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On the 5th of June, 1833, in a London drawing room filled with society figures, mathematicians and curious onlookers, a seventeen year old girl stood before a gleaming mechanical contraption of brass wheels and interlocking gears. The machine clattered into motion, turning with measured precision. It was called the Difference Engine. Most in the room saw an impressive curiosity. She saw something far larger. The girl was Ada Lovelace. The inventor demonstrating the machine was Charles Babbage. That evening would quietly shape the intellectual history of computing. A Child of Poetry and Precision Ada was born Augusta Ada Byron on 10th December, 1815. Her father was the Romantic poet Lord Byron. Her mother was Anne Isabella Milbanke, a woman of strong moral conviction and notable mathematical ability. A sketch of young Ada, who was noticeably gifted by her teachers and mentors. The marriage had already begun to unravel by the time Ada was born. Within weeks, Lady Byron left her husband and took her infant daughter away. Byron left England soon after and died in Greece on 19th April, 1824, when Ada was eight years old. She never knew him. Lady Byron resolved that her daughter would not inherit what she believed to be Byron’s instability. Literature was discouraged. Mathematics was encouraged. Logic, discipline and analytical study were treated almost as moral safeguards. Yet Ada did not become purely mechanical in temperament. She later described her intellectual method as “poetical science”. She also referred to herself as an “Analyst and Metaphysician”. The phrases are revealing. She did not see imagination and mathematics as opposing forces. She saw them as partners. Illness, Curiosity and Flyology Ada’s childhood was marked by illness. At eight she suffered severe headaches that affected her vision. In 1829, after measles, she was temporarily paralysed and confined to bed for nearly a year. By 1831 she could walk again, using crutches. During these periods of recovery she read, calculated and speculated. At twelve she undertook a project she titled Flyology . It was not a fantasy sketchbook but a structured investigation. She studied bird anatomy, calculated wing to body ratios, evaluated materials such as silk and wire, and even considered how steam power might assist flight. She planned to include diagrams and plates. It was an early sign of a mind that combined vision with method. Her tutors recognised the depth of her ability. Among them was the mathematician Augustus De Morgan, who later wrote to her mother that had Ada been a young man, “they would have certainly made him an original mathematical investigator, perhaps of first rate eminence.” The remark was both praise and indictment of the era. Ada grew up fatherless yet with a strong female figure in her mathematician mother, Annabella Milbanke. Mary Somerville and the Scientific Network One of the most important figures in Ada’s intellectual formation was Mary Somerville. A respected mathematician and scientific writer, Somerville moved in serious scientific circles at a time when few women did. Somerville introduced Ada to leading thinkers and provided a model of what female intellectual life could look like in nineteenth century Britain. Without Somerville, it is unlikely Ada would have encountered Babbage so early or so directly. She was not simply a friend. She was a bridge. In 1833, at one of Babbage’s Saturday evening gatherings, Somerville brought Ada to see the Difference Engine demonstrated. These salons were not casual parties. They were part of a culture of public scientific display. Inventors needed patrons. Patrons needed spectacle. Knowledge and status mingled in the same room. Why the Engines Mattered Babbage’s original Difference Engine was designed to eliminate human error in mathematical tables. At the time, navigation, engineering and finance depended on printed tables compiled by human “computers”. Errors could be costly. Mechanising calculation promised reliability and efficiency. But Babbage’s ambitions extended further. His next design, the Analytical Engine, was not merely a calculator. It was conceived as a general purpose machine. The Analytical Engine featured a “store” for holding numbers and a “mill” for processing them. It used punched cards inspired by the Jacquard loom, which encoded weaving patterns as sequences of holes. Babbage adapted this idea: instead of flowers and fabrics, the cards would encode operations. The machine was never completed. Funding difficulties and engineering challenges intervened. Yet conceptually it anticipated modern computing architecture. Even after marriage, she continued to pursue her love of STEM. Marriage and Continuity of Study On 08th July, 1835, Ada married William King, who later became the 1st Earl of Lovelace. She became Countess of Lovelace in 1838. They had three children: Byron King Noel, Viscount Ockham Anne Blunt, later 15th Baroness Wentworth Ralph King Milbanke, 2nd Earl of Lovelace Motherhood did not end her mathematical studies. She wrote to Somerville that matrimony had “by no means lessened my taste” for mathematics. She studied trigonometry and higher equations while managing domestic responsibilities across homes in Surrey, Scotland and London. Her life, however, was not without strain. There were rumours of flirtations, gambling debts in the late 1840s, and financial entanglements linked to her attempt to construct a betting system using mathematical modelling. Even these episodes reflect her instinct to analyse systems formally. Lovelace’s mind was both creative and analytical which experts believe helped her thinking in the exploration of the computer. Translating Menabrea and Writing the Notes In 1840 Babbage delivered a lecture in Turin on the Analytical Engine. The engineer Luigi Menabrea transcribed it in French and published it in 1842. Ada was asked to translate the paper into English. Over nine months in 1842 and 1843 she did far more than translate. She added seven extensive notes labelled A to G. These notes were three times longer than the original article. The publication appeared in September 1843 in Taylor’s Scientific Memoirs , signed with her initials A A L. In Note G she described in full detail a method for calculating Bernoulli numbers using the Analytical Engine. Bernoulli numbers arise in number theory and appear in formulas relating to sums of powers. Lovelace’s algorithm set out step by step instructions, including intermediate storage and repetition of operations. Although Babbage had written earlier unpublished programs for the Engine, hers was the first detailed algorithm intended for publication and for a general purpose machine. Whether she originated every element of the method remains debated. What is certain is that her exposition is clear, structured and abstract in a manner recognisable to modern programmers. The Conceptual Leap Beyond Arithmetic More significant than the Bernoulli example was her conceptual insight. She wrote: “The Analytical Engine has no pretensions whatever to originate anything. It can do whatever we know how to order it to perform.” Painting of Ada Lovelace by Henry Phillips. This line has often been interpreted as a denial of machine creativity. In context, it was a precise statement about mechanism and instruction. Yet in the same notes she went further: “Supposing that the fundamental relations of pitched sounds in the science of harmony and of musical composition were susceptible of such expression… the engine might compose elaborate and scientific pieces of music.” Here was the decisive transition. Numbers could represent more than quantity. They could encode music, text, symbols. If relations could be formalised, the machine could manipulate them. The computing historian Doron Swade later argued that this was the key conceptual shift from calculation to computation. It anticipated the symbolic logic that would define twentieth century computer science. Her greatest contribution, the world’s first published computer code. Credit, Debate and Historiography The question of whether Ada Lovelace should be called the first computer programmer has generated sustained academic debate. Babbage wrote earlier programs for the Analytical Engine between 1837 and 1840. These were not published. Lovelace’s Note G is the first published detailed program for the machine. Some historians argue that she refined Babbage’s work rather than originating it. Others emphasise her role as the clearest expositor of general purpose computing. A balanced conclusion is this: she did not invent the Analytical Engine, but she articulated its broader implications more fully than its inventor did in print. Her contribution lies not only in algorithmic detail but in conceptual interpretation. Ada Lovelace Day is celebrated every October to honor women scientists like her. Final Illness and Burial In 1851 Ada developed symptoms later understood as cervical cancer. The illness progressed over several months. Her mother took control of her care and restricted access to visitors. Under her mother’s influence she experienced a religious turn and made Lady Byron her executor. She died on 27th November, 1852, aged thirty six. She requested burial beside her father. She was interred at the Church of St Mary Magdalene in Hucknall, Nottinghamshire. Rediscovery and Enduring Influence For decades her work received little attention. In 1953 her notes were republished in B V Bowden’s Faster than Thought , bringing them to a new generation at the dawn of electronic computing. In 1979, the United States Department of Defense named a high order programming language Ada in her honour. The military standard MIL STD 1815 referenced her birth year. Ada Lovelace Day, founded in 2009 and observed each October, celebrates women in science, technology, engineering and mathematics. The historian Walter Isaacson later wrote that her insight became “the core concept of the digital age”: that any content, whether music, text or image, could be expressed symbolically and manipulated by machines. In the nineteenth century her obituary described her intellect as “thoroughly masculine”. The remark reflects more about the period than about her. She stood in a drawing room in 1833 and watched gears turn. Others saw a calculating device. She saw a symbolic machine. The hardware would take more than a century to arrive. The idea was already there.

Following the enactment of the Lunatic Act in 1808, each county was mandated to establish a facility for the mentally ill. However, by 1840, North Wales had yet to establish such an institution due to financial constraints in the impoverished rural areas. Consequently, severely ill pauper lunatics from North Wales were being transferred to English Asylums for care. Dr. Samuel Hitch, the superintendent of Gloucester Lunatic Asylum, observed the challenging circumstances faced by Welsh paupers in his facility, prompting him to pen a letter to the Times. “So few of the lower class of the Welsh, except in some towns or the precincts of inns, speak English, and this only for the purpose of commerce, or to qualify themselves for duties of menial servants, and not to an extent which would enable them to comprehend anything higher, – whilst both the officers and servants of our English Asylums, and the English public too, and equally ignorant of the Welsh Language, – that when the poor Welshman is sent to an English Asylum he is submitted to the most refined modern cruelties, being doomed to an imprisonment amongst strange people, and an association with his fellow men, whom he is prohibited from holding communications, harassed by wants which he cannot make known and appealed to by sounds which he cannot comprehend, he become irritable and irritated; and it is proverbial in our English Asylum that the Welshmen is the most turbulent patient wherever he happens to become an inmate” The Metropolitan Commissioners in Lunacy were compelled to investigate the living conditions of Welsh-speaking patients in asylums, and their 1844 report exposed the deplorable state of the asylum system. Anticipating this, a group of philanthropists in Denbigh convened a meeting in October 1842 to highlight the urgent need for a mental health facility in Central or North Wales. During this meeting, an anonymous benefactor generously donated 20 acres of land to the committee, later revealed to be Joseph Ablett of Llanber Hall. However, the project encountered obstacles, including legal restrictions on multiple counties collaborating to build an asylum, and reluctance from other Northern Welsh counties to contribute financially. Despite these challenges, the committee successfully raised £4,600 through public donations, including contributions from Queen Victoria and other members of the royal family. Despite facing these challenges, the construction of the Hospital commenced in 1844. The plans were created by Mr. Fulljames from Gloucester, with the guidance of his friend Dr. S. Hitch. The Hospital was built using limestone bricks from the Graig Quarry near Denbigh and was considered the most superior structure of its kind. The construction was finished four years later, and the Hospital opened on November 14, 1848, with a capacity to accommodate up to 200 patients. The clock tower was a donation from Mrs. Ablett in memory of her husband, who had donated the land for the Asylum. Over time, the Hospital faced increasing pressure to care for its patients and alleviate overcrowding, resulting in several extensions being added over the years. The most significant extension work took place in 1899, allowing the Hospital to accommodate a peak of 1500 patients and provide a wide array of treatments. In 1995, the Hospital ceased operations and has since remained vacant, leading to a deterioration of the buildings to a dilapidated state, despite their Grade II listing. In 2004, Prince Charles visited the site and placed all the buildings under the protection of the Phoenix Trust to ensure their safety. How to get there - Head through the centre of Denbigh Town and look for signs to the Castle. Park up at the Castle for free or on the road below. After parking, follow the road down towards the outskirts of town and you will come to the main gates of Denbigh Asylum - to avoid attention (the house opposite the gates have dogs), walk a little further up the road, past the next house with the aviary in the front driveway, and take the first right onto a dirt path in a little wooded area a little further on from the house; walk down this path up this and don't be tempted to climb at the first reasonable looking gap in the hedge above the wall, there are better gaps in the hedges and lower wall a little further down. Climb up a dry stone wall and you are now within the grounds of this rather magnificent place. #denbighasylum #northwaleshospital #mentalasylum #abandonedplaces

For quite some time now, aficionados of Queen have been on a quest to unravel the mystery behind Freddie Mercury's unparalleled vocal prowess. That Mercury was an extraordinary singer, among the elite in terms of vocal range, emotional depth, stage charisma, songwriting prowess, and more, is a widely acknowledged truth. Regardless of one's musical preferences, recognising the brilliance of Queen's music and marvelling at the frontman's seemingly superhuman abilities is undeniable. However, the quest for explanations has evolved significantly in recent years, delving into multiple facets. Scientific inquiry has delved into the potential physiological makeup of Mercury's vocal cords, suggesting that he possessed the ability to engage multiple vocal folds simultaneously, resulting in the generation of subharmonics and an exceptionally rapid vibrato unmatched by any other vocalist. While this theory is compelling, it may elicit some discomfort in its imagery. After all, who wants to envision vibrating vocal folds while immersed in the soulful, soaring verses and electrifying choruses of "Somebody to Love" or the captivating theatrics of Broadway-style performances? Mercury was undeniably a master showman, not merely a mechanical vocalist, and his distinct vocal style was shaped not only by biological factors but also, as argued by Rudi Dolezal, director of "Freddie Mercury: The Untold Story," by cultural influences. Mercury’s formative experiences as a child in Zanzibar and India, and the “culture shock” of his move to London as a teenager, may have contributed to his expansive vocal prowess: “it was multiculturalism that was combined in Freddie Mercury,” says Dolezal , suggesting that Mercury’s voice went places no one else’s did in part because he combined the strengths of Eastern and Western music. Maybe. Mercury grew up emulating English and American artists like Cliff Richard and Little Richard, but one of his biggest influences was Bollywood superstar Lata Mangeshkar. Mercury himself had his own u nusual theory , believing that his distinctive overbite somehow played a part in his singing ability, which is why he never had his teeth straightened despite a lifetime of self-consciousness about them. If you remain skeptical, just take a moment to listen to the isolated vocal track for "Somebody to Love" from beginning to end. What you'll hear is a singer who seems capable of achieving virtually anything with the human voice, except singing off-key. Undoubtedly, it's impressive within the context of the song, with the band's harmonies elevating Mercury's voice. However, remove all the instrumentation and strip the song down to just his vocals, and Mercury's voice seems to ascend to even greater heights. I must admit, I'm quite curious about how he managed to achieve that.

The Aftermath of Emancipation The abolition of slavery in the United States, formalised by the 13th Amendment in 1865, marked a pivotal moment in the nation’s history. For millions of formerly enslaved African Americans, freedom meant an opportunity to rebuild lives shattered by generations of bondage. However, one of the most immediate and heartbreaking challenges was the fragmentation of families. During slavery, it was common for enslaved individuals to be forcibly separated from their loved ones. Husbands were torn from wives, children were sold away from parents, and extended family members were scattered across plantations, often across state lines. This traumatic reality of separation meant that, after the Civil War, many newly freed African Americans were left searching for lost relatives. In the aftermath of emancipation, one of the most striking methods used to reconnect with lost family members was the "Wanted" or "Information Wanted" ads. These ads appeared in newspapers, particularly in African American publications, where former slaves would post notices seeking information about family members they had lost contact with during the years of slavery. The Role of Newspapers in Reuniting Families During the late 19th century, newspapers became an essential medium for African Americans to connect with their communities and, most importantly, to attempt to reunite with loved ones. These publications, which began to flourish post-emancipation, offered newly freed individuals a voice in public discourse that they had long been denied. One of the most notable publications that hosted these ads was The Christian Recorder , a newspaper of the African Methodist Episcopal Church. Starting in the 1860s, the paper became a crucial hub for people trying to track down family members. These "Information Wanted" ads were often brief, but they contained poignant details. Individuals would provide their own names, sometimes the name of the person they were looking for, a description, details about the last time they had seen them, and the name of the enslaver who had owned them. A common refrain in these ads was a deep yearning for connection and the hope that their loved ones were still alive, despite the vast geographical distances and years that may have passed. Here is an example of a typical ad from The Christian Recorder  in 1865: "Information Wanted of My Children. – I am anxious to learn the whereabouts of my three children, William, Henry, and Amanda. They were sold from me when young, by Mr. Thomas in Virginia, and taken to Texas. Their mother, Mariah, was also sold. Any information of them will be thankfully received by their father, Simon Green." Another ad, published in The Christian Recorder  in 1870, shows the heartbreak of a mother searching for her son: "Information wanted of my son, Joseph, who was sold from me in Richmond, Virginia, ten years ago, and taken to New Orleans. He was last owned by a man named John Smith. I was sold shortly afterward to a different owner. If anyone has any knowledge of Joseph, please contact his mother, Mary Johnson." The Emotional Weight of the Ads These ads reflect the emotional toll of family separation during slavery. They are written with a clear desperation, showcasing the strength of familial bonds that transcended the brutal realities of enslavement. Despite the dehumanisation that enslaved individuals endured, the ads also serve as testimony to their resilience and love for one another. Each "Information Wanted" ad represents an attempt to reclaim the humanity and familial bonds that slavery had sought to strip away. The ads were not merely a cry into the void; they were a form of hope and resistance. They signalled that even though slavery had ended, the long journey to healing and reuniting fractured families had only begun. Reuniting Families: Success Stories The success rate of these ads is difficult to quantify, but there are documented instances where families were successfully reunited through this medium. For example, an ad from The Southwestern Christian Advocate , another key African American newspaper, published in 1880, recounts how a man named John Battle was able to find his sister, whom he had not seen since they were children, after placing a notice in the paper. In another heartwarming example, The Christian Recorder  reported a reunion between a mother and her daughter in the 1880s. The mother had placed an ad looking for her daughter, who had been sold from her over twenty years prior. Someone who saw the ad recognised the name and informed the mother, leading to their reunion after decades of separation. These success stories, though not always common, became symbols of hope for thousands of families still searching. They underscored the fact that despite the odds, the power of persistence, community, and the written word could yield miracles. The legacy of these "Information Wanted" ads persists to this day. In the 21st century, scholars and historians have collected and digitised thousands of these advertisements, making them available to the public. Projects such as the "Last Seen: Finding Family After Slavery" initiative have created databases where descendants of formerly enslaved people can search for their ancestors and learn more about the post-slavery attempts at reunification. The archival preservation of these ads offers a powerful insight into the social history of African Americans and serves as a poignant reminder of the personal and familial costs of slavery. Many of these ads can be viewed through online databases such as: Last Seen: Finding Family After Slavery The Freedmen's Bureau Records

In 1996, a stirring incident unfolded as a black teenager bravely shielded a white man from an enraged mob, mistaken in their belief that he supported the racist Ku Klux Klan. This act of remarkable courage and empathy continues to inspire people today. Keshia Thomas, then 18 years old, found herself in her hometown of Ann Arbor, Michigan, during a Ku Klux Klan rally. Ann Arbor, renowned for its liberal ideals, progressive values, and diverse community, was an unlikely choice for the KKK to hold their rally. Consequently, hundreds gathered to voice their opposition to the group's message. Despite the tense atmosphere, the situation remained under control. Police, outfitted in riot gear and armed with tear gas, formed a barrier to protect a small group of Klansmen dressed in white robes and hoods. Meanwhile, Thomas stood among a cohort of anti-KKK demonstrators on the opposite side of a barrier erected for the occasion. "There's a Klansman in the crowd." Then a woman with a megaphone shouted, "There's a Klansman in the crowd." They turned around to see a white, middle-aged man wearing a Confederate flag T-shirt. He tried to walk away from them, but the protesters, including Thomas, followed, "just to chase him out". It remained uncertain whether the man was a Ku Klux Klan supporter, but to the anti-KKK protesters, his attire and tattoos epitomised everything they stood against. For them, the Confederate flag he displayed symbolised hatred and racism, while the SS tattoo on his arm suggested allegiance to white supremacy, or even more alarming ideologies. There were shouts of "Kill the Nazi" and the man began to run - but he was knocked to the ground. A group surrounded him, kicking him and hitting him with the wooden sticks of their placards. Mob mentality had taken over. "It became barbaric," says Thomas. "When people are in a crowd they are more likely to do things they would never do as an individual. Someone had to step out of the pack and say, 'This isn't right.'" So the teenager, then still at high school, threw herself on top of a man she did not know and shielded him from the blows. "When they dropped him to the ground, it felt like two angels had lifted my body up and laid me down." To Mark Brunner, a student photographer who witnessed the incident, what made Thomas' actions truly remarkable was the person she chose to save. "She put herself at physical risk to protect someone who, in my opinion, would not have done the same for her," he says. "Who does that in this world?" So what gave Thomas the impetus to help a man whose views it appeared were so different from her own? Her religious beliefs played a part. But her own experience of violence was a factor, too. "I knew what it was like to be hurt," she says. "The many times that that happened, I wish someone would have stood up for me." The circumstances - which she does not want to describe - were different. "But violence is violence - nobody deserves to be hurt, especially not for an idea." Thomas has never heard from the man she saved, but she did once meet a member of his family. Months later, someone came up to her in a coffee shop and said thanks. "What for?" she asked. "That was my dad," the young man replied. Thomas believed that the presence of the man's son added even more weight to her actions; by intervening, she may have averted the possibility of additional violence. "For the most part, people who hurt... they come from hurt. It is a cycle. Let's say they had killed him or hurt him really bad. How does the son feel? Does he carry on the violence?"

In the late 1970s, the music world was undergoing a seismic shift. Two genres, punk rock and heavy metal, emerged from the underground, seemingly evolving side by side. Both were raw, rebellious, and loud, yet the two movements ran parallel to each other, rarely converging. But there are moments in history when these musical paths cross, creating something magical and unique. One such moment occurred on August 24, 1977, when AC/DC played CBGB in New York City, a venue synonymous with punk rock and new wave. The Australian rockers were on their first American tour, promoting their latest album Let There Be Rock , which had been released in June of that year. The band was fresh off the road, playing a mix of club dates and supporting acts at arenas—including, surprisingly, REO Speedwagon. At this point, AC/DC had yet to fully infiltrate the American mainstream, but they were steadily building a following. Their raw energy, electrifying performances, and bad-boy attitude resonated with the burgeoning punk scene in NYC. CBGB: The Meeting of Punk and Rock CBGB was already legendary by 1977. It was the epicentre of punk in the United States, where bands like The Ramones, Blondie, and Patti Smith honed their craft. Yet, on this summer night, CBGB’s stage hosted a lineup that reflected a rare convergence of musical styles. Sharing the bill with AC/DC were Talking Heads, known for their quirky, intellectual approach to punk, and The Dead Boys, one of the more abrasive and confrontational punk bands of the time. For AC/DC, this wasn’t just another gig—it was a chance to prove their mettle in front of an audience that was famously sceptical of anything outside their insular scene. But if there was any doubt about how the punk crowd would receive a hard-rocking band from Australia, those doubts were quickly erased. A Night to Remember AC/DC’s performance at CBGB was nothing short of explosive. With Bon Scott’s gravelly voice leading the charge, Angus Young’s manic, schoolboy-uniformed presence on guitar, and the band’s relentless energy, they won over the crowd. Punk fans loved AC/DC because they embodied the same rawness and rebellious spirit that defined their movement. They weren’t polished or corporate—they were wild, untamed, and gave everything on stage. In many ways, AC/DC was the perfect band for CBGB. Their sound, while rooted in hard rock, carried the same kind of stripped-back, no-nonsense attitude that punk fans adored. Songs like “Let There Be Rock” and “Whole Lotta Rosie” were fast, loud, and rebellious—qualities that made them natural allies of the punk ethos. The poster for the night confirms the eclectic mix of bands, showcasing how genres that were supposedly at odds with each other could share the same space and thrive together. For a brief moment, punk rockers and heavy metal fans were united by their love of loud, aggressive music. It was a night that showcased how the boundaries between genres can blur, and how music, at its core, is about attitude more than anything else. AC/DC's Time in New York City New York in 1977 was a chaotic and vibrant city, with a thriving music scene that was both gritty and glamorous. While AC/DC was busy performing at iconic venues like CBGB, they were also soaking in the atmosphere of a city that had been the birthplace of so many different musical movements. From the rise of disco in the clubs of Manhattan to the underground punk revolution brewing in places like CBGB and Max’s Kansas City, New York City was alive with creativity and energy. For AC/DC, playing in New York was more than just a tour stop—it was an opportunity to immerse themselves in the raw, electric atmosphere of the city. When they weren’t performing, they could be found roaming the streets of lower Manhattan, visiting iconic landmarks like Times Square and soaking in the grittier side of the city. It was a stark contrast to the band's humble beginnings in Australia, and the energy of New York undoubtedly left a lasting impression on them. AC/DC's stint in the States would continue through the winter of 1977, with the band steadily building their American audience. Their relentless touring schedule, combined with their reputation for electrifying live performances, helped solidify their place in the pantheon of rock gods. Punk’s Love for AC/DC Punk fans’ admiration for AC/DC didn’t end with the CBGB gig. Over the years, AC/DC would maintain a loyal following among punk rock enthusiasts. Bands like The Ramones, who shared a similar dedication to simplicity and power, often cited AC/DC as an influence. The same spirit that drove punk rock—the desire to strip music down to its rawest, most elemental form—was at the heart of what AC/DC did. Both punk and heavy metal grew out of a dissatisfaction with the mainstream music of the early ‘70s, which had become overly commercialised and bloated. AC/DC’s music was a rejection of that, just as much as punk rock was. Their no-frills, straightforward approach to rock resonated with those who wanted music that was honest, unpretentious, and loud. A Night Where the Lines Blurred AC/DC’s gig at CBGB stands as a rare moment when two seemingly divergent genres came together in the same space. On August 24, 1977, punk rockers and hard rockers stood side by side, united by a shared love for music that was raw, energetic, and real. For AC/DC, it was a chance to show the world that they belonged on any stage, in any city, and in front of any crowd. Their time in New York City was brief but impactful, and this legendary gig would go down in history as one of the moments where punk and heavy metal crossed paths, proving that, at the end of the day, rock ‘n’ roll is all about breaking boundaries and bringing people together, regardless of the genre.

François-Marie Arouet, celebrated under his nom de plume Voltaire, stands as a preeminent figure of the Age of Enlightenment, an era characterised by intellectual and philosophical advancements. He ardently opposed doctrinaire thinking in all its forms, championing the cause of free expression despite enduring censorship, incarceration, and exile on multiple occasions. Even in the 18th century, Voltaire's wit remains remarkably relevant. His work, particularly exemplified in "Candide," displays a keen satire aimed at organised religion and the philosophical optimism espoused by figures like Leibniz. Today, "Candide" still resonates with its incisive commentary, akin in its impact to contemporary satirical programs such as "South Park" or the acerbic wit of John Oliver, offering a trenchant critique of the world we inhabit. Contrary to the typical circumstances of philosophers during his era, Voltaire enjoyed celebrity status and considerable wealth throughout his lifetime. Born into a family with a prosperous lawyer as his father, he eventually amassed a fortune that today would be described as significant financial independence. This financial security undoubtedly bolstered Voltaire's ability to uphold his convictions and steadfastly champion his ideals of critical inquiry and freedom of expression. Although often incorrectly credited with writing: “I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.” , the quote was made up in order to summarise Voltaire’s firm attitude on freedom of thought. Today, Voltaire's most renowned masterpiece is "Candide," a narrative that follows the journey of a naive protagonist as he traverses the globe, encountering diverse individuals and uncovering the harsh realities of life through their tragic tales. Cast out from the sheltered confines of his castle, Candide is confronted with a world starkly contrasting the utopian ideals he was raised upon. His mentor, Professor Pangloss, embodies Leibniz's doctrine of Optimism, clinging staunchly to his beliefs despite their irrationality and evident fallacy. Beyond its critique of organised religion and optimistic philosophy, "Candide" highlights several recurring motifs that reflect Voltaire's condemnation of specific behaviours. 1. Don’t stick with your beliefs; accept opposing evidence The philosophy of Optimism, attributed to Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, holds that we live in a world that was designed as it is, on purpose, and it is  “the best of all possible worlds” . Voltaire’s main argument against Optimism is that there is simply too much suffering in the world, and it could obviously have been designed to include less misery. Candide, a naive man, who was “ educated never to judge for himself ”, needs to live through a long string of unfortunate events to merely start doubting the optimistic teachings of Prof. Pangloss. On the other hand Prof. Pangloss, a philosopher, even after being hanged, dissected alive, beaten and made to row a galley still holds on to Leibniz’s teachings. ‘‘Well! My dear Pangloss,’’ Candide said to him. ‘‘When you were being hanged, dissected, beaten with a stick, and rowing in the galleys, did you always believe that everything was for the best in this best of all worlds?’’ ‘‘I remain faithful to my basic beliefs,’’ said Pangloss, ‘‘because, in the end, I remain a philosopher. It wouldn’t be right for me disown myself; Leibniz cannot have been wrong; and our world’s pre- existent harmony, furthermore, is the loveliest thing there is, along with the fullness of space and the materia subtilis, or subtlety of matter.’ ’ The whole enlightenment philosophy is built on strong trust in the power of the human mind and its ability for humble critical thinking. Voltaire was hostile not only towards any form of authority, such as religion and tradition, but also towards philosophical tradition of building systems that simply don’t stand the test of reality. Voltaire was particularly unhappy with Descartes, whose works he calls out as completely wrong and useless. “Our Descartes, born to discover the errors of antiquity, and at the same time to substitute his own, and hurried away by that systematic spirit which throws a cloud over the minds of the greatest men…” He criticises the urge for what he calls “philosophical romances” – systematic accounts of natural phenomena that serve only to satisfy our natural need for coherent explanations. Such systems, rooted in imagination, are often cumbersome and wrong in the face of evidence. Voltaire calls for a more humble stance – sometimes to offer no explanation is the most honest thing to do. In this, he was strongly influenced by Newton, who succeeded in describing  how physical bodies moved, but when asked about  why  the laws are the way they are, he famously replied:  “ I feign no hypotheses “ . 2. Avoid Aimless Philosophising Voltaire believed in work, himself having written 20,000 letters and 2,000 books and pamphlets. He thought of himself as “writing to act” , wanting for his works to influence thinking and behaviour of people. His view of philosophy and the role of a philosopher was first and foremost as that of a public citizen and advocate of reason. He measured the quality of a philosophy by its ability to make social impact. In Candide, Voltaire rarely misses an opportunity to show metaphysical debate as impractical and pointless. By the end of the book, the characters are simply unconcerned with Prof. Pangloss’ attempts at philosophising, calling him to focus on the work at hand:  “There is a concatenation of events in this best of all possible worlds: for if you had not been kicked out of a magnificent castle for love of Miss Cunegonde: if you had not been put into the Inquisition: if you had not walked over America: if you had not stabbed the Baron: if you had not lost all your sheep from the fine country of El Dorado: you would not be here eating preserved citrons and pistachio-nuts.” “All that is very well,” answered Candide, “but let us cultivate our garden.” ‘You’re right,’’ said Pangloss, ‘‘because when men were placed in the Garden of Eden, they were set there ut operaretur eum—that is, so they might work. This proves that men are not born for resting.’’ ‘‘Let us work without thinking,’’ said Martin. ‘‘That is the only way to make life bearable.’’ 3. Don’t Blindly Follow Tastes and Opinions of the Crowd, Judge for Yourself When Candide and Martin visit Lord Pococuranté, they meet a perfectionist displeased by everything around him. Right or wrong in his attitude, Pococuranté presents a view radically different to what Candide was taught. And that is exactly what Voltaire and the Enlightenment were about – thinking for yourself. Pococuranté’s shelves are full of classics such as Homer, Horace, Cicero, Milton, and proceedings of an academy of science. All huge works, but Pococuranté finds them mostly boring and only partially useful. His opinion goes strongly against the usual unquestioned admiration. As mentioned earlier, Voltaire sees Descartes’ philosophy as obsolete. As such he’s not hesitant to observe that  “Very few people in England read Descartes, whose works indeed are now useless.”   Perhaps to emphasize his standpoint, he takes his attitude to the extreme. Today, most philosophies of the past are obsolete, but we usually see them either as stepping stones for something more sensible or as a valuable historical record of the times. We rarely dismiss them as useless. ‘‘Once upon a time, I was forced to delude myself, believing I delighted in reading Homer. But the constant repetition of battles, every one just like the other; and those gods, forever in motion but never actually doing anything; that Helen, for whom the war was fought but who barely has a walk-on role in the whole poem; that Trojan city, which is forever besieged and never captured; all this produced in me deadly, deadly boredom. I’d occasionally inquire of scholars whether Homer’s poems bored them as much as they bored me. The honest men among them admitted it: the book kept falling out of their hands. But they always had to have it in their libraries, like a monument of antiquity, or like those battered and mildewed old coins that you can’t use like real money.” “Fools admire everything a poet of reputation writes. I read only for myself; what I love is only what I can use.’’ Candide, who had not been raised ever to judge anything for himself, was astonished to hear such things. But in Voltaire’s defence, and at the risk of stretching the point, his attitude towards classics feels liberating when taken against a modern man’s to-read list. Today, getting a book is easier than ever and we’re flooded with bestsellers promising to change your life and shatter everything you’ve known. However, more than a few times I struggled to finish reading a critically acclaimed book. Badly written books bring out the point early on and then circle around it for another 300 pages. Some of the greatest books ever written convey a message that you’re simply not interested in. Some are relevant only because of the context in which they were written and the status quo they challenged at the time of publishing. Once you realise that there is rarely a universally great book, it helps you find the ones that are the best for you,  and only you can judge that. 4. It’s Ridiculous to Believe That There are People With Perfectly Happy Lives On his journey, Candide often thinks about whether the people he meets are truly happy. To his disappointment, Voltaire makes sure to tell the unfortunate life stories of most of the characters in the book. Candide barely meets anyone who hasn’t lived a miserable life. At one point he event sets up a competition for the most miserable man, whom he will take as his company on the journey to Venice. Unsurprisingly, a crowd of candidates applies: The session lasted until four o’clock in the morning. Listening to all their stories, Candide reminded himself of what the old woman told him, as they were sailing to Buenos Aires, and the bet she’d made, that there wouldn’t be a single person on board the vessel who hadn’t experienced immense misfortune. And he also thought of Pangloss, as he heard each life history. To make his case stronger, Voltaire has Candide meet ten kings, all dethroned and exiled, each one less wealthy than Candide and secretly admiring him. He meets Lord Pococuranté, a rich man who has everything he wished for, but is still restlessly unhappy. Voltaire’s point is perhaps best articulated by the old woman on the ship to Buenos Aires: “To conclude: I’ve had experience, I know the world. Amuse yourself, ask every passenger to tell you his story, and if you find one, just one, who hasn’t often cursed his life, who hasn’t often told himself he’s the unluckiest of men, throw me headfirst into the sea.’’

Located in the garden of Windsor's Royal Lodge in Berkshire, England, there is a small thatched cottage with white-washed walls, hidden from public sight. Known as the Little House or Y Bwthyn Bach, this charming structure has served as a playhouse for the Queen and royal children for over 90 years The playhouse was gifted to Princess Elizabeth and her sister Margaret in March 1932 by 'the people of Wales' for Elizabeth's sixth birthday. At that time, Elizabeth's parents were the Duke and Duchess of York, who were not in line for the throne. However, when Prince Albert's older brother gave up the throne, the Duke reluctantly accepted the crown as the King of England, determining the future of young Elizabeth. Architect Edmund Willmott designed the house to be fully functional, featuring a kitchen, living room, bedroom, and bathroom equipped with modern amenities for that era, such as hot and cold running water, electricity, and a heated towel rail. However, everything was scaled down to two-thirds of the usual size. The living room contained couches, an oak dresser, a small radio, a miniature blue and gold china set, a bookcase filled with Beatrix Potter's books, as well as custom-made small curtains and blue carpets. The kitchen was equipped with a functional gas cooker, a compact fridge, and tiny pots and pans. Even the miniature telephone was operational. Additionally, the house boasted a front garden with scaled-down hedges and flower borders. The little Princess Elizabeth and her sister spent hours cleaning and tidying their tiny home. Elizabeth, in particular, reportedly developed a reputation for being exceptionally neat. Later, her children and then her grandchildren enjoyed playing in the house too. Some years ago, the house underwent a refurbishing under the guidance of one of Queen Elizabeth’s grandchildren, Princess Beatrice, the daughter of Prince Andrew, when he along with his family moved into the Royal Lodge in 2004.

Baron Hill, located in Beaumaris, Anglesey, Wales, derives its name from the hill where it is situated. Founded in 1618 by Sir Richard Bulkeley, it served as the ancestral home of the prominent Bulkeley family. Legend has it that during the English Civil War, Colonel Thomas Bulkeley, who succeeded Richard, extended an invitation to King Charles I to occupy the estate and establish his court there. In the eighteenth century, the residence belonged to Lord Viscount Bulkeley, who held Jacobite sympathies. The Neo-Palladian architectural style is evident in the curved facade, terraces, follies, and balconies of the building, which were features incorporated during the 1776 renovation by architect Samuel Wyatt. Nevertheless, the mansion's original construction dates back to 1618. The estate's grounds also include an icehouse and a lodge house. During World War I, estate taxes depleted the family's wealth, leading to financial difficulties that prevented the Williams-Bulkeley family from maintaining the property. In World War II, the Royal Engineers were stationed at the residence, which sustained fire damage but still stands as a shell. Sir Richard Williams-Bulkeley currently resides at the nearby Red Hill estate. In the nineteenth century the occupants of Baron Hill remained the dominant Anglesey landowners, possessing estate also at Llanfairfechan and other parts of Caernarfonshire. The house is a bit of a bugger to locate, but if anyone has a burning desire to visit it before it's completely gone, feel free to get in touch and I can give you directions to get there. You can also see more shots on my Instagram feed. #Baronhill #abandonedplaces

Certain words of wisdom are followed by every person - regardless of their ethnicity, religion, tribe or culture. These words come from the difference between the people living in their society. These words shape their culture and mold their culture to be unique. The Native American Code of Ethics, originally published in the Inter-Tribal Times, is possibly one of the best code of conduct for building character. This code of ethics teaches everyone, including those who are not Americans, to live life at its best. The teachings in this manuscript are found in other religions too. 1. Raising early (as early as the sunrise) to pray alone, to pray often and to pray wholeheartedly. The gods will listen if you only speak up. 2. Pray to bring the derailed back in track. They are ignorant and they don't know better. 3. Finding one's own path. A man's own path should not be shown by others, rather it should be figured out by the man himself. 4. Behave well with guests. Treat them with hospitality. 5. Do not take anything that you do not deserve through the means of force - be it from another person, another tribe, another culture or nature around you. 6. Show kindness to everything around you, people as well as animals. 7. Respect other people's opinion even if it goes against what you believe in. 8. Do not backbite. Do not speak about other peoples perceived flaws behind their back. 9. Forgive small mistakes. Everyone makes them. 10. Be optimistic. Optimism makes the world a better place to live in. 11. Do not destroy the nature. Nature is a part of us, not for us to take whatever we want from it. 12. Take care of your children. They will lead the tribe when they grow up, so make sure they grow up properly. 13. Avoid hurting other peoples feelings. Feelings matter. 14. Never lie. Lying is bad for everyone. 15. Be wholesome. Be strong physically as well as mentally and emotionally. A strong person is strong in every sector. 16. Take responsibility for your own action. Think before you act. 17. Privacy should be maintained. 18. Know yourself. Believe in yourself and follow your own principles. 19. Let people follow their own religion and do not force your religion on them. 20. Share your luck with others and others will share their fortune with you too. These rules made the native American tribe live peacefully in harmony with each other, and these rules can help us live in harmony too.

Leonid Rogozov lying down talking to his friend Yuri Vereschagin at Novolazarevskaya Most people get squeamish just thinking about an operation. Now picture being so far from civilisation that when your appendix starts acting up, the only person around with the skills to fix it is… you. This was the brutal reality for Leonid Rogozov, a young Soviet surgeon who, during an expedition to one of the most remote corners of Earth, found himself facing a choice no one wants: perform surgery on himself or almost certainly die. Trouble in the Polar Wasteland In 1961, Leonid Rogozov was just 27 and part of the Soviet Union’s sixth Antarctic expedition. His team of a dozen hardy souls had been tasked with setting up a brand-new base at the Schirmacher Oasis, which sounds a lot more inviting than it really was — a desolate stretch of frozen nothingness battered by gales and endless snow. By mid-February that year, the Novolazarevskaya Station was up and running. The men settled in, ready to outlast the long Antarctic winter together. But by the time April rolled round, Leonid started feeling off: lethargy, nausea, and then a sharp pain stabbing his right side — the textbook signs of appendicitis. Leonid Rogozov (R) relaxing with a penguin Being the only doctor on site, he didn’t have the luxury of asking for a second opinion. His son Vladislav later put it plainly: “It’s a routine operation in the civilised world, but unfortunately, he didn’t find himself in the civilised world — instead he was in the middle of a polar wasteland.” No Escape, No Help For Rogozov, it must have felt like a nightmare in slow motion. He knew precisely what was happening inside his body — and what would happen if he did nothing. A burst appendix is not something you can just sleep off, especially not when your nearest hospital is across blizzards, pack ice, and several thousand miles of hostile ocean. Calling for help was futile. The ship that had brought them down took 36 days by sea — it wouldn’t be back for a year. And as for planes, the howling storms ruled out any hope of a quick rescue. Rogozov’s life was now down to him alone. The base commander needed permission from Moscow before green-lighting such an extreme measure — it was the Cold War, after all, and every mishap was political ammunition. If Rogozov failed, it would be an embarrassing dent in the image of Soviet heroism at the very height of the polar race. But there was no other choice. So Rogozov decided to gamble on the impossible: a self-performed appendectomy. Leonid Rogozov with a very young Vladislav in 1969 “A Snowstorm Whipping Through My Soul” Rogozov kept a diary throughout, his stoicism laid bare in dry, honest scribbles. On the night before his surgery he wrote, “It hurts like the devil! A snowstorm whipping through my soul, wailing like 100 jackals… I have to think through the only possible way out — to operate on myself… It’s almost impossible… but I can’t just fold my arms and give up.” In those words, you glimpse a man torn between medical logic and raw fear — aware of the risk but compelled by a stubborn will to live. Surgical Plans in the Freezing Dark Never one to wing it, Rogozov devised a careful plan. He assigned two assistants — neither of whom had ever assisted in surgery before — to pass him instruments and hold a mirror and a lamp. He even coached them on emergency procedures: how to give him a jolt of adrenaline if he passed out, and how to ventilate him if he stopped breathing. A general anaesthetic was out of the question — he couldn’t risk knocking himself out completely. So he injected his own belly wall with novocaine, steeled his nerves, and picked up the scalpel. “My poor assistants! At the last minute I looked over at them. They stood there in their surgical whites, whiter than white themselves,” he wrote later. “I was scared too. But when I picked up the needle and gave myself the first injection, somehow I switched into operating mode.” By Touch, Not Sight The mirror idea didn’t last long. Trying to operate backwards through an inverted reflection was worse than working blind, so Rogozov did it by feel, probing and cutting his own flesh with bare hands. No gloves, no luxury of detachment — just him, his tools, and pain. At one point, he accidentally nicked the blind gut and had to stitch it up mid-procedure. Blood was pouring, his head was spinning, and every few minutes he paused for 20 seconds just to keep from blacking out. “Finally here it is, the cursed appendage!” he scribbled. A black stain at its base meant he had been frighteningly close to a fatal rupture. Two Hours, a New Lease on Life After nearly two hours of agony and grit, Rogozov stitched himself back up. Before resting, he calmly told his team how to sterilise the tools and clean the room. Only then did he allow himself antibiotics and a few hours’ sleep. Remarkably, he was back on light duty within a fortnight, tending to his comrades and keeping the station running. Leonid Rogozov in Leningrad (now St Petersburg) a few years after his return to Russia Home at Last — and an Unwanted Fame When the time came to leave Antarctica, the team faced more drama: a blockade of ice nearly trapped them for another year. They were eventually airlifted out in nail-biting conditions — one plane almost ditched into the ocean. Back in the USSR, Rogozov returned a hero, his story plastered across Soviet papers as an example of the unbreakable young Soviet man — alongside cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin, who had rocketed into space just weeks before. Both men were 27, both working class, both symbols of the state’s unshakable strength. Rogozov himself shunned the fuss. He quietly went back to his beloved hospital job the very next day. A Lesson for Explorers and Astronauts Alike Today, any Antarctic team from Australia or elsewhere must have their appendix out before heading south. Some experts have even floated the idea that future Mars colonists should do the same — just in case. Rogozov’s son Vladislav puts it best: “If you find yourself in a desperate situation when all the odds are against you… believe in yourself and fight. Fight for life.”

In the spring of 1980, Debbie Harry and Chris Stein, the creative minds behind Blondie, crossed paths with the visionary artist H.R. Giger at the Hansen Gallery in New York City. The gallery was showcasing Giger’s hauntingly surreal Alien  paintings, fresh off the back of his Oscar win for Best Visual Effects in Ridley Scott’s groundbreaking film Alien . Giger, already known for his biomechanical designs and dark, otherworldly creations, was riding high on the success of the movie, which had launched him into mainstream recognition. It was during this event that Giger, Stein, and Harry met for the first time. As Giger later recalled: "There I was introduced to a very beautiful woman, Debbie Harry, the singer of the group Blondie, and her boyfriend, Chris Stein. They were apparently excited about my work and asked me whether I would be prepared to design the cover of the new Debbie Harry album. I found both of them immediately likeable; so I readily agreed and was greatly pleased to be allowed to create something for such an attractive woman, although I had never heard anything from the group. This was due to the fact that I was more interested in jazz ." Blondie had already achieved massive commercial success by 1980, and Eat to the Beat , their fourth album, had only further solidified their place as new wave pioneers. Yet, both Harry and Stein were feeling disillusioned, fatigued by the relentless touring schedule and the growing pressures of being part of Blondie. In this context, the idea of launching Harry’s solo career took root, with Stein keen to explore new avenues outside of the band's established sound. Giger, though unacquainted with Blondie's music, was intrigued enough by their personalities and Harry’s distinctive image to join the project. Here is a picture of Giger with the early concept art: Giger said that the idea of the metal spikes derived from a medical procedure he had recently undergone: “Since I had just had an acupuncture treatment from my friend and doctor, Paul Tobler, the idea of the four needles came to me, in which I saw symbols of the four elements, to be combined with her face. I submitted the suggestions by phone to Debbie and Chris. They liked the idea and, in addition, they commissioned me to make two videoclips (music videos) of the best songs.” The imagery was bold and arresting, completely in line with Giger’s fascination with the fusion of human flesh and mechanical elements, a concept he had explored in Alien  and throughout his artwork. However, not everyone was taken with the provocative cover. In fact, it stirred quite the controversy. British Rail famously banned advertisements featuring the image due to its unsettling nature. The cover represented a significant departure from Harry’s pop-star image, thrusting her into the strange and dystopian world of Giger’s biomechanical horror. It was a far cry from the Blondie of Parallel Lines  and Eat to the Beat , and while some admired Harry and Stein for taking such a bold risk, the general public didn’t seem ready for the eerie transformation of their disco-pop queen. KooKoo cover Despite the backlash, the duo remained undeterred. As part of their collaboration with Giger, Harry and Stein invited him to direct two music videos from KooKoo , specifically for the tracks “Now I Know You Know” and “Backfired.” When the hired director failed to show up on set, Giger took over, helming the videos himself. His vision translated seamlessly from the album cover to the visual medium, embedding KooKoo  with the same fusion of science fiction and body horror that characterised his most famous work. Harry and Stein later reflected on their experience working with the Swiss surrealist in an article for Heavy Metal  magazine. In the co-authored piece, titled “Strange Encounters of the Swiss Kind,” they discussed Giger’s unique artistry and how it influenced both the album and their creative process: "Giger is an industrial designer, which is very apparent to you the moment you step into his home. Even something as alien-looking as his chairs is structurally sound. The Alien creature—with its McLuhanesque quality of being the machine as an extension of the organic—makes sense biologically. The face hugger, with its air sacs, isn’t just decorative. Giger’s work has a subconscious effect: it engenders the fear of being turned into metal. It’s awesome—the work of an ultimate perfectionist, a true obsessive." For Harry and Stein, Giger's obsessive attention to detail and his ability to merge the mechanical with the biological had a profound impact on their approach to KooKoo . The album, however, was not the commercial success they had hoped for. While the songs “Backfired” and “The Jam Was Moving” received some attention, it was clear that the experimental and avant-garde nature of the project alienated much of Blondie’s pop audience. The album's dark, futuristic artwork and the visceral images in the music videos were unsettling for a mainstream audience who had been accustomed to Blondie’s upbeat and catchy tunes. Still, KooKoo  stands as a testament to Harry’s willingness to push boundaries and challenge her public image. The collaboration with Giger may not have been the commercial triumph they had envisioned, but it remains an iconic moment in both Harry’s career and Giger’s oeuvre. The artwork, with its haunting, impaled beauty, has since become a cult favourite, embraced by fans of both Harry and Giger for its daring combination of two radically different artistic visions. Here are some intriguing shots of Harry wearing a unique Giger bodysuit and other moments behind the scenes: