Luton Quotes

George: 'Ringo would always say grammmatically incorrect phrases and we'd all laugh. I remember when we were driving back to Liverpool from Luton up the M1 motorway in Ringo's Zephyr, and the car's bonnet hadn't been latched properly. The wind got under it and blew it up in front of the windscreen. We were all shouting, 'Aaaargh!' and Ringo calmly said, 'Don't worry, I'll soon have you back in your safely-beds.

Bring up the past only if it will help to build the future, otherwise its best to be left to sleep

I'm sorry I started all this by trying to fly and I'd take it back if I could but I can't, so please think of it from my point of view: if you die I will have a dead brother and it will be me instead of you who suffers. Justin thought of his brother on that warm summer day, standing up on the windowsill holding both their futures, light and changeable as air, in his outstretched arms. Of course, Justin thought, I'm part of his fate just as he's part of mine. I hadn't considered it from his point of view. Or from the point of view of the universe, either. It's just a playing field crammed full of cause and effect, billions of dominoes, each knocking over billions more, setting off trillions of actions every second. A butterfly flaps its wings in Africa and my brother in Luton thinks he can fly. The child nodded. A piano might fall on your head, he said, but it also might not. And in the meantime you never know. Something nice might happen.

Is there a moment for every parent when you realize that your child has outgrown your knowledge of them? A moment when you can't keep up?

more,’ said the security officer. ‘I’d need to check the log,’ he added as they walked in a different direction to all the other passengers. Once they were in his office, it took Mr King only a few moments before he pronounced, ‘Paris, St Petersburg, Manchester, Helsinki, Luton and Barcelona.’ William studied the list for some time before concluding, ‘My bet would be Paris, because he could have taken a domestic flight from there to Nice.’ ‘Barcelona could also be an outside possibility,’ suggested Ross. ‘Agreed. You check with Air France, while I talk to Iberia.’ ‘Were you both on duty last night?’ was William’s first question

Drat,” Pandora exclaimed, examining a handful of puzzle pieces, “I can’t find Luton.” “Don’t concern yourself with it,” West told her. “We can leave out Luton entirely, and England will be none the worse for it. In fact, it’s an improvement.” “They are said to make fine hats in Luton,” Cassandra said. “I’ve heard that hat making drives people mad,” Pandora remarked. “Which I don’t understand, because it doesn’t seem tedious enough to do that.” “It isn’t the job that drives them mad,” West said. “It’s the mercury solution they use to smooth the felt. After repeated exposure, it addles the brain. Hence the term ‘mad as a hatter.’” “Then why is it used, if it is harmful to the workers?” Pandora asked. “Because there are always more workers,” West said cynically.

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Lutin, which in Old French is nuiton/luiton, is a generic term derived from Neptunus. Neptun-us has given us neton, then nuiton (influenced by nuit, “night,” because these creatures are commonly believed to manifest after dusk), and then luiton/luton (influenced by luiter, an old form of lutter, “fight, struggle”), and finally lutin. The lutin or sprite is therefore an avatar of the god Neptune, reduced to the rank of a simple water demon, which is confirmed by a seventh-century sermon attributed to the Pseudo-Eligius.

On the fence was a sign, Fly Tippers Will Be Prosecuted. The good people of Luton like the good people of most other towns in England cannot see a hollow of any size from a ditch to a canyon without wanting to chuck their unwanted household rubbish into it.

We decided to have some fun in the final match of the season against Luton. A few months earlier we'd given 'the 50p game' a try, and with nothing riding on the Luton result we thought it was time to revisit it. The rules are simple: someone walks out onto a pitch with a 50 pence piece in their hand, which has to be passed among teammates while the game is going on. You can't give it back to the player who has just given it to you, and whoever ends up with the 50p at the full time whistle has to get a round of drinks in after the match. Its obviously all supposed to go discreetly, but against Luton we got caught by the referee, who took the coin off us and handed it over on the sideline — a bit like a teacher might confiscate something in a classroom. When we got a throw-in by the dugout, Danny, our kit man, gave the 50p to the player taking it and we carried the game on. At one points, Mangs went down injured when I had the coin, so I saw it as a perfect opportunity to hand it over. I think Scotty Davies, the goalkeeper, ended up with the 50p at the end. And that was Fleetwood in a nutshell: brilliant but mental.

On the fence was a sign, Fly Tippers Will Be Prosecuted. The good people of Luton like the good people of most other towns in England cannot see a hollow of any size from a ditch to a canyon without

The fluidity of my own personal identity on any given day was further compounded by the changing labels assigned to Asians in general. As children in the 80s, when my brother and I were stopped near our home by a skinhead and a knife was put to his throat, we were black. A decade later the knife to my throat was held by another ‘paki’, a label we wore with swagger in the Brit-Asian subculture and gang culture of the 90s. The next time I found myself as helplessly cornered, it was in a windowless room at Luton airport. My arm was in a painful wrist-lock and my collars pinned to the wall by British intelligence officers. It was ‘post 9/ 11’, and I was now labelled a Muslim.

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The sounds of piano music and feminine voices drifted from one of the upper floors. Perhaps he was mistaken, but Devon thought he could hear a distinctly masculine tone filtering through the conversation. Noticing a housemaid cleaning the stair rails of the grand staircase with a banister brush, he asked, “Where is that noise coming from?” “The family is taking their afternoon tea in the upstairs parlor, milord.” Devon began to ascend the staircase with measured footsteps. By the time he reached the parlor, he had no doubt that the voice belonged to his incorrigible brother. “Devon,” West exclaimed with a grin as he entered the room. “Look at the charming little bevy of cousins I’ve discovered.” He was sitting in a chair beside a game table, pouring a hefty splash of spirits from his flask into a cup of tea. The twins hovered around him, busily constructing a dissected map puzzle. Sliding a speculative glance over his brother, West remarked, “You look as though you’d been pulled backward through the hedgerow.” “You shouldn’t be in here,” Devon told him. He turned to the room in general. “Has anyone been corrupted or defiled?” “Since the age of twelve,” West replied. “I wasn’t asking you, I was asking the girls.” “Not yet,” Cassandra said cheerfully. “Drat,” Pandora exclaimed, examining a handful of puzzle pieces, “I can’t find Luton.” “Don’t concern yourself with it,” West told her. “We can leave out Luton entirely, and England will be none the worse for it. In fact, it’s an improvement.

Drat,” Pandora exclaimed, examining a handful of puzzle pieces, “I can’t find Luton.” “Don’t concern yourself with it,” West told her. “We can leave out Luton entirely, and England will be none the worse for it. In fact, it’s an improvement.” “They are said to make fine hats in Luton,” Cassandra said. “I’ve heard that hat making drives people mad,” Pandora remarked. “Which I don’t understand, because it doesn’t seem tedious enough to do that.” “It isn’t the job that drives them mad,” West said. “It’s the mercury solution they use to smooth the felt. After repeated exposure, it addles the brain. Hence the term ‘mad as a hatter.’” “Then why is it used, if it is harmful to the workers?” Pandora asked. “Because there are always more workers,” West said cynically. “Pandora,” Cassandra exclaimed, “I do wish you wouldn’t force a puzzle piece into a space where it obviously does not fit.” “It does fit,” her twin insisted stubbornly. “Helen,” Cassandra called out to their older sister, “is the Isle of Man located in the North Sea?” The music ceased briefly. Helen spoke from the corner, where she sat at a small cottage piano. Although the instrument was out of tune, the skill of her playing was obvious. “No, dear, in the Irish Sea.” “Fiddlesticks.” Pandora tossed the piece aside. “This is frustraging.” At Devon’s puzzled expression, Helen explained, “Pandora likes to invent words.” “I don’t like to,” Pandora said irritably. “It’s only that sometimes an ordinary word doesn’t fit how I feel.

They are said to make fine hats in Luton,” Cassandra said. “I’ve heard that hat making drives people mad,” Pandora remarked. “Which I don’t understand, because it doesn’t seem tedious enough to do that.” “It isn’t the job that drives them mad,” West said. “It’s the mercury solution they use to smooth the felt. After repeated exposure, it addles the brain. Hence the term ‘mad as a hatter.’” “Then why is it used, if it is harmful to the workers?” Pandora asked. “Because there are always more workers,” West said cynically.

in F2P, the things you must sell are the things that provide esteem or self-actualization—digital experiences that make a player feel good—because people don’t buy things, they buy emotions.

Sessioning is simply the process of showing your player an exit for a play session. It might seem counterintuitive, but it appears in a great number of successful F2P titles. It is, to reuse the soap opera analogy, a cliffhanger.