I want all of them to be my grandmas.
(Source: blackbirdmcnight, via europeanmonarchies)
I want all of them to be my grandmas.
(Source: blackbirdmcnight, via europeanmonarchies)
Official christening photos of H.H. Princess Athena Marguerite Françoise Marie of Denmark (May 20, 2012).
Her godparents were: Monsieur Gregory Grandet; Monsieur Edouard Cavallier; Miss Carina Axelson; Madame Julie Mirabaud; Mr. Diego de Lavandeyra; and Mrs. Henriette Steenstrup.
(via misshonoriaglossop)
Christening of H.R.H. Princess Estelle Silvia Ewa Mary of Sweden, Duchess of Östergötland (May 22, 2012).
Her godparents were: H.R.H. Willem-Alexander, the Prince of Orange; H.R.H. Crown Prince Haakon of Norway; H.R.H. Crown Princess Mary of Denmark; H.R.H. Prince Carl-Philip of Sweden; and Anna Westling Söderström.
(via misshonoriaglossop)
this is porn
(Source: allyoxin3, via markrprice)
Tomorrow is the day of the Judicial Review to see whether Undershaw (the former home of Arthur Conan Doyle, creator of Sherlock Holmes) can be saved.
We desperately need all the support we can get.
You can help by:
1) Checking out the website: www.saveundershaw.com
Archive.org has a treasure trove of Basil Rathbone Sherlock Holmes radio plays for your enjoyment. Sit down with a cuppa and enjoy the adventure.
Thanks to always1895 for tweeting about this!
(via bakerstreetbabes)
Pixel Pour is a wonderful New York street art installation created by Kelly Goeller.
(via helloyoucreatives)
Not for the faint of heart! Biologist and sci-fi author Peter Watts recounted his near-death brush with flesh-eating bacteria to The Daily:
The doctors say it lives on your skin, waiting for an opening. They say once it gets inside, your fate comes down to a dice roll. It doesn’t always turn your guts to slurry; sometimes you get off with a sore throat. Sometimes it doesn’t do anything at all. They might even admit that it doesn’t always need an open wound. People have been known to sicken and die from a bruise, from a bump against the door.
What they won’t generally tell you is that you can get it by following the doctor’s orders. Which is how I ended up in the ICU, staring through a morphine haze into a face whose concerned expression must have been at least 57 percent fear of litigation. I didn’t get necrotizing fasciitis from a door bump, or from a zip-line. I got it from a dual-punch biopsy — which is to say, from being stabbed with a pair of needles the size of narwhal tusks. There was this lesion on my leg, you see. They needed a closer look. And there was Mr. Streptococcus, waiting on my skin for an invitation in.
(via theweekmagazine)