Verity Holloway

LONDON (AP) — Buckingham Palace says King Charles III will strip Prince Andrew of remaining titles including “Andrew”, curse him to wander the Earth as “the nameless one”

Partner, in his office, just yelled: "Oh fuck, I got the date of the October Revolution wrong!"

Me and partner both only got symptoms on day 6 after our covid one this time around.

Everyone else got a response, so I can only assume the company is run by a member of the Queensbury dynasty.

Screenshot of a jewellery giveaway asking which period of the past would you visit if given the chance. I responded: "London, early March 1895. The spring air is damp with smog and the promise of reputational ruin. I arrive at Oscar Wilde's place with one ticket for the fast ferry to France. "Oscar," I say, before he has the chance to disarm me with a witty bon mot. "There's no time for me to explain, but you have to pack your things and skedaddle to the Continent." "Why are you wielding a cricket bat studded with nails?" he asks. "That's for me to know and the Marquis of Queensbury to find out. Now hit the road." While I'm in the neighbourhood, I pour glue into Bosie Douglas' shoes."

I didn't win the giveaway, but I think we can agree I'm RIGHT.

They may be gone now, but in Emsworth in the early 90s there was a row of Navy married quarters, and ours was horrible. A key flew across the room one day, a painting fell where I'd just been sitting, and the bathroom felt like it hated me. I used to wake up in the night hearing thousands of birds.

I had a real doppelgänger fear, as a small kid. We briefly lived in a Navy married quarter with horrible energy, down in Portsmouth, and I used to dream I'd leave my bed and find myself on the landing, staring. That was a really unpleasant building.

A local greengrocer has lots of bananas to give away. Collect them today Wednesday 29th October from 14 Robert Davies Court, CB4 1TP

Cambridge people: help save these bananas from the bin! Cambridge Fruit Company looking to give away 150kg of over-ripe nanas, address in alt. CFC does great work for the Red Hen Project too, all round great people so happy to advertise them. redhenproject.org www.cambridgefruitcompany.com/shop/

There is just so much to think about.

We were all thinking it.

He was a huge sensation. He did teach dance, but his main hustle was performing in pleasure gardens and writing poetry. He wasn't a real baron, but everyone who met him agreed he should have been because he was so charming and well-mannered. People paid good money to see the egg dance.

Look at these goths

If AI 'levels the playing field' by turning everything into insipid beige paste, only nepo babies and their parents will be trustworthy: a familiar brand in a confusing landscape. It's about letting wealth access talent while keeping talent from wealth. This is a class issue.

Give me your RIZa cough medicine, stat.

I need to see that.

Haha! I hadn't even thought of that.

Clowns do nothing for me, but I've been fitfully thinking about this thing all night.

This is the guy that teaches you the circle is nothing more than a gentleman's agreement.

You get it. Won't someone please dance with him?

There's something so frightening about someone very, very good at doing something very, very absurd.

I have to add that the Baron was so popular, he actually had to stop his egg dancing act, because people kept invading the stage to steal his eggs. To, like, keep them. As a memento. People coveted the Baron's eggs.

I feel like I'm tied to a chair and he's just... egg dancing at me.

Victorian drawing of a blindfolded man with long black hair and a tight suit with red boots prancing around a stage littered by eggs.

Baron Nathan, the celebrity dance teacher of the 1850s who danced the hornpipe blindfolded, surrounded by eggs. There's something SO malevolent about this image. It's powerfully frightening.

I looooove Komondor. I've never met one, though. What does their fur feel like?

🎵 It's the most miserable time of the year...

I have a couple of SAD lamps, but I really do think I need one of those floodlights that builders use to work at night. It's the only way to be sure.

It's got to the point where I hear the word 'cosy' and experience silent, white-hot rage.

Still, only five more months of this misery, and then there might be a glimmer of hope on the horizon, weather permitting.

How are we doing, SAD comrades? I'll go first. I'm doing Bad.

As soon as I can find a good print, I'm getting it. The few places I've found so far look a bit dodgy, and the artist doesn't seem to be selling them directly.