The ballet of sleep
Jun. 9th, 2026 03:28 pm( sleeping dog )

The Ministry of Awe is a wacky, wonderous vault of secrets, questions and forged checks. It's a collective that has no point of origin. It's an experience with no right or wrong directions. It's a bank with many currencies, but no money. It's an invitation to ask questions, to experiment and let your curiosity lead you.
The Ministry is the brainchild of world renowned muralist Meg Saligman and the 100+ artists who created this living work of art. The historic bank building had sat empty since the 1980s. Now the space is alive and ever changing, with characters inhabiting the space and interactive elements that will never give you the same response twice.
The Ministry invites you to access your account with them. You've always had one.
Bus and Windrush line from N London to the southern peripheries to foregather with
kake and friends for sociability, which was very agreeable indeed.
Also boo to miserable ol' Matthew Arnold dissing on the growing London railway network of his day as enabling people to merely move between 'a illiberal, dismal life in Islington to a illiberal, dismal life in Camberwell'. Sad git.
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In other news: have received A Very Odd email alleging that The Textbook (of all things) is now listed on Bookbub.com. It is not entirely easy to ascertain the truth of this, as the site has no search function whereby one can locate specific titles, but searching under possible categories has not shown it up. I am not going to page through the alphabetical list of titles! What is this thing that this thing is? Spam? Phishing?
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I actually have some passing acquaintance with Prof King (as usual, archives were in the mix): Turi King: ‘The Knox case shows there was a misunderstanding about what DNA can tell you’. I loved this:
You led the DNA verification of Richard III. How important was that project scientifically and culturally?
What I loved about it was that it wasn’t just the genetics. There were lots of different strands of evidence – genetics, osteology and radio carbon dating – and it involved people from lots of different areas, all bringing their expertise to make it a wonderful project.
....
I think one of the things that was missed in the film is that no one person could have done it on their own. Philippa Langley [from the Richard III Society] absolutely got the project off the ground, but didn’t have the expertise to lead it. Another thing the film didn’t capture was all of the women who led various aspects of the science. I’m not worried I wasn’t in the film, but it was two years of work. Nor did all the money come from the Richard III Society. Some of it did for the excavation, but the vast majority came from Leicester University.



Once the largest linen thread mill in the world, Hilden Mill stands on the edge of Lisburn as one of Northern Ireland’s most haunting industrial ruins from Victorian times. Established in the 19th century by the Barbour family (not connected to the modern clothing brand), the vast complex exported thread across the British Empire and beyond. At its height, thousands of workers passed daily through its gates, and an entire model village, Hilden, developed around the factory, complete with workers’ housing, schools, and social halls. Today, the silent red-brick buildings, broken windows, and towering chimneys remain as powerful reminders of the era when linen made Ulster one of the industrial centres of the world.
Also known as Barbour's Mill or Barbour Threads Mill, Hilden Mill is especially compelling due to the strange atmosphere created by abandonment on such a monumental scale. The mill closed in 2006. Nature has begun reclaiming sections of the 24-acre site, while rusting machinery, collapsing interiors, and long-empty corridors evoke the vanished lives once tied to the rhythms of the mill. Unlike polished industrial museums, Hilden still feels raw and authentic. The surrounding landscape of the River Lagan and nearby woods only deepens the contrast between industrial ambition and decay.

This is the location of the former U.S. Radium Corporation where many women, known now as "The Radium Girls,"worked painting luminescent paint on watch dials during WWII. It was a lucrative job for women at the time so many were reluctant to give it up even as information about the radiation poisoning began to surface. When a woman became ill, corporation doctors routinely diagnosed them with syphilis instead to keep families from coming forward.
The location is now a family-friendly park with memorials throughout telling the stories of the collective issues the women faced, along with individual memorials to the women that worked there. Many of the women are buried at nearby Rosedale Cemetery. Their plight was recorded in the book "The Radium Girls" by Kate Moore and made into a movie in 2018.

Berlin is in a state of constant change; some streets are barely recognizable from one year to the next. Every gap is being filled, scaffolding and cranes stretch into the air, construction activity is everywhere.
Yet, there are places in Berlin where time stands still—likely because building regulations prohibit or complicate new developments.
One such place is Lübars, that West Berlin topographic curiosity, which truly still looks exactly as 50 years ago: a few equestrian farms, the village church, the Labsaal, the Dorfkrug (village inn), and the village school. And then there is the Tegeler Fließ valley, which in summer looks just like the landscape in Spitzweg’s painting "The Sunday Stroll" (Der Sonntagsausflug).
If you follow the path toward the Fließ at the entrance of the village, there is an old open shed on the left-hand side that has always been there. Whether it was intended as a shelter for horses or for hay remains unclear; today, it stands empty.
Very few people know that this exact shed was once the backdrop for a bloody confrontation. It took place in 1980: during a failed ransom handover behind the shed, one of the extortionists was shot dead by Tom Ripley.
However, this atrocity occurred only in the imagination of Patricia Highsmith when she wrote the fourth part of the world famous five-volume Ripleyiad, The Boy Who Followed Ripley. Tom Ripley is the sinister hero of this series, a man who is far from squeamish in the choice of methods to achieve his goals. In every volume of the series except the last, he kills at least one person—and always gets away with it scot-free.
Patricia Highsmith was actually famous for displaying an almost obsessive attention to detail when it came to the settings of her novels. Particularly in "Ripleyiad," she traveled to almost every single location she had her amoral hero, Tom Ripley, visit. Among her literary estate at the Swiss Literary Archives in Bern, researchers found boxes of meticulously collected, alphabetically sorted city maps, road maps, and travel guides, all filled with her handwritten notes.
Many literary critics emphasize that crime writers in particular need this extreme topographical accuracy to make the implausible—the perfect murder—believable to the reader. Since Ripley is a cosmopolitan and an art connoisseur, Highsmith's own research had to be flawless. For her books, she retraced the exact paths her characters would later take in Venice, Rome, Hamburg, Tunis, or indeed in the wintry West Berlin of the 1980s.
If you look closely inside the shed, a fan has carved "Patricia was here" into the wooden beams.

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This romantic comedy of manners features the next gen from
Here's the blurb stuff for Masques:
“Disguise your passion in masque; when the dance ends, peril begins.”
It’s nearly fourteen years since the Norsunder War ended on Sartorias-deles.
Sky Szinzar, Princess of Ralanor Veleth, has loyally insisted on the betrothal she made to Lexan Glenereth, a landless boy with no prospects, made when they were kids. Her peers utterly scorn a “betrothal” she formed at age twelve—a scorn led by sarcastic Prince Garian-Rafael.
Now it’s fourteen years later, and Sky is finally holding her coming-of-age ball, which is spectacularly ruined by her abduction. On horseback. Right off the ballroom floor . . . by the prince she hates most. A wager or a lark?
When courtship between him and her and him (or is that him and him and her?) wears the guise of high politics, the dance soon gets wild.
It's romantic fluff with some action here and there, lots of screwball interactions, as the new generation copes with (or ignores) the memory of war. The war is over, Norsunder is gone, and everyone is working vigorously on leading happy lives, but what really is 'happy? Come inside and find out!
Available from: Kindle Kobo Book View Cafe (cheaper!) B&N Print at Amazon (also at IngramSpark, which can be ordered through any bookstore)