I LOVE TECHNO 2009

[BLEEP2009]

Cant wait for ILT 09 this year!!! last year was amazin!!

I know that Adam beyer and Deadmau5 have been confirmed!! the whole line-up is to be officially confirmed on July 26th!! cant w8!!!!

[AmyAmyCuldo]

is there any age restrictions for ILT ?

[JessPear]

any more news on this? my friends went a couple of years ago and had the best time. if the line up is good im hoping to go this year with a group

[A-Rob]

is there any age restrictions for ILT ?

[irish crew 09]

am tinkin about headin over!!!was ne of ye der b4??im on a bad depression after creamfields n i ned sumting ta keep d spirits up

i tink dis could b it :angry:

[Brock Landers]

I'm going to this! Can't wait. Am heading over on this coach...

http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=1338...6136&ref=ts

It goes from Manchester (14 hours there, 14 hours back, could either be the greatest thing ever of possibly the most terrifying). Theres also one which goes from London.

[forx123]

I was always a little in awe of Great-aunt Stephina Roos. Indeed, as children we were all frankly terrified of her. The fact that she did not live with the family, preferring her tiny cottage and solitude to the comfortable but rather noisy household where we were brought up-added to the respectful fear in which she was held.

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　　We used to take it in turn to carry small delicacies which my mother had made down from the big house to the little cottage where Aunt Stephia and an old colored maid spent their days. Old Tnate Sanna would open the door to the rather frightened little messenger and would usher him-or her - into the dark voor-kamer, where the shutters were always closed to keep out the heat

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　　She was a tiny little woman to inspire so much veneration. She was always dressed in black, and her dark clothes melted into the shadows of the voor-kamer and made her look smaller than ever. But you felt. The moment she entered. That something vital and strong and somehow indestructible had come in with her, although she moved slowly, and her voice was sweet and soft.

　

　　She never embraced us. She would greet us and take out hot little hands in her own beautiful cool one, with blue veins standing out on the back of it, as though the white skin were almost too delicate to contain them.

　　

　　Tante Sanna would bring in dishes of sweet, sweet, sticky candy, or a great bowl of grapes or peaches, and Great-aunt Stephina would converse gravely about happenings on the farm ,and, more rarely, of the outer world.

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　　When we had finished our sweetmeats or fruit she would accompany us to the stoep, bidding us thank our mother for her gift and sending quaint, old-fashioned messages to her and the Father. Then she would turn and enter the house, closing the door behind, so that it became once more a place of mystery.

　　

　　As I grew older I found, rather to my surprise, that I had become genuinely fond of my aloof old great-aunt. But to this day I do not know what strange impulse made me take George to see her and to tell her, before I had confided in another living soul, of our engagement. To my astonishment, she was delighted.

　　 　　

　　"An Englishman,"she exclaimed."But that is splendid, splendid. And you,"she turned to George,"you are making your home in this country? You do not intend to return to England just yet?"

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　　She seemed relieved when she heard that George had bought a farm near our own farm and intended to settle in South Africa. She became quite animated, and chattered away to him.

　

　　After that I would often slip away to the little cottage by the mealie lands. Once she was somewhat disappointed on hearing that we had decided to wait for two years before getting married, but when she learned that my father and mother were both pleased with the match she seemed reassured.

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　　Still, she often appeared anxious about my love affair, and would ask questions that seemed to me strange, almost as though she feared that something would happen to destroy my romance. But I was quite unprepared for her outburst when I mentioned that George thought of paying a lightning visit to England

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before we were married."He must not do it,"she cried."Ina, you must not

world of warcraft power leveling,let him go. Promise me you will prevent him."she was trembling all over. I did what I could to console her, but she looked so tired and pale that I persuaded her to go to her room and rest, promising to return the next day.

[lookme875]

Hey, ‘Bones,’ ” my brother, Parker, asked me, "what are you going to be for Halloween?" The elementary school party

started at 7:00 PM. The winner of the prize for the most original costume got two free tickets for the Sunday matinee.

Parker was dressed and ready to go. I watched him parade in front of the mirror in his pirate costume. He's so handsome, I

thought. All the girls in the fifth and sixth grades were madly in love with him. I'd spent the afternoon defending myself

from his rubber dagger.

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" I'm not going!" I replied.

" Why not?"

" No costume."

"That's dumb," he said. "You hardly need a costume. You're already a perfect scarecrow!" I was used to these observations.

Furthermore, he spoke the truth. At twelve, I was already six feet tall and weighed eighty-nine pounds. Tack on red hair and

freckles and it added up to one thing: I was a scarecrow.

School days were charged with searing taunts. "Down in front." "How's the weather up there?" "Are those skis or shoes?" It

was hard to smile back, and even harder to make friends.

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I tried plastering my hair down flat on the top of my head and prying the heels off my shoes. I took scalding hot baths,

hoping I'd shrink. In bed at night, I put my feet against the footboard, hands against the headboard and pushed, hoping to

press myself back together. Nothing worked. So I saved nickels and dimes in a cider jug to pay the future surgeon who would

find fame in Ripley's Believe It or Not by cutting six inches of bone from the legs of the tallest girl in the world and

making her the same height as everybody else.

"When I grow up," I told Parker, as he brandished his cutlass in front of the mirror, "I'm going to live on an island where

there's no one to stare." My brother raised his eye patch and looked at me hard.

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"Sounds awful," he said, and left for the party.

Alone, I listened to the cheerless night and pictured the costumes my classmates had bought. I had tried on a few, too, but

nothing fit. I could picture my classmates in their costumes, having a wonderful time. As I wandered about the house, I

remembered happier days-before Mommy and Daddy were separated. When Daddy lived with us, he always made me feel loved and

wanted. Seeing him now for short visits wasn't the same. The more I brooded, the more my self-pity grew.

Then I spotted a broomstick standing in the kitchen corner. Maybe I could make a costume, I thought. Outside, a sheet and

pillowcase billowed on the clothesline. I could be a witch or a ghost. Then my gaze fell on the back of the cellar door. My

father's old plaid work shirt, faded overalls, jacket and cap were hanging right where he had left them.

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"I could be a hobo," I murmured as I buried my face in the dusty clothes. But Parker's taunt kept coming back at me. "You're

a scarecrow." As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. Well then, a scarecrow was what I'd be. The closer I got to the

school, the louder the cheers and clapping became, and the more my fears grew. What if they laughed at me? Worse still, what

if they didn't do anything? Hiding behind the tool shed next to the gym, I pulled everything out of the pillowcase and

started to dress. Because I was so tall, I could peek through the high window and see everybody taking turns on the stage in

quest of the coveted prize. Ghosts, princesses, monsters, cowboys, soldiers and brides-they were all there, clad in store-

bought costumes, fragile dreams for one night. My teeth were chattering. Would they clap for me? Would they whistle and

cheer? My stomach ached from anticipation.

I'll run home! I decided. No one would know I had been there. But Parker came on stage and glanced at the window. It was too

late. He had seen me. If I left now, he'd call me chicken. I watched him bow to the audience and listened to the squeals

from the girls as he leaped on chairs and tables and parried with his sword. Next, a small gorilla climbed on top of a

ladder and ate a banana. Lincoln gave a brief address. Cleopatra danced with a rubber snake in her hands, and a soldier

marched and twirled his gun. Only Tarzan remained.

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Maneuvering carefully through the entrance, I went in, held my breath and prayed, Please, God, don't let me make a fool of

myself. The applause was so loud for the King of the jungle when he gave his call and swung on a curtain rope that no one

seemed to notice me walk slowly to the center of the stage. A pillowcase covered my head. With arms outstretched and hands

clutching the broomstick inserted through the sleeves of an old plaid shirt, I wore a felt hat and faded overalls stuffed

with straw. The room was suddenly still.

Nobody clapped. Nobody cheered. The only sound I heard was the hammering of my own heart. I'm going to die, I thought, right

here in front of everybody. The world was tilting, and my ears were ringing when the hood slid down my nose, just enough so

I could peer through the eyeholes. And that's when I saw my classmates for the first time, as they really were. Petite

blonde fairies with golden wands-and steel braces on their teeth. A baseball hero with a bat and mitt-and bottle-thick

eyeglasses. A boxer with fighting gloves-sitting in a wheelchair. Someone asked, "Hey, who is that?" "Parker's sister!" They

looked at one another, surprise brightening their faces. Clapping and cheering filled the room.