@FT Deserted fields, you mean the fields that produce our food. There are over a million empty houses already. Why are people so obsessed with living in cities
This large glass jar appeared at my work place. Everytime I walk past it, I'm thinking that's a perfect jar for Homunculi and it amuses me. I mentioned it to colleagues and they were blank faced except for one. If you know, you know.
#smallprophets#michaelpalin
@CarlBovisNature We keep curtains and windows closed on sun side and open windows on non sun side. As sun moves round we swap them over. At night we have all windows and internal doors open to create a funnel for the night air to pull through.
@SandyofSuffolk Probably more to to do with taxes. Hanging just underneath the VAT threshold is better for them because costs shoot up if ygey go over and they'll make less money, added to having to pay staff more, it's just not viable
@Ade_Dohyeen I love it when we go to the same holiday cottage in the lakes each year and have two mattresses zipped together and a super king duvet. I almost forget he's there.
"A ten-year-old started screaming about a wave no one could see—and 100 people lived because her parents believed her.
December 26, 2004. Mai Khao Beach, Phuket, Thailand. Christmas holiday. Perfect weather. The Smith family walked along the sand on their first overseas vacation together.
Then Tilly noticed something wrong.
The water wasn't behaving normally. ""It wasn't calm and it wasn't going in and then out,"" she later recalled. ""It was just coming in and in and in.""
The sea had turned frothy—""like you get on a beer,"" she said. ""It was sort of sizzling.""
Any other ten-year-old might have thought it strange. Tilly knew exactly what it meant.
Two weeks earlier, her geography teacher Andrew Kearney had shown the class footage of the 1946 tsunami that devastated Hawaii. He taught them the warning signs: sea receding unusually far, frothy bubbling water, ocean behaving strangely.
Tilly was watching those exact warning signs unfold in front of her.
She started screaming at her parents. ""There's going to be a tsunami!""
They didn't believe her. They couldn't see any wave. The sky was clear. The beach was calm.
But Tilly wouldn't stop. She became more insistent, more frantic.
""I'm going,"" she finally said. ""I'm definitely going. There is definitely going to be a tsunami.""
Her father Colin heard the urgency in her voice. He decided to trust his daughter.
By coincidence, a Japanese man nearby overheard Tilly use the word ""tsunami."" He'd just heard news of an earthquake in Sumatra. ""I think your daughter's right,"" he said.
Colin alerted hotel staff. They began evacuating immediately.
Tilly's mother Penny was one of the last to leave. She had to sprint as the water began rushing in behind her. ""I ran,"" she recalled, ""and then I thought I was going to die.""
They made it to the second floor with seconds to spare.
Then the wave hit. Thirty feet tall.
Everything on the beach—beds, palm trees, debris—was swept into the pool and beyond. ""Even if you hadn't drowned,"" Penny later said, ""you would have been hit by something.""
The 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami killed over 230,000 people across 14 countries. Entire beaches in Phuket were wiped out.
But at Mai Khao Beach, not a single person died.
Because a ten-year-old girl paid attention in geography class.
Tilly was hailed as the ""Angel of the Beach."" She received awards, spoke at the United Nations, met Bill Clinton. Her story is now taught in schools worldwide.
Her father Colin still thinks about what could have happened. ""If she hadn't told us, we would have just kept on walking,"" he said. ""I'm convinced we would have died.""
Tilly still credits her teacher. ""If it wasn't for Mr. Kearney,"" she told the UN, ""I'd probably be dead and so would my family.""
Two weeks. One lesson. One hundred lives.
That's the power of education.
@ThatFloWoman My husband used our nearly brand oak new kitchen table for the same purpose and slithered a bit off. I've sanded and oiled it and you can't tell unless you're looking