Kim @Bumpybetsy

@pevenseyjayne @adam_copp @A1an_M @BootsUK Gosh…

@GrayMarker99 Happy Canada Day from an eight yr old celebrating in Northamptonshire, England. 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿🇨🇦

Good morning, friends!! Happy Canada Day!! 🇨🇦🇨🇦🇨🇦🇨🇦🇨🇦❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ #Canada #CanadDay

I had the honour of hosting London Climate Action Week and @EarthshotPrize’s Impact Assembly here in London. It has been inspiring to spend the week alongside the most passionate and dedicated people on earth, all mobilising toward real, tangible change for our planet. The world is in our hands, and I have great hope for the future.

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On Saturday, after nearly a century, the long-wave transmitter at Droitwich fell silent, and the two old masts at Westerglen and Burghead with it. Most people won't have noticed. But something left the country on Saturday worth marking before it slips out of memory as well as off the air: the Shipping Forecast, in the form millions have grown up with, one of the primi among British institutions, read out on long wave to the fishing fleets and the insomniacs and anyone else still awake at the rim of the day. If you've ever heard it, you know the odd power of the thing. "Viking, North Utsire, South Utsire, Forties, Cromarty" - a litany of sea areas most listeners will never lay eyes on, in a cadence that hasn't altered in generations, read with the calm of a voice that assumes you are out there somewhere in the dark and means to see you home. It carried far more than the weather. It was among the last things the whole of Britain still heard at the same hour: the same words, the same rhythm, meaning the same thing to a trawlerman off Rockall and a sleepless accountant in Surrey. A aesthetic paradigm of our culture; supreme utility and sublime superfluity. A country that now shares almost nothing in common still shared that. And there's a stranger fact again, one that lifts the whole business clear of nostalgia. By long-standing account, the Royal Navy's nuclear-missile submarines, hidden somewhere beneath the Atlantic with the nation's last deterrent aboard, used Radio 4 on long wave as one of their signs of life from home. If the broadcasts kept coming, Britain was still there. If they ever stopped, and stayed stopped, the commander was to open the sealed letter the Prime Minister had written out by hand, and learn what his country wished of him in a world that no longer contained it. The same mild signal that told a fisherman the wind in Dogger was, by that account, a pulse the end of the world would have been measured against. It is fitting, and bleak, that a broadcaster which has spent years forgetting who it was ever for should choose this, of all things, to switch off. The BBC never seems short of money for the things it wants to do. It decided the cost of the old signal was no longer worth bearing, and silenced the one transmission that asked nothing of anybody and reassured everybody. The fishermen, the old, the sleepless, the men under the sea - none of them were an audience it cared to keep. The forecast itself survives in other forms, on other frequencies; this is not the end of it. But the signal that carried it for a hundred years, and the idea it quietly stood for - that a nation is a thing held together by small shared rituals, faithfully kept, that ask nothing and bind everyone - that has fallen silent, and it fell without a fight. We let these things go one at a time, each too small to defend on its own, until we glance up and find there is nothing left that we all still do together. How many more will we let go? How many more will you let go?

The Princess of Wales made a personal donation to Ted’s fundraising campaign and left such a lovely message: “One of the real highlights of the Three Peaks Challenge was meeting inspiring people like you along the way. Huge congratulations to the entire team for raising money for such a wonderful cause. C” 😭❤️👏🏻

Anna @tokkianami

2 days ago

The Princess of Wales had a mini walkabout moment on Ben Nevis while completing her Three Peaks Challenge this weekend ⛰️❤️ Catherine greeted and encouraged a young boy who had been wheeled up the top three mountains to raise funds for a charity. How lovely! 🎥 Shammi Rana

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I’ve been looking into the difficulties of the Three Peaks Challenge… and wow. 23 miles. 3,064m of brutal ascent. Overnight driving. Harsh mountain conditions. And fewer than 40% of people actually finish it within 24 hours. Yet HRH The Princess of Wales just crushed it — solo, post-cancer treatment, raising funds for The Royal Marsden. Talk about strength and determination! This is next-level inspiring. 👑🏔️💙 #PrincessOfWales #ThreePeaksChallenge #KateMiddleton #RoyalStrength

Can we all agree the real winner of the World Cup is the visiting fans? The Tartan Army showed up in Boston, nearly emptied every bar in the city, somehow cleaned up after themselves, turned Miami bars into bagpipe concerts playing Avicii, and took every traffic cone in their way 🤣 Norwegian fans took over a Cubs-Mets game because...why not? England fans discovered line dancing and looked like they'd been waiting their entire lives to yell "YEEHAW." Thousands of international fans are trying to sneak bottles of ranch through TSA like it's a priceless American artifact. 🤣🤣🤣 And watching people take their first bite of a Publix Chicken Tender Pub Sub has been better entertainment than half the matches. This tournament has basically become one giant exchange program where America says, "Here's ranch, Publix, and baseball," and the rest of the world says, "Cool...we're borrowing your city for a week." Honestly, I'm here for it. #WorldCup #tartanarmy #FIFA

Dueling Chinooks! Got to love these things! Even though they vibrate so bad, that the Earth rejects them!

At the Spanish School of Equestrianism in Vienna, the legendary Lipizzaner steeds continue the millennium-long legacy of classical equestrianism—where the dance of precision, elegance, and exquisite harmony between man and horse flourishes in every performance. Instead of the usual term "school," the terms "Equestrian School" or "Equestrian Sanctuary" elevate the context to a rigorous cultural and artistic space. The phrase "Classical horsemanship" is translated as "Classical Equestrianism" to completely distinguish it from modern recreational equestrianism. "The harmony between man and horse" or "man and horse" emphasizes the philosophy of nonverbal spiritual communication between life and humanity—a core of traditional Western culture.

The summer of 1976 wasn’t just hot — it was relentless. ☀️🥵🇬🇧 People remember glorious beach weather and endless sunshine… but there was another side to it. Reservoirs ran dry. Grass turned to dust. Livestock were fed winter straw. Standpipes appeared in streets as families queued with buckets and kettles just to get water. People even reused bath water to keep their gardens alive. Those who lived through it still talk about the intense, dry, almost suffocating heat a summer so extreme it became Britain’s benchmark for every heatwave since. Nearly 50 years later, we’re still comparing hot summers to 1976. Who here remembers the legendary summer of ’76? What do you remember most? 👇

Wheelchair update: John’s wheelchair wasn’t found but we were inundated by offers to help facilitate getting a new one sent to John. @_ChaoticGood42 reached out and in an incredible act of kindness, had one delivered to the address John and Mary were staying at. Mary and John were overwhelmed by the response and Mary has insisted on making a charitable donation to @_ChaoticGood42’s favourite charity, Dolly Parton’s Imagination Library. imaginationlibrary.com Thank you everyone who offered to help John and Mary. ❤️

🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 The Tartan Army 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 @TartanArmyGroup

2 weeks ago

🚨 Missing Wheelchair At the Scotland v Morocco game at @GilletteStadium Mary and John were in section 303 for wheelchair users. John’s wheelchair was stowed for the game and unfortunately someone removed it from the storage area insisting he needed it for his father. We can

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A mum confronts 2 migrants who were making sexual comments to her daughter and other young girls walking past. Huge respect to her for protecting hers and others kids, but we shouldn’t have to live like this. 😡

Copied From: Childhood Memories UK. From the 16th of February 1972 until 7 March 1974 homes and businesses were without electricity on most days for up to nine hours a day. Shops still traded and candles were in huge demand Who remembers living through this?

There was a precise moment, somewhere around 1983, when the fear walked into the British kitchen and never left again. Before it arrived, the kitchen was a calm place. Butter sat in a dish on the side, soft and golden. Eggs came in a bowl, all of the egg, the yolk treated as the prize it is. The Sunday joint wore a rim of fat that the man of the house considered the finest part of the meal. Dripping lived in a pot by the cooker. Nobody read a label, because there was nothing printed on the food to read. Then the message arrived, from the television, the magazines, the doctor, the leaflet through the door. Fat was the enemy. Animal fat was the worst of it. The foods that had sat on that table for centuries were quietly reclassified as hazards. And you could watch a kitchen change. The butter dish vanished and a tub of spread took its corner. The whole milk went, swapped for the bluish skimmed kind that looked rinsed. The fat got trimmed off the joint and binned, the very bit the family used to fight over. The egg yolk became a thing to feel faintly guilty about. The mothers who made these changes were diligent, loving women doing exactly what the experts instructed, trading the food of ten thousand years for the food of a 1983 leaflet. And the country got fatter. Year on year, right through the low-fat decades, the exact years everyone was trying hardest to be good. They have spent every year since being blamed for a result the advice handed them. Go and put the butter back in the dish.

A simple principle that somehow became radical: The water we drink, the food we buy, the infrastructure we depend on, the services we cannot live without. These things should be owned and controlled by the country that needs them. Not by private equity in New York. Not by sovereign wealth funds in Abu Dhabi. Not by holding companies in Luxembourg. This isn't anti-capitalism. France protects its strategic assets. Germany protects its strategic assets. The United States protects its strategic assets. We sold ours. Who thinks it's time to buy them back?