Potash was scarce because of the Napoleonic Wars (1803–1815), and Bernard Courtois had resorted to varec imported from the Brittany and Normandy seacoasts [5].

Just across the field stood a small house. In the yard the week's washing was hung out. Among the articles was a red tablecloth.

I recently penned and tweeted a short poem about “manspreading” on the tube, and while reaction has mostly been laughs of support, I have had some kickback in the form of men bitching at me about so-called “she-bagging”. In fact someone outright accused me of being a “she-bagger”.[…]Point is, this “she-bagging” phenomenon doesn’t happen in a vacuum, devoid of context — it happens in a culture that routinely dehumanises women and disrespects their wish or need for personal space.[…]It’s in these situations that I wish I had blocked the seat next to me. If you’re alone and feeling vulnerable on public transport, I don’t blame women for “she-bagging”. It’s a form of defence.

Whether through bitchification or through queerification, natives provide a groun zero for the conqueror.