World of Park & Leisure Homes 'Stoneleigh' Show

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World of Park & Leisure Homes 'Stoneleigh' Show

World of Park & Leisure Homes 'Stoneleigh' Show

@WorldPLHomeShow

Discover A New LIFESTYLE - Affordable, Secure & Increasingly Popular Leisure/Residential for FREE ! at The World of Park & Leisure Homes Show in June

NAECStoneleigh, Warks CV8 2LZ Katılım Aralık 2012
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sugamummy 🧚🏽‍♀️
I was at a bar alone yesterday when the bartender said, “Hey, check this message from my sister.” He showed me his phone and it read, “Under no circumstances should you get into a conversation with the guy sitting on your right.” Men, if you’re ever in a position to do something like this,please do it.
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Micky Hazard 525
Micky Hazard 525@1MickyHazard·
If ever there’s a moment for our family to stand united, it’s now. The laundry staff to the boot room, the kit man, the board, the players, the staff, our legends, and most importantly, the fans, we are Family and Family stands together. I’m there with you all, ready like you are
THST@THSTOfficial

All Together, Always.

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World of Park & Leisure Homes 'Stoneleigh' Show
#Spurs Anyone else feel the same way we do ? The bloke doesn’t have a clue 🙈 at this rate we’re going down 😢 It should have been Harry taking temporary charge 💙 But……as always we live in hope 🙏
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Dovey Marr 🕊️
Dovey Marr 🕊️@doveyymargeauxx·
This is where reading comes in handy.. not just getting your information from memes on X. Farage isn’t “reinstating” the two child cap across the board. He’s talking about targeting support by lifting the cap for households with two working British parents.. not blanket welfare expansion. And no.. it’s not about paying for 5p off a pint. It’s about priorities like rewarding work, supporting families who contribute, and stopping open ended welfare growth. If that looks bad politically maybe the problem isn’t the policy.. it’s bad faith interpretations of what Farage has said and hoping people don’t read past the headline.
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World of Park & Leisure Homes 'Stoneleigh' Show retweetledi
Tensions Rising🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧
BEACON ALERT: MISSING VETERAN Can you help us perform a Christmas miracle? You may recognise Mike (Charles Yarwood), a 78-year-old veteran from Amble, Northumberland, who has been missing since the night of 21st November. We shared an alert for him at the time, but we've had little to no actionable information come through. He was last seen at around 11.30pm, walking towards Beal Bank, wearing a woolly hat, leather jacket and a head torch. The weather since then has been awful and it’s hard to believe that no one has seen him, spoken to him, or noticed something that could help. Someone, somewhere, may hold the piece of information that brings Mike home. If you were out that night… If you have CCTV or dashcam footage… If you saw or spoke to a man matching this description… Please, even if it feels small, come forward. Contact Northumbria Police on 101 (or 999 in an emergency) Reference NP-20251122-0361 Please share. It could make all the difference. Let’s do everything we can to help bring Mike home.
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No Farmers, No Food
No Farmers, No Food@NoFarmsNoFoods·
Please support our Great British Christmas Farm Food campaign. During the run up to Christmas, we will showcase the delicious Christmas food produced by British farmers. Support our farmers. Buy British farm food this Christmas. #GreatBritishChristmasFarmFood 🇬🇧🚜
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Mr PitBull
Mr PitBull@MrPitbull07·
"My name is Eleanor. I’m 81. Every Thursday at 6 a.m., I wheel my blue recycling bin to the curb. For 14 years, that’s been my rhythm, me, the sleepy streetlights, and the clatter of plastic bottles. After my husband passed, those quiet hours were mine alone. Until I noticed Mr. Ethan. He lived three doors down. Pushing 90, with hands twisted by arthritis. Every Thursday, he’d struggle with his bin, dragging it inch by inch, leaning hard on his cane. I’d watch from my window, coffee cooling in my mug. Should I offer? But pride is a fragile thing. I remembered my Arthur saying, "Never lift a man’s burden without asking if he wants help, or you might break his spirit." So I did something smaller. One frosty Tuesday, I slipped out at dawn. I wheeled his bin to the curb while he slept. Just that. Then I vanished back inside. The next Thursday, I found a folded piece of paper taped to my bin handle. In careful, spidery writing, "The bin was lighter today. Thank you. -M. Ethan" My throat tightened. I’d been seen. I started doing it every Tuesday. And every Thursday, a new note, "My grandson visited. I told him about the angel who moves bins." "The magnolia tree by your gate is blooming. Pink like my wife’s favorite kimono." "You forgot your glove last week. It’s drying on my radiator." One bitter January dawn, I found a small container tucked in my bin’s lid. Homemade kimchi. A note, "For your strength. Mine is in my hands, not my feet." Then, Mr. Ethan didn’t answer his door for three days. I called his daughter. Pneumonia. Hospitalized. That Thursday, I wheeled both bins to the curb, my old knees screaming. As I turned to leave, Mrs. Rivera from across the street was already there. She patted my arm. "I’ve got Mr. Ethan’s bin next week." The next Tuesday, I opened my front door to a surprise: both bins were already at the curb. Taped to mine was a note from the teenager down the hall, "Saw you limping, Ms. Ellie. My turn." The Thursday after that? Six bins lined the street, all neighbors’ recycling, perfectly placed. Notes fluttered in the breeze, "For Mr. Ethan’s return." "My arthritis isn’t yours, but my legs work today." "You taught us to look up from our own bins." When Mr. Ethan came home, frail but smiling, he found his bin waiting. Inside it wasn’t recycling, it was a quilt. Stitched by twelve neighbors. Each square held a note, "For the nights you can’t sleep." "For the stories you haven’t told us yet." "For when your hands need resting." He cried. So did I. Here’s what I learned- Kindness isn’t always a grand gesture. Sometimes, it’s the quiet act of moving someone’s bin when they’re not looking, trusting they’ll feel its weight lifted before they even know why. The world changes not when we shout, but when we notice the small burdens others carry in silence.... and choose to lift them anyway. Your turn." . Let this story reach more hearts.... . Attached AI image for demonstration purpose only. Credit: Grace Jenkins
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Keira Connolly
Keira Connolly@keira_con·
Wise words “My name’s Frank. I’m 64, a retired electrician. Forty-two years I spent running wires through houses, fixing breakers, making sure people had light in their kitchens and heat in their winters. Never once did anyone ask me where I went to college. Mostly, they just wanted to know if I could get the power back on before their ice cream melted. Last May, I was at my granddaughter Emily’s school career day. You know the drill — doctors, lawyers, a software guy in a slick suit talking about “scaling startups.” I was the only one there with a tool belt and work boots. When it was my turn, I told the kids, “I don’t have a degree. I’ve never sat in a lecture hall. But I’ve wired schools, hospitals, and your principal’s house. And when the hospital generator failed during a snowstorm in ’98, I was the one in the basement with a flashlight, keeping the lights on for newborn babies upstairs.” The kids leaned forward. They had questions — real ones. “How do you fix stuff in the dark?” “Do you make a lot of money?” “Do you ever get zapped?” (Yes, once, and it’ll curl your hair.) When the bell rang, one boy hung back. Small kid, freckles, hoodie too big for him. He mumbled, “My uncle’s a plumber. People laugh at him ’cause he didn’t finish high school. But… he’s the only one in the family who can fix anything.” I looked that boy in the eye and said, “Kid, your uncle’s a hero. When your toilet overflows at midnight, Harvard ain’t sending anyone. A plumber is.” Here’s the thing nobody told me when I was young — the world doesn’t run without tradespeople. You can have all the engineers you want, but if nobody builds the house, wires the power, or lays the pipes, those blueprints just sit in a drawer. We’ve made it sound like trades are what you do if you can’t go to college, instead of a path you choose because you like working with your hands, solving problems, and seeing your work stand solid for decades. Four years after high school, some kids walk away with diplomas. Others walk away with zero debt, a union card, and a skill they can take anywhere in the world. And guess what? When your furnace dies in January, it’s not the diploma that saves you. A few weeks ago, that same freckled kid’s mom stopped me at the grocery store. She said, “You probably don’t remember, but you told my son trades are important. He’s shadowing his uncle this summer. First time I’ve seen him excited about anything in years.” That’s the part we forget — for some kids, knowing their path is respected changes everything. It’s not about “just” fixing wires or pipes. It’s about pride. Purpose. The kind that sticks with you long after the job’s done. So next time you meet a teenager, don’t just ask, “Where are you going to college?” Ask, “What’s your plan?” And if they say, “I’m learning to weld,” or “I’m starting an apprenticeship,” smile big and say, “That’s fantastic. We’re going to need you.” Because we will. More than ever. And when the lights go out, you’ll be glad they showed up.”
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Patrick Christys
Patrick Christys@PatrickChristys·
🇬🇧 ‘When you go home, tell them of us and say, for your tomorrow, we gave our today.’ Thank you…for everything. We MUST remember them ♥️
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Inevitable West
Inevitable West@Inevitablewest·
🚨BREAKING: British veteran breaks down live on TV over state of the country: "Rows and rows of white tombs for what? A country of today? No, I'm sorry. The sacrifice wasn't worth the result. I fought for freedom, and it's darn-sight worse now than when I fought."
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World of Park & Leisure Homes 'Stoneleigh' Show
Costs Nothing to be Kind 🤗
Crazy Vibes@CrazyVibes_1

I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked.. 'Just a minute', answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940's movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware. 'Would you carry my bag out to the car?' she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness. 'It's nothing', I told her.. 'I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated.' 'Oh, you're such a good boy,’ she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, 'Could you drive through downtown?' 'It's not the shortest way,' I answered quickly.. 'Oh, I don't mind,' she said. 'I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice.’ I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. 'I don't have any family left,' she continued in a soft voice.. ‘The doctor says I don't have very long.' I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. 'What route would you like me to take?' I asked. For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing. As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, 'I'm tired. Let's go now'. We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair. 'How much do I owe you?' She asked, reaching into her purse. 'Nothing,' I said. 'You have to make a living,' she answered. 'There are other passengers,' I responded. Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly. 'You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,' she said. 'Thank you.' I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light.. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.. I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day,I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away? On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life. We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one. PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID ~BUT~ THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL. 🙏🏼🥰✝️

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