I live in a house with five flats in it. Because I don't really have a job, I do the returning to sender of all the endless letters sent to previous inhabitants.
Yesterday, a letter was redelivered to a guy who lived in Flat 3 before the guys before the guys who live there now.
I had written RETURN TO SENDER on the front.
Underneath this, on redelivery, was the word WHY?
Am I going to have to enter into dialogue with All Aboard or Edgware in Middlesex? What is the etiquette here?
Everyone and their dog knows all about Barbies and their unrealistic measurements, blah blah blah. And yet still I love these pictures of a Barbie looking like a person.
In gay sports news, or olds, do you know about Ernie Griffin, the closeted boxer who fought three huge world title fights with Ernie Paret in the sixties. In the third, Paret taunted him about his sexuality, Griffin was inspired, and the result was that Paret died of injuries received in the ring. In his autobiography, griffin wrote, I killed a man and the world forgave me, yet I loved a man and the world has still never forgiven me. Terence Blanchard, jazz composer, is turning this into an opera.
(There's a South African jazz opera about boxing called King Kong. It's magic.)
There are a hundred different versions of the abandoned places photos, which are astonishing. This is one chosen more or less at random, simply because if I link to it I can finally close the tab and stop gazing at it.