oh I wish we could show you this like it REALLY happened. Play it on a whole kingdom with princes as actors and kings in the audience. Then you’d see Harry, the real Harry, like a god of war, with famine, sword, and fire on leashes, like dogs, ready to let them slip.

But, I’m sorry everyone, we’re not kings, just actors, and this stage is just wood and cloth. Can you fit the fields of France in here? Could you cram in the armies at Agincourt?

I wish we could show you how it really was. But we’re nothing. We’re zeroes.

Though if you think about it, zeroes can add up. Put a zero behind a one and it’s suddenly ten. Another zero makes a hundred. Seven make a million! Think of us like that, and use your imagination, and you’ll see it.

Imagine this: there are two kingdoms in this theater, at war, and a great ocean between them. Cover our imperfections with your thoughts. Think when we talk of horses that you see them, their hooves scoring the ground. See that guy? Imagine he’s a thousand men, and you have your army. It’s your thoughts that make our kings kings, carry them here and there, zip us through time, make years minutes. I’ll help—call me the Chorus.

So, here’s our play. We hope you like it.

persepnohe:

I know a lot of you guys don’t want to reblog those posts about the wildfires in Greece because they’re too long, so I figured I would make a shorter post for y’all. 

Here is a link on how to help and what the current situations are, and here is a direct link to the fundraiser.

As someone who has personally been affected by fire, I would really appreciate if y’all could sb this??

pipcomix:

timefortigers:

shoutbird:

I’m afraid to report that the men’s toilets at Kings Cross station no longer have ads for paternity tests for very normal men which was illustrated by a waiting room at a hospital where a terrified man is stared down by a smug milkman

enjoying the dichotomy between ‘man’ and ‘milkman’ here implying that milkmen are not human

They took them down cos the milkmen complained

Hot take: milkmen are fertility gods; clowns are chaos gods.

sapphicpoet:

sapphicpoet:

writing is weird because sometimes I’ll have no ideas and everything in my head is kind of quiet but then something will happen and it’s like there’s these goblins living in my brain that just start shouting little phrases at me until I sit down and finally write the poem or story or whatever

ancient greek and roman poets:  sing in me, Muse, and through me tell the story

me, banging pots and pans together:  wake the fuck up goblins!!  what the fuck is up!!

shelomit:

Tagged by @arondeus to “Post ten gifs of your favorite movies without title or comment.”

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And, of course–