Random Doctor Who Picture

Ah! The BBC Foam machine. For a brief period, it figured prominently in Doctor Who.


It was agreeable, thought Sir Oliver Brumpage, to be in Heggleton and to feel work under his hands again. Oh, one could not fault the care he had at Bexbury House! – Charley the kindest of daughters, Abertyldd quite the most attentive of sons-in-law, would come discourse with him of matters going forward in the Lords – every thought took for his comfort – the grandchildren an entire pleasure –
But was not ready to be put out to grass just yet! And there were matters of business, both to do with the manufactories and about the impending election, where action at a distance would hardly answer. But, oh, the fuss and fret that he intended this jaunt – sure, Pa, Barton is entire devoted to you, but he is no longer a young man –
So it had come around that young Ollie – the Honble Oliver Parry-Lloyd, Abertyldd and Charley’s second son – came with him, and was showing very promising. Naturally was invited about a good deal in what was considered Society in Heggleton – an exciting new face, and, Sir Oliver conceded to himself, a handsome one that took after the Parry-Lloyds rather than the Brumpages! also a talented musician that could play the bassoon, the bass-fiddle and the pianoforte. One must suppose that were mothers and young ladies looking him over with great interest.
Was also showing himself usefully entering into the family business, that one might not have anticipated. Had not been particularly educated to that end – his brother, Brumpage, the heir, was showing very meritorious conscientious and practical-minded over the management of the Abertyldd estates, that had give Sir Oliver a little hope that they were not all going to turn out a set of idle fribbles –
Well, had he not supposed George Abertyldd entire the like of that when had first encountered him in Society? Perchance no rake – that set about Lord Raxdell give out well-conducted young men given to sporting prowess and niceness of dress in emulation of him – indeed, he had soon been disabused of the notion that Raxdell himself had no thoughts beyond cricket, curricles and cravats, was the greatest friend of Ferraby, had had the wit to appoint MacDonald his secretary –
And here Abertyldd was, entire dutiful about his responsibilities in the government of the nation – perchance not a deep thinker on political oeconomy but was prepared to listen to the counsels of MacDonald and Sir Barton Wallace – that was advized by that wisest of women his wife – and his own father-in-law.
Had he not said somewhat of his concerns to Dowager Lady Bexbury? Had she not responded that, la, young men would kick up their heels, and she could tell tales of His Grace of Mulcaster when he was Lord Sallington! And look at how young Bobbie Wallace has sobered up now he has married!
'Twas true. But – somehow – as he looked at Ben Wilson, that was making such a notable career for himself as an engineer, he wondered whether one should turn out young men to make their own way in the world rather than eat the bread of idleness. Here was Ben – the black son of servants, even were those the famed Hector and Euphemia – gone work with Enoch Dalgleish in Firlbrough, become sufficiently respected for his capacities that like unto the Industrious Apprentice, was the accepted suitor of Dalgleish’s daughter Lucy –
Became most particular interested in matters of aids for the crippled – improved invalid chairs and false limbs, &C, in an enterprize with that fellow Hicks that had been a military surgeon in the Punjaub and Ben’s own sister, the nurse Patience.
There he was looking over Sir Oliver’s invalid chair, and making certain little repairs and improvements, and commenting that they were coming about to superior models now – a deal more comfortable – smoother in movement –
Did one good, to see that! Remarked that he would certainly invest in one of those – 'twas entire false oeconomy to make do in such case –
Ben nodded, and said, entirely so.
The matter proceeded to some discussion of investment – one did not anticipate to make great profits from such a scheme, but was the finest humanitarian endeavour – one wondered whether there might be got up some philanthropic organization to supply such aids to the deserving poor –
Ben grinned. Have already had Lady Bexbury speak to us on the matter!
Could not do better! There is a lady has fine practical notions of doing good – optical dispensaries &C – and managing 'em very effective.
And was also, he thought, a lady of exceeding kind heart, that had been a fine guide to the Brumpages when he had first been elected to Parliament and they had come to Town, and found themselves somewhat daunted by the company they found themselves in.
Ben began carefully putting his tools away – good practices – sure was one ever took ill one would feel a deal better was one in the hands of Sister Patience! everywhere commended. Said was Sir Oliver serious about investment, would send him the prospectus they were putting up – had had Sir Harry Ferraby’s advice in the matter –
The primest fellow for the thing! Splendid chap – cast in the mould of his father –
There was a little argumentation of the matter of a bill – no, no, it is useful instructive to see how these chairs bear up under use, and 'tis only fair to mend any faults –
Well, was he going to purchase an even better chair, would pay well for that! – and promote the interest of this enterprize.
Once Ben had departed, Sir Oliver returned to brooding upon Ollie – sure he was showing bustling enough about Heggleton, but should he not be returning to Town to assist Zipsie in preparing this celebration for Charley’s birthday? Did he not have a part in the cantata as the Fox in the Henhouse? Might he not take some of the burden of the rehearsals from her, given her present state?
'Twas very strange. Though perchance was Lady Theodora Saxorby not at present in Town – dared say the Pockinfords had gone down to their Shropshire estate for election matters – there was not the magnetic attraction that there had been? He was not sure what to make of Ollie’s yearnings for Thea – had they had somewhat to do with his pulling round into more responsible ways, was to the good, and yet, would aught come of it? There she was, daughter of an Earl, quite the matrimonial prize one would consider, and Ollie the second son of a mere Viscount. Little sign that Thea, that was very religious – more so, one fancied, than her sister Aggie that had married a clergyman, but that had been, gossip gave out, her fixed determination to marry her cousin Hughie Lucas, for better for worse &C – whither thou goest –
Indeed, there were rumours that the Pockinfords had been in some perturbation that Thea might join the sisterhood that was quite flourishing in Hughie’s parish. Quite anathema to Lord Pockinford’s severely Evangelical views.
A shy young woman – she and her cousin Lady Eleanor Upweston known as those white rabbits – not of looks that immediate took fellows’ admiration, but one might of a sudden be struck at her likeness to some Flemish Madonna or other in Sallingford’s collection – was not Pockinford wont to mention the ancestor that came over with Dutch William? And of course, what might be supposed in particular to catch Ollie’s interest, a beautiful singing voice, that she was now taking lessons for, even was she still hesitant over performing in public.
But here came Ollie! Had been at the works, and was anxious to convey a deal of intelligence that he had learnt – the boy came on! – and had been mindful of his grandfather’s instructions about ensuring the putting aside a quantity of the seconds to send to the Seamstresses’ Summer Workshops, that excellent enterprize.
And what did young Oliver intend doing the e’en, Sir Oliver enquired, that had a mind himself to go to an instructive lecture at the Institute, with lantern-slides, on the flora of the nearby countryside.
Oh, Ollie shifted from foot to foot, and said, was Granda going out, of course he would be upon hand to push his chair –
What, did you have some other engagement?
Not precisely, said Ollie in the tone that quite immediately evoked suspicion. Then cleared his throat and went on, well, the fact of the matter is, I was going to the theatre –
Have you not seen that play already?
– well, yes, but 'tis an excellent piece and well-acted – and then taking Miss Dalrymple for a late supper –
Miss Dalrymple? Sir Oliver raised his eyebrows in a most ferocious fashion.
That is her stage-name, Ollie explained with somewhat of a stammer, she is Rosalind Richardson – that I knew from Raxdell House parties –
His grandfather went Humph! Sure, one knew that apart from that little matter of unhallowed union, there was something entire respectable about the household of Abertyldd’s antient friend Danvers Dalrymple and the acclaimed thespian Clara Richardson. Why, his mother – a noted philanthropist and also famed for her wisdom in the matter of dogs – lived with 'em – he entire acknowledged the offspring of the match – sure there were married couples a deal more rackety!
But even so. One remembered young Orlando Richardson, that went to New South Wales some few years ago – with a company of actors, not transported! – that had had somewhat of a reputation as a great favourite with ladies. And that had he not departed for austral shores there might well have been matters of crim.con. cases if not worse brought to him.
Sir Oliver snorted softly to himself. Well, he said, I do not see why you may not sup with the young lady. Do you indite her a note apologizing for your absence from the play, and you may meet her at the stage-door later.
Blushing, Ollie was inarticulately effusively grateful at this concession.

Today's frivolous low-stakes question is: if following a recipe, to what extent do you consider "mixed lettuces", "mixed greens", and "mixed leaf salad" synonymous?
At first glance, my résumé has enough to tantalize a recruiter for America’s Gestapo-in-waiting: I enlisted in the Army straight out of high school and deployed to Afghanistan twice with the 82nd Airborne Division. After I got out, I spent a few years doing civilian analyst work. With a carefully arranged, skills-based résumé—one which omitted my current occupation—I figured I could maybe get through an initial interview.Click through to read the whole thing.
The catch, however, is that there’s only one “Laura Jedeed” with an internet presence, and it takes about five seconds of Googling to figure out how I feel about ICE, the Trump administration, and the country’s general right-wing project. My social media pops up immediately, usually with a preview of my latest posts condemning Trump’s unconstitutional, authoritarian power grab. Scroll down and you’ll find articles with titles like “What I Saw in LA Wasn’t an Insurrection; It Was a Police Riot” and “Inside Mike Johnson’s Ties to a Far-Right Movement to Gut the Constitution.” Keep going for long enough and you might even find my dossier on AntifaWatch, a right-wing website that lists alleged members of the supposed domestic terror organization. I am, to put it mildly, a less-than-ideal recruit.
In short, I figured—at least back then—that my military background would be enough to get me in the door for a good look around ICE’s application process, and then even the most cursory background check would get me shown that same door with great haste.
[...]
I completely missed the email when it came. I’d kept an eye on my inbox for the next few days, but I’d grown lax when nothing came through. But then, on Sept. 3, it popped up.
“Please note that this is a TENTATIVE offer only, therefore do not end your current employment,” the email instructed me. It then listed a series of steps I’d need to quickly take. I had 48 hours to log onto USAJobs and fill out my Declaration for Federal Employment, then five additional days to return the forms attached to the email. Among these forms: driver’s license information, an affidavit that I’ve never received a domestic violence conviction, and consent for a background check. And it said: “If you are declining the position, it is not necessary to complete the action items listed below.”
As I mentioned, I’d missed the email, so I did exactly none of these things.
And that might have been where this all ended—an unread message sinking to the bottom of my inbox—if not for an email LabCorp sent three weeks later. “Thank you for confirming that you wish to continue with the hiring process,” it read. (To be clear, I had confirmed no such thing.) “Please complete your required pre-employment drug test.”
The timing was unfortunate. Cannabis is legal in the state of New York, and I had partaken six days before my scheduled test. Then again, I hadn’t smoked much; perhaps with hydration I could get to the next stage. Worst-case scenario, I’d waste a small piece of ICE’s gargantuan budget. I traveled to my local LabCorp, peed in a cup, and waited for a call telling me I’d failed.
Nine days later, impatience got the best of me. For the first time, I logged into USAJobs and checked my application to see if my drug test had come through. What I actually saw was so implausible, so impossible, that at first I did not understand what I was looking at.
Somehow, despite never submitting any of the paperwork they sent me—not the background check or identification info, not the domestic violence affidavit, none of it—ICE had apparently offered me a job.
According to the application portal, my pre-employment activities remained pending. And yet, it also showed that I had accepted a final job offer and that my onboarding status was “EOD”—Entered On Duty, the start of an enlistment period. I moused over the exclamation mark next to “Onboarding” and a helpful pop-up appeared. “Your EOD has occurred. Welcome to ICE!”
I clicked through to my application tracking page. They’d sent my final offer on Sept. 30, it said, and I had allegedly accepted. “Welcome to Ice. … Your duty location is New York, New York. Your EOD was on Tuesday, September 30th, 2025.”
By all appearances, I was a deportation officer. Without a single signature on agency paperwork, ICE had officially hired me.

P.F. Chisholm, A Suspicion of Silver. Ninth in its mystery series, set late in the reign of Elizabeth I/in the middle of when James I and VI was still just James VI. I don't recommend starting it here, because there was a moment when I wailed, "no, not [name]!" when you won't have a very strong sense of that character from just this book. Pretty satisfying for where it is in its series, though, still enjoying. Especially as they have returned to the north, which I like much better.
Joan Coggin, Who Killed the Curate?. A light British mid-century mystery, first in its series and I'm looking forward to reading more. If you were asked to predict what a book published in 1944 with this title would be like, you would have this book absolutely bang on the nose, so if you read that title and went "ooh fun," go get it, and if you read that title and thought "oh gawd not another of those," you're not wrong either. I am very much in the "ooh fun" camp.
Matt Collins with Roo Lewis, Forest: A Journey Through Wild and Magnificent Landscapes. Photos and essays about forests, not entirely aided by its printer printing it a little toward the sepia throughout. Still a relaxing book if you are a Nice Books About Nice Trees fan, which I am.
John Darnielle, This Year: A Book of Days (365 Songs Annotated). When I first saw John Darnielle/The Mountain Goats live, I recognized him. I don't mean that I knew him before, I mean that I taught a lot of people like him physics labs once upon a time: people who had seen a lot of shit and now would like to learn some nice things about quantum mechanics please. Anyway this book was fun and interesting and confirmed that Darnielle is exactly who you'd think he was from listening to the Mountain Goats all this time.
Nadia Davids, Cape Fever. A short mildly speculative novel about a servant girl in Cape Town navigating life with a controlling and unpleasant employer. Beautifully written and gentle in places you might not have thought possible. Looking forward to whatever else Davids does.
Djuna, Counterweight. Weird space elevator novella (novel? very short one if so) in a highly corporate Ruritanian world with strong Korean cultural influences (no surprise as this is in translation from Korean). I think this slipped by a lot of SFF people and maybe shouldn't have.
Margaret Frazer, This World's Eternity. Kindle. I continue to dislike the short stories that result from Frazer trying to write Shakespeare's version of historical figures rather than what she thinks they would actually have been like. Does that mean I'll stop reading these? Hmm, I think there's only one left.
Drew Harvell, The Ocean's Menagerie: How Earth's Strangest Creatures Reshape the Rules of Life. If you like the subgenre There's Weird Stuff In The Ocean, which I do, this is a really good one of those. Gosh is there weird stuff in the ocean. Very satisfying.
Rupert Latimer, Murder After Christmas. Another light British murder mystery from 1944, another that is basically exactly what you think it is. What a shame he didn't have the chance to write a lot more.
Wen-Yi Lee, When They Burned the Butterfly. Gritty and compelling, small gods and teenage girl gangs in 1970s Singapore. Singular and great. Highly recommended.
Karen Lord, Annalee Newitz, and Malka Older, eds., We Will Rise Again: Speculative Stories and Essays on Protest, Resistance, and Hope. There's some really lovely stuff in here, and a wide variety of voices. Basically this is what you would want this kind of anthology to be.
Diarmaid MacCulloch, Lower Than the Angels: A History of Sex and Christianity. I don't pick your subtitles, authors. You and your editors are doing that. So when you claim to be a history of sex and Christianity...that is an expectation you have set. And when you don't include the Copts or the Nestorians or nearly anything about the Greek or Russian Orthodox folks and then you get to the 18th and 19th centuries and sail past the Shakers and the free love Christian communes...it is not my fault that I grumble that your book is in no way a history of sex and Christianity, you're the one that claimed it was that and then really wanted to do a history of semi-normative Western Christian sex among dominant populations. What a disappointment.
Robert MacFarlane and Jackie Morris, The Lost Spells and The Lost Words (reread). I accidentally got both of these instead of just one, but they're both brief and poetic about nature vocabulary, a good time without being a big commitment.
Robert MacFarlane, Underland: A Deep Time Journey. This is one of those broad-concept pieces of nonfiction, with burial mounds but also mycorrhizal networks. MacFarlane's prose is always readable, and this is a good time.
David Narrett, The Cherokees: In War and At Peace, 1670-1840. And again: I did not choose your subtitle, neighbor. So when you claim that your history goes through 1840...and then everything after 1796 is packed into a really brief epilogue...and I mean, what could have happened to the Cherokees after 1796 but before 1840, surely it couldn't be [checks notes] oh, one of the major events in their history as a people, sure, no, what difference could that make. Seriously, I absolutely get not wanting to write about the Trail of Tears. But then don't tell people you're writing about the Trail of Tears. Honestly, 1670-1800, who could quibble with that. But in this compressed epilogue there are paragraphs admonishing us not to forget about...people we have not learned about in this book and will have some trouble learning about elsewhere because Cherokee histories are not thick on the ground. Not as disappointing as the MacCulloch, but still disappointing.
Tim Palmer, The Primacy of Doubt: From Quantum Physics to Climate Change, How the Science of Uncertainty Can Help Us Understand Our Chaotic World. I found this to be a comfort read, which I think a lot of people won't if they haven't already gone through things like disproving hidden variables as a source of quantum uncertainty. But it'll still be interesting--maybe more so--and the stuff he worked on about climate physics is great.
Henry Reece, The Fall: Last Days of the English Republic. If you want a general history, that's the Alice Hunt book I read last fortnight. This is a more specifically focused work about the last approximately two years, the bit between Cromwell's death and the Restoration. Also really well done, also interesting, but doing a different thing. You'll probably get more out of this if you have a solid grasp on the general shape of the period first.
Randy Ribay, The Reckoning of Roku. As regular readers can attest, I mostly don't read media tie-ins--mostly just not interested. But F.C. Yee's Avatar: the Last Airbender work was really good, so I thought, all right, why not give their next author a chance. I'm glad I did. This is a fun YA fantasy novel that would probably work even if you didn't know the Avatar universe but will be even better if you do.
Madeleine E. Robins, The Doxie's Penalty. Fourth in a series of mysteries, but it's written so that you could easily start here. Well-written, well-plotted, generally enjoyable. I was thinking of rereading the earlier volumes of the series, and I'm now more, not less, motivated to do so.
Georgia Summers, The Bookshop Below. I feel like the cover of this was attempting to sell it as a cozy. It is not a cozy. It is a fantasy novel that is centered on books and bookshops, but it is about as cozy as, oh, say, Ink Blood Sister Scribe in that direction. And this is good, not everything with books in it is drama-free, look at our current lives for example. Sometimes it's nice to have a fantasy adventure that acknowledges the importance of story in our lives, and this is one of those times.
Adrian Tchaikovsky, Lives of Bitter Rain. This is not a novella. It is a set of vignettes of backstory from a particular character in this series. It does not hang together except that, sure, I'm willing to buy that these things happened in this order. I like this series--it was not unpleasant reading--but do not go in expecting more than what it is.
Iida Turpeinen, Beasts of the Sea. A slim novel in translation from Finnish, spanning several eras of attitudes toward natural history in general and the Steller's sea cow in specific. Vivid and moving.
Brenda Wineapple, Ecstatic Nation: Confidence, Crisis, and Compromise, 1848-1877. The nation in question is the US, in case you were wondering. This was a generally quite good book about the middle of the 19th century in the US, except of course that that's a pretty big and eventful topic, so all sorts of things are going to have to get left out. But she did her very best to hit the high spots culturally as well as politically, so overall it was the most satisfying bug crusher I've read so far this year.


