English Bathroom Furniture

Some cool English home images:

DSC_0830


Image by Thomas Ormston

DSC_0852


Image by Thomas Ormston

A few nice bathroom images I found:

lemon drop + mojito = I take photos of myself in the bathroom


Image by Liz Henry
the super best bathroom with pink everything and a deep bathtub with steps

004 Men – Apes in the bathroom


Image by gingerpig2000
Men often do not communicate very well about personal grooming, and many have to learn by themselves, alone in a bathroom full of mysterious bottles and creams.

I love to spend time in the bathrom while my wife applies her make up or applies some cream before she goes to bed. If only I had had the courage to talk to other people in such situations years ago.

So, this picture is dedicated to all those poor souls who never really learn to get the best out of their bathroom!

A few nice bathroom images I found:

www.aadesignbuild.com, A&A Design Build Remodeling, Master Bathroom, Washington DC, Chevy Chase, Bethesda, Germantown, Corner Shower, Aging in Place


Image by A&A Design Build Remodeling, Inc.
www.aadesignbuild.com, Master Bathroom Design and Remodeling, Marble and Granite Tile and Counter Top, Double Sink, Corner Shower, Lighting, Silver Spring, Rockville, Potomac, Bethesda, Grohe Faucet, Aging in Place

bathroom from hell


Image by me and the sysop
truer words have never been scrawled, my friend.

i had to pee so badly while we were out at mansfield dam, and the only place nearby was a citgo gas station. WOW. i’m a changed person after having gone into that bathroom. it was in the back of the building with now toilet paper or paper towels. see, kids, this is why you always should have paper towels in your car. now i just need a hepatitis shot for good measure.

Bathroom Remodel


Image by KellyK
My dad and I updated the Party Bathroom.

A few nice English home images I found:

Stately #4


Image by tricky ™
A friend works for a company (who wish to remain nameless) who’s offices are in an old stately home (surfice to say it’s somewhere in Yorkshire).
She suggested i pop along and take some photos, so after lots of checking for permissions, we duely paid it a visit on sunday while it was empty, and these are the results.
Quite pleased with them – the 10-20mm lens is fantastic for grand architecture

This is what would have been the main livingroom (were it still used as a country house – it’s now a training room – theres a shed-load of chairs and marker-boards hidden out of view

Stately #7


Image by tricky ™
A friend works for a company (who wish to remain nameless) who’s offices are in an old stately home (surfice to say it’s somewhere in Yorkshire).
She suggested i pop along and take some photos, so after lots of checking for permissions, we duely paid it a visit on sunday while it was empty, and these are the results.
Quite pleased with them – the 10-20mm lens is fantastic for grand architecture

This is a little coffee area leading to the kitchens and dining room.

Check out these bathroom storage images:

Hawthorne House – Hallway storage


Image by spaceninja
Here is the storage in the hallway outside the bathroom, taken as we are mostly done unpacking. You can see the rows of tupperware bins I use to store computer cables and stuff near the top, and Annie’s fabric scraps and photos at the very top.

bathroom-tv stand converted into bathroom storage solution


Image by theronathan

Bathroom Storage


Image by necksercise

Check out these bathroom cabinets images:

Boree Bathrom Cabinet


Image by tantrum_dan
Wall mounted cabinet in the bathroom.

inside


Image by finalgirl
my newly organized bathroom cabinet.

Bathroom Cabinet and towels


Image by uzbeckistan
A detail of our new cabinet (easy to put together!) and towel rack. Matt was awesome about cutting out part of the new trim so the cabinet would snug up against the wall.

Some cool bathroom furniture images:

Paragon Properties / Park Lane


Image by Paragon Apartments
Paragon Properties / Park Lane / Model
23344 Park Place Drive
Southfield, MI 48034

Paragon Properties / Franklin River


Image by Paragon Apartments
Paragon Properties / Franklin River / Model /
28733 Franklin River Drive
Southfield, MI

A few nice English home images I found:

Inuqshuk Near English Bay


Image by Duane Storey
A photo of the famous Inuqshuk at English Bay in Vancouver

English BreakFast B&W Tea.


Image by Richard McSundy
Nikon COOLPIX S550

English muffin pizzas


Image by Already have a Flickr account?

Check out these English bathroom images:

IMG_2594


Image by Wootang01
The bus ride from Shenzhen to Enping was long, like watching a freight train chug by, except it doesn’t. We had to have been on that bus for seven hours, sometimes napping, and at times, staring out our windows, looking at a world standing still. Traffic was not only a nightmare, but also a mystery, for as many instances in which we could plainly see another egregiously bad vehicular accident, that which has become commonplace, ubiquitous in Chinese travel culture, there were other inexplicable stops in movement, when all of a sudden, as though finishing a swift countdown, our speed dropped so precipitously as to let out a collective lurch, if not in body, then definitely in mind. Calvin, thankfully, in his perspicacity, in his wide-angled, unique view of things, saw beyond the myriad vehicles which lay unmoving as if rocks on a dry riverbed; view the periphery, he bade us, and when we looked to the edges of the road, indeed we witnessed the most peculiar instigator of traffic congestion in the world – men en masse pissing on the side of the road! Men taking leaks creates a domino effect; that one sees another enjoying the relief of an unburdened, easy bladder, so seductive a yoke, that the only retort to the entreaty of this blissful state is to join in with abandon, and impunity. And so soon as the last few shakes are made, back into the cars do these men go, and a few hasty minutes later, traffic flows again!

Mike wanted to stop at a village, so we exchanged an increasingly crowded highway for a narrow, cement road, on which we ventured into the dense verdure. Having reached an impasse in the road soon thereafter, and not knowing how to advance further, to actually enter the village proper, we saw two lovely young ladies saddling a moped, motoring towards us. They then suddenly broke, and turned off our path and onto a dirt one which squeezed through two homes as though a mouse through its diminutive hole – that was our key. We greeted them as the girls turned their heads, offering us inquisitive, yet gentle looks. They would be our guides into town.

Blue showed me around her neighborhood. Together we walked along bumpy corridors and peered through open windows, beyond flitting cobwebs, to lay eyes on rooms where nowadays only impenetrable shadows repose. She and I examined the perfunctory red banners which framed each door in the village, and subsequently hit it off when I began inquiring into the nature of those two swarthy demons who hung menacingly before the closed doors, their gazes insidiously wild, drunk with rage, perhaps. Indeed later, in the quietude of a sunset raining down on us, while standing by ourselves in front of the village hall, I finally shared my faith with her, and in return she declared the lack of her own – her cousin and older sister, however, do know Jesus, she said, which verily warmed my heart, if not hers.

We left the village with much rapidity, but not before I blessed and encouraged Blue’s cousin, in whose arms a smiling babe lay, and received joyfully a delectable departing gift: mysterious, "Blue Cookies" (the official Chinese name is ??), whose mottled, homely complexion would disgust if not for the sweetness (an amalgam of sugar, peanuts and herbs) buried inside, a treasure which would be discovered again and again on our tour.

The food around Enping epitomizes, I believe, Guangdong cuisine: inexpensive and egregiously non-spicy. For what they lack in price and incendiary acidity, however, these dishes more than compensate with copious amounts of oil, salt and sugar, mixed together for a tantalizing effect on the taste buds. Our group was fortunate enough to have frequented several Guangdong-style dai pai dongs whose victuals both nourished our bodies and replenished our wallets – it’s amazing to consider how 0RMB can feed 15 ravenous, cantankerous-when-hungry Christian bikers. In fact, the feasting grew exponentially more enjoyable as journey progressed, as our two primary orderers began to refine their culinary acuity, accurately predicting what would invigorate and excite our collective palate; it helped, too, that our utensils were pretty clean for Chinese standards!

Our first evening, we secured accommodations in a building that was not so much a hotel, or even a motel, as a grey, dry concrete edifice in which hardwood beds were arrayed neatly in each room; the spartan conditions dismayed some, including myself, at first. However, thankfulness trumped peevishness, and the realization that, in the middle of nowhere, we had mosquito nets to ward off the inexorable squad of mozzies, and one bathroom with boiling water for a very, very scalding shower was more than enough to placate everyone, especially after a hard day of riding. Besides, austerity succors the soul. We even managed to sleep pretty soundly without mattresses. In my somnolent state, I only remember shifting desperately maybe six, or seven times. It was a good night, and a bargain at only 15RMB per person!

On the second day our group dared to test itself on an unknown avenue. Consequently, we were spared the sonorous alarms of gigantic, indomitable trucks and instead subjected ourselves to the vicissitudes of off-road biking, whose soundtrack, undoubtedly for the day, was provided by an orchestra of buzzing cicadas, accompanied, at times, by the rumbling tympani of motorbikes. Oh, the countryside was lush, beautiful verdure all around – a feast for the romantic soul. Yet, for one of my companions, the environment was anything but endearing, for her adeptness at handling the desultory trail, she surely felt, was more chaotic than controlled. She persevered, nonetheless, pushing through her disconsolation to conquer the race marked out for her; such tenacity that only the Father could supply; and that left me thoroughly impressed.

At lunchtime, the evangelization effort began in earnest. It started innocently enough, as I asked a group of girls about the secondary school down the dusty road from our restaurant. Then, on cue, the Spirit, whose pacing can only be described as frenetic, whose rhythm is beyond my comprehension, overwhelmed and took over. Leanne and I brought those three girls to Christ; while Tim was assiduously preaching by our side to a band of boys who had gathered to look on; and behind us, ah Cheung had cajoled five boys to form a circle, hand in hand, for prayer. Many people came to know Jesus that hour. There was undoubtedly some serious fire falling down on us!

We made a pit stop at the Tam clan village. It was another bucolic community, replete with idling boys, young and old, and those two duplicitous demons standing watch from steady doors, which, it appeared, held together together the ramshackle walls beside them. An electricity meter evinced the reality of life in the village, of a living community that flows flittingly in and out of the houses as though cats leaping over canals; because I for one couldn’t see how hundreds of people somehow resided inside those homes when I couldn’t spot a single one during my brief tour of the grounds. In the open, by our bikes, there were conspicuous signs of life, however. I was standing in the sun, letting its warm rays melt on my skin, when a young man, not even twenty, approached and asked me about our intents and purposes on what was once such a dull afternoon. His curiosity got the better of me, and together we broached a conversation in faith. Simon joined us, and although he whom I named Henry, told us in his obstinacy that he depends on himself alone, I feel as though a small seed of faith was still planted within him. May it bloom at the appointed time when he most needs it.

At last, inside the unlit store where we shared our gleaming hopes and fantastic dreams, Simon and I noticed, to our surprise and delight, two blackboards on which the shopkeeper had written the alphabet, for English as well as for Putonghua (Pinyin). Besides the letters, numbers too had been painstakingly etched into the board, each meticulous stroke perfectly formed. So they ironically were learning that which continues to elude their more economically mobile brethren in Hong Kong, despite their most humble upbringing. I encouraged Henry to pursue this knowledge, since, as the cliche most rightly states, English – and Putonghua, these days – opens up a world of opportunity.

China, it seems to me, is one interminable housing start being carried on the shoulders of giants. Behemoths, really, an armada of green and blue dump trucks, on whose backs are the physical manifestation of the hopes and dreams of billions – timber; stone; and coal – were an inescapable part of our three-day trek. They blew passed us, literally, horns afire; and if you stared into the eyes of the drivers high above on those mechanized elephants, you would see the glee with which they pounded both the road and the eardrums of those unwitting peons foolish enough to be nearby. China – and China Mobile, whose stores we uncovered even in the most remote suburb, might I add! – still has much growth left, and the transportation and infrastructure industries, I’m sure, shall assiduously work to keep it that way. My recommendation: keep investing in China.

Visiting the hot springs had been on our agenda since the inception of the trip. We eventually had our chance the second evening, when we raced down a wending hill to our hotel – a real hotel. Our excitement reverberated in the air, crackling with laughter and shouting. Choosing to swim first and foremost, we left dinner to wait and hurried across the street. The resort was packed with other like-minded people, dressed in swimming costumes that should have left more to the imagination; the temperature of the pool water varied, from tepid in one enclosure to skin-searing in another; and for one marvelous hour, we swam and frolicked like little children again, delighting in some wet fun, a suitable reward for one more arduous day spent on the dusty, dry land.

We capped the end of a successful day with a bang. The girls, oddly enough, were furtive pyromaniacs in our midst, longing in secret to raid the fireworks shop at the base of the hotel. So after our meal, they raced into the cool evening air and we could only endeavor to follow them in their explosive folly. Inside the store, all sorts of bombastic devices were on display, from the unwieldy, block of (Chicago) bull to the sleek spears adorning the wall whose warheads, no doubt, could just so easily take out a few eyes as mercilessly rip the pitch black from the wall of night sky. The ladies suffered to leave no type of firework untouched by the flame, quickly purchasing an arsenal of rainbow-inducing rockets and slim sparklers to make any pyrotechnic maven proud. Outside we went. At length, the bombs burst in the air, and laughter abound so much as we watched the brilliance of Chinese engineering on display. With the girls’ scintillating stock depleted, we finally collected ourselves, and headed upstairs for one more day of wonderment.

There was one last village to visit before we reached our final destination of Enping city. As we sped into the shanty community, we knew something was amiss because unlike our other entrances into villages, during which residents would emerge in droves to glimpse us, it seemed as though these villagers preferred the comfort of their own veiled homes to the company of a few, ebullient strangers. It was an ominous setting in which we found ourselves, one characterized by inhabitants rather mistrustful than gregarious, and affable. Nonetheless, we dispersed to share kindness and mercy. To that end, I approached a young lady, a mere 25-years old, who had her three-month old boy on her shoulder and her three-year old son – who was without pants, might I add, preferring to wave them in the air like a terrible towel – by her side. We spoke briefly about her hopes and dreams, which, she says, rest in the well-being of her sons; and then Leanne and I blessed her. That was the end of our village experience in China.

To be around people who sharpen you as iron sharpens iron, that verily is a joy. The villagers were simple, warm and welcoming; my teammates were jocular, presumptuous and faithful; and I, in the midst of this confluence, this mosaic of personalities, philosophies, hopes and dreams, could only seek to love, especially in one of my more pensive moments. The trip tested my patience and tolerance, my ability to accept others for who they are – each a flawed creature like myself. Ultimately, so much as we seek the men of peace everywhere we go, we individually must become men of peace too. A true disciple of Jesus runs that race, and appreciates His grace, which shall always be enough in this life.

Image by a treeless mountain.
Drinking. 2

Lawrence and Dave were sitting at the back of the bar. They were in a booth. “Hey, look who decided to join us,” Dave said when saw me walking towards them. He waved the waitress over and she brought over another pint glass but not before staring into my license. There was already a half empty pitcher at the center of the table.
“You guys been here long?” I said.
“No. Just got here,” Lawrence said, “I thought you wouldn’t make it out anymore.”
“Come on, I live down the street from here, what are you talking about?”
“I thought Emily locked you down.”
Lawrence and Dave were inseparable. We grew up together, went to high school together. When Emily came, I saw them less and less. It was only natural this would happen.
“No. Nothing like that. She’s alright tonight. Is Hien here?”
“Yeah. Over there with some guy,” Dave said, “As usual.”
“I’m not surprised.”

I poured a pint out for myself. Hien was sitting next to a man. She was talking and he was listening to her with his head cocked to one side, appearing as if he was in the midst of intense concentration and self-reflecting upon her every word. The sleeves on his shirt were too long and though he wore a vest and tie, he left it un-tucked. The sight of Hien with him irritated me. I knew better than be jealous around her, and most of the time, I never was. A part of me treated her like a sister. “Hey, I’ll be right back,” I said.

“Let me get a gimlet,” I told the bartender.
I squeezed in behind her. Hien turned around when she heard my voice. “Sam! I was just thinking about you,” she said. She hugged me.. “This is my new friend Andy. He’s a writer too. He told me he and the first person I thought about was you.”
I looked at Andy and sipped the gimlet. He looked like an asshole and up close, looked like a boy. “What was it that you write about again Andy?” Hien said to him.
“Just normal everyday things. Realist stories. Stories about people. I’m never good at describing these things,” he said.
“In other words, nothing special. Well, that’s what I always say at least,” I said.
“I work for the News and Review,” he said.
“Cheers.”

The five of us sat in the booth together – Andy, Lawrence, Dave, Hien and I. I didn’t like strangers coming into our group but she had invited him over to join us. I had my manners. Hien was wearing a black dress with a small strip of red that wound its way around the hemline. I wasn’t thinking anything sexual. I like to believe I don’t have those desires for anyone else. It was just aesthetically, it looked nice and I watched the way it shifted around her body as she angled her way inside and sat down. After a few round drinks, I tapped her foot underneath the table and motioned two fingers towards my lips. “We’re going to go outside for a bit,” she said. Andy got up so she could make her way out.

We sat on a bench outisde the bar, by the door. There was a group of people standing along the sidewalk next to us. They were the typical weekend bar hoppers: tall girls, in hot shorts and short skirts, heels, speaking in elevated pitches designed to make themselves sound cute, men in blazers and designer jeans, shirt collars popped, who smiled and nodded at every asinine comment that came their way. “I hate Asian people when they’re in groups,” Hien said.
“Me too. Especially when they’re in groups of more than four,” I said. I realized that we use to be just like them so I didn’t say anything more.

The group hailed a taxi and stepped in and the sidewalk was quiet again. “I feel like a vacuum just rolled by. Thank god,” she said. I wasn’t paying attention. It was close to two and I wondered what I would say to Emily if she were to wake up and find that I wasn’t sleeping next to her. Maybe she would go downstairs, look in the kitchen, check the bathrooms or go into the garage and peer through the windows of the Camry we owned. I doubt it. One thing she would never do was call.

Hien exhaled a cloud of smoke into the space in front of her. “I still can’t do the smoke rings.”
“Lucky Strikes? I thought you didn’t like menthols,” I said.
“They’re not mine. We’re doing some work for them and they were giving them out to the smokers at the office,” she said.
“Emily hates cigarettes. I have to shower as soon as I get home and dump my clothes into the laundry.”
“That reminds me of when I use live at home. Though my dad probably knew anyway,” Hien had moved from back from Washington two months ago. She was from there. When she graduated, she went back and we didn’t keep in touch.
“How’s your family?”
“They’re good. Sarah’s going back to Vietnam. She got a job there teaching English. She doesn’t like it here.”
“She was born there right?”
“Yeah. She came when she was fourteen. I’m happy for her. She needed to get her shit together.”

Hien curled her legs towards her body with her knees pressed against her chest. She put her arms underneath her dress and held it against the back of her thighs. It made her look very small, like a girl again. I remembered her in band t-shirts and torn jeans. Back then, she had a tomboy Cleopatra hair cut that ended just below her ear lobes. We’d sit on the floor in Borders during the summer, between the magazine aisles and leaf through all the design and art publications. She’d point out anyone who she thought didn’t deserve to be in them. “And you can do better?” I said.
“Of course,” she said. “I just need a chance.”

In another life, another time, I would have held her right then and there.

“How are you and your wife,” she said.
“Emily? She’s okay. She’s not the jealous or controlling type.”
“No, I mean, how is she?”
“She’s good. We’re carrying on as usual.”
“That’s good. I’m happy. You at least have someone to take care of you.”
“Yeah,” I tossed the rest of the cigarette onto the street, “Let’s go back inside.”

Andy, Dave and Lawrence were laughing at the TV mounted above them when we came back inside. It was some poker tournament. Andy looked Hien up and down as he stood up so that she could return to her seat. I smiled at him. He appeared drunk, they had ordered another round of shots while we were out. The skin below his jawline, at the top of his neck was painted in red patches. It made him like look like he had eczema. “What were you guys talking about outside?”
“Normal everyday things,” I said.
Hien looked at me. She cocked a smile. Don’t be so mean she was saying. Okay, I said.
“Are you cool to drive us back?” Hien reached across the table and tapped the back of Dave’s hand, which was still holding the glass. He turned his gaze away from the TV.
“No worries. I’m good.”
“I’ve got to get home in a bit. I got to go in to work tomorrow.”
“I thought you said you were going to take the day off! It’s freaking Saturday,” Lawrence said.
“Sorry. I changed my mind.”
“Come on.”
“I took last Friday off when I wasn’t supposed to. I’m new, remember?”
“One more then.”
Hien shook her head and put her hands on her knees underneath the table.
“Andy’ll take it for her,” I said.
Andy was rubbing a cheek with his palm. He looked sleepy. His vest was unbuttoned and hung against his sides like flaps. His tie knot was down to his chest. I wanted to put him out.“I’m done gentlemen. No more,” he said.
“No you’re not.” I turned to Lawrence, “He’ll double fist it.”
Hien mouthed a thank you.
Before we left, we had another round and like before, we pressured Andy into drinking it.

The car was two blocks away. I walked with Hien behind the rest of them. It was close to 3:30 when we got out of the bar and in the hour that passed, the night became cooler. We stuffed our hands into our pockets as Lawrence and Andy swerved snaking lines along the sidewalk. Dave tried to shepherd them off the street and away from incoming traffic. I was laughing the entire time while watching them. “You guys look like Glass Joe and Gabby Jaw,” I said.
“From Punch-Out?” Dave turned towards me, “That’s hilarious.” He stepped the left of Lawrence to keep him from veering off onto the street.

“So they wanted me to start this lifestyle column about being some hopeless romantic young professional. It’s about relationships and things like that,” Andy said. He looked back to see if we were paying attention. “And I have to be this character. Guess what I chose to be?’
“What?” Hien said.
“I told them I’d be a 28 year old vet –”
“Like an army vet?”
“No. A veterinarian. Johnathan Hopes, and I had just gotten over a six year relationship where I was cheated on by an emotionally unstable. So I’m damaged right. I had a savior complex but because of her that’s gone. Anyway, it’s absolutely absurd. It’s going to be great.” He started to laugh and put a hand to his chest as if it was funny enough to cause pain.
“That’s great,” I said.
“Yeah. It’s going to be a cynical column. It’s going to great.”
“I can’t wait to read it,” I said to Hien. The car was another block away and my buzz was completely gone. She looped her arm through mine. I didn’t say anything the rest of the way.
“You guys are going to fuck tonight aren’t you?” Andy said when we got the car. I didn’t respond. “Don’t lie. I can tell.”
“Come on buddy, get in the car.” Lawrence was much taller than Andy. When he opened the door and pushed Andy inside, it looked like a cop helping a drunkard into the backseat of a patrol. “No man. You’re sitting by the window,” he said to him.

I took the seat next to Andy, in the middle. Hien followed me in. She retracted her hand from my bicep. Dave went around and turned the car on. I could hear the wheels turn away from the curb. “Don’t you live down the street from here?” Hien said.
“It’s alright, I’ll see you guys off. Dave’s got to pass by here again on his way back anyway.”

Andy was the first to go. He lived about three miles from the bar and around the corner from Lawrence. When he got out, he tried to lean in for a kis but Hien put an arm around him instead. “It was nice meeting you. Good luck on the column.”
I closed the door and rolled the window down. “See you around Johnathan.”

We stopped a block later and let Lawrence out. He turned the brim of his baseball cap to the side and stumbled towards the door. Dave leaned towards the passenger seat and jangled a set of keys in front of the window. “That’s right. Almost forgot,” Lawrence said. He came back for them. The front door light came on. I slept the rest of the way. Later, Dave would tell me that Hien had to hold me up to keep me from falling onto the parking brake and transmission.

Unknown stories / Historias desconocidas


Image by . SantiMB .
Turó de la Rovira – Barcelona (Spain).
SortidazZ Amanecer búnker [21/02/2009].

View Large On White

In first term the floor of the bathroom of a hut. At the bottom a precipice that it gives to the district of Horta.

En primer término el suelo del cuarto de baño de una barraca. Al fondo un barranco que da al barrio de Horta.

ENGLISH
The Turó of the Rovira is the upper point of the urban area of Barcelona, with 267 meters over the level of the sea, and in addition it is a place practically unknown for the Barcelonians (I include myself), in spite of keeping much history.

For a start it have been rests of an Iberian town about between centuries 3th and 1st B.C. Also there is a fortified medieval "masia" (catalan country house). But perhaps what emphasizes of the place are the rest of the first antiaircraft battery of Barcelona constructed in 1937, after receiving the city the first bombing of the Civil War on the part of the rebellious troops.

It had between two and seven cannons Vickers of 105 mm, British manufacture in 1923, and with a reach of between 7 and 13 km. The effectiveness of these facilities is not known, as well as if it was shoot down some German airplane here.

After the war, the abandoned concrete structure served as base to construct the huts that lodged hundreds of immigrants from 1948 to end of 70′s, in very precarious conditions of life, since supplies like the running water or the electricity did not arrive there, and in addition the access was very difficult by long and lofty stairs.

After leaving the last huts, the zone was degraded remarkably and it became a nest of rubbish, sweepings and dirt, until not long ago the neighbors initiated the recovery of the Turó retiring all the remainders.

Now, the creation of a green zone named Tres Turons threatens demolishing hundreds of houses of the district. It is a great urban park already planned in 1976 with the demolition of the 764 houses that was in those days in the zone. Since then the neighbors negotiate with the City council, and live with the uncertainty on if they will demolish his house or no. Finally in 2010 will begin the demolition of the 300 houses affected finally by this city-planning.

————————–

CASTELLANO
El Turó de la Rovira es el punto más alto del casco urbano de Barcelona, con 267 metros sobre el nivel del mar, y además es un lugar prácticamente desconocido para los barceloneses (yo mismo me incluyo), a pesar de guardar mucha historia.

De entrada se han encontrado restos de un poblado íbero de entre los siglos III y I a.C. También allí hay una masía medieval fortificada. Pero quizás lo que destaca del lugar son los restos de la primera batería antiaérea de Barcelona construida en 1937, tras recibir la ciudad el primer bombardeo de la Guerra Civil por parte de las tropas rebeldes.

Tuvo entre dos y siete cañones Vickers de 105 mm., de fabricación británica en 1923, y con un alcance de entre 7 y 13 km. Se desconoce la eficacia de estas instalaciones, así como si desde aquí se derribó algún avión alemán.

Tras la guerra, la estructura de hormigón ya abandonada sirvió de base para construir las barracas que alojaron cientos de inmigrantes desde 1948 hasta finales de los años 70, en condiciones de vida muy precarias, dado que allí no llegaban suministros como el agua corriente o la electricidad, y además el acceso era muy difícil por largas y empinadas escaleras.

Después de abandonar las últimas barracas, la zona se degradó notablemente y se convirtió en un nido de escombros, basura y suciedad, hasta que no hace mucho los vecinos iniciaron la recuperación del Turó retirando todos los desechos.

Ahora, la creación de una zona verde llamada Tres Turons amenaza con derribar centenares de viviendas del barrio. Se trata de un gran parque urbano ya planeado en 1976 con el derribo de las 764 viviendas que había entonces en la zona. Desde entonces los vecinos negocian con el Ayuntamiento, y viven con la incertidumbre de si derribarán su casa o no. Finalmente en el 2010 se iniciará el derribo de las 300 viviendas afectadas finalmente por este plan urbanístico.

Fuentes: www.elperiodico.com/default.asp?idpublicacio_PK=46&id…, totbarcelona.blogspot.com/2008/11/antiareos-del-tur-de-la…

A few nice bathroom furniture images I found:

Paragon Properties / Franklin River


Image by Paragon Apartments
Paragon Properties / Franklin River / Exterior /
28733 Franklin River Drive
Southfield, MI

Paragon Properties / Woodland Villa


Image by Paragon Apartments
Paragon Properties / Woodland Villa / Model / 7360 Drew Circle #9
Westland, MI

Paragon Properties / Twin Arbors


Image by Paragon Apartments
Paragon Properties / Twin Arbors / Model / 39670 Greenview Place
Plymouth, MI 48170