@Ian and @Bolly
I do like a nice font, so I was very excited to discover textify.it where you can redesign your photos using symbols, letters and so on instead of pixels.
food machine in early Dr Who episode
I was watching Dr Who with Mum the other day. And, totally out of the blue, she asked whether the TARDIS had a kitchen.
Weirdly, just a few seconds later, Matt Smith told Amy and Rory where the kitchen was.
Sadly, we didn’t get a glimpse. Being Dr Who, it could look like anything of course – an Elizabethan one with shaggy hounds by the inglenook, an Edwardian country version, a seventies kitchen-diner.
Or maybe the Doctor got Magnet to personalise it for him, with Dalek-proof splashbacks, a handy alien life-form disposal unit and interest-free credit for infinity.
I’m delighted to report that Hertfordshire has so far escaped the Apocalypse which was due today. This is a good thing in my view, for many reasons.
Firstly, it’s a busy time of year. The Four Horsemen would undoubtedly have got stuck on the M25 and the flying Christians would have seriously disrupted Stansted’s airspace.
Secondly, we’re only half way through the asparagus season.
Thirdly, The Beast wouldn’t have gone down well in the Home Counties. Imagine the scene if he’d appeared in Waitrose or whatever. And just think of his impact on property prices. It just doesn’t bear thinking about.
Suffering from Apocalypse Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, I decided to google Hell and stumbled on the charming eternalhell.net
Just fill in their questionnaire to predict your ultimate destination.
You’ll love this astonishing video of a real-life owl and pussycat playing together
They were brought up together and are apparently best pals.
Picturesque Abbottabad, where Osama Bin Laden met his demise, housed not only the world’s worst terrorist but possibly the worst poem ever written.
Abbottabad was penned by the town’s founder General Sir James Abbott. Here’s the full text.
I remember the day when I first came here
And smelt the sweet Abbottabad air
The trees and ground covered with snow
Gave us indeed a brilliant show
To me the place seemed like a dream
And far ran a lonesome stream
The wind hissed as if welcoming us
The pine swayed creating a lot of fuss
And the tiny cuckoo sang it away
A song very melodious and gay
I adored the place from the first sight
And was happy that my coming here was right
And eight good years here passed very soon
And we leave our perhaps on a sunny noon
Oh Abbottabad we are leaving you now
To your natural beauty do I bow
Perhaps your winds sound will never reach my ear
My gift for you is a few sad tears
I bid you farewell with a heavy heart
Never from my mind will your memories thwart
Guardian critique of Abbottabad poem