Hecate

And there we are. Glorious.

The 💩 in the pool effect though. One fetid little turd in the shallow end potentially contaminates a lot of water.

Sorry to snip your excellent post, but... Yeah, it is. As I'm sure the incoming posts will continue to demonstrate in detail and at length.

Imagine if a consequence of infection by this wretched virus was dicks dropping off. Infected? Bam! Your dick drops off. This utterly selfish cuntery of man babies refusing to do something that might help others because of 'freedoms' would never have been a thing. Or perhaps it would. Because of course that would never happen to them, would it?

Finished The Apparition Phase. The first third is brilliant - chilling and creepy, but when the story decamps to the apparently haunted country house (by means which made my disbelief clatter down from its suspended state) it loses some of its evocative eeriness. It's still a great story well told, and suitably disturbing in places, but intriguing characters are abandoned for ones that are a little flat, and the story relies a little too much on convenient coincidences. And I know it's to be expected in ghost stories but the many loose ends left flapping in this tale are particularly frustrating. I found the book ultimately really quite depressing, which wasn't what I expected at all.

The usual tribe of beet-faced, spittal-flecked grifters and borderline sociopaths who flap their mouth holes in politics and media. And Owen Jones.

Just started The Silkworm by Robert Galbraith/JK Rowling, after very much enjoying The Cuckoo's Calling (though I guessed the murderer quite early on). Also reading The Apparition Phase by Will Maclean. This is exactly my cup of tea so far; it takes me right back to the early 80s and scaring my 10 year old self silly with tales of Borley Rectory and spontaneous human combustion from The Unexplained magazine, lonely water public information films and watching Arthur C Clarke's Mysterious World on the tele.

For the tears that you boo-hoo-hoo-hoo There can be no defence You say you'll forgive and forget But it's only a pretence Tears before bedtime There'll be trouble tonight I don't want to talk about it anymore I don't want to have another fight I don't want to talk, I don't want to fight How wrong can I be before I am right?

The Sun Always Shines On TV - Aha

That's the essential point, isn't it? Though it's a continued source of bafflement and concern why anyone would be swayed, or even consider being swayed, by medical or scientific information from internet randoms armed with YouTube videos and links to Facebook. It's a bizarre and dangerous mix of wilful ignorance, obstinacy and arrogance, mixed with a generous sprinkling of Dunning-Kruger and a whiff of troll. Folk in this thread still fighting to point to reliable sources, and countering point after absurd point, are either seasoned masochists - in which case, knock yourself out - or have patience usually only found in those used to dealing with caffeinated toddlers. No one is listening; no one wants to listen. It's a lost cause. Give it up.

I am enjoying this album very much.

Good Year For The Roses - Elvis Costello

Or at all. Wiki's refs tells me she went to Marlborough, lived in mummy and daddy's Chelsea flat, and was worth several million pounds herself pre-William. She was groomed for years for the role of queen in waiting and has been living it for over ten years.

Why Don't You Write Me - Simon & Garfunkel

And I am watching your chest rise and fall Like the tides of my life And the rest of it all And your bones have been my bed frame And your flesh has been my pillow I have been waiting for sleep To offer up the deed with both hands