OAK OCCASIONAL TABLE - OCCASIONAL TABLE

OAK OCCASIONAL TABLE - ROUND TO OVAL DINING TABLE.

Oak Occasional Table


oak occasional table
    occasional table
  • A small table for infrequent and varied use
  • (Occasional tables) small tables including coffee tables, side tables, sofa tables and consoles
  • any small table, such as a coffee table, having no particular function. Can typically be folded away
  • A small table that can be used for different purposes and moved from room to room.
    oak
  • a deciduous tree of the genus Quercus; has acorns and lobed leaves; "great oaks grow from little acorns"
  • A tree that bears acorns as fruit, and typically has lobed deciduous leaves. Oaks are common in many north temperate forests and are an important source of hard and durable wood used chiefly in construction, furniture, and (formerly) shipbuilding
  • A smoky flavor or aroma characteristic of wine aged in barrels made from this wood
  • the hard durable wood of any oak; used especially for furniture and flooring
  • An Oak is a tree or shrub in the genus Quercus (; Latin "oak tree"), of which about 600 species exist on earth. "Oak" may also appear in the names of species in related genera, notably Lithocarpus.
oak occasional table - 3 Piece
3 Piece Oak Occasional Living Room Table Set
3 Piece Oak Occasional Living Room Table Set
This set spells elegance at an affordable price! This is a 3 piece oak finish coffee table set with a wood grain design. It's nice. This set has Queen Ann legs, an oval coffee table and square end tables. The end tables have metal pulls. These are decoration only, and there are no drawers. The edges are finished off nicely and this set gives the feel of elegance. This is a 3 piece oak finish coffee table set with a wood grain design. This set has Queen Anne legs, an oval coffee table and two square end tables. The Coffee Table: 42"l x 21"w x 15-1/2"h The End Tables: 21"l x 18"w x 20"h

87% (14)
Last picture - perhaps...?
Last picture - perhaps...?
some people might have guessed that i'm slowly leaving sims and the community, facing too much work at school to actively enter contests and such.. if i don't find my disk, this is my last sims picture, but hopefully i'll find it... i want to make something special and gift pictures for all my amazing friends who have been so encouraging! :D It's a scene from my story which i don't think will come out unless someone wants to finish the pictures... - just mail me! well... here's the story... Forget Me Not The morning was a bleak one: the sky was grey and icy; the sun had refused to show its head. There was no birdsong, no sound at all, but that of the occasional car that passed by on the road – and that was rare, for how many people drive through the middle of nowhere? The view from my resting place was that of the hills. Vast rolling cliffs speckled with boulders and wild dandelions. In the distance, I could see my village: it was whitewashed and bare, without charm or character; like a blank canvas that had been hastily hung on a wall, to make up for an empty space. For a while I watched two children, a girl and a boy, playing on the cliff’s edge, their kites refusing to fly in this still nothingness. They laughed and frowned, smiled and cried – all the extremities of emotion that children flicker in and out of, and adults try to hide. I looked at their faces, stretched with expression, and then thought of the plastic mask that was mine. I felt envy. I wished that I could be so free with my feelings; I wished to be a child again. We used to play along the rocky shores of the sea, skimming rocks over the bay or throwing them at passing seagulls – always missing - but we wouldn’t give up. Or running down the sandy beach, maybe building a castle or collecting shells .Perhaps we would go swimming, seeing who could hold their breath underwater for the longest, or having races from the buoy to Skull Rock. Wherever Luke and I went, we caused a riot, whether it was over letting the dog sit at the neighbour’s table or something more serious. There was always a riot, but there was also laughter – lots of it. We’d laugh about the strangest things that, looking back, seem so ordinary, so normal. As well as all these things, all of which were special, there were those moments which I will treasure forever: like when I fell out of the great oak and he ran to catch me; when he bought me a balloon at the fair – he made sure it was red, my favourite colour, although it took him half an hour to find one. There was the time when his dog, Sam, went missing and we spent the night looking for him; and the time when we both dropped our ice creams in the sand. We had always been best friends - since we were toddlers; although I was a year older than he was. Like all good friends, we had our ups and our downs. He got awfully jealous when I went to school a year before him, but I was there the next year to show him the ropes. The day he taught me how to skim stones, I will never forget. We were wandering along the beach, sometimes bending down to admire shells or to pop the air bubbles in bladder seaweed. He darted back and forth from rock pools, carrying specimens in jam jars. I insisted that he let them out at once. “It’s not fair on them,” I told him. “How would you feel if you were trapped in a jar?” Together we made footprints, side by side, in the sand. His were smaller, mine were larger. I loved the feeling of sand between my toes; I wiggled them and it fell out, only to come back in when I put my foot down. I looked across at Luke, to see that he was doing the same. We smiled, our milky teeth glinting in the sun. At noon, we stopped for lunch. I carefully removed our sandwiches from my bag and sat down on the ground. The sand was warm, for the morning sun had heated it up, and I could feel the sea breeze against my face. “If heaven is like this,” I thought, “I want to go there when I die.” We ate our sandwiches silently, thinking of each other, rather than talking aloud. When Luke and I were together, we didn’t need to talk. It was as if we could read each other’s minds, I always knew what he was thinking, and him me. I felt the lettuce crunch in my mouth, mingling with the salt from the sea; he did the same. When the sandwiches were gone, we took our drinks out from his bag. I had lemonade, he had Coke. I heard a loud slurping sound, and I turned to face him. His face was flushed with embarrassment, like a red rose in summer. I giggled, he laughed. The silent beach was filled with our laughter. We listened to it echo around the bay, until the very last of it rolled away with the waves. When I turned fourteen, his mum threw a party for me at his house. She baked a cake and strung balloons and streamers from the banisters. Not many people came – I didn’t have many friends; but enough people came for us to have a good time, dance and eat the lemon drizzle cake. That day, he kissed me, not romantically,
I told you I was ill!
I told you I was ill!
The final resting place of Terrance 'Spike' Milligan CBE KBE, my favourite writer, comic, human being. I guess as I didn't know him I don't know how cruel he could be. Please read 'Goodbye Soldier'. Terence Alan Patrick Sean Milligan KBE (16 April 1918 – 27 February 2002), known as Spike Milligan, was an Anglo-Irish comedian, writer, musician, poet and playwright. Milligan was the co-creator and the principal writer of The Goon Show, in which he also performed. Aside from comedy, Milligan played the trumpet, saxophone, piano, guitar and bass drum. Milligan was born in Ahmednagar, India, on 16 April 1918, the son of an Irish-born father, Captain Leo Alphonso Milligan, MSM, RA, who was serving in the British Indian Army. His mother, Florence Mary Winifred Kettleband, was born in England. He spent his childhood in Poona (India) and later in Rangoon (Yangon), capital of Burma (Myanmar). He was educated at the Convent of Jesus and Mary, Poona, and St Paul's Christian Brothers, de la Salle, Rangoon. He lived most of his life in England and served in the British Army, in the Royal Artillery in World War II. During most of the late 1930s and early 1940s Milligan performed as an amateur jazz vocalist and trumpeter before, during and after being called up for military service in the fight against Nazi Germany, but even then he wrote and performed comedy sketches as part of concerts to entertain troops. After his call-up, but before being sent abroad, he and fellow musician Harry Edgington (nicknamed Edge-ying-Tong which gave birth to one of Milligan's most memorable musical creations, the Ying Tong Song) would compose surreal stories, filled with puns and skewed logic, as a way of staving off the boredom of life in barracks. During World War II he served as a signaller in the 56th Heavy Regiment Royal Artillery, D Battery, as Gunner Milligan, 954024 with the First Army in the North African campaign and then in the succeeding Italian campaign. He rose to the rank of Lance Bombardier and was about to be promoted to Bombardier when he was wounded in action in Italy. Subsequently hospitalised for a mortar wound to the right leg and shell shock, he was demoted by an unsympathetic commanding officer (identified in his war diaries as Major Evan 'Jumbo' Jenkins) back to Gunner. It was Milligan's opinion that Major Jenkins did not like him due to the fact that Milligan constantly kept the morale of his fellow soldiers up, whereas Major Jenkins' approach was to take an attitude towards the troops similar to that of Lord Kitchener. An incident also mentioned was when Major Jenkins had invited Gunners Milligan and Edgington to his bivouac to play some jazz with him, only to discover that the musicianship of the aforementioned gunners was far superior to his own ability to play the military tune 'Whistling Rufus' (albeit badly). After his hospitalisation, Milligan drifted through a number of rear-echelon military jobs in Italy, eventually becoming a full-time entertainer. He played the guitar with a jazz and comedy group called The Bill Hall Trio in concert parties for the troops. After being demobilised, Milligan remained in Italy playing with the Trio but returned to England soon after. While he was with the Central Pool of Artists (a group he described as composed "of bomb-happy squaddies") he began to write parodies of their mainstream plays, that displayed many of the key elements of what would later become The Goon Show ( originally called Crazy People) with Peter Sellers, Harry Secombe and Michael Bentine. Milligan returned to jazz in the late 1940s and made a precarious living with the Hall trio and other musical comedy acts. He was also trying to break into the world of radio, as either a performer or as a script writer. His first success in radio was as writer for comedian Derek Roy's show. Milligan soon became involved with a relatively radical comedy project, The Goon Show. Known during its first season as Crazy People, or in full, "The Junior Crazy Gang featuring those Crazy People, the Goons!", the name was an attempt to make the programme palatable to BBC officials by connecting it with the popular group of comedians known as The Crazy Gang.[2] Milligan was the primary author of The Goon Show scripts (though many were written jointly with Larry Stephens, Eric Sykes and others) as well as a star performer. Milligan had a number of acting parts in theatre, film and television series; one of his last screen appearances was in the BBC dramatisation of Mervyn Peake's Gormenghast, and he was (almost inevitably) noted as an ad-libber. One of Milligan's most famous ad-lib incidents occurred during a visit to Australia in the late 1960s. He was interviewed live on air and remained in the studio for the news broadcast that followed (read by Rod McNeil), during which Milligan constantly interjected, adding his own name to news items. As a result, he was banned from making any further live appeara

oak occasional table
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