With the way shows are being canceled these days, it's like trying to hold onto a slippery fish in a sink. You think you've got a firm grip, but swoosh! they're gone. So, it's no surprise that a cerebral neo-Western like Outer Range got the axe from Amazon after its (stellar) second season. But that doesn't make it any less painful.

I began my preparations for this trip with the usual meticulousness of a man who doesn't know what he's doing. I made lists, checked weather forecasts, and even consulted a psychic for advice on which souvenirs to bring back. It was a whirlwind of activity, much like a squirrel trying to gather nuts before winter, except without the cute factor. Lots of things to to, lots of choices to be made. The choice of luggage was a particularly vexing one. I considered the pros and cons of hardshell versus soft-shell for hours, weighing the durability of the former against the flexibility of the latter.

In the end, I decided to err on the side of caution and opt for a suitcase that was so heavy, I could probably use it as a doorstop.

So, my parents recently had a 'close encounter of the bear kind' while hiking in a seemingly tourist-friendly area. Can you imagine the scene? Two somewhat seasoned hikers, blissfully strolling along, suddenly finding themselves face-to-face with a mama bear and her two adorable cubs. Cue the panic, the heart-pounding, and perhaps a little bit of 'Oh, crap!'

This ~20-minute piece is about a Babylonian map - the oldest in the world - Written and inscribed on clay in Mesopotamia around 2,900-years-ago, it is, like so many cuneiform tablets, incomplete. However, the wizard, errr... Mr. Finkel and a particularly gifted student of his — Edith Horsley — managed to locate a missing piece of the map

This heatwave is no joke. It's gone beyond "unbearable" and entered the realm of the downright absurd. We're talking scenes straight out of a fever dream (or maybe a particularly spicy episode of "Hot Ones").

The Taps Run on Steam: Forget refreshing showers. Turning on the tap releases a plume of scalding steam, perfect for that in-home sauna experience you never wanted.

The Great Bucharest Beer Shortage: Craft beer, the lifeblood of hipsters and expats alike, is dwindling faster than your patience. At this rate, the entire middle class could vanish in a craft beer-fueled mirage within three days.

Forget kilts and haggis (although, let's be honest, they're pretty great too), it's time to delve into the real reason Scotland's so darn interesting: their brains! Yes, you read that right, brains. Apparently, according to a hefty tome titled "The Scottish Enlightenment" by Arthur Herman, there was a whole era where Scots weren't just battling sheep for the best hillside real estate, they were also battling big ideas.

The echoes of last year's visit are still lingering, like the faint strains of a lone bagpiper battling the wind. But this time, I come armed …

Bucharest witnessed a tale of two bands. Coldplay, the pop veterans clinging to their youthful optimism, and The Smile, the brooding newcomers offering a dose of reality. It's a choice, folks: do you want your music to be the soundtrack to a bouncy castle or a deep existential crisis? At least I know where I stand.

The year was 1986, the Iron Curtain a looming presence. I was just six years old, trapped in a world of carefully curated reality. Propaganda droned from the single state-sanctioned radio station, and television flickered to life for only a few hours each day. Yet, within the confines of our small apartment, a revolution was brewing. My parents, yearning to expose me to a world beyond the grey monotony, procured a peculiar radio – a contraband Kasprzak, its name a whisper from a Polish lady's hushed transaction. Unlike its bland counterpart, this radio held a secret power: the ability to capture whispers from beyond the Iron Curtain. Bulgaria, Austria, sometimes even Germany, their faint signals crackled through the static, a symphony of forbidden sounds that promised a world waiting to be discovered.

My current media diet is a glorious mess, a chaotic buffet of genres that would leave any die-hard cinephile scratching their head. First up, I'm three seasons late to the party with "Slow Horses." Apparently, the world of disgraced MI5 agents relegated to paperwork purgatory is FASCINATING. Who knew the most thrilling part of espionage could be arguing over stapler preferences? The struggle is real, though. Here I am, desperately trying to avoid spoilers online while simultaneously fumbling to explain to my friends why I haven't seen a single episode yet. It's a constant dance – one wrong click and BAM! I know Gary ends up knitting a sweater for Jackson (or was it the other way around?).

As I'm writing this, Season 3 of Clarkson's Farm has already wrapped, leaving behind a trail of mud, shattered dreams of goat-powered bramble removal (turns out those little buggers were more interested in Jeremy's nether regions than landscaping!), and a vocabulary that would make a sailor blush. But hey, the fun, lighthearted bucolic atmosphere, with all its ups and downs, has burrowed itself deep into my brain. Let's just say, Diddly Squat farm has become my happy place (even if happiness often involves watching Jeremy chase rogue sheep across a field while dodging a hoof to the groin – multitasking at its finest!).

Believe it or not, as you're reading this, parts of Europe, including Romania, are experiencing a spectacular display of the Aurora Borealis – the mesmerising Northern Lights dancing across the night sky! Witnessing this celestial ballet is a humbling reminder of the wonders that lie beyond our planet.

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So, yeah, forget the nightclubs, folks! Gather ‘round and prepare to have your mind blown (or at least mildly impressed). We're about to delve into the dazzling world of the Northern Lights, also known as Aurora Borealis. Forget the boring science textbooks – we're going to crack this celestial code with a lighthearted approach, a bit of history, and maybe a touch of pop culture thrown in for good measure. The real light show is happening right outside our atmosphere: mesmerising Northern Lights dancing across the night sky, this is nature's own disco party. Put aside "majestic, irregular lights" – think cosmic strobe effects and neon curtains rippling across the sky in a dazzling display of pinks, greens, and purples.

Imagine a man so obsessed with the stars, so utterly convinced of his own brilliance, that he builds a whole island fortress crammed with telescopes and sundials. A place he christened Uraniborg, which roughly translates to "Sky Castle" in Danish. Now, "castle" might conjure up images of valiant knights and damsels in distress, but Uraniborg was more like a scientific lair, complete with astronomical instruments and... a perpetually inebriated elk. Let's just say, Tycho Brahe's dinner parties were likely lively affairs, fuelled by celestial discourse and the occasional wayward hoof.

The Gone World is a must-read for anyone who enjoys a good sci-fi mystery with a generous helping of mind-blowing twists and a touch of cosmic horror. It's a book that will stay with you long after you finish it, leaving you pondering the true cost of tampering with the delicate fabric of time.