lost

Natalie King visited Transport for London’s lost property office, which holds about 80,000 items waiting to be reunited with their owners at any one point, including some truly bizarre things people have left behind

Sometimes the behaviour of my fellow humans confuses me, and no more so than when I’m standing in front of a selection of items that people have somehow managed to leave behind on public transport.

A handbag? Understandable. A passport or phone? Also easily lost from a pocket when changing tube lines. But I do wonder how forgetful you have to be to leave behind two dining room chairs, a taxidermied fox, or a 1980s-era wedding dress complete with giant puffy sleeves.

Transport for London (TfL) runs its lost property office from a warehouse deep in East London, and from the outside it’s typical of the kind of vast grey warehouses that you find tucked away on industrial estates. But inside, it’s packed with 80,000 perfectly catalogued and sorted items, each one trying to find its way home to its owner.

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I was taken on a tour of the facility by Diana Quaye, performance manager for the site, who oversees the meticulous cataloguing of every item that comes through the doors. And with around 5,000 items being left behind on buses, tubes, or the back of taxis each week, it’s a huge undertaking, with 44 staff in the office and warehouse.

Many of the items you find are things you’d expect. About 80 phones a day are logged by the team, with the IMEI numbers put into the system to help reunite them with their owners. Bags are searched for clues that could help match them to their rightful owners.

But amongst the colorful array of umbrellas and never-to-be-finished paperbacks, the team often digs up some unusual items that clearly have interesting tales behind them. And while most items that aren’t reclaimed after 90 days either end up in a charity shop or at auction, a few of the most unusual items make their way into the warehouse’s collection.

One member of staff who has seen their fair share of oddities is Marilyn Palmer, a property manager with 36 years of experience reuniting people with their belongings. She happily shares some of the more unusual items and the stories behind them.

“We had a park bench in that some guys on a stag do decided they would lift it from a park in Acton, try and get it on the tube, couldn’t get it over the barrier and then left it.”, she tells me. “We managed to get it back to the park because it had a plaque on it that was dedicated to a husband, so we contacted the council and got it delivered back to where it should be.”

Other unusual items include: “A double bed. And two massive 70-inch screens that were left in a taxi. The taxi dropped (the passenger) off, thinking he was coming back, and he never did. But they did come and claim them.”

And if you think a giant telly is an expensive thing to lose, Marilyn went on to tell me the story of their most expensive find to date.

“We got in a necklace and earring set, and it was in an old-fashioned, sort of like 1920s oyster-shaped box, presentation box. When we got it valued, we didn’t have an inquiry at the time; we thought I’d kept it aside just in case an inquiry came in later. The necklace alone was £125,000.

“It turns out a mother or grandmother had lent it to a daughter on her wedding day. They’d used the taxi to go to the airport, to go on their honeymoon. They then trawled back and we managed to find it. She was really grateful. She’s since passed away as well. She was just grateful to have it.”

It’s not just objects that get left behind. Sometimes it’s people. “We’ve had ashes over the years that we’ve managed to get back. One we had for seven years. And we finally reunited them with family in Germany,” she said.

“One of the office assistants working at the time was fluent in German, so every so often we’d get them out, and we’d try again, and she’d written a letter to them in German, and they managed to track with the information that we’d had. We finally managed to track them down and got them back after seven years,” she added.

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Sadly, not every item gets back to its owner. Diana tells me the return rate is about 12%, and that’s partly because people don’t know that they can ask TfL for help finding their property. She admits: “I think if I left my mobile phone or something like that before I worked here, I’d be thinking ‘oh my God, insurance’, I’d go through that whole process.

“But now, if I lose anything, I automatically go online and fill out a form because it’s more than likely it will be here, as you can see,” she adds, gesturing at the warehouse floor and the thousands of items waiting to find their way home.

Find out more about TfL’s lost property office here.

Have a story you want to share? Email us at webtravel@reachplc.com

A fragile ceasefire may have paused the US-Israeli war on Iran, but the economic cost is crippling the daily lives of Iranians. The US is blockading Iranian ports, while the price of goods skyrockets and businesses struggle to keep employees.

The BBC are to air a lost episode of The Morecambe and Wise Show, almost six decades after the initial broadcast, to coincide with Eric Morecambe’s 100th birthday

A long-lost episode of The Morecambe and Wise Show, first broadcast on the BBC in 1968, has been rediscovered and will be shown next month.

The episode, which first aired on September 16, 1968, will be re-shown decades later to coincide with when Eric Morecambe would have turned 100. BBC Four will also show a collection of sketches called The Perfect Morecambe and Wise to mark this moment.

The episode, which was thought to be lost forever, was discovered by Film Is Fabulous! – a charitable trust run by film collectors and television enthusiasts. It was found in the estate of a former television industry professional and has now been returned to the BBC.

This ‘lost’ programme is the third episode from Morecambe and Wise’s first series after returning to the BBC, following a period working with commercial television.

Noreen Adams, Director of BBC Archives, said: “Morecambe and Wise are one of the UK’s most loved comedy duos. Thanks to Film Is Fabulous! – We’re delighted to share this comedy gold that we thought was lost forever with viewers across the UK.”

The episode features sketches written by Sid Green and Dick Hills. Ann Hamilton appears as Pauline in a sketch set in a nudist colony, while Jenny Lee-Wright plays Eric’s niece, a balloon dancer. It also includes a musical performance from The Paper Dolls, who enjoyed hits in the 1960s.

Eric Morecambe’s daughter, Gail Morecambe, said: “What a lovely surprise this is, and I’m really looking forward to seeing it on a screen once again after so many years.

“It’s excellent to hear that skilled people are actively going through the Archives and discovering ‘lost’ programmes. Not just Morecambe and Wise, of course. I am especially thrilled that it coincides with my father’s centenary year. Really wonderful.”

Eric Morecambe’s son, Gary Morecambe added: “I’m so thrilled and surprised by the discovery of a Morecambe and Wise show that hasn’t been seen since 1968. I honestly didn’t think there was anything out there left to find, and when something like this comes out of nowhere, it’s really quite wonderful.

“Hats off to Professor Justin Smith and his team, whose dedication and hard work brought this gem back to us. I’m very excited about seeing it for the first time since I was twelve years of age.”

The Morecambe and Wise Show ran for nine series and became a regular fixture at Christmas on the BBC with a festive special, before moving to ITV for four series.

* The lost episode of The Morecambe and Wise Show will air on BBC Four and BBC iPlayer on Thursday May 14 from 8pm.

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AFTER literally breaking the scales, Alison Hammond has spent recent years vehemently denying fat jabs helped her to shed 13st. 

And we can reveal her astonishing weight loss is actually the result of an adventurous gym routine, a toyboy boyfriend and a £2.85 supermarket secret.  

A close pal said: “Alison was mortified when she stepped on the scales in 2020 and her weight was so high the sensor broke. 

“It stopped at anything over 29st, so she has no idea exactly how much she weighed back then. 

“It was a real wake-up call and she began a strict diet that day. 

“People are constantly accusing her of cheating and saying that she’s on fat jabs, but she’s not.

“They weren’t even around then.”  

Instead, the Great British Bake Off host, 51, has been munching on Itsu crispy seaweed thins — with just 24 calories in a pack.  

Her mate added: “When shoppers see her in Tesco the trolley is usually packed high with boxes of Itsu seaweed snacks.

“She eats about four packs a day.

“Instead of toffees she’s addicted to seaweed.” 

It is a far cry from the terrifying moment a few years ago that kickstarted her bid to get healthy. 

The scale shock prompted her to visit the doctor, who confirmed she was prediabetic and needed to slim down or face an early death. 

Being prediabetic — the point where your blood sugar is higher than normal but not high enough yet to be diabetic — genuinely terrified her as it can bring serious health problems.  

Following her doctor’s grave warning in November 2020, and in a desperate bid to reverse her diagnosis, the popular This Morning host made a plea to viewers live on air.  

Begging for help 

“I need some help,” she said bravely.

“I’ve really got to change my ways, if you guys see me out there buying sweets or chocolates, please I’m begging you, I’m not allowed to have it. 

“It’s serious now.”  

Viewers were quick to react, messaging the show in their droves with supportive comments and sharing their own struggles too.  

I thought, ‘I have to be an adult about this’. The sweets had to stop and the fatty foods.

Alison of changing her life

“Ali knew she was morbidly obese and was genuinely concerned that she was going to die,” says her pal.

“But the encouragement from viewers really touched her.

“It inspired her to make changes.” 

She previously said that her mother Maria, who died in January 2020 from lung and liver cancer, influenced her decision to overhaul her lifestyle. 

“My mum had type 2 diabetes,” she said.

“She was worried for me, so when I then found out I was prediabetic, that was frightening.  

“I thought, ‘I have to be an adult about this’. 

“The sweets had to stop and the fatty foods.”  

It was not the first time Alison had tried to lose weight.  

She had a gastric band fitted after a chair broke underneath her while she was interviewing actor Matt Damon in 2007.  

However, following the op, Alison experienced complications and “couldn’t keep anything down”. 

After two years, she decided to have the procedure reversed.  

Then, ten years later, she appeared on TV show Sugar Free Farm, which followed celebs as they embraced a sugar-free diet and farm work. 

While she managed to lose two stone on the show, the side effects from the sugar withdrawal left her feeling dizzy and sick.  

Now Alison, who is mum to Aidan, 21, works out three to five times a week with her personal trainers Lui Mancini and Ellis Gatfield.  

She combines strength training, boxing and Pilates rather than cardio and when she is busy working she enjoys walking.

A video posted by Lui displayed her hard at work with kettlebells, medicine balls and a punching bag. 

But no doubt also helping Alison’s confidence — and her weight loss — is her lover.  

She met David Putman, 29, a former Russian model, when she booked in for a massage in 2023.

The couple kept their relationship secret for about a year but now it is very much out in the open and despite the 22-year-age gap they are desperately in love.  

“It was pretty much love at first sight,” said her pal.

“She fell totally head over heels with David and he’s besotted with her.

“When you see them together it’s so sweet.

“He gets on really well with her son too.” 

But a change in her diet has had the most dramatic effect on her.

In a bid to reverse her prediabetes she has cut back on sweets and fatty foods — which has not been easy, especially as the host of C4’s Great British Bake Off, where she is surrounded by temptation.  

“Ali was completely addicted to toffees,’ says her pal.

“She would eat bags of them.” 

For people who need to use them, weight-loss jabs are a good thing. But for me, as soon as I hear any scare story, I get frightened.

Alison on using fat jabs

But these days she relies on seaweed.

The salty snack, combined with a rigorous exercise regime, has seen her weight drop to under 17st.  

She now drinks two litres of water a day and has a high-protein diet with lots of chicken and turkey mince bolognese.  

“She eats half of what she used to eat,” revealed her friend. 

Alison, who also hosts Your Song on Channel 4, previously told how weight loss jabs were not for her because she was “frightened” by “scary” stories surrounding them. 

She said: “For people who need to use them, weight-loss jabs are a good thing.

“But for me, as soon as I hear any scare story, I get frightened. 

“So I haven’t wanted to use them, but that’s not to say I wouldn’t in the future, and I certainly wouldn’t look down on anyone who did.” 

But industry insiders have warned there could be an issue if her slimdown becomes too extreme, especially as she vies for the presenting gig on Strictly.  

“There’s a fear that if she gets too skinny she might not be as popular with her fans,” said another source.  

Pals insist Alison has no intention of losing her curves or trademark sparkle.

Her journey has never been about fitting into a certain dress size but building a healthy life.  

During an interview on Loose Women last year, she summed up her attitude perfectly: “You know what, all I can do is be me.

“I can’t do anything else. 

“I’m a black, big, bubbly woman, who is slowly deflating a little bit.” 

Only time will tell if Alison’s next steps will be into the ballroom. 

But one thing is for certain, it will be seaweed, and not Ozempic, in her handbag. 

It’s not only easy to get lost in the Los Angeles County Museum of Art’s new David Geffen Galleries, it’s inevitable, intentional — and one of the best things about the place.

The museum has deconstructed the traditional, boxy narrative of art history and rendered the story itself a matter of curves and continuities. Art in the collection is freed from its departmental silos and put into conversation across genre lines, place and time.

The museum has physically invalidated the binaries of center and periphery, major and minor arts. In a startling and largely gratifying way, LACMA has done what the poet Audre Lorde, alluding to a different but not unrelated aspect of patriarchal dominance, deemed impossible: used the master’s tools to dismantle the master’s house.

The change goes far beyond a remodel. It’s a reinvention, a recalibration, a revisionist fever dream.

The vision conceived by museum director and Chief Executive Michael Govan and architect Peter Zumthor is not perfect, and brings with it a modest set of frustrations, but as a whole, the installation registers as ravishing and bracingly fresh. It thrusts us midstream into the ageless, ceaseless flow of makers worldwide reckoning with life, earth and being.

It prompts us, as we bob about, to reflect on our own proclivities and preconceptions, our patterns of reception and perception.

It compels us to recognize that what matters is not just what we see in the museum but how we see, what pulls us close and why, what private histories we bring to the occasion, what expectations, what tools.

Over two visits to the new building, getting my physical bearings mattered less and less as I surrendered to the generative sensations of not knowing. The museum has produced a dense guidebook to the new galleries, whose title, “Wander,” doubles as invitation and imperative. Even at 430 pages, the book is only minimally useful as an orientation device. For help with that internal navigation, Rebecca Solnit’s moving 2005 book, “A Field Guide to Getting Lost,” proved a better compass.

LACMA’s guidebook to the David Geffen Galleries, called “Wander,” doubles as invitation and imperative.

(Museum Associates / LACMA)

Solnit, citing the cultural critic Walter Benjamin, writes, “to be lost is to be fully present, and to be fully present is to be capable of being in uncertainty and mystery.” She goes on to recall how roaming freely as a child was key to developing self-reliance, which feels apt to the LACMA strategy. We are put in charge of making our own way, through tapestries and tea sets, past ancient jug and contemporary sphinx, without heavy-handed authoritative direction.

The history of art reads here as one long, free verse poem-in-progress, gorgeous and absorbing. Even so, many of the most memorable moments come in the form of cogent micro-essays, smartly curated ensembles of work bearing a legible, lucid premise. Some of these are contained within four (rectilinear) walls; some occupy less demarcated spaces. “Tonal Variations: Photography and Music,” for instance, gathers images by Paul Caponigro, William Eggleston, Lisette Model and others. These artists were also serious pianists, attuned, no matter which instrument they were using, to the qualities of rhythm, pattern and progression.

Lisette Model, “Window at 5th Avenue,” 1940, Los Angeles County Museum of Art

(Museum Associates / LACMA)

In a section headed “The Global Appeal of Blue-and-White Ceramics,” a long display case houses a timeline articulated sculpturally. The sequence advances from a 9th century bowl made in Iraq to a 13th century vessel from China, a 14th century example from Thailand, another from 15th century Syria, up to work by a 20th century German artist who transformed a functional vessel into personal adornment by cutting a string of beads out of the planar surface of the bowl.

Dish, Turkey, Iznik, c. 1530-35, Los Angeles County Museum of Art

(Museum Associates / LACMA)

On the wall facing this display is a huge vitrine containing an 18th century Talavera jar from Mexico, paired with a 2025/26 color photograph by Brooklyn-based Stephanie H. Shih. In the still-life composition, a cheeky visual lesson on the collision and convergence of cultures, the jar holds flowers, cactus and edible Mexican treats influenced by Chinese and Filipino flavors.

Top, Stephanie H. Shih, 梅國 “(Still life with chamoy and Dirty T Tamarindo),” (2025- 26); bottom, Jar (c. 1700-50)

(Museum Associates / LACMA)

Shih is one of a handful of artists commissioned to create new work using the museum’s collection as muse. L.A.-based Lauren Halsey is another. Her formidable, untitled 2026 sphinx regally commands its space among ancient Egyptian and Roman sculpture, a marvel of the cross-temporal and cross-spatial, spiked with specific references to Black self-determination.

Setting recent works among older ones is an effective element of LACMA’s overall plan to shed outworn hierarchies. It recasts every piece of art by every artist throughout the single-story space as equally relevant. The seamless integration of old and new feels stealthy, and a touch subversive, a doubling-down on the museum’s approach to time as nonlinear, sinuous and delightfully slippery.

Lauren Halsey’s untitled 2026 sphinx.

(Museum Associates / LACMA)

That said, a few words readily available would help connect the dots without undermining the provocation. Text — where and how it appears, or doesn’t — is my only major complaint about the installation of the new galleries.

Text panels announce, in one or two paragraphs, the themes of each given section: “Images of the Divine in South Asia”; “The Evolution of Abstract Painting in Modern Korea”; “Textile Conversations: Africa and Black America.” Individual object labels are kept minimal, containing only basic identification about each work, no commentary. When asked about this decision during my first walkthrough, Govan replied that more time reading means less time looking — “and we have the internet.” Every thematic text panel has a QR code that links to the Bloomberg Connects app, an aggregate guide to museums and other cultural sites that offers selected, augmented entries.

Determining how much didactic information is insightful and sufficient, and how much constitutes excessive artsplaining, is a delicate, ongoing challenge for museums. Where LACMA landed on this contested plain strikes me as unfortunate and counterproductive.

A few lines of explanation or context on a wall label can add perspective for even the most informed visitor, and provides crucial support to those with less foundational exposure and access to art.

You can take or leave text on a wall without breaking your stride, but text accessed via QR code is another matter. (Never mind that connectivity is spotty inside a sprawling concrete shell, and several times when I tried to get information from the app, I couldn’t.) Encouraging us to shift our gaze from the wall to our devices — to assume that accursed downward tilt of the neck when splendors abound before our eyes — is simply detrimental. It breaks the spell of being fruitfully lost in the present, and retethers us to the digital distractions that dominate our days.

Wall text beside Francis Bacon’s “Three Studies of Lucian Freud” (1969), at Los Angeles County Museum of Art.

(Museum Associates / LACMA)

Shouldn’t the imaginative minds that created this space, this opportunity to revel in direct sensual experience, want us to keep our attention where our bodies are? Why this fallback to current convention, when the rest of the experience is about radical reinvention? This feels like a missed opportunity. I’m hoping a more experimental, exploratory approach to providing information, context and interpretation, in keeping with the rest of the enterprise, might yet come.

Does the new structure serve the art? Mostly, very well.

The lighting is varied, treated as another texture in the space, palpable and rich. There’s a generous amount of natural sunlight, but some spots are noticeably dim. Some gallery walls are glazed in deep hues (reddish and eggplant), and the intensity of the color is jarring at first. But neutral, white-box viewing spaces (with even, predictable lighting) can be found elsewhere on LACMA’s campus and pretty much anywhere art is shown. Here, the very irregularity of the interior environment, including the concrete surfaces — richer and more textured than I expected — heightened my alertness. And keener senses tend to make for more consequential experiences.

In deciding how to organize roughly 2,000 works of art across 110,000 square feet of exhibition space, LACMA devised a conceptual schema that isn’t apparent in the galleries themselves. The “Wander” guide maps out the division of the space into four regions correlating to bodies of water: the Indian, Atlantic and Pacific oceans, and the Mediterranean Sea. While the zones and their boundaries aren’t indicated by obvious signage, and I caught one laughable categorization (Ansel Adams’ photographs of the Pacific shoreline landing in the Atlantic section), this schema at least doesn’t get in the way.

And what does work about the propositional structure is its comprehensive realignment. It moves to retire art historical frameworks of the past, dependent on borders between places and times.

Throughout this installation, we are repeatedly reminded of the impact of trade and migration, the fluid movement of resources and belief systems. We’re reminded of porousness and simultaneity, and that all art histories are, in the end, propositional structures.

Here’s a new one, the Geffen Galleries say. Try it out. You might get lost. Indeed, you will get lost. And what wonders await you in the uncertainty and mystery.

The company’s stock plunged about 8 percent on the news of Hastings’s departure.

Netflix Chairman Reed Hastings is leaving the streaming service he cofounded 29 years ago as the company regains its footing after it lost its $72bn deal for Warner Bros Discovery to Paramount Skydance.

In a letter to investors released on Thursday, Netflix said Hastings will not stand for re-election at its annual meeting in June and plans to focus on philanthropy and other pursuits.

The company’s stock plunged about 8 percent on the news of Hastings’s departure. The cofounder is credited with helping to revolutionise how movies and television shows are delivered in homes, upending Hollywood’s business model.

“Netflix is growing revenues double-digits, expanding margins in 2026 and gushing free cash flow,” said LightShed Partners media analyst Richard Greenfield. “While the Q1 was uneventful financially, the departure of Reed Hastings has spooked investors.”

Netflix reaffirmed in a 14-page shareholder letter that its mission remains “ambitious and unchanged” – to entertain the world, providing movies and series for many tastes, cultures and languages. The company’s full-year outlook remained unchanged.

The company did not say how it plans to spend the $2.8bn termination fee it received after losing the Warner Bros movie studio and HBO, and lifted its earnings per share to $1.23 in the first quarter compared with 66 cents per share in the same quarter last year.

Revenue rose to $12.25bn, an increase of 16 percent from the year-ago period, modestly exceeding analyst forecasts of $12.18bn.

Netflix, which long told investors that a Warner Bros acquisition was a “nice to have, not need to have” proposition, highlighted areas of future growth.

The company said its investment in expanding its entertainment offerings, with video podcasts and live entertainment – such as the World Baseball Classic in Japan – is driving engagement.

It plans to use technology to improve the user experience and improve monetisation, as advertising revenue remains on track to reach $3bn in 2026 – a twofold increase from a year ago.