Sam Tagore

"Impression, Sunrise" was born 3 years after "The Magpie." Monet was still broke. And the Paris Salon had rejected him for years. So he and a new generation of artists rebelled. They bypassed the elite system entirely. And launched their own independent exhibition. Critics mocked their raw style, dismissing the paintings as mere "impressions." Instead of backing down, they took it as a compliment. They proudly called themselves the Impressionists. The revolution exploded. The rest is history.

@BBCSport Think every other team in the tournament would’ve picked TAA as one of their first selections No Foden OR Palmer is ridic imo

It's official 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿 Thomas Tuchel's 26-man England squad for this summer's World Cup is locked in 🔒

@lagoonki 🥂

Cheers from the big island 🥂🍾

@WG_RumblePants That is a wonderful poem but it was another he mentioned - about a particular player I think. Maybe Fender? Or Hendren? I’ll do some digging.

@Tagore1069 The one by Philip Larkin? The Whitsun Weddings

In honour of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s birthday, here is his poem about the time he took WG Grace’s wicket. A Reminiscence Of Cricket Poem Once in my heyday of cricket,
One day I shall ever recall!
I captured that glorious wicket,
The greatest, the grandest of all. Before me he stands like a vision,
Bearded and burly and brown,
A smile of good humoured derision
As he waits for the first to come down. A statue from Thebes or from Knossos,
A Hercules shrouded in white,
Assyrian bull-like colossus,
He stands in his might. With the beard of a Goth or a Vandal,
His bat hanging ready and free,
His great hairy hands on the handle,
And his menacing eyes upon me. And I – I had tricks for the rabbits,
The feeble of mind or eye,
I could see all the duffer’s bad habits
And where his ruin might lie. The capture of such might elate one,
But it seemed like one horrible jest
That I should serve tosh to the great one,
Who had broken the hearts of the best. Well, here goes! Good Lord, what a rotter!
Such a sitter as never was dreamt;
It was clay in the hands of the potter,
But he tapped it with quiet contempt. The second was better – a leetle;
It was low, but was nearly long-hop;
As the housemaid comes down on the beetle
So down came the bat with a chop. He was sizing me up with some wonder,
My broken-kneed action and ways;
I could see the grim menace from under
The striped peak that shaded his gaze. The third was a gift or it looked it-
A foot off the wicket or so;
His huge figure swooped as he hooked it,
His great body swung to the blow. Still when my dreams are night-marish,
I picture that terrible smite,
It was meant for a neighboring parish,
Or any place out of sight. But – yes, there’s a but to the story –
The blade swished a trifle too low;
Oh wonder, and vision of glory!
It was up like a shaft from a bow. Up, up like a towering game bird,
Up, up to a speck in the blue,
And then coming down like the same bird,
Dead straight on the line that it flew. Good Lord, it was mine! Such a soarer
Would call for a safe pair of hands;
None safer than Derbyshire Storer,
And there, face uplifted, he stands. Wicket keep Storer, the knowing,
Wary and steady of nerve,
Watching it falling and growing
Marking the pace and curve. I stood with my two eyes fixed on it,
Paralysed, helpless, inert;
There was ‘plunk’ as the gloves shut upon it,
And he cuddled it up to his shirt. Out – beyond question or wrangle!
Homeward he lurched to his lunch!
His bat was tucked up at an angle,
His great shoulders curved to a hunch. Walking he rumbled and grumbled,
Scolding himself and not me;
One glove was off, and he fumbled,
Twisting the other hand free. Did I give Storer the credit
The thanks he so splendidly earned?
It was mere empty talk if I said it,
For Grace had already returned.

@Lost___London Ye Grapes - great pub

Shepherd Market, 1972

@Lost___London Still as busy now!

Oxford Circus, 1960s

@TheCinesthetic An homage to Battleship Potemkin - the Odessa Steps sequence

The Union Station staircase sequence in The Untouchables (1987) is cinema operating at surgical precision. Slow motion, cross-cut tension, every footstep stretched to breaking point.

@GayleFallon11 David Bowie The Rolling Stones The Who Prince Level 42 Earth, Wind & Fire Cassandra Wilson Gregory Porter Nick Lowe Paul Carrack

Introduce yourself with 10 bands you've seen live 1. The Specials 2. Madness 3. Depeche Mode 4. Simple Minds 5. Japan 6. Simply Red 7. Squeeze 8. The Christians 9. Bill Withers 10. George Benson

@MsPocketRocket I’ve started so I’ll finish Which is good advice in many situations 😂

What did Magnus Magnusson always say when the buzzer sounded in the middle of the last question?

'London Bridge' (from 'London: A Pilgrimage', 1872) by Gustav Doré

Office Tea Ladies of the 1980s ⏳️🫖 follow us at @Lost___London for more of the same. 🤝

T20 Friday is it? 🏏

@WG_RumblePants @AlisonMitchell @BobBorsley Fantastic news. Well done for the support you (& Mel Jones too) have given the Afghan women’s team

@AlisonMitchell @BobBorsley That’s great news. Thank you for all you do to keep their story alive 👏

Confirmation that the Afghanistan women cricketers will be touring England next month. 👇🏼

@Lost___London Loved the old Foyles. Impossible to find anything. And impossible to pay for it on the off chance you did!

Denmark Street, with Foyles in the distance, 1972.

@ExtremeFootbal4 Bloody hell! What year? Grimsby in Div One! 😳😎

League Ladders

@WG_RumblePants @nimishdubey I hear ya - I’ve got way too many books. Not that many on cricket. But too many def. My OH is not as mad keen on obscure rock vinyl as I am funnily enough 🎸🥁😬😆 Yes meant to get the £15 twofer but desperately needed a wazz 😆at the interval & then raffle started

@Tagore1069 @nimishdubey I’ve only read David’s book on WG, but I certainly enjoyed that. Was tempted to buy the Bobby Able book, but I may start WW3 if I get home with yet another book this week 😬

That’s a bucket list item ticked off — getting to share the same air with JM Brearley.

@StevieDee710 Shirl is wife of Martin Kemp who I once met in a restaurant- a top chap! 🎸

Who remembers?

Rainy Day in Paris by Caillebotte