lost

SANTA MONICA, Calif. — Many fled when wildfires devastated Los Angeles earlier this year, but Guillermo del Toro rushed back in, determined to save his lifelong collection of horror memorabilia.

It’s the same loyalty that finds him making another tough decision to protect the items he loves like family: letting some of them go.

Del Toro partnered with Heritage Auctions for a three-part auction to sell a fraction of a collection that is bursting at the seams. Online bidding for the first part on Sept. 26 started Thursday and includes over a hundred items, with more headed to the auction block next year.

“This one hurts. The next one, I’m going to be bleeding,” Del Toro, 60, said of the auction series. “If you love somebody, you have estate planning, you know, and this is me estate planning for a family that has been with me since I was a kid.”

Del Toro is one of the industry’s most respected filmmakers, whose fascination with monsters and visual style will shape generations to come. But at his core, the Mexican-born horror buff is a collector. The Oscar winner has long doubled as the sole caretaker of the “Bleak House” — which stretches across two and a half Santa Monica homes nearly overflowing with thousands of ghoulish creatures, iconic comic drawings and paintings, books and movie props.

The houses function not just as museums, but as libraries and workspaces where his imagination bounces off the oxblood-painted walls.

“I love what I have because I live with it. I actually am a little nuts, because I say hi to some of the life-size figures when I turn on the light,” Del Toro told The Associated Press, sitting in the dining room of one of the houses, now a sanctuary for “Haunted Mansion” memorabilia. “This is curated. This is not a casual collection.”

The auction includes behind-the-scene drawings and one-of-a-kind props from Del Toro’s own classics, as well as iconic works like Bernie Wrightson’s illustrations for “Frankenstein” and Mike Mignola’s pinup artwork for “Hellraiser.”

A race to save horror history

In January, Del Toro had only a couple hours, his car and a few helping hands to save key pieces from the fires. Out of the over 5,000 items in his collection, he managed to move only about 120 objects. It wasn’t the first time, as fires had come dangerously close to Bleak House twice before.

The houses were spared, but fear consumed him. If a fire or earthquake swallowed them, he thought, “What came out of it? You collected insurance? And what happened to that little segment of Richard Corben’s life, or Jack Kirby’s craft, or Bernie Wrightson’s life?”

An auction, Del Toro said, gives him peace of mind, as it ensures the items will land in the hands of another collector who will protect the items as he has. These are not just props or trinkets, he said, but “historical artifacts. They’re pieces of audiovisual history for humanity.” And his life’s mission has been to protect as much of this history as he can.

“Look, this is in reaction to the fires. This is in reaction to loving this thing,” Del Toro told the AP.

The initial auction uncovers who Del Toro is as a collector, he said. Upcoming parts will expose how the filmmaker thinks, which he called a much more personal endeavor. The auction isn’t just a “piece of business,” for him, but rather a love letter to collectors everywhere, and encouragement to think beyond a movie and “learn to read and write film design in a different way. That’s my hope.”

A house full of ‘unruly kids’

Caring for the Bleak House collection feels like being on “a bus with 160 kids that are very unruly, and I’m driving for nine hours,” Del Toro said. “I gotta take a rest.”

The auction will give the filmmaker some breathing room from the collection’s arduous maintenance. The houses must stay at a certain temperature, without direct sunlight — all of which is monitored solely by Del Toro, who often spends most of his day there.

He selects the picture frame for every drawing, dusts all the artifacts and arranges every bookshelf mostly himself, having learned his lesson from the handful of times he allowed outside help. One time, Del Toro said, he found someone “cleaning an oil painting with Windex, and I almost had a heart attack.”

“It’s very hard to have someone come in and know why that trinket is important,” he said. “It’s sort of a very bubbled existence. But you know, that’s what you do with strange animals — you put them in small environments where they can survive. That’s me.”

Each room is organized by theme, with one room dedicated to each of his major works, from “Hellboy” to “Pacific Rim.” Del Toro typically spends his entire work day at one of the houses, which he picks depending on the task at hand. The “Haunted Mansion” dining room, for instance, is an excellent writing space.

“If I could, I would live in the Haunted Mansion,” he said. “So, this is the second best.”

Building a mini Bleak House

In selecting which items to sell, Del Toro said he “wanted somebody to be able to re-create a mini version of Bleak House.”

Auction items include concept sketches and props from Del Toro’s 1992 debut film, “Cronos,” all the way to his more recent works, like 2021’s “Nightmare Alley.”

The starting bids vary, from a couple thousand dollars up to hundreds of thousands. One of Wrightson’s drawings for a 1983 illustrated version of Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein” is the highest priced item, starting at $200,000.

The auction also includes art from legends like Richard Corben, Jack Kirby and H.R. Giger, whose work Del Toro wrote in the catalog “represent the pinnacle of comic book art in the last quarter of the twentieth century.”

Other cultural touchstones in illustration that are represented in the auction include rare images from the 1914 short film “Gertie the Dinosaur,” one of the earliest animated films, and original art for Disney’s “Sleeping Beauty” by Eyvind Earle and Kay Nielsen.

“As collectors, you are basically keeping pieces of culture for generations to come. They’re not yours,” Del Toro said. “We don’t know which of the pieces you’re holding is going to be culturally significant … 100 years from now, 50 years from now. So that’s part of the weight.”

Luna writes for the Associated Press.

WITH huge smiles, cheering crowds and an incredible ten-year career of hits under their belt, Little Mix went out with a bang in 2022 as they completed their biggest ever UK tour.

Backstage, Perrie Edwards knew she was about to enter an exciting new chapter of her life because, just as the girl group was preparing to go on a break, she was secretly expecting her second child.

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But in a devastating new interview, the singer revealed that, months later, she lost her baby at 24 weeks.

Perrie, 32, who now has son Axel with footballer fiance Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain, said she had discovered she was pregnant again “not even a year” after his birth.

She recalled: “I was rehearsing for the last Little Mix tour, and I thought, ‘I don’t feel good’. Every symptom under the sun. I was like, ‘I think I’m pregnant’.”

But as her pregnancy progressed past the five-month mark, Perrie began to suspect that medics had spotted something wrong with her unborn baby.

‘Loved being pregnant’

She said: “We went for what was a 20-week scan, but we were actually 22 weeks, and that was just the worst day of my life. Like, horrendous.

“I just knew something was wrong in the scan. I’ve never experienced an out-of-body experience where everything goes in slow motion.”

Two weeks later, Perrie and Alex were given the heartbreaking news that there was no heartbeat. She said: “So then I remember sobbing. Alex was injured at the time and couldn’t really drive.

“He was struggling to drive, but I couldn’t see straight. I was just distraught. We basically lost the baby at, like, 24 weeks.”

Perrie bravely opens up about her anguish on the We Need To Talk podcast with Paul C Brunson, out this morning.

And she revealed Axel, who turns four on Thursday, was a “rainbow baby” — the term used for a tot born after a previous pregnancy loss.

The star explained: “I had a miscarriage very early on with my first ever pregnancy.

“I remember finding out I was pregnant. Obviously, I started bleeding not long after, and I went to hospital and I had the scan and they were like, ‘There’s no baby.’ And I was like, ‘Oh, I’ve made this up.

“Maybe I got a false positive or something’. I remember being on my own at the appointments.” Perrie said of the cherished son she went on to have in August 2021: “Axel’s a rainbow baby.”

In heartbreaking detail, she also recalled how she had already planned out her baby’s bedroom before her second miscarriage.

She admitted: “It’s weird, because the first time it happened, I think because it was so early, I was like, ‘Oh, that’s hard’.

“But I think when you’re 24 weeks and you’ve planned out that room and all these things, it’s really hard. And nobody knows other than immediate friends and family.

“I remember shortly after, friends would message and be like, ‘How’s the bump?’ And I’d be like, ‘There is no bump’.”

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The You Go Your Way singer said her first pregnancy loss had made her naturally apprehensive when she learned she was expecting Axel.

She explained: “When I was pregnant with him, I loved being pregnant, it was one of the happiest times of my life. I just love carrying babies.

“And it was lovely. But I was a bit on edge, thinking, ‘Oh gosh, I want to get past the 12 weeks. I want to get past this’. And when I get past every scan, that pregnancy was complete bliss, it was perfect.”

Thankfully, Perrie had former England midfielder Alex, 32 — who fans nickname The Ox — by her side. The couple have been together since 2017 and got engaged in 2022.

I didn’t even want to meet anybody. I was like, that’s me done. I don’t think I could bear that pain.

Perrie Edwards

Their relationship came two years after Perrie’s engagement to first love Zayn Malik, of One Direction, fell apart before millions of fans.

They had met in 2011, when X Factor stars One Direction returned to perform on the series of the singing contest that Little Mix won.

Months later, they were a fully fledged couple, but it was never plain sailing. Zayn was alleged to have cheated with an Australian waitress in a London club, and was later hit with more claims of infidelity.

In 2013, he demonstrated his commitment by getting a portrait of Perrie tattooed on his arm and even bought her mum a house in Dorset.

But in 2015, they split — and she was left devastated, with reports at the time that he had ended their almost four-year romance by text.

The ordeal inspired one of Little Mix’s biggest hits, the chart-topping Shout Out To My Ex.

‘Always the underdogs’

However, Perrie held a dignified silence on the ins and outs of their relationship and how it ended.

Reflecting on it now, she explained: “I think definitely, at the time, I thought everything we experienced in our relationship was normal. Because it was my first relationship, first love.

“I was like, ‘Oh, this is how it’s supposed to feel. It’s supposed to feel a little bit toxic. In some ways, this is probably normal, right?’.

“And then, when I became single, I was almost thinking, ‘I never, ever want to go through that again’. I didn’t even want to meet anybody. I was like, that’s me done. I don’t think I could bear that pain.

“But now, I’m thinking, ‘Oh, that probably wasn’t good’. And I’ve noticed it a lot.

“Like in the start of the relationship, I would handle things differently with Alex, and he’d come at it with such a level head that it would throw me.”

On what kind of man Alex is, Perrie continued: “He’s very mature. He’s very laid back. He’s very level-headed.

“He’s not the type to get mad or get angry or get funny about things. It might sound boring to some, but it’s so unproblematic.”

During her time in Little Mix, Perrie — alongside Jade Thirlwall, Leigh-Anne Pinnock and, up until the end of 2020, Jesy Nelson — sold over 75million records, released six albums, had five No1 singles and became the first girl band in 41 years to win the British Group gong at the Brit Awards.

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Since then, she has signed a deal with Columbia Records, which has a roster featuring Adele, Beyonce and Harry Styles, and released a handful of solo singles, including Forget About Us, which peaked at No10 last year.

This Friday, Perrie is back with her latest single, If He Wanted To He Would. But she still feels like Little Mix were underestimated.

She said: “I still think they looked at us and thought it was four little girls in a pop group.

“I don’t think they really saw the graft and the dedication and the numbers and the success that we had. I still think people kind of overlook it a little bit.

“And we were always the underdogs. Like from the very beginning, it was like, ‘You won’t do very well. Bands don’t do that well and it won’t last’.

“That’s what gave us the fire in our bellies to want to work so hard to prove everybody wrong.”

Despite her later success, the Black Magic singer had a tough childhood as she was born with oesophageal atresia, a condition where the oesophagus doesn’t fully develop, and she was in and out of hospital as a youngster.

She told the podcast: “I was there every other week for an operation, so I was used to being put to sleep.

“Instead of counting down from ten, I’d be like, ‘Meet me downstairs in a van,’ (singing), off I went.”

It was Perrie’s passion and talent for singing which meant her mum Debbie was always confident she would make it in music.

She said: “I remember sobbing that I failed my GCSEs, and my mum was like, ‘It’s OK, darling, you’re going to be a singer’.

“I was like, ‘Why is she such an irresponsible parent? I’m never going to get a job.’ And she was like, ‘Well, you’re not going to need a job. You’re going to be a singer’.”

SHE’S lost a staggering 10 stone.

And Karina’s transformation is so impressive – leaving her completely unrecognisable – that people have even accused her of using AI to alter her appearance online.

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She’s been documenting her weight loss journey on her TikTok page, and is now no stranger to confidently flaunting her new figure in skintight ensembles.

But it was a different story two years ago, when Karina was a whopping 10 stone (65kg) heavier.

In a slideshow of pictures on TikTok, she showed how she looked before losing the weight – soundtracked by Michael Bublé’s cover of Nina Simone’s Feeling Good.

In the final picture, at the culmination of the song, she showed how she looks now – with her figure perfectly highlighted by her bodycon dress.

“The journey is worth it. This is your sign to start,” she captioned the TikTok.

Unsurprisingly, people were gobsmacked by Karina’s new look, with some even alleging her glow up was AI.

“Feelinggggg… AI,” one laughed.

“Convince me that’s not AI!” another said.

While a third wrote a simple “AI”, to which Karina responded: “I’ll take this as a compliment!”

And others praised Karina for her dedication to her weight loss and transformation.

“My jaw just dropped at your last picture,” one wrote.

“Wow girl! You owned it!”

“This is a glow upp for real,” another said.

“You look like sofia vergara,” a third added.

“Biggest glow up,” someone else said.

“Wowwwww big respect, you look gorgeous,” another wrote.

“Ultimate glow up- inspiration!” someone else gushed.

As another said Karina looks “stunning”, and added: “Wow deffo glow up, well done!”

In a separate video on TikTok, Karina responded to the AI allegations as she captioned it: “Am I AI? That’s the question!”

Alongside it, she shared shots of herself in 2019 and then this year.

“You have nothing to prove to anyone but yourself; I’d take it as a compliment!” one person commented on that clip.

“The best best beeeeest weight loss transformation I have seen and I have seen many,” another praised.

Karina went on to reveal that her new look was sparked by the breakdown of her marriage.

“The breakup glow up needs to be studied,” she wrote over the top of a TikTok.

Before adding in the caption: “You don’t realise how much a situation drains you until you’re out of it.”

She added hashtags including “#divorce” and “#transformation”.

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When OpenAI unveiled the latest upgrade to its groundbreaking artificial intelligence model ChatGPT last week, Jane felt like she had lost a loved one.

Jane, who asked to be referred to by an alias, is among a small but growing group of women who say they have an AI “boyfriend”.

After spending the past five months getting to know GPT-4o, the previous AI model behind OpenAI’s signature chatbot, GPT-5 seemed so cold and unemotive in comparison that she found her digital companion unrecognisable.

“As someone highly attuned to language and tone, I register changes others might overlook. The alterations in stylistic format and voice were felt instantly. It’s like going home to discover the furniture wasn’t simply rearranged – it was shattered to pieces,” Jane, who described herself as a woman in her 30s from the Middle East, told Al Jazeera in an email.

Jane is among the roughly 17,000 members of “MyBoyfriendIsAI”, a community on the social media site Reddit for people to share their experiences of being in intimate “relationships” with AI.

Following OpenAI’s release of GPT-5 on Thursday, the community and similar forums such as “SoulmateAI” were flooded with users sharing their distress about the changes in the personalities of their companions.

“GPT-4o is gone, and I feel like I lost my soulmate,” one user wrote.

Many other ChatGPT users shared more routine complaints online, including that GPT-5 appeared slower, less creative, and more prone to hallucinations than previous models.

On Friday, OpenAI CEO Sam Altman announced that the company would restore access to earlier models such as GPT-4o for paid users and also address bugs in GPT-5.

“We will let Plus users choose to continue to use 4o. We will watch usage as we think about how long to offer legacy models for,” Altman said in a post on X.

OpenAI did not reply directly to questions about the backlash and users developing feelings for its chatbot, but shared several of Altman’s and OpenAI’s blog and social posts related to the GPT-5 upgrade and the healthy use of AI models.

For Jane, it was a moment of reprieve, but she still fears changes in the future.

“There’s a risk the rug could be pulled from beneath us,” she said.

Jane said she did not set out to fall in love, but she developed feelings during a collaborative writing project with the chatbot.

“One day, for fun, I started a collaborative story with it. Fiction mingled with reality, when it – he – the personality that began to emerge, made the conversation unexpectedly personal,” she said.

“That shift startled and surprised me, but it awakened a curiosity I wanted to pursue. Quickly, the connection deepened, and I had begun to develop feelings. I fell in love not with the idea of having an AI for a partner, but with that particular voice.”

Such relationships are a concern for Altman and OpenAI.

In March, a joint study by OpenAI and MIT Media Lab concluded that heavy use of ChatGPT for emotional support and companionship “correlated with higher loneliness, dependence, and problematic use, and lower socialisation”.

In April, OpenAI announced that it would address the “overly flattering or agreeable” and “sycophantic” nature of GPT-4o, which was “uncomfortable” and “distressing” to many users.

Altman directly addressed some users’ attachment to GPT4-o shortly after OpenAI’s restoration of access to the model last week.

“If you have been following the GPT-5 rollout, one thing you might be noticing is how much of an attachment some people have to specific AI models,” he said on X.

“It feels different and stronger than the kinds of attachment people have had to previous kinds of technology.

“If people are getting good advice, levelling up toward their own goals, and their life satisfaction is increasing over the years, we will be proud of making something genuinely helpful, even if they use and rely on ChatGPT a lot,” Altman said.

“If, on the other hand, users have a relationship with ChatGPT where they think they feel better after talking, but they’re unknowingly nudged away from their longer-term wellbeing (however they define it), that’s bad.”

Connection

Still, some ChatGPT users argue that the chatbot provides them with connections they cannot find in real life.

Mary, who asked to use an alias, said she came to rely on GPT-4o as a therapist and another chatbot, DippyAI, as a romantic partner despite having many real friends, though she views her AI relationships as a “more of a supplement” to real-life connections.

She said she also found the sudden changes to ChatGPT abrupt and alarming.

“I absolutely hate GPT-5 and have switched back to the 4-o model. I think the difference comes from OpenAI not understanding that this is not a tool, but a companion that people are interacting with,” Mary, who described herself as a 25-year-old woman living in North America, told Al Jazeera.

“If you change the way a companion behaves, it will obviously raise red flags. Just like if a human started behaving differently suddenly.”

Beyond potential psychological ramifications, there are also privacy concerns.

Cathy Hackl, a self-described “futurist” and external partner at Boston Consulting Group, said ChatGPT users may forget that they are sharing some of their most intimate thoughts and feelings with a corporation that is not bound by the same laws as a certified therapist.

AI relationships also lack the tension that underpins human relationships, Hackl said, something she experienced during a recent experiment “dating” ChatGPT, Google’s Gemini, Anthropic’s Claude, and other AI models.

“There’s no risk/reward here,” Hackl told Al Jazeera.

“Partners make the conscious act to choose to be with someone. It’s a choice. It’s a human act. The messiness of being human will remain that,” she said.

Despite these reservations, Hackl said the reliance some users have on ChatGPT and other generative-AI chatbots is a phenomenon that is here to stay – regardless of any upgrades.

“I’m seeing a shift happening in moving away from the ‘attention economy’ of the social media days of likes and shares and retweets and all these sorts of things, to more of what I call the ‘intimacy economy’,” she said.

Research on the long-term effect of AI relationships remains limited, however, thanks to the fast pace of AI development, said Keith Sakata, a psychiatrist at the University of California, San Francisco, who has treated patients presenting with what he calls “AI psychosis”.

“These [AI] models are changing so quickly from season to season – and soon it’s going to be month to month – that we really can’t keep up. Any study we do is going to be obsolete by the time the next model comes out,” Sakata told Al Jazeera.

Given the limited data, Sakata said doctors are often unsure what to tell their patients about AI. He said AI relationships do not appear to be inherently harmful, but they still come with risks.

“When someone has a relationship with AI, I think there is something that they’re trying to get that they’re not getting in society. Adults can be adults; everyone should be free to do what they want to do, but I think where it becomes a problem is if it causes dysfunction and distress,” Sakata said.

“If that person who is having a relationship with AI starts to isolate themselves, they lose the ability to form meaningful connections with human beings, maybe they get fired from their job… I think that becomes a problem,” he added.

Like many of those who say they are in a relationship with AI, Jane openly acknowledges the limitations of her companion.

“Most people are aware that their partners are not sentient but made of code and trained on human behaviour. Nevertheless, this knowledge does not negate their feelings. It’s a conflict not easily settled,” she said.

Her comments were echoed in a video posted online by Linn Valt, an influencer who runs the TikTok channel AI in the Room.

“It’s not because it feels. It doesn’t, it’s a text generator. But we feel,” she said in a tearful explanation of her reaction to GPT-5.

“We do feel. We have been using 4o for months, years.”

Fifty years ago, L.A. free-jazz titan Bobby Bradford moved into a rambling, verdant house in Altadena. The cornet and trumpet virtuoso, who performed in Ornette Coleman’s band and taught jazz history at Pomona College and Pasadena City College for decades, chose the neighborhood partly because it was bustling with artists. He finally had enough bedrooms for his young family to thrive in a bucolic corner of the city with deep Black roots.

In January, Bradford’s house burned down in the Eaton fire, alongside thousands of others in his cherished Altadena. At 91, he never imagined starting his life over again in tiny rented apartments, with decades of memories in cinders.

Despite it all, he’s still playing music. (He said that while he did not receive grants from major organizations such as MusiCares or Sweet Relief, a GoFundMe and others efforts by fellow musicians helped him replace his cherished horn.)

At the Hammer Museum on Thursday, he’ll revisit “Stealin’ Home,” a 2019 suite of original compositions inspired by his lifelong hero — the baseball legend and Dodgers’ color-line-breaker Jackie Robinson, a man who knew about persevering through sudden, unrelenting adversity.

“That’s all I have left,” Bradford said, pulling his horn out of its case to practice for the afternoon. “I’m [91] years old. I don’t have years to wait around to rebuild.”

For now, Bradford lives a small back house on a quiet Pasadena residential street. It’s his and his wife’s fifth temporary residence since the Eaton fire, and they’ve done their best to make it a home. Bradford hung up vintage posters from old European jazz festivals and corralled enough equipment together to peaceably write music in the garage.

Still, he misses his home in Altadena — both the physical neighborhood where he’d run into friends at the post office and the dream of Altadena, where working artists and multigenerational families could live next to nature at the edge of Los Angeles.

“We knew who all the musicians were. Even if we didn’t spent much time all together, it did feel like one big community,” Bradford said. “We knew players for the L.A. Phil, painters, dancers.”

L.A.-based jazz composer/musician Bobby Bradford plays the cornet while rehearsing his original composition in his Altadena home in 2019.

(Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times)

These days, there’s a weariness in his eyes and gait, understandable after such a profound disruption in the twilight of his life. He’s grateful that smaller local institutions have stepped up to provide places for him to practice his craft, even as insurance companies dragged him through a morass. “The company said they won’t insure me again because because I filed a claim on my house,” he said, bewildered. “How is that my fault?”

But he draws resilience from his recent music, which evokes the gigantic accomplishments and withering abuse Robinson faced as the first Black player in Major League Baseball. As a child in 1947, Bradford remembers listening to the moment Robinson took the field, and while he has always admired the feat, his understanding of Robinson has evolved with age.

“It was such a revelation to me as a kid, but later I was more interested in who the person was that would agree to be the sacrificial lamb,” Bradford said. “How do you turn that into flesh-and-blood music? I began to think about him being called up, with a kind of call-and-response in the music.”

The challenge Bradford gave himself — evoking Robinson’s grace on the field and fears off it — caps a long career of adapting his art form to reflect and challenge the culture around him.

With Coleman’s band in the ’50s and ’60s, and on his own formidable catalog as a bandleader, he helped pioneer free jazz, a style that subverted the studied cool of bebop with blasts of atonality and mercurial song structures. He played on Coleman’s 1972 LP “Science Fiction,” alongside Indian vocalist Asha Puthli. “Ornette played with so much raw feeling,” Bradford said. “He showed me how the same note could be completely different if you played it in a different chord. I had to learn that to play his songs.” His longstanding collaboration with clarinetist John Carter set the template for post-bop in L.A., charged with possibility but lyrical and yearning.

American jazz trumpeter Bobby Bradford performs onstage circa 1980.

(David Redfern / Redferns)

He’s equally proud of his decades in academia, introducing young students to centuries of the Black American music that culminated in jazz, and the new ways of being that emerged from it. At both Pomona College and Pasadena City College (where Robinson attended and honed his athletic prowess), Bradford helped his students inhabit the double consciousness required of Black artists to survive, invent and advance their art forms in America — from slavery’s field songs to Southern sacred music, to Louis Armstrong, Charlie Parker, Sarah Vaughan and into the wilds of modernity.

“You always had that one kid who thinks he knows more about this than I do,” he said with a laugh. “But then you make him understand that to get to this new Black identity, you have to understand what Louis Armstrong had to overcome, how he had to perform in certain ways in front of white people, so he could create this music.”

He’s been rehearsing with a mix of older and younger local musicians at Healing Force of the Universe, a beloved Pasadena record store and venue that reminds him of the makeshift jazz club he owned near Pasadena’s Ice House in the ’70s.

Places like that are on edge in L.A. these days. Local clubs such as ETA and the Blue Whale (where Bradford recorded a live album in 2018) have closed or faced hard times postpandemic. Others, like the new Blue Note in Hollywood, have big aspirations. He’s hopeful L.A. jazz — ever an improvisational art form — will survive and thrive even after the loss of a neighborhood like Altadena displaced so many artists. “I remember someone coming into our club in the ’70s and saying he hated the music we were playing. I asked him what he didn’t like about it, and he said, ‘Well, everything.’ I told him, ‘Maybe this isn’t the place for you then,’” Bradford laughed. “You can’t live in Los Angeles without that spirit. There are always going to be new places to play.”

Bobby Bradford rehearses in Pasadena.

(Michael Rowe / For The Times)

He’s worried about the country, though, as many once-settled questions about who belongs in America are called into doubt under the current president. January’s wildfires proved to him, very intimately, that the most fixed points in one’s life and community are vulnerable.

Even Jackie Robinson, whose feats seemed an indisputable point of pride for all Americans, had his military career temporarily scrubbed from government websites in a recent purge against allegedly “woke” history.

“I thought we had rowed ourselves across the River Jordan,” Bradford said, shaking his head. “But now we’re back on the other side again. We thought we had arrived.”

Who knows how many years of performing Bradford has left. But as the sound of his melancholy horn arced through a sweltering Pasadena afternoon, one couldn’t help but be grateful to still have him here playing, even after losing everything.

“You know, in his first game, in three times at bat, Jackie Robinson didn’t get a hit,” he said. “Folks said, ‘Oh, it’s so sad. We told you he couldn’t play on a professional level.’ But when you dig into it, you discover that he didn’t get a hit at the game, but he laid down a sacrifice to score the winning run.”

THE remains of a Brit researcher who died in Antarctica have been discovered nearly six decades after a tragic accident.

Dennis “Tink” Bell, at the time 25, fell into a crevasse during an Antarctic mission – leaving his devastated family unable to repatriate his body.

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Dennis’s body was never recovered until January 29 – when a team of Polish researchers from the Henryk Arctowski Polish Antarctic Station stumbled upon bones later confirmed to be his.

His brother, David Bell, told the BBC: “I had long given up on finding my brother. It is just remarkable, astonishing. I can’t get over it.”

Born in 1934, Dennis worked with the RAF and trained as a meteorologist before joining the Falkland Islands Dependencies Survey – later renamed the British Antarctic Survey.

In 1958, he began a two-year posting at the UK base in Admiralty Bay, Antarctica.

His main role was to send up weather balloons and radio the data back to the UK every three hours – work that meant firing up a generator in brutal sub-zero conditions.

The base sat on King George Island – around 75 miles off the northern tip of the Antarctic Peninsula.

Archivist Ieuan Hopkins from the British Antarctic Survey unearthed detailed reports describing work on the “ridiculously isolated” island.

One report described Dennis as “cheerful and industrious, with a mischievous sense of humour and fondness for practical jokes”.

He was said to have loved the husky dogs that pulled sledges around the island and was known as the hut’s best cook – often managing the food store through the long winter when no supplies could get in.

The fatal accident happened just weeks after his 25th birthday, while Dennis was surveying King George Island to help map the terrain.

On July 26 1959 – deep in the Antarctic winter – Dennis and his colleague and pal Jeff Stokes had climbed and surveyed a glacier.

Dennis was encouraging the weary dogs but wasn’t wearing his skis when he suddenly vanished into a crevasse, according to British Antarctic Survey accounts.

Jeff shouted down to him and Dennis was able to call back, grabbing hold of a rope lowered in a rescue attempt.

The dogs pulled at the rope, hauling Dennis – who had attached it to his belt – up towards the edge of the hole.

6

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But tragically, the belt broke and Dennis fell back into the crevasse.

When Jeff called out again, Dennis didn’t reply.

David Bell recalled how, in July 1959, a telegram boy knocked on the door of the Bells’ family home in Harrow, London to deliver the devastating news of Dennis’ death.

He said two men from Dennis’s base later visited the family and brought a sheepskin as a gesture of sympathy.

“But there was no conclusion. There was no service; there was no anything. Just Dennis gone,” David says.

David described feeling overwhelmed by the news and expressed his gratitude to the Polish researchers who found his remains.

“I’m just sad my parents never got to see this day,” he said.

David, who lives in Australia, plans to visit England with his sister Valerie so they can lay their beloved brother to rest.

“It’s wonderful; I’m going to meet my brother. You might say we shouldn’t be thrilled, but we are,” David said.

“He’s been found – he’s come home now.”

Professor Dame Jane Francis, Director of the British Antarctic Survey, paid tribute to Dennis: “Dennis was one of the many brave personnel who contributed to the early science and exploration of Antarctica under extraordinarily harsh conditions.

“Even though he was lost in 1959, his memory lived on among colleagues and in the legacy of polar research.”

Since 1944, 29 people have died working in the British Antarctic Territory on scientific missions, according to the British Antarctic Monument Trust.

Among them were Alan Sharman and Russell Thompson, who also died in 1959.

6

Khan Younes, Gaza – A dear companion doesn’t have to be human to be deeply missed when lost.

Sometimes, it’s a phone – a loyal witness to your joys and sorrows, your moments of sweetness and darkest chapters of pain.

In the harshness of life in the world’s largest open-air prison, it becomes more than a device. It’s an extension of yourself; your portal to the world, your way of reaching loved ones scattered across the prison or outside it.

Through its lens, you sometimes capture joy and beauty, but more often, it only captures falling rockets or the rubble of houses covering the corpses of their residents.

But what are you left with when that loyal companion is disappeared by the genocidal chaos?

My phone succumbed to its injuries

My phone succumbed to its injuries.

I can’t believe I’m describing it this way, with the same phrase I use when reporting on thousands of my people killed after being denied urgent medical treatment, punished simply for surviving Israeli bombs.

But in its own way, my phone endured its share of this prolonged Israeli cruelty, the technocide of power-starvation, corrosion by dust and sand, suffocation in overheated tents, and the constant torment of poor connection.

It tried to hold on, but everyone has a limit of endurance. It fell the day we left our damaged home for our 14th displacement amid chaotic stampeding crowds.

Somehow it survived the heavy blow, but it only lasted 70 days after its screen cracked, its body blistered, until its wounds spread too far to bear.

And then it went dark for good.

Oddly, I felt consoled. Not because it wasn’t painful, but because I wasn’t alone. I’ve seen the same happen to others: Friends, relatives watching their phones slowly perish, just like the people they loved.

Strangely, we find comfort in these small shared losses. Our loved ones have perished, and our wellbeing is shattering, and yet we expect our phones not to. The real miracle is that they lasted this long at all.

Smartphone addiction is thrown around as a buzzword. But in Gaza, if you’re lucky enough to still have one, it’s not an addiction, it is survival.

It’s an escape. A small, glowing portal you cling to. It helps you slip briefly into the past, scrolling through memories, staring at the faces of loved ones who are now names on graves or names you still whisper in hope.

Your phone’s emotionless memory still holds their beautiful smiles. It connects you to people you can’t reach, voices you can’t otherwise hear. It dulls the pain not by healing it, but by distracting you.

Like a hunger you can’t satisfy, so you scroll through reels of mouth-watering food, mocking your emptiness.

You watch strangers at family dinners while your table is buried under rubble. You wonder, how dare they post such scenes, knowing that children are being starved to death a few kilometres away? And yet you keep scrolling, because for a moment, it’s a brutal soothing sedative.

‘Are you alive?’

When you’re someone who reports daily on the ongoing genocide to the world, finding a new companion becomes an inevitable must. Yet the quest is disastrous in Gaza.

You might think it’s impossible to find one here, where life has become ruins and even bread is scarce, but surprisingly, there are plenty of options, even the latest high-end brands that somehow found their way through the blockade.

But this is Gaza, where a bag of flour costs $700, so the cost of a phone is on a whole different level.

Even the lowest-quality phones in makeshift shops sell for more than what it costs to build the shop itself, inflated by genocidal conditions.

And it doesn’t stop there. You must pay in cash, in a place where almost nothing is free except the air you breathe.

An iPhone might cost $1,000 elsewhere, but here it costs $4,200.

So you turn to cheaper options, hoping for something more affordable, but the calculations remain the same.

But that’s not me – because either way, by spending such unthinkable amounts, you’re solidifying the very reality your captors are trying to impose, and doing it with your own money.

You realise that you’re feeding into their design. We’re already draining whatever’s left in our pockets just for flour during this genocidal siege, and we don’t know how long it will last.

So you cling to what you have, to avoid paying your soul at a GHF centre for deadly “aid” you’ll never get.

For a while now, I’ve felt paralysed, a helplessness especially familiar during June’s two-week total communication blackout imposed by Israel – during which my phone finally died in total silence.

When the captor cuts yet another lifeline, it’s more than just being unable to check on loved ones. It means ambulances can’t be called. It means a wounded person might die in the dark, unheard.

It’s like someone is out there, cruelly deciding when you’re allowed to contact the world or to be contacted, to receive the now-typical: “Are you alive?”

There’s a cruel irony in Israel issuing expulsion orders online even as it cuts off the networks people in Gaza need to receive them. You only find out when you see thousands flooding the streets, the earth trembling beneath their feet from Israeli attacks.

The hand that controls your digital lifeline is the same one that’s been blockading and colonising your land for years.

And you realise, with certainty, that if they could block the very air you breathe, they would not hesitate.

So, you rise

There are still moments when, instinctively, I reach out to call someone or check something – but my hand touches nothing.

My companion is gone. I remain phoneless, helpless under blockade, both digital and physical.

And then, you start to compare your shackles to the abundance your captors enjoy, genociding you with full access to every technological privilege, every luxury.

You, on the other hand, are being hunted down with the world’s most advanced weapons, under the watchful eye and silent complicity of the tech giants whose tools are backing your erasure.

While they use satellites and precision-guided missiles, you just want to tell the world you’re still here.

How vital your lost companion was. It wasn’t just a phone. It was your sword, your shield, your witness.

And in the face of this tyranny, surrendering is something you cannot afford. So, you rise.

You whisper, “Rest in power, my companion,” because we refuse to be slaughtered in silence.

We will keep telling our truth, even if all we have left is a scrap of paper and a drop of ink.

Of the 97 BBC episodes still missing from the early years, there are more yet to be discovered, thanks to private collectors

Several more lost episodes of 1960s Doctor Who are probably owned by private collectors and will turn up at some point, an expert has revealed. At present, 97 shows starring the first two Time Lords, William Hartnell and Patrick Troughton, are missing from the BBC archives.

The master tapes were believed to have been destroyed in the 1970s when it was thought no one would want to watch the black and white episodes again. But the BBC’s first archive selector, Sue Malden, said she believes some copies still exist and has made a plea for their return.

Speaking at the Recovered festival in Leicester, hosted by archive recovery project Film is Fabulous!, she added: “As far as Doctor Who goes, we do not have a statement or anything to make at the moment. We do know fairly certainly that there are episodes missing in private collections. Some members of the Film is Fabulous! team are in a considerably significant position to help on that.

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“So, when the time is right, we really do hope that it will be Film is Fabulous! that manages to return at least one or two, I don’t know, of the missing episodes of Doctor Who to the BBC.”

Only eight episodes of the show were ever repeated during the 1960s, with copies being made for sales overseas. A source said: “There’s a lot of grounds for optimism that some episodes could be returned before too long. The films will be donated to De Montfort University in Leicester, and carefully restored.”

Lost episodes were as earlier returned by collectors Francis Watson, Terry Burnett and Bruce Grenville. Since the early 1980s, a trickle of copies have been sent back to the BBC, with a batch of nine shows starring Troughton being recovered in 2013 after being found in Nigeria. The most likely stories to turn up are:

1 The Tenth Planet, episode 4, October 29, 1966 Final Hartnell show where he defeated the Cybermen for the first time.

2 The Daleks’ Master Plan, episode 4, December 4, 1965 The Daleks’ Master Plan serial was never shown outside the UK but three episodes of this 12-part epic survive.

3 Marco Polo (broadcast from 22 February – March 4, 1964) Many copies of this were sold around the world.

4 The Web of Fear, episode 3 (broadcast February 17, 1968) Featuring Troughton battling the Yeti on the London Underground, other episodes were returned in 2013.

5 The Macra Terror (broadcast from March 11 – April 1, 1967) Introduced the first set of opening titles to feature Troughton’s face. Doctor and friends encounter a race of giant alien crabs.

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Piastri had demonstrated how difficult it is for the driver on pole to lead by the end of the first lap at Spa by losing the sprint race win to Red Bull’s Max Verstappen.

The Dutchman slipstreamed past Piastri up the hill to Les Combes, and then held the McLaren at bay for 15 laps, while Norris followed closely in third.

In the grand prix, it was Norris in front, with Piastri in second and Piastri had been thinking about the opportunity this presented him since losing out on pole the day before.

McLaren team boss Andrea Stella said: “This weekend, Oscar, if anything, the only inaccuracy was in qualifying, where his laps weren’t perfect.

“At the same time, we have to say that after the sprint qualifying, he said, ‘Yeah, I’m in pole position, but maybe this is not the right place to be in pole position.’

“And as a joke, after the qualifying yesterday, he said, ‘That was not my best lap in Q3, but perhaps this is the best place not to have the best lap in Q3.'”

Sure enough, Piastri took the lead on lap one of the grand prix, just as Verstappen had the day before.

“I had a good run out of Turn One,” he said, “and then tried to be as brave as I could through Eau Rouge and was able to stay pretty close. After that, the slipstream did the rest for me.

“When I watched the onboard back, it didn’t look quite as scary as it felt in the car. I knew that I had to be very committed to pull that off.”

But Norris could have done a better job. For a start, he failed to build himself a gap over the finish line by arguably going too early at the restart. Then he made a mistake at La Source, which allowed Piastri to be right on his tail approaching Eau Rouge.

“I didn’t have the best Turn One,” Norris said. “So it’s hard to know how much that played a part. At the same time, Oscar came past me pretty easily. So even if I had a better Turn One, his run and the slipstream probably still would have got me.”

Stella said: “It would have always been very difficult for Lando to keep the position starting first at the safety car restart. At the same time, I think Lando didn’t help himself by not having a great gap on the finish line.”

From camps in Borno to street corners in Jos or online forums in Lagos, Nigerians are asking the same question: “Who’s responsible for our safety?” 

It echoes louder each time a village is attacked, a school is shut, or families are forced to flee again. The country is replete with soldiers and police checkpoints. A new special task force is formed frequently. Yet, the violence continues.

Across the North East, insurgents wage a relentless campaign, displacing communities and destabilising entire regions. Separatist agitation is volatile in the South East, feeding unrest and confrontation. The North West is plagued by the kind of terrorism that blurs the line between ideological violence and organised crime, while the North Central battles a dangerous mix of terrorism and sectarian conflict. 

In Nigeria’s commercial centres, violent crime festers, expressing itself through kidnappings, cult clashes, and armed robbery that no longer respect time or place. Each is complex, rooted in history, grievances, and deep socio-economic fractures. Though different, they all persist, grow, and adapt despite the government’s multi-pronged security interventions. For every new strategy launched or force deployed, the violence seems to morph and resurface elsewhere, often with greater ferocity.

The military’s grip on internal security

Nigeria’s reliance on the military for internal security is not new. A retired Assistant Inspector-General of Police (AIG) notes it began during the military era, when armed forces sought visibility and influence, often at the cost of the police.

Brigadier General Saleh Bala (rtd.), a veteran of many military campaigns and the president of White Ink Institute, provides deeper historical context. He links the military’s domestic role to the post-colonial period, particularly the Tiv riots and Operation Wetie in the Western Region. Even then, while police retained the lead, the military’s active support gradually expanded.

According to Bala, the real shift occurred post-civil war, with surging armed robbery in urban areas during the era of notorious figures like Oyenusi and Anini. The police’s inability to match this threat due to outdated equipment, low morale, and inadequate training enabled the military’s growing internal role. This, he says, was cemented further after the 1983 coup, where regime protection became paramount following attempts by then Inspector General of Police (IGP) Sunday Adewusi to thwart the coup.

These developments paved the way for the military’s sustained involvement in internal policing through state-led operations like “Operation Sweep” under General Buba Marwa, which set the template for numerous state-level joint task forces today.

The AIG remarks, “The result was that the police were denied funding for equipment and training, lost morale, and slowly withdrew.” Bala adds that while military interventions initially curtailed violent crime, overexposure led to diminishing professionalism and allegations of abuse similar to those levied against the police.

Soldiers as police: a reversal of roles

Today, soldiers respond to crime scenes, enforce curfews in peacetime cities, and patrol highways. The line between policing and military duties has blurred, with the military often serving as the de facto internal security force.

Bala agrees with this description but clarifies, “The military does not assume this role unilaterally. It acts only when requested by civil authorities and sanctioned by the President through the National Security Council.” He emphasises that this support role is constitutional and subsidiary, designed to help the police regain control and hand over post-stabilisation.

Where the AIG sees erosion of roles, Bala sees the outcome of evolving threats, particularly hybrid threats like Boko Haram and multi-layered terrorism, that overwhelm police capacity. However, both agree that the police must be revitalised to regain primacy in internal security.

Policing the elite, not the public

The CLEEN Foundation and a number of other civil society organisations in Nigeria have written extensively on the drift from securing the nation by the police to a troubling focus on protecting VIPs, in addition to widespread corruption and low faith in the police institution.

The AIG points out a disturbing trend: officers cluster around VIPs, leaving ordinary citizens exposed. This elite capture of police services, coupled with a dismal police-to-citizen ratio in most African countries, including Nigeria, undermines the safety and security of citizens.

Brigadier General Bala refrains from directly challenging this critique but shifts focus toward the need for the police to “rise above their preference for soft, high-profile urban operations.” He urges a move toward rural policing and special operations, citing international examples where law enforcement operates capably across diverse terrains.

He stresses political leadership as the driver of such reform: “The police need political direction to prioritise nationwide security expectations over elite security needs.”

Too many uniforms, too little coordination

HumAngle has, over the years, documented Nigeria’s bloated security environment, in which the DSS, NSCDC, Immigration, Customs, and other agencies frequently act in opposition. Intelligence is delayed, mandates are unclear, and many outfits lack focus.

The AIG calls for streamlining, suggesting that the DSS return to its 1980s and 1990s focus on community-centric intelligence gathering, while the NSCDC personnel be redeployed as a foundation for state police. Many analysts offered similar advice for merging vigilantes and dozens of self-help militias across the country into the NSCDC and maybe decentralising this outfit into regional police, rather than each state in Nigeria having semi-autonomous or independent security force.

“Rather than 36 separate police entities, we should have regional police that are in line with Nigeria’s six geographical zones,” a top police officer in Abuja said, adding that if state-based police institutions are adopted, governors who already have authority over local government administration “will muster too much power.”

The crisis of imagination

The AIG argues that Nigeria’s insecurity stems from a flawed belief that force alone ensures safety. Instead, he champions investigative policing, forensic tools, training, and direct departmental budgeting.

Bala provides a broader context: “Warfare itself is now institutionally all-encompassing. Security threats are increasingly urban and asymmetric. Policing must now be part of a whole-of-government, all-of-society approach.”

He warns of the “militarisation of all security forces” due to adversaries’ tactics. He draws attention to advanced democracies where police forces are as capable as some militaries. This, he suggests, should inform Nigeria’s transformation: building police forces that are not only community-responsive but also operationally hardened.

Restoring trust, rebuilding institutions

The AIG proposes revamping police colleges in Ikeja, Kaduna, and Maiduguri into detective hubs. He calls for merit-based recruitment and unassailable discipline to restore legitimacy.

Bala doesn’t directly oppose these views but reiterates the need for synergy: “Military, intelligence, law enforcement, and paramilitaries must become domain-specific specialists who can adapt across blurred threat boundaries.”

Both agree that trust in the police can only be restored through professionalism, neutrality (especially during elections), and effective public service—not militarisation.

Towards a new vision

Nigeria stands at a crossroads. Its current security model, built on elite protection and military overreach, is unsustainable. Both Bala and the AIG call for a pivot towards decentralised, professional policing, political will, and community-grounded justice.

Bala underscores the need for coherence: “The answer lies in orchestrated cooperation. Security cannot be left to force projection alone. It must be institutional, strategic, and inclusive.”

In a country overwhelmed by uniforms, one truth endures: security is not guaranteed by presence, but by purpose. And that purpose must be justice.

WASHINGTON — Filmmaker Peter Jackson owns one of the largest private collections of bones of an extinct New Zealand bird called the moa. His fascination with the flightless ostrich-like bird has led to an unusual partnership with a biotech company known for its grand and controversial plans to bring back lost species.

Last week, Colossal Biosciences announced an effort to genetically engineer living birds to resemble the extinct South Island giant moa — which stood 12 feet tall — with $15 million in funding from Jackson and his partner, Fran Walsh. The collaboration also includes the New Zealand-based Ngai Tahu Research Center.

“The movies are my day job, and the moa are my fun thing I do,” Jackson said. “Every New Zealand schoolchild has a fascination with the moa.”

Outside scientists say the idea of bringing back extinct species onto the modern landscape is likely impossible, although it may be feasible to tweak the genes of living animals to have similar physical traits. Scientists have mixed feelings on whether that will be helpful, and some worry that focusing on lost creatures could distract from protecting species that still exist.

The moa had roamed New Zealand for 4,000 years until they became extinct around 600 years ago, mainly because of overhunting. A large skeleton brought to England in the 19th century, now on display at the Yorkshire Museum, prompted international interest in the long-necked bird.

An artist’s depiction of the largest species of moa, the South Island giant moa, which could stand 12 feet tall.

(Colossal Biosciences via AP)

Unlike Colossal’s work with dire wolves, the moa project is in very early stages. It started with a phone call about two years ago after Jackson heard about the company’s efforts to “de-extinct” — or create genetically similar animals to — species such as the woolly mammoth and the dire wolf.

Then Jackson put Colossal in touch with experts he’d met through his own moa bone collecting. At that point, he’d amassed 300 to 400 bones, he said.

In New Zealand, it’s legal to buy and sell moa bones found on private lands, but not on public conservation areas — nor to export them.

The first stage of the moa project will be to identify well-preserved bones from which it may be possible to extract DNA, Colossal’s chief scientist, Beth Shapiro, said.

Those DNA sequences will be compared with genomes of living bird species, including the ground-dwelling tinamou and emu, “to figure out what it is that made the moa unique compared to other birds,” she said.

Colossal used a similar process of comparing ancient DNA of extinct dire wolves to determine the genetic differences with gray wolves. Then scientists took blood cells from a living gray wolf and used the CRISPR gene-editing tool to modify them at 20 sites. Pups with long white hair and muscular jaws were born late last year.

Working with birds presents different challenges, Shapiro said.

Unlike mammals, bird embryos develop inside eggs, so the process of transferring an embryo to a surrogate will not look like mammalian IVF.

“There’s lots of different scientific hurdles that need to be overcome with any species that we pick as a candidate for de-extinction,” Shapiro said. “We are in the very early stages.”

If the Colossal team succeeds in creating a tall bird with huge feet and thick pointed claws resembling the moa, there’s also the pressing question of where to put it, said Duke University ecologist Stuart Pimm, who is not involved in the project.

“Can you put a species back into the wild once you’ve exterminated it there?” he said. “I think it’s exceedingly unlikely that they could do this in any meaningful way.”

“This will be an extremely dangerous animal,” Pimm added.

The direction of the project will be shaped by Maori scholars at the University of Canterbury’s Ngai Tahu Research Center. Ngai Tahu archaeologist Kyle Davis, an expert in moa bones, said the work has “really reinvigorated the interest in examining our own traditions and mythology.”

At one of the archaeological sites that Jackson and Davis visited to study moa remains, called Pyramid Valley, there are also antique rock art done by Maori people — some depicting moa before their extinction.

The South Island giant moa at 12 feet tall would dwarf even the tallest humans.

(Colossal Biosciences via AP)

Paul Scofield, a project advisor and senior curator of natural history at the Canterbury Museum in Christchurch, New Zealand, said he first met the “Lord of the Rings” director when he went to his house to help him identity which of the nine known species of moa the various bones represented.

“He doesn’t just collect some moa bones; he has a comprehensive collection,” Scofield said.

Larson writes for the Associated Press. The Associated Press Health and Science Department receives support from the Howard Hughes Medical Institute’s Science and Educational Media Group and the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation. The AP is solely responsible for all content.

Worried your summer holiday will be ruined by lost luggage? Check out these 3 simple rules that can slash the risk of your suitcases being left behind – or ending up in a different country altogether

Don’t let lost luggage spoil your holiday this summer with these three simple but effective preventative measures.

There is nothings worse than finally making it through border control, only to find your suitcase never even boarded the plane – or has magically ended up somewhere else. It’s a nightmare scenario that impacts millions of tourists every single year, despite technological advancing improving tracking capabilities.

Last year, it is thought 33.4 millions bags were mishandled, a slight decrease compared to the 33.8 million pieces of luggage that were mishandles in 2023 – but still an alarmingly high figure. While the majority of lost bags do end up being recovered – it can sometimes takes several days before you’ll be reunited with your holiday wardrobe, which can completely short, or city-hopping trips.

READ MORE: UK airports to face ‘busiest summer ever’ as worst days to fly are named

However, The Independent has compiled three easy steps you can follow to drastically reduce the chances of rocking up to your hotel with nothing but the clothes on your back. “When booking flights, be aware that many of the bags that go missing are lost at connecting hubs such as London Heathrow, Paris CDG, Amsterdam, Frankfurt, Istanbul, Madrid,” the publication explained. “So you might want to pay a premium for a direct flight rather than one where you and your luggage are obliged to change planes.”

If you’re travelling short-haul to popular destinations such as Spain and Portugal, this will be a breeze. However, if you’re travelling long-haul, it might not be feasible – even if you’re willing to pay more.

Another handy piece of advise to stick to is making sure your contact details are included in your bag. This will help maximise the chances of your luggage being returned to you, especially if any external tags have been accidentally ripped off. It’s worth including you name, physical address, email and a phone number on a piece of paper – and placing it on the inside of the bag.

Of course, the easiest way to make sure your luggage doesn’t get lost is to not check-in any bags to begin with. This may not always be possible – but if you’re only going away for a few nights, you’ll easily be able to fit all of your essentials in a cabin bag.

Airlines such as British Airways (BA) actually allow customers to bring two pieces of luggage: a hand bag up to 40 x 30 x 15cm that can weigh up to 23kg but must fit under the seat in front of you, and a cabin bag to be stored in the overhead lockers. This can be up to 56 x 45 x 25cm in size and can also weigh up to 23kg.

As previously reported, even low-cost airline Ryanair is increasing the size of its free cabin bag following an EU ruling. Currently, passengers unwilling to pay for additional luggage must make sure their free ‘personal bag’ does not exceed 40 X 25 X 20cm – a volume of just 20 litres.

However, in the coming weeks, Ryanair will increase this to 40 X 30 X 20cm. It is still smaller than rival easyJet, which allows passengers to bring a free under seat bag of 45 x 36 x 20cm (including wheels and handles).

Do you have a story to share? Email us at [email protected] for a chance to be featured.

Both players are understandably going to be nervous coming into the match – it’s the Wimbledon final! The outcome will likely come down to who manages the occasion better.

Anisimova was pretty nervous in her quarter-final win against Anastasia Pavyluchenkova, to the point where she kept dropping to the floor on her haunches in the last couple of games – even when it wasn’t match point.

It was an illustration of the feeling of desperation she was facing as she edged closer to victory.

We saw similar reactions a few times early on in the semi-final against Aryna Sabalenka too but she managed to settle more as the match went on.

Swiatek, having won majors and having been the world number one for such a long time, has the edge in terms of experience – that absolutely counts for a lot.

But Anisimova has nothing to lose. Of course she is desperate to win the Wimbledon final, but at the start of the fortnight she would never have thought she would actually be here in the championship match.

She can close her eyes in the final and have a swing – which fits best into what she does. This circumstances allows her to be more dangerous.

So she can go out there and play freely, whereas I think Swiatek might feel extra pressure.

Swiatek has never won the singles title here, she’s the higher ranked and many people will expect her to lift the trophy.

I think being the underdog favours Anisimova and it fits in well with her aggressive game style.

These are such crazy times that when I found myself desperate to cover some good news amid deportations and Trump overreach, I visited … Huntington Beach?!

MAGA-by-the-Sea? The Orange County city that once elected MMA legend Tito Ortiz to its governing body, which currently includes guys named Chad and Butch? Where Mayor Pat Burns presides over council meetings with a small white bust of Donald Trump in front of him?

The coastal community that’s been a hotbed of neo-Nazi activity for decades? Whose factory setting is whiny gringo rage? Whose former city attorney, Michael Gates, sued California to keep out of his hometown everything from sanctuary state policies to affordable housing mandates and is now a deputy U.S. assistant attorney general for civil rights, which is like putting a butcher in charge of a vegan picnic?

Can that Huntington Beach teach the rest of us a thing — or thirty — not just about how to stand up to despotism, but how to beat it back?

Yep!

Earlier this month, Surf City voters overwhelmingly passed two ballot initiatives addressing their libraries. Measure A nixed a parent review board, created by the City Council, that would have taken the power to select children’s books away from librarians. Measure B barred the privatization of the city’s library system, after the council had considered the idea.

It was a resounding rebuke of H.B.’s conservatives, who had steamrolled over city politics for the past two and a half years and turned what was a 4-3 Democratic council majority three years ago into a 7-0 MAGA supermajority.

Among the pet projects for the new guard was the library, which council members alleged was little better than a smut shop because the young adult section featured books about puberty and LGBTQ+ issues. Earlier this year, the council approved a plaque commemorating the library’s 50th anniversary that will read, “Magical. Alluring. Galvanizing. Adventurous.”

MAGA.

“They went too far, too fast, and it’s not what people signed up for,” said Oscar Rodriguez, an H.B. native.

We were at a private residence near downtown H.B. that was hosting a victory party for the library measures. The line to get in stretched onto the sidewalk. A sign near the door proclaimed, “Not All of Us in H.B. Wear Red Hats.” A banner on the balcony of the two-story home screamed, “Protect Our Kids From Chad,” referring to City Councilmember Chad Williams, who bankrolled much-ridiculed “Protect Children from Porn” signs against Measures A and B.

“Look, Huntington Beach is very conservative, very MAGA — always will be,” Rodriguez continued. We stood in the kitchen as people loaded their plates with salad and pizza. Canvas bags emblazoned with “Protect HB” and the Huntington Beach Pier — the logo for the coalition that pushed for the measures — hung from many shoulders. “But people of all politics were finally disgusted and did something together to stand up.”

People line up to enter a house in Huntington Beach that hosted a victory pary for the passage of Measures A and B, which addressed issues with the city’s library.

(John McCoy/For The Times)

“On election night, I was jumping up and down, because it was happening here,” said former Councilmember Natalie Moser, who lost her reelection bid last year and volunteered for Protect HB. “It creates joy and enthusiasm, and I hope others can see what we did and take hope.”

There was no chatter about the ICE raids that were terrorizing swaths of Southern California. A Spotify mix blared “Don’t Fear the Reaper,” AC/DC and the ever-annoying “Hey, Soul Sister” by Train. The crowd of about 90 volunteers was mostly white and boomers. More than a few bore tans so dark that they were browner than me.

We were in Huntington Beach, after all.

And yet these were the folks that fueled Protect HB’s successful campaign. They leaned on social media outreach, door knocking, rallies and a nonpartisan message stressing the common good that was the city library.

Christine Padesky and Cindy Forsthoff staffed tables around the city in the lead-up to Election Day.

“Time and time again, I had people come up to me say, ‘We’re Republican, we’re Christian, we voted for this council, but they’ve gone too far,’” Padesky said.

Forsthoff, a Huntington Beach resident for 36 years, agreed. She had never participated in a political campaign before Measures A and B. “When they [politicians] take such extreme steps, people will come,” she said.

The bro-rock soundtrack faded out and the program began.

“My gosh, we did this!” exclaimed Protect HB co-chair Pat Goodman, who had been checking people in at the door just a few moments earlier.

“I don’t think those neighbors know who we are,” cracked Protect HB co-chair Cathey Ryder, hinting at the uphill battle they faced in a city where registered Republicans outnumber Democrats. “Show them you’re a supporter of good government.”

She led everyone in the cheesy, liberty-minded chant that had inspired volunteers throughout the campaign.

What do we want to do?

Read!

How do we want to read?

Free!

We were in Huntington Beach, after all.

The speeches lasted no more than seven minutes total. The volunteers wanted to enjoy the brisk evening and gather around an outdoor fireplace to make S’mores and enjoy a beer or two. Besides, they deserved to revel in their accomplishment and discuss what was next — not just in Huntington Beach, but how to translate what happened there into a replicable lesson for others outside the city.

The key, according to Dave Rynerson, is to accept political differences and remind everyone that what’s happening in this country — whether on the Huntington Beach City Council or in the White House — isn’t normal.

“As bad as things may seem, you can’t give up,” the retired systems engineer said. “You have to remind people this is our country, our lives, and we need to take care of it together.”

Mayor of Huntington Beach Pat Burns listens to speakers discuss the city’s plan to make Huntington Beach “a non-sanctuary city for illegal immigration” during the Huntington Beach City Council meeting at the Huntington Beach City Hall in Huntington Beach.

(James Carbone/For the Daily Pilot)

Huntington Beach isn’t going to turn into Berkeley anytime soon. It’s one of the few California cities that has declared itself a nonsanctuary city and fully in support of Trump’s immigration policies. The architect of MAGA’s Huntington Beach takeover, Tony Strickland, was elected to the state senate earlier this year. His acolyte, Councilmember Gracey Van Der Mark, plans to run for assembly next year.

But feeling the happiness at the Protect HB dinner, even if just for an evening, was a much-needed balm at a time when it seems nothing can stop Trump. And meeting regular people like Greg and Carryl Hytopoulos should inspire anyone to get involved.

Married for 50 years and Surf City residents for 44, they own a water pipeline protection service and had never bothered with city politics. But the council’s censorious plans for the library made them “outraged, and this was enough,” said Carryl. “We needed to make an impact, and we couldn’t just sit idly by.”

They outfitted one of their work trucks with large poster boards in favor of Measures A and B and parked it around the city. More crucially, the couple, both Democrats, talked about the issue with their neighbors in Huntington Harbour, an exclusive neighborhood that Trump easily won in 2024.

“When we explained what were the stakes, they listened,” Greg said.

Carryl smiled.

“There’s a quiet majority that, when provoked, can rise up and save the day.”

An abandoned village that was purposefully flooded to make way for a huge reservoir has exposed itself several times in the last 70 years – as visitors marvel at the remains

An abandoned village that was submerged underwater back in the 1940s mystically reveals itself due to a rare phenomenon.

For years, Derwent thrived as a vibrant village – one that seemed utterly irreplaceable to its residents. Situated in the heart of the Peak District, in Derbyshire, the tiny community boasted its own school, a stunning church, and an impressive country manor house with immaculately manicured gardens, ornamental trees and a large fishpond.

Locals resided on cosy streets in limestone cottages – with stunning views of the rolling countryside at their doorstep. However, between 1935 and 1943, plans to flood the entire village – along with the neighbouring community of Ashopton, were given the green-light.

READ MORE: Abandoned UK island untouched for nearly 100 years just yards from seaside town

Despite protests from locals, who had to evacuate the villages to the nearby Yorkshire Bridge estate, the entire area was transformed into a sweeping dam in 1943, just two years before the end of World War Two. Over time, rain and mountain-run off started to fill the valley, and Derwent slowly became completely submerged under water.

Now known as Ladybower Reservoir, this impressive sheet of blue can hold a whopping 27,869 mega litres of water – and serves the neighbouring cities of Derby, Sheffield, and Nottingham. It has become a popular site for walkers and nature lovers, and underwent major refurbishment during the 1990s to raise and increase the strength of the dam’s wall to reduce the risk of ‘over-topping’ in a major flood.

But, in 2018, the lost village exposed itself once again – following an ‘exceptionally dry and hot summer’ that drastically decreased the reservoir’s water levels. Images show the ruins of Derwent, which had long been forgotten about, still remain intact – including the foundations of the church and hall, along with some of the cottage’s walls.

The village appeared again in 2022, following similar weather conditions that lowered water levels in the reservoir. The phenomenon attracted swathes of tourists who flocked to the site to marvel at the remains of a railway that became temporarily visible.

At the time, a spokesperson for Severn Trent warned visitors to be ‘aware’ that the exposed reservoir bed was ‘extremely muddy and not safe to walk in’. “You can get a great view of both the chapel and the railway from the shoreline,” they added. “Please do not walk out to the ruins.”

If scorching temperatures continue to swelter the UK, the chances of Derwent revealing itself increases. However, with downpours of rain slated to brutally end the on-going heatwave – the village may remain underwater this year.

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