SusieC 💙

Always jump in the puddles! Always skip alongside the flowers! The only fights worth winning are the pillow and food variety.

[Tim Walker @ThatTimWalker]

Very cool, entertaining and with high production values: if I were @Nigel_Farage, I’d consider dipping into that £5 million to try to get out a video that can compare to it.

[Vfynn_🥷🏼 𐙚 @Vfynn_]

🚨🗣️New: Thierry Henry reacts to the USA vs Paraguay stoppage for TV commercials:

“I’ve spent my entire life in this beautiful game — as a player at the highest level, as a fan, and now as someone who analyses it every week — and what unfolded during that USA versus Paraguay match left me deeply frustrated. The fourth official standing there on the touchline, arm raised high, instructing the referee to hold the restart… not for any injury, not for tactical reasons, and not even primarily for player hydration in that scorching heat. No. It was because the broadcast team hadn’t finished airing all their commercials. That’s not football. That’s a television show pretending to be a World Cup match.

The beautiful game is being strangled by greed. Players are out there in the heat, ready to restart, momentum building like a storm about to break — and we pause everything so the sponsors can cash in. It’s like stopping a symphony mid-crescendo because the advertisers want their jingle heard. Football didn’t conquer the world by turning into American sports with endless timeouts and ad breaks. We had rhythm, flow, emotion that flowed like a river. Now? It’s dammed up for dollars.

This isn’t about hydration or player welfare anymore — it’s a slippery slope where the soul of the game is sold piece by piece. Fans deserve better. Players deserve better. The referee on that pitch looked like a puppet on strings controlled from some broadcast truck. Enough is enough. We need to protect what made this sport the greatest on Earth before it disappears completely.”

The World Cup should be football’s cathedral. Instead, we’re turning it into a shopping mall with a pitch in the middle.

And here’s the question nobody wants to answer: if the fourth official is waiting for commercials, then who is really running the game? FIFA? The referee? Or the broadcasters?

Because the moment football starts asking advertisers for permission before asking the players, you’ve crossed a line.

The World Cup is supposed to be the showcase of football. Not the showcase of who paid the most for airtime.”

[SusieC 💙 @BAsue]

@lillun6 Same here.

[SusieC 💙 @BAsue]

@JMoncktonSmith Surely they could have a system similar to fast food delivery and the pharmacy send a passcode when they text to say your prescription is ready for collection.

[The Morecambe & Wise Archive 👓🌞♥️ @eric_ernie_col]

Happy Shrove Tuesday!

It’s #PancakeDay 🥞

The only day in the calendar when it’s perfectly acceptable to be a Tosser!

#StillBringingSunshine 👓☀️❤️
#MorecambeAndWise #EricAndErnie

[Travis Akers 🇺🇸 @travisakers]

A message from a Kindergarten teacher:

After forty years in the classroom, my career ended with one small sentence from a six-year-old:

“My dad says people like you don’t matter anymore.”

No sneer. No malice. Just quiet honesty — the kind that cuts deeper because it’s innocent. He blinked, then added, “You don’t even have a TikTok.”

My name is Mrs. Clara Holt, and for four decades, I taught kindergarten in a small Denver suburb. Today, I stacked the last box on my desk and locked the door behind me.

When I started teaching in the early 1980s, it felt like a promise — a shared belief that what we did mattered. We weren’t rich, but we were valued. Parents brought warm cookies to parent nights. Kids gave you handmade cards with hearts that didn’t quite line up. Watching a child sound out their first sentence felt like magic.

But that world slowly slipped away. The job I once knew has been replaced by exhaustion, red tape, and a kind of loneliness I can’t quite describe.

My evenings used to be filled with construction paper, glitter, and glue sticks. Now they’re spent filling out digital reports to protect myself from angry emails or lawsuits. I’ve been yelled at by parents in front of twenty-five children — one filming me with his phone while I tried to calm another child mid-meltdown.

And the kids… they’ve changed too. Not by choice.

They arrive tired, anxious, overstimulated. Their tiny fingers know how to swipe a screen before they can hold a crayon. Some can’t make eye contact or wait in line. We’re expected to fix all of it — to patch the gaps, heal the trauma, teach the curriculum, and document every move — in six hours a day, with resources that barely fill a drawer.

The little reading corner I once built, full of soft beanbags and paper stars, was replaced by data charts and “learning metrics.” A young principal once told me, “Clara, maybe you’re too nurturing. The district wants measurable results.”

As if kindness were a weakness.

Still, I stayed. Because of the small, holy moments that no spreadsheet could measure —
a whisper of, “You remind me of my grandma.”
a shaky note that read, “I feel safe here.”
a quiet boy finally meeting my eyes and saying, “I read the whole page.”

Those tiny sparks were my reason to keep showing up.

But this last year broke something in me.

The aggression grew sharper. The laughter in the staff room turned to silence. The light went out of so many eyes. I watched brilliant teachers — my friends — vanish under the weight of burnout, their joy replaced by survival.

I felt myself fading too, like chalk on a board that’s been wiped one too many times.

So today, I began my goodbye. I pulled faded art off the walls and tucked thirty years of handmade cards into a single box. In the back of a drawer, I found a letter from a student from 1998:

“Thank you for loving me when I was hard to love.”

I sat on the floor and cried.

No party. No applause. Just a handshake from a young principal who called me “Ma’am” while checking his notifications.

I left my rocking chair behind, and my sticker box too. What I carried with me were the memories — the faces of hundreds of children who once trusted me enough to reach out their hands and learn. That can’t be uploaded. It can’t be measured. It can’t be replaced.

I miss when teachers were partners, not targets. When parents and educators worked side by side, not in opposition. When schools cared more about wonder than numbers.

So if you know a teacher — any teacher — thank them. Not with a mug or a gift card, but with your words. With your respect. With your understanding that behind every test score is a heart that cared enough to try.

Because in a world that often overlooks them, teachers are the ones who never forget our children.

[Marlene Robertson🇨🇦 @marlene4719]

Forget the Tylenol. Find out what Trump’s mother was taking and avoid that shit at all costs.

[British Bake Off @BritishBakeOff]

Happy Bake Off day!

Tonight. 8pm. Channel 4. #GBBO

[SusieC 💙 @BAsue]

@TheMeldrew Wonder how many tickets you’d need for that beauty

[Ukrainian Ministry of Accidental Russian Fires @EPICGOPFAIL]

Who did this?🤣

[SusieC 💙 @BAsue]

@YorkshireSlang Live in West London but born in Bingley then lived in Horsforth.

[Deedy @deedydas]

The new Pope has a degree in mathematics from Villanova University.

This guy doesn’t just understand sin. He understands cos.

[Tony Yorkshire @Tony__Yorkshire]

💪 #InternationalWomensDay

[No Context Brits @NoContextBrits]

Dalek bread.

[Martin Lewis @MartinSLewis]

Next year, 2025, is the only square year most of us will see in our lifetimes (45 x 45). The last was 1936 (44 x 44), the next is 2116 (46 x 46).

[Chris Packham @ChrisGPackham]

Things have just got a lot more difficult . Here’s what I think . I had no control over what just happened . None . But I do have control over how I will react to it . And I am not going to give up on the beautiful and the good , the grip on my dreams just got tighter .

[Susie Dent @susie_dent]

Word of the day is ‘recrudescence’ (17th century): the return of something terrible after a time of reprieve.