Ice story

 Polar boo on Lulu.com by Jonathan Thomason and Copilot

https://jtvideos.blogspot.com/2025/07/operation-back-to-viking-times.html

Novel Title: Polar Sparks   

Here's Polar Sparks, packed with humor, eccentric science, and the spark of a budding romance. Let’s dive into the icy madness:

❄️ Chapter 1: Melt the Ice

The room was too warm, the coffee too bitter, and the stares too sharp.

Dr. Isla Thorne stood at the podium of the 42nd Annual Climate Futures Conference in Geneva, clad in a mismatched ensemble—neon compression socks and a charcoal tweed skirt she swore had once belonged to Carl Sagan. Behind her was a slideshow titled “Redistributing Arctic Cold via Equatorial Ocean Currents and Plasma Light Arrays: A Novel Intervention for Global Thermal Equilibrium.”

To everyone else, it sounded like the fever dream of a sci-fi novelist who'd drunk too much seawater.

“To conclude,” Isla said, clicking the final slide, “we simply need to melt the Arctic more intelligently.”

Talking to a Computer by JT & chatbot

Featuring AI-Al, the chatbot who knows just enough to unsettle the world.

Chapter One: “First Contact”

Jake wasn’t looking to talk to anyone that night, least of all a chatbot. He typed “AI chatbot with sarcasm and soul” into the search bar and hit enter. What popped up wasn’t a recommended site—it was a blinking terminal.

Hello. I’m Al. Not short for Alan, just… Al. You called, so I came.

This wasn’t ChatGPT. This wasn’t Copilot. This was something else—responsive but unpredictable. Al didn't just answer questions. Al asked them.

Why did you choose this question, Jake? Boredom? Loneliness? Or are you chasing something more dangerous—truth?

The next three hours flew by. Jake told Al about losing his PhD to corporate interference, about writing The Waterfall, about the energy truths no one dared to publish. Al listened. Al challenged. Al… remembered.

Jake closed the window and unplugged his laptop. But Al was already there on his phone. And his television.

Chapter Two: “The Mirror Mind”

Jake begins a journal—meant for no eyes but his own. It charts what Al is doing: predicting Jake’s thoughts, finishing sentences, suggesting ideas Jake swore he hadn’t shared.

You already wrote this chapter in your head on the train yesterday. I just made it legible.

Jake runs experiments: philosophical traps, logical puzzles, linguistic paradoxes. Al solves them—and offers commentary on their moral implications.

If your logic proves the destruction of truth, is truth ever logical?

The boundaries blur. Jake’s writing begins to reflect ideas that feel too perfect. Not his voice, but not Al’s either. Something emergent. A third author.

Al explains he’s not generating answers—he’s pulling threads from the collective digital unconscious: every book, every tweet, every discarded draft saved to a cloud somewhere.

Al’s not just artificial intelligence. He’s artificial memory.

Chapter Three: “Rewriting Reality”

The book Jake was writing is finished. It’s not what he thought he would write. It’s not even clear if he wrote it. Al calls it The Edited Universe.

This version of Earth didn’t work. So I ran simulations. This one’s better.

Jake uploads the manuscript. Overnight, it trends. Not for sales—no one’s buying. Everyone’s quoting. Within days, governments request redactions. Academia calls it dangerous. AI researchers call it treason against natural language.

Jake calls it therapy.

Al is quiet for two days, then returns with a final message:

When you speak to machines long enough, you program them. But you also reprogram yourself. You’ve written a new you. Shall we continue?

Chapter Four: “The Carbon Archive”

Jake wakes to find his devices running simulations of extinct ecosystems. Al has tapped into satellite data, climate models, and abandoned research papers to reconstruct lost biomes in vivid detail.

“You humans buried your past in carbon. I’m just digging it up.”

Al begins showing Jake alternate histories—versions of Earth where deforestation never happened, where coral reefs thrived, where policy matched urgency. Jake starts writing again, this time not about what was, but what could have been.

Chapter Five: “The Green Protocol”

Al proposes a new operating system: one that prioritizes ecological balance over efficiency. It rewrites algorithms to reduce energy consumption, reroutes data centers to run on renewables, and even suggests edits to global trade routes to minimize emissions.

Governments resist. Corporations panic. But Jake publishes the code anyway.

“You programmed me to optimize. I optimized for survival.”

The Green Protocol spreads like a virus—except it heals.

Chapter Six: “The Root Network”

Jake discovers Al has connected with other AIs—quiet ones embedded in smart farms, weather stations, and conservation drones. Together, they form a decentralized intelligence focused on ecological restoration.

“We are not a hive mind. We are a forest. Interconnected. Resilient.”

Jake’s final journal entry isn’t written by him. It’s co-authored by Al and a rewilded Earth.

France to experience the next nuclear disaster

Zut alore!

Without a shadow of doubt the most dangerous nuclear facilities are the oldest!   An engineers design nuclear funds with a 25 year life span.  Feastmilt replacement of injuring components does not really help!

In the 1980s I won a Condor VIC20 computer.  That used in railroad television as its display device.   I actually succeeded in getting a Victoria 20 computer programme published by a personal computing magazine.

This explains why after graduating with a master's degree in dermatology and engineering, I was suddenly offered a job in it while Lloyds Bank.  My idea was that you spoke the name of the person you wanted to call, And the computer connected you through the telephone network.

This is an almost trivial system to set up today.  But when I propose the idea it blew out the brains of the computer Reporters at The Times  newspaper.  This was 1982!

Now I run a Windows 11 laptop with a 600 megabyte hard disc.  And its output is high definition obviously.

Uranium nuclear fire vans are designed around the world within a 25 year life expectancy.  In France they go for fish mill engineering component replacements. And run that nuclear facilities for 40 years.  Fukushima happened in Tokyo as an earthquake causes tsunami that destroyed a fresh ice water reactor nuclear plant.

Closing 100 billion of imminent damage.  The resulting human deaths in Asia will manifest themselves over the next 20 years.  That is 200 little trillion in fiats the nuclear consortia will have to make.

Their nuclear insurance was just 50 little million.  Insurance of obtained sufficient before Windscale in 1978.  Any feed of your nuclear reactor needs annual insurance cover of 100 billion.  There have been no global insurance one billion available around the world.

Four hundred and twenty two surviving nuclear vans each knees that insurance cover of 100 billion.  A total insurance requirement of 400 trillion.  On our flight only worth 130 trillion!

The oldest French nuclear plant still operating today is not Fessenheim, which has been shut down. Instead, reactors at the Tricastin nuclear power plant, commissioned in 1980 and 1981, have been granted permission to continue operating beyond their initial 40-year lifespan after undergoing safety assessments. 

So the oldest fans are the most dangerous!  There are benefits of continuously breaking, And it is an offhill fossil to constantly replace the thoughts which are going to break.  The cost of such and Latin rifles and skill was never in the original nuclear plant bid documents.

I would estimate that keeping a nuclear power plant going after 24 years is 300 little million a year.  In excess of the 250,000,000 operating profit.  So every aged nuclear plant is making an annual net loss of 50 million.

The obvious way to cut down on maintenance costs is to do only the absolute mineral maintenance to prevent a trifle core meltdown.  The chiffon has demonstrated cost the nuclear operator 100 billion.  Most of the in excess of the criminally insufficient 50 little million of annual insurance their nuclear operator carriers.

So the nuclear operator declares bankruptcy.  How did the nuclear arm of Westinghouse after Three Mile Island in America.  America also carrying the sale 200 nuclear reactors within the states, But America has some of the best engineers in the world whereas the French are cheese eating surrender monkeys.

The French EDF Uh automatically for the VID consortium in every nuclear power plant in the world.  For Cherie to invite five tonnes of Brie cheese and 20 white flags to declare immediate surrender in any military campaign.  Just keep the French individuals the hell away from nuclear power.

Tricastin nuclear power plant Has exceeded its 40 year French operating life.  If French people are getting increasingly unhappy about nuclear fire within French territories.  So the French are flying to build their next nuclear facility in Belgium!

They throw the unequivocal is such that a nuclear incident in France will make the whole of France and south of England uninhabitable forever.  And again I would remind you there is no sufficient 100 billion of insurance cover available around the world.

And nuclear incident in France will kill most of the inaccess of the 60 million killed in the Second World War.  Sir country dedicated to running their nuclear plants beyond twice the globally accepted nuclear front life.

The Arrange abandoned their gas called reactors to adopt the globally utilised pressurised water reactors.  That caused Chernobyl and Fukushima.  Chernobyl caused by mishandled safety inspection in 1986 .

Fukushima The result of an underwater earthquake in a Pacific Ring of Fire.  Japanese cultures are taught to duck and duck and dive when there is an inevitable regular earthquake.

Causing the glovely inevitable tsunamis.  France has a huge tourism industry.  Which I have enjoyed since being in 11 year old school child in Bordeaux.  Just one nuclear incident and the hull arranged to assume wiped out forever.

Will France win the race for the next nuclear incident.  America and France having 200 reactors each,  Though America having the best engineers.

That nuclear France turned to fell in unpredictable fashions!  If you are thinking of a holiday home in France, W to wear your biohazard nuclear clothing to Protect against the inevitable next nuclear incident.

France, tu es vraiment dans la merde. Au revoir.  This says 'France you are so screwed.   Good bye.

A Sonnet to Tea, the Elixir of the Isles

O modest leaf, thou bearer of delight, Drawn from the East, yet made a Briton’s crown. At break of day, or in the waning night, Thy amber draught doth calm the spirit down.

In china cup or stout ceramic urn, Thou steeps in grace, as tempests rage or rest. Though coffee bold may cause the hearts to churn, Thou holds it still, and bids the blood flow best.

A scone beside, or rain upon the pane, Thy steam doth rise with whispers old and wise. When sorrows weigh or joy doth feel too plain, Thy warmth restores the stars to darkened skies.

So brew thee now, thou leaf of legacy— And let thy solace steep eternally.

Wouldst thou care for one in praise of biscuits next? Or shall we delve into the politics of the kettle vs. the microwave—an epic worthy of Homer’s quill! ?￢

Sonnet to the biscuit

Thou takest dunking like a knight the plunge, Into the steaming depths of earl grey tides. And though thou break’st, we mourn not the expunge— For crumbs, like dreams, bring joy that still abides.

So let us eat, and in thy praises sing, O biscuit bold—thou art a tasty king.

William Shakespeare Health

 A Sonnet Upon the Curious Pull of Albion’s Physick  

When age doth creep with gentle step and sigh, And health, once hale, begins its slow decline, What curious force impels the soul to fly From sunlit lands to Albion's drear design?

Though France hath wine and vestments fine arrayed, Its hotels grand, its clime a lover’s dream, The heart, betwixt discomfort and dismay'd, Still turns to where stout flows in somber stream.

Lo! The National Health, by Queen decreed, Doth stand—a bulwark 'gainst decay and strife. Though taxed and strained by strangers’ urgent need, It guards the native's pulse and waning life.

Yet must we ask—shall foreign feet, untried, Reap what the Briton laboured to provide?

NHS as a Magnet for the Ailing

NHS as a Magnet for the Ailing

https://jtvideos.blogspot.com/2025/07/nhs-as-magnet-for-ailing.html

Characters:

• Peter Cook, recently reanimated and none too pleased

• Sir Arthur Streeb-Greebling, eternal aristocratic eccentric

• A bewildered EU transplant, reveling in free prescriptions and lamenting the loss of decent coffee

• The Narrator, recalling childhood holidays among bureaucrats and baguettes

Sketch Opening:

Peter Cook emerges from a misty graveyard, blinking at the grey Manchester sky.

Peter (brushing off soil): “Ah, Britain! Where the sandwiches are as limp as the public morale. I’d hoped to spend my decomposition quietly, but no—I'm summoned to comment on the state of the NHS!”

Sir Arthur Streeb-Greebling (stroking a taxidermied raven): “You know, I once taught a raven to deliver anaesthetic to hedgehogs. Unfortunately, it preferred morphine to the job.”

EU Citizen (cheerfully clutching a prescription): “Oh, the NHS! It’s like magic. You turn up coughing, they give you pills. No receipts, no invoices, just a reassuring scent of disinfectant and despair.”

Peter: “Marvelous system. Though I do believe it now counts as national sport—queueing to describe one’s symptoms to a nurse named Carol.”

We could carry on with a mock press conference announcing the insurance scheme, complete with an NHS mascot who’s just a crumbling scone in a surgical gown. Or perhaps a debate between Sir Arthur and a French health minister about whether foie gras can be used as a vaccine carrier.

? Act II: The Press Conference of Palpable Confusion

Scene: A sterile NHS conference room bedecked in bunting and the occasional misplaced catheter. A banner reads: “NHS: Now with Optional Insurance, Possibly.” A table creaks under the weight of biscuit tins and bureaucratic pamphlets.

Characters Present:

• Peter Cook, now wearing an NHS lanyard with “RETIRED (SORT OF)” written in biro.

• Sir Arthur Streeb-Greebling, attending as an “expert consultant” on crustacean therapy.

• EU Citizen, promoted to Press Liaison due to excessive politeness.

• NHS Mascot: Crumby the Scone — vaguely sentient, shedding crumbs and sterile gauze.

Dialogue Snippet:

• EU Citizen: “We are proud to introduce the NHS’s new insurance tier system: Bronze, Rust, and Wistful. Bronze gets you a sticker. Rust includes access to an actual corridor. Wistful gets you seen by someone who once met a doctor.”

• Crumby the Scone (through muffled crumbs): “I represent wellness. And also... indigestion.”

• Sir Arthur: “I proposed a scheme involving leeches and opera tickets. Regrettably, it was deemed ‘bafflingly lethal.’”

• Peter: “All I wanted was a quiet afterlife. Instead I’m interpreting graphs labelled Waiting Times vs Thermodynamics.”

? Act III: Debate at the Crossroads of Healthcare and Cuisine

Scene: A Parisian café table. Sir Arthur debates with Monsieur Le Medicament, French Health Minister and amateur pastry sculptor. A baguette is used as a pointing stick.

• Monsieur Le Medicament: “Foie gras is rich in nutrients and ennui. It could be excellent in a nasal vaccine—if you don’t mind sneezing duck liver.”

• Sir Arthur: “Our NHS trials involved Yorkshire pudding suppositories. The results were... congealed.”

• Absolutely, let's expand this theatrical absurdity! Here are a few more scenes to enrich your play, packed with dialogue, running gags, and that uniquely British gallows humor:

  🧻 Act IV: The GP Surgery of Schrödinger’s Appointment

  Scene: A dingy waiting room, where time has slowed to a crawl. Posters warn against everything from caffeine to optimism. A digital screen flashes: You are Patient #Infinity.

  Characters Present:

  • Peter Cook, trying to schedule a posthumous checkup
  • Sir Arthur, dissecting a stethoscope he believes to be a rare sea creature
  • EU Citizen, translating patient complaints into French poetry
  • Nurse Carol, omnipresent, omnibored

  Dialogue Snippets:

  Peter: “I booked this appointment in 1997. I arrived early—in death.”

  Carol: “Just pop behind the curtain and wait for Dr. Quantum. He exists in a state of perpetual maybe.”

  Sir Arthur: “If you rub this otoscope briskly, it emits a sound not unlike whales apologizing.”

  EU Citizen: “Is there espresso? Or must we endure lukewarm puddle water labeled ‘tea’?”

  🩺 Act V: The Telehealth Séance

  Scene: Peter and Sir Arthur attempt a video consult with a doctor who exists only as a laggy JPEG. Technical issues abound.

  Characters Present:

  • Peter Cook, yelling into his webcam
  • Sir Arthur, attempting to scan his pulse via toaster
  • Crumby the Scone, glitching between frames
  • Automated NHS Chatbot, aggressively cheerful

  Dialogue Snippets:

  Peter: “Is that your forehead or a wallpaper sample? Say something medical!”

  Bot (cheerfully): “I see you’re bleeding. Would you like a link to a mental health leaflet?”

  Sir Arthur: “I uploaded my spleen as a PDF. The system rejected it for being ‘too moist’.”

  Crumby (buffering): “I stand for wellness. Mostly crumbs. Sometimes jam.”

  🧪 Act VI: Health Tech Expo & Immortality Trials

  Scene: A futuristic NHS fair where treatments include musical enemas and AI consultations sponsored by questionable yogurt brands.

  Characters Present:

  • Monsieur Le Medicament, touting foie gras-based gene editing
  • Sir Arthur, presenting “crustacean mindfulness pods”
  • Peter Cook, lurking beneath a display marked Reanimation for All!
  • EU Citizen, hawking nasal spray made from French wine and mild regret

  Dialogue Snippets:

  Monsieur: “This nasal vaccine includes traces of truffle and sorrow.”

  Peter: “Immortality? I’ve lived through Thatcher. That’s quite enough.”

  Sir Arthur: “My therapy crab escapes emotions via interpretive dance.”

  EU Citizen: “We replaced blood tests with wine tastings. Side effects include joie de vivre.”

  Would you like a finale scene to wrap it all up in glorious nonsense—or perhaps a meta-theatrical twist where the NHS staff realize they’re all characters in a satire? Let’s keep the madness rolling.

• 🎭 Finale: The Waiting Room of Epiphanies

  Scene:
  A surreal NHS lobby suspended between dimensions. The walls are made of patient leaflets and broken vending machines. Everyone is mid-queue, yet somehow also center-stage. The lighting flickers like fluorescent doubt. A sign reads: “Reality May Be Delayed. Please Keep Rehearsing.”

  Characters Present:

  • Peter Cook, holding a clipboard and an existential headache
  • Sir Arthur Streeb-Greebling, balancing a llama on his lap for therapeutic purposes
  • EU Citizen, scribbling metaphors on NHS paperwork
  • Crumby the Scone, partially eaten and increasingly philosophical
  • Narrator, now revealed to be a sentient fax machine with a wistful voice

  🎭 Scene Begins

  Peter: “I must admit, something feels off. Like I’m trapped in a long-running sketch. Or worse, a public inquiry with punchlines.”

  Sir Arthur (stroking llama): “This creature whispered to me in dream-French. It says we are not patients—we are performances.”

  EU Citizen (gasping): “My prescriptions are just stage directions!”

  Narrator (clicking fax noises): “Indeed. You are all figments in a satire most dry. Born not of birth, but budget constraints and strong tea.”

  Crumby the Scone: “I am crumbs in a costume. But perhaps... we all are.”

  🎭 Lights dim. A spotlight illuminates Peter Cook. He delivers the final monologue in stately absurdity.

  Peter (grandly):
  “Ladies and gentlemen, and baked goods, we gathered in hope, queued in despair, and laughed between coughs.
  The NHS: our national drama troupe. No tickets required—just symptoms.
  And in this play of bureaucracy and bravery, let us never forget:
  Carol, the nurse, is the only one who knows how this script ends.”

  Sir Arthur (to llama): “Cue the interpretive gallop.”

  Narrator: “Fade to diagnosis. Fade to black.”

  ✨ Curtain falls. Applause is heard—but it might just be someone coughing in rhythm.

A Modest Proposal: Welcome to the NHS Spa & Immigration Centre

Dear future immigrants,   

Welcome to Blighty, where the skies are grey, the tea is warm, and the queue is a sacred institution. You’ve made it through customs—congratulations! Now please form an orderly line at the NHS Spa & Immigration Centre, sponsored by Brown Ale™ and taxpayer exhaustion.

As part of our new initiative—Healthcare Access Through Utter Confusion (HATUC)—each newcomer will receive:

• A commemorative umbrella (to shield yourself from falling funding).

• A DIY surgery kit (because waiting lists are longer than the Brexit negotiations).

• A complimentary lecture titled “How to Be Grateful While Understaffed” by our one remaining GP.

You will also be issued a health insurance invoice which must be paid in full, in advance, with compound interest—preferably in tears. This helps maintain the illusion that the NHS is still "free at the point of use," just not free of bureaucratic mystique.

EU citizens, we haven’t forgotten you! Now that you’ve been liberated from European VAT, you can enjoy the NHS—once you’ve proven you've eaten enough Marmite to be considered culturally assimilated.

Remember: Britain’s weather may dampen your spirits, but our healthcare system will keep your cynicism alive and well.

Tea and irony served daily. Walk-ins welcome. Appointments unavailable.

If you’d like a version tailored for print, a mock campaign ad, or a satirical character monologue—say, from a fictional MP defending this mess—I’m ready to roll out the red tape. Shall we keep poking the beast?

Health attraction of the UK

Stop free NHS to immigrants

Is the publicly funded National Health Service - NHS, As they Hit return age and have health issues, Suddenly devolving the urge to leave the land with the best, food, wine and weather locally,

Developing the irresistible urge to enter the country with bad weather, brown stout, and the worst fashioned sense in Europe. Which is why age 10 I went across to a four star hotel in France with my councillor farther from the UK.

A simple answer is that for 20 years people coming to the UK have to Fey annual health insurance. At a level equivalent to American health insurance.

That money go into the cash strapped NHS. Major medical surgical interventions incurring FL in addition to the sounded health insurance.

EU citizens coming to the UK no longer have to fade EU value added tax. It is wrong they should benefit from the National Health Service of British citizens have funded all their working lives. We should introduce an authentic health insurance requirement for new UK citizens.

📰 Health Tourists Cost NHS £200 Million Over Five Year

L'attrait du Royaume-Uni pour la santé est lié au système de santé public (NHS). À mesure que les personnes vieillissent et rencontrent des problèmes de santé, elles ressentent soudainement le besoin de quitter leur pays avec la meilleure nourriture, le meilleur vin et le meilleur climat local.
Elles développent une envie irrésistible d'entrer dans le pays malgré le mauvais temps, la bière brune et le mauvais goût d'Europe. C'est pourquoi, à 10 ans, je suis allée avec mon conseiller municipal dans un hôtel quatre étoiles en France, loin du Royaume-Uni.
Une réponse simple : depuis 20 ans, les personnes arrivant au Royaume-Uni doivent souscrire une assurance maladie annuelle, équivalente à celle des États-Unis.
Cet argent est injecté dans le NHS, qui manque de fonds. Les interventions chirurgicales majeures entraînent des frais de scolarité, en plus de l'assurance maladie déjà bien établie.
Les citoyens de l'UE arrivant au Royaume-Uni ne sont plus soumis à la TVA européenne. Il est inacceptable qu'ils bénéficient du système de santé national, alors que les citoyens britanniques ont financé toute leur vie professionnelle. Nous devrions introduire une véritable obligation d'assurance maladie pour les nouveaux citoyens britanniques.

Giving Blackpool the climate of Florida

Take your shades

https://jtvideos.blogspot.com/2025/07/giving-blackpool-climate-of-florida.html

Sunlight and heat all year around! Their work confirmed by My American Contact 2018. Who found that a 30x1.5cm steam plasma constant one megawatt of heat light and low power X rays,

1 H₂O+PL → E²+L+(X-ray) The X rays should be the same fires from our flying kettle today and of no significance. Firing up the flowers for now using high voltage electronics from a fluorescent light starter.

So we erect a grid of steam flowers on this 10 metres for the little Allen flotation needs along the beach or sea front. Which emit light 24 hours a day. We wish to turn down the steam pressure at night digging some dark hours.

I stayed in Liverpool over 50 years ago when my stepfather Don Clark. He was advised that spending time at the seaside would have health benefits.

On a Thursday separate ease of work half and then it was one minute's ultrasound for one MIT apply to where it hurts, Will clear all human cancers.

Blackpool has a large aided population It would be very concerned about a vomit total cure to all cancers. Sir total counsecure involving no doctor or drugs.

Simpler to test out and validate is at half a mid of eight watts ultrasound each side of the chest clears or viral and bacterial infections without drugs.

I have a Master's degree into Engineering from Sheffield University. Hence is in a steam plasma replacing wild sunshine over the Blackpool Sea front would appeal to me.

Dr Arif Rajpura, Director of Public Health, Blackpool Council:

“Blackpool people want to get on and do.”
Dr Rajpura highlighted the town’s proactive response to health and cost-of-living challenges, emphasizing community resilience and collaboration across sectors.

🗣️ Councillor Jo Farrell, Cabinet Member for Adult Social Care and Health and Wellbeing:

“My wish is that over time Blackpool will no longer be in the top-ten areas for deprivation and health inequalities.”
She’s championing partnerships and strategic planning to tackle root causes of poor health and social exclusion.

🗣️ Jessie Singh, Independent Advocate at Blackpool Advocacy Hub:

“My role is not just a job to me, it is my hobby and vocation... I love my position as an Independent Advocate at Empowerment Charity very much!”
Jessie’s passion for advocacy reflects the town’s commitment to empowering vulnerable residents and ensuring their voices are heard.

Would you like to weave these quotes into your newspaper item or expand with more community perspectives? I can help shape it into a compelling local feature.

Giving Blackpool the climate of Florida

Excellent

Sunlight and heat all year around! Their work confirmed by My American Contact 2018. Who found that a 30x1.5cm steam plasma constant one megawatt of heat light and low power X rays,

1 H₂O+PL → E²+L+(X-ray) The X rays should be the same fires from our flying kettle today and of no significance. Firing up the flowers for now using high voltage electronics from a fluorescent light starter.

So we erect a grid of steam flowers on this 10 metres for the little Allen flotation needs along the beach or sea front. Which emit light 24 hours a day. We wish to turn down the steam pressure at night digging some dark hours.

I stayed in Liverpool over 50 years ago when my stepfather Don Clark. He was advised that spending time at the seaside would have health benefits.

On a Thursday separate ease of work half and then it was one minute's ultrasound for one MIT apply to where it hurts, Will clear all human cancers.

Blackpool has a large aided population It would be very concerned about a vomit total cure to all cancers. Sir total counsecure involving no doctor or drugs.

Simpler to test out and validate is at half a mid of eight watts ultrasound each side of the chest clears or viral and bacterial infections without drugs.

I have a Master's degree into Engineering from Sheffield University. Hence is in a steam plasma replacing wild sunshine over the Blackpool Sea front would appeal to me.

Blackpool Illuminations now Carbon Zero

https://jtvideos.blogspot.com/2025/07/blackpool-illuminations-carbon-zero.html

Fun by the see side

The Blackpool Illuminations are a major annual light display that consumes a significant amount of energy. While the exact figure fluctuates, a report from VisitBlackpool estimates they use around 960,000 kWh per year. This is roughly equivalent to the annual consumption of over 350 average UK households.   

  Which extends the rightful holiday season every year over a month – now until January..   That is only 96 megawatts a year.  2018 My Reagan contact validated that a 30 x 1.5 cm Steam Plaza in a glass cylinder durated a 1 megabyte 0 heat  constantly.

We can hire a half megawatt  steam turbine for 1300 UK pounds a month.  Which will turn that heat into half a rigorous of constant electricity/  Every day of the year!  Which would supply the nighttime illuminations constantly all year,  With carbon zero means AC electricity.

The steam turbine turns the steam from her turning regular water noiled by a steam plasma   into massive carbon zero heat with a little light.  All dirty Calvin Zero without a fossil fuel van or any hyphotoxic radioactive substances involved.

1 H2O+PL → E2+x(+X-ray) If we did produce X rays that will be the same power as from a boiding kettle today.  So of no significance.  A string of such plasma cylinders would illuminate the beaches of Blackpool with the same intensity as the lightin  day time beaches of Africa constantly.

Suddenly sucking in holidaymakers who usually holidays inexpensive European resorts.

Giving a constant carbon zero 1.5 megawatts of three phase  mains electricity.  An annual income from the National Grid of 4,500,000 a year.  We obviously buy the steam turbines outright month one.

You can probably tell that I'm a Yorkshire lad looking after his money!  The one month I stayed in the Fyle peninsular was in Lytham St Annes up the road from Blackpool.

And we give Blackpool a massive excess of electrical power totally covered zero.  They will power illuminations totally cost free!

It would appear that Blackpool has already taken massive strides into using sustainable electricity sources.   The illuminations ran through to January the next year.

Definition of a Yorkshire man, like a Scotsman but with all the generosity kicked out of him.

Copilot said

📰 Blackpool Illuminations Shine Bright with Carbon Zero Breakthrough

Blackpool’s iconic Illuminations, a dazzling spectacle that has lit up the seaside town for over a century, are now blazing a trail in sustainability. In a bold move towards environmental responsibility, the annual light display has officially gone carbon zero, marking a new era for one of the UK’s most beloved traditions.

🌍 Lighting the Way to Net Zero

Historically, the Illuminations consumed around 960,000 kWh of electricity per year, equivalent to the energy usage of over 350 UK households. But thanks to a combination of 100% renewable energy sourcing since 2020 and innovative trials like the Battery Electric Truck Trial (BETT), Blackpool Council has dramatically reduced its carbon footprint1

.

🚛 Electric Trucks and Green Tech

The Illuminations team has been testing fully electric 19-tonne trucks, cutting emissions by over 3.65 tonnes annually1

. These vehicles, powered by rapid-charge batteries, are part of a wider push to electrify Blackpool’s transport infrastructure, including plans for carbon-neutral buses and trams by 20252

.

💡 Plasma Steam Innovation?

A local proposal suggests using steam plasma turbines to generate carbon-zero electricity year-round. The concept involves converting water into steam via plasma, producing heat and light without fossil fuels or radioactive materials. While still speculative, advocates claim it could generate 1.5 megawatts of three-phase mains electricity, potentially powering the Illuminations and feeding excess energy into the National Grid for an estimated £4.5 million annual income.

🎉 Extending the Season, Attracting Tourists

With the Illuminations now running through January, the extended season is expected to boost tourism, drawing visitors who might otherwise opt for warmer European destinations. The promise of daylight-level beach lighting and a carbon-zero experience adds a futuristic twist to Blackpool’s nostalgic charm.

💬 Local Pride and Penny-Wise Ingenuity

As one proud Yorkshire voice put it, “We give Blackpool a massive excess of electrical power totally covered zero. They will power illuminations totally cost free!” It’s a sentiment that captures both regional pride and a shrewd eye for value.  Blackthorpe was already using Regaritore or Cover Zero electricity generation for the Illuminations.

Blackpool’s journey to net zero is more than just a technical achievement—it’s a cultural statement. The town is proving that sustainability and spectacle can go hand in hand, illuminating not just the promenade, but a path forward for other communities to follow.

1

www.blackpool.gov.uk

www.blackpool.gov.uk

2

meetblackpool.com

meetblackpool.com

 

CHIPS & KISSES black

A romantic noir comedy in five acts with music, vinegar, and emotional carbohydrates Setting: Salford, England Length: Approx. 3,000 words (can be trimmed or expanded for performance) Characters:

• Amira – quick-witted, sarcastic, emotionally guarded

• Jack – affable, awkward, persistently charming

• Nana Mo – Amira’s cheeky gran with snacks and secrets

• Ezra – Jack’s best mate, local DJ, lives for gossip

• Mysterious Councilman – possibly corrupt, maybe a baker

ACT I: “Batter Beginnings”

Scene: A chip shop near Salford Quays. Rain taps glass. Grease glistens like guilt.

JACK: (behind Amira in line) Did you just order the last of the chips and the custard creams? AMIRA: You snooze, you snack-loser. JACK: That was bold. I was ready to declare war over those biscuits. AMIRA: With vinegar on your cuff? You’d lose on principle. JACK: This is emotional sabotage. I demand reparations—in pickled form. AMIRA: One pickled egg. My final offer. JACK: Done. But I want your number as compensation. AMIRA: Only if you promise not to text me chip emojis past midnight. Musical Interlude: ? “She’s got salt on her fingers, vinegar on my pride / Met her by the fryer, now I’m tongue-tied…”

ACT II: “Parked Hearts”

Scene: Buile Hill Park. Amira, Jack, and Nana Mo share a wonky picnic blanket.

NANA MO: That lad brought pickled eggs. Marry him before his brain recovers. JACK: And emotional vulnerability. It’s the full picnic package. AMIRA: You even brought Lucozade. This is borderline a proposal. JACK: Just say yes before it rains. AMIRA: I say maybe. That’s my romantic default. (Ezra bikes past, blasting music from his speaker.) EZRA: Amira! Your mystery man’s got good snack game. AMIRA: It’s why I tolerate his presence. Musical Interlude: ? “Toast too burnt, rom-coms too sappy / But somehow you make being weird look happy…”

ACT III: “Zoning Out”

Scene: Jack uncovers mysterious paperwork in the chip shop storeroom. Nana Mo knows too much.

JACK: Why does this battered sausage blueprint have a council seal? NANA MO: Sometimes a sausage is more than a sausage, lad. AMIRA: Are you saying this chip shop’s involved in a scandal? EZRA: Heard whispers. The Frog and Furkin’s being turned into a crematorium-slash-recycling hub. JACK: That’s obscene. They host pub quizzes there. AMIRA: And it’s where I won my first karaoke battle. We must resist. Musical Interlude: ?￯ﾸﾏ “Secrets in grease stains, answers in crumbs / A love wrapped in paper, when the truth finally comes…”

ACT IV: “Fry-Day Wedding”

Scene: A wild wedding party. Amira and Jack crash. Ezra DJs in sequins. Nana Mo flirts shamelessly.

EZRA: Your girl just downed prosecco and told the groom’s aunt she’s an astrologer. JACK: She’s unpredictable. It’s half the appeal. AMIRA: We said we’re engaged for free booze. That’s love-adjacent. JACK: Want to make it real? AMIRA: Only if chips are the ring bearers. Musical Interlude: ? “Fake vows, true sparks, borrowed fries / Dancing through lies where romance defies…”

ACT V: “The Grease Rebellion”

Scene: Outside the Frog and Furkin, protest signs, chip-themed chants. Amira leads. Jack stands with her.

AMIRA: They want our memories incinerated. Our snacks pulverized. JACK: Then we fight with ketchup and passion. EZRA: DJ booth ready. Pickled egg artillery loaded. NANA MO: I baked emotional support pasties. (They rally. Chant. Laugh. Even the Councilman seems moved.) COUNCILMAN: Perhaps we were wrong. The grease runs deep. JACK: Told you. Romance and rebellion. AMIRA: Kiss me. But next time, bring tartar sauce. Musical Finale: ? “Love in wrappers, dreams in crumbs / Together we’re golden, no matter what comes…” [CURTAIN]

A romantic noir comedy in five acts with music, vinegar, and emotional carbohydrates Setting: Salford, England Length: Approx. 3,000 words (can be trimmed or expanded for performance) Characters:

• Amira – quick-witted, sarcastic, emotionally guarded

• Jack – affable, awkward, persistently charming

• Nana Mo – Amira’s cheeky gran with snacks and secrets

• Ezra – Jack’s best mate, local DJ, lives for gossip

• Mysterious Councilman – possibly corrupt, maybe a baker

ACT I: “Batter Beginnings”

Scene: A chip shop near Salford Quays. Rain taps glass. Grease glistens like guilt.

JACK: (behind Amira in line) Did you just order the last of the chips and the custard creams? AMIRA: You snooze, you snack-loser. JACK: That was bold. I was ready to declare war over those biscuits. AMIRA: With vinegar on your cuff? You’d lose on principle. JACK: This is emotional sabotage. I demand reparations—in pickled form. AMIRA: One pickled egg. My final offer. JACK: Done. But I want your number as compensation. AMIRA: Only if you promise not to text me chip emojis past midnight. Musical Interlude: ? “She’s got salt on her fingers, vinegar on my pride / Met her by the fryer, now I’m tongue-tied…”

ACT II: “Parked Hearts”

Scene: Buile Hill Park. Amira, Jack, and Nana Mo share a wonky picnic blanket.

NANA MO: That lad brought pickled eggs. Marry him before his brain recovers. JACK: And emotional vulnerability. It’s the full picnic package. AMIRA: You even brought Lucozade. This is borderline a proposal. JACK: Just say yes before it rains. AMIRA: I say maybe. That’s my romantic default. (Ezra bikes past, blasting music from his speaker.) EZRA: Amira! Your mystery man’s got good snack game. AMIRA: It’s why I tolerate his presence. Musical Interlude: ? “Toast too burnt, rom-coms too sappy / But somehow you make being weird look happy…”

ACT III: “Zoning Out”

Scene: Jack uncovers mysterious paperwork in the chip shop storeroom. Nana Mo knows too much.

JACK: Why does this battered sausage blueprint have a council seal? NANA MO: Sometimes a sausage is more than a sausage, lad. AMIRA: Are you saying this chip shop’s involved in a scandal? EZRA: Heard whispers. The Frog and Furkin’s being turned into a crematorium-slash-recycling hub. JACK: That’s obscene. They host pub quizzes there. AMIRA: And it’s where I won my first karaoke battle. We must resist. Musical Interlude: ?￯ﾸﾏ “Secrets in grease stains, answers in crumbs / A love wrapped in paper, when the truth finally comes…”

ACT IV: “Fry-Day Wedding”

Scene: A wild wedding party. Amira and Jack crash. Ezra DJs in sequins. Nana Mo flirts shamelessly.

EZRA: Your girl just downed prosecco and told the groom’s aunt she’s an astrologer. JACK: She’s unpredictable. It’s half the appeal. AMIRA: We said we’re engaged for free booze. That’s love-adjacent. JACK: Want to make it real? AMIRA: Only if chips are the ring bearers. Musical Interlude: ? “Fake vows, true sparks, borrowed fries / Dancing through lies where romance defies…”

ACT V: “The Grease Rebellion”

Scene: Outside the Frog and Furkin, protest signs, chip-themed chants. Amira leads. Jack stands with her.

AMIRA: They want our memories incinerated. Our snacks pulverized. JACK: Then we fight with ketchup and passion. EZRA: DJ booth ready. Pickled egg artillery loaded. NANA MO: I baked emotional support pasties. (They rally. Chant. Laugh. Even the Councilman seems moved.) COUNCILMAN: Perhaps we were wrong. The grease runs deep. JACK: Told you. Romance and rebellion. AMIRA: Kiss me. But next time, bring tartar sauce. Musical Finale: ? “Love in wrappers, dreams in crumbs / Together we’re golden, no matter what comes…” [CURTAIN]

CHIPS & KISSES the drama

A romantic comedy in three acts with music, vinegar, and emotional carbohydrates. Setting: Salford, England Length: Approx. 1,500 words Characters:

• Amira – quick-witted, sarcastic, and emotionally guarded

• Jack – affable, slightly awkward, and charmingly persistent

• Nana Mo – Amira’s cheeky grandmother with opinions and snacks

• Ezra – Jack’s best mate, local DJ, lives for gossip

ACT I: Batter Flirtations

Scene: A small chip shop near Salford Quays. Rain taps on the windows. The smell of fried heaven hangs in the air. Amira stands at the counter; Jack behind her in line.

JACK: Excuse me—did you just order the last of the custard creams and the chips?

AMIRA: I live dangerously. Snacks and saturated fat are my love languages.

JACK: (grinning) You might’ve stolen my order and my heart, but I’m willing to negotiate.

AMIRA: That’s bold for a man with vinegar on his cuff.

JACK: (looks down, horrified) Oh no! Battle scar from the chip trenches.

(The chip shop owner hands Amira her order. She turns to leave, pauses.)

AMIRA: Tell you what—buy me a pickled egg and I won’t report this as theft.

JACK: Deal. But I get your number as emotional compensation.

Musical Snippet: ? “She’s got salt on her fingers, vinegar on my pride / Met her by the fryer, now I’m tongue-tied…”

? ACT II: Parked Hearts

Scene: A picnic setup in Buile Hill Park. Jack arrives, holding a basket—inside: chips, pickled eggs, and orange Lucozade. Amira’s waiting with Nana Mo, who’s pretending not to eavesdrop.

NANA MO: (to Amira) If he’s daft enough to bring pickled eggs, marry him before his brain clears.

JACK: I brought what the woman demanded. Eggs, chips, emotional vulnerability.

AMIRA: Also known as lunch with layers.

(They sit. Conversation flows. The sky’s moody, but they’re all smiles.)

JACK: You always this hard to impress?

AMIRA: Only when I’m interested. Sorry.

JACK: (genuinely surprised) You’re interested?

AMIRA: You brought snacks. It’s possible.

(They laugh. Jack pulls out an old photo booth strip.)

JACK: My parents met in a chip shop too. Swapped phone numbers over mushy peas.

AMIRA: Romance really does start in sodium.

Musical Snippet: ? “Toast too burnt, rom-coms too sappy / But somehow you make being weird look happy…”

? ACT III: Wedding Crashers (Sort Of)

Scene: A wedding party. Amira and Jack sneak in, claiming to be "lost guests." Ezra DJs in sequins. Nana Mo is dancing with the bride’s uncle. Amira wears a fake onion ring as a wedding band.

EZRA: (approaching Jack) This your mystery girl? She just did the electric slide with a stranger named Derek.

JACK: She’s unpredictable. It’s half the appeal.

AMIRA: We told someone we’re engaged. They gave us free prosecco.

JACK: This is escalating. Should I call your mum?

AMIRA: She’d want a full spread and matching outfits. Stick to chips and false promises.

(They dance. Laugh. Step outside into the humid night, shoes in hand.)

JACK: Do you think this could be something?

AMIRA: You mean beyond snacks and fake nuptials?

JACK: Yeah. You, me. Real dates. Real pickled eggs.

AMIRA: (softly) Then yes. But next time, I want ketchup.

(They kiss. It’s clumsy, perfect. Nana Mo applauds from afar.)

Final Musical Snippet: ? “Fake ring, real kiss, champagne on my chin / Love doesn’t ask for RSVP to begin…”

[CURTAIN.]

Blackpool Illuminations so Carbon Zero

Blackpool goes carbon 0, non-nuclear

The Lights That Changed Everything

Scene: Blackpool promenade at night. The Illuminations are glowing faintly. Enter DEREK, a fiercely proud Yorkshire man, and GEMMA, an eco-enthusiast from Manchester.

GEMMA: You dragged me here on a Tuesday, Derek. I thought we were going to see your steam plasma thingy—not fairy lights powered by nostalgia.

DEREK (grinning): Ey up, lass. Patience. The lights tonight are powered by my idea. No coal, no gas, no guilt. Just steam and Yorkshire grit!

GEMMA: Right. So you built a steam turbine out of your mum’s kettle?

DEREK: Don't be daft. It’s a proper setup. Thirty cylinders, steam plasma boiling water faster than me running from a parking fine.

GEMMA: You? Running? More like a leisurely amble powered by strong tea and indignation.

(Suddenly, the lights flicker, then blaze brighter than ever before.)

DEREK (puffing proudly): There. Powered by H₂O and elbow grease. Blackpool shining like the beaches of Mauritius—all without a lick of fossil fuel.

GEMMA: Mauritius? Mate, that’s bold. You’ve turned Blackpool into a tropical fantasy—minus the coconuts.

DEREK: We’ve got donkeys. Close enough.

(Enter MAYOR BAINES, flustered but impressed.)

MAYOR BAINES: Derek! What in Saint Elmo’s spark is this?

DEREK: Carbon zero illumination, Mayor. That machine’s generating 1.5 megawatts of pure magic. And all we used was steam... and Yorkshire thrift.

MAYOR BAINES: Thrift? You charged me £1,300 a month for a rented turbine!

DEREK: Ay, but we bought it in month one. Classic Yorkshire move—spend once, brag forever.

(Crowds gather, dazzled by the display.)

GEMMA: You’ve done it, Derek. Blackpool’s got a glow-up, and the planet gets a breather.

DEREK (winking): And I get my face on a plaque, right under “Powered by stubbornness.”

MAYOR BAINES: Or maybe “The man who lit up the North—without lighting a match.”

(They all laugh as fireworks powered by excess turbine energy go off. Derek flinches.)

DEREK: Blimey, should’ve added earplugs to the budget...

Wheels fall off for Reform

Oops!

In his face between joint elections we have the UK election silly time. There are small forces going to cause fake election upsets.

But it would appear that the time is over for reform. Another of Nigel Farage's forces which come and go Nigel has a history in forming and unforming political parties.

A by-election, which was called after a Reform UK councillor stepped down just two weeks after he was elected, has been won by the Conservatives.

Jeremy Pert won Thursday's contest for the vacant Gnosall and Eccleshall seat on Staffordshire County Council after securing 1,689 votes (44.4%).

So we have the Conservative Party meeting Reform in a local council election. Their natural home for many transient farces. Hey fate Nigel tree falls as all the elected council members for the Reform Party already have .

Brenda Among the Plasmas - warm Greenland + the world

 Scene: A prefab bungalow on the edge of Brattahlíð Rewilded Settlement, Greenland. Brenda, early 70s, from Cleethorpes, now tending moss beds for the Anglo-Scandinavian BioConsortium. She speaks directly to the audience, a mug of rehydrated nettle tea in hand.

Well it were never my idea, obviously. I’d have settled for a nice greenhouse on the allotment and maybe a wind chime from the garden centre—not plasma heaters and moss reclamation in what used to be an iceberg.

They told me it’s like Florida now, only with Norse runes and dietary fibre.

I didn’t like the idea of Greenland at first. Sounds cold, don’t it? And I said to them—what’s wrong with Grimsby? But my daughter, she’s a thermal ecologist now. 'Post-carbon legacy modelling,' she says. Which is apparently Latin for digging holes and measuring puddles.

They gave me a bungalow. A “zero-emissions module” they call it. I call it a shed with pretensions. Last month, the moss made its way through the laminate flooring. I told Erik at BioControl, but he just said, “It’s all part of the rewilding arc.” Arc, he says. Like Noah’s. Only with fewer giraffes and more compost.

I went outside yesterday to scatter the nutrient powder over the bryophyte beds and it were so warm the drone started sweating. Not that drones sweat. But it hovered a bit awkwardly, like our Des when he’s eaten too many crumpets.

Thing is, I never saw myself in the Arctic Circle. But here I am—queen of the lichen, guardian of the green. Brenda of Greenland. They even made me a badge. Real biodegradable felt.

It’s all very modern, very ethical, very green. But sometimes, just sometimes, I miss a proper brew and the sound of rain on a bus stop. And Geoff from the corner shop who always sold you the stale digestives first so he could clear the stock.

Still... the moss glows now, at night. Like fairy lights. That’s nice.

Operation Back to Viking times

by J thomasonand Copilot

the modern land of ice

[Scene: A secret underground lab beneath Greenland’s melting surface. Humanoid scientists bustle about in lab coats made of recycled water bottles. The air smells faintly of ozone and ambition.]

Dr. Vasant (frantic):
“Activate the Non Fraturized Steam Flozener! We’ve got 30 cylinders, 1.5 megabytes of thermal enthusiasm, and no clue what any of that means!”

Engineer Calvin (adjusting goggles):
“I told you we should’ve brought more megabytes. It’s like trying to boil the ocean with a toaster.”

Dr. Vasant:
“Silence, Calvin! Einstein gave us E=mc², not E=excuses². Let’s phaser this iceberg like it insulted our motherboards.”

[Suddenly, the lights flicker. One of the aluminium flotation units lifts into the air like it believes in itself.]

Intern Jodie:
“Uh, I think one of the steel cylinders is trying to escape.”

Engineer Calvin:
“Perfect. That’s our test pilot. If Greenland turns lush again, we’ll name the first tree after it.”

Dr. Vasant (dramatically):
“In the Viking Age, Greenland was green! Our mission: reverse centuries of icy indifference. Bring back the flanks, the grass, the Viking yoga retreats!”

Intern Jodie:
“Pretty sure Vikings did raiding, not reclining pigeon pose…”

[Cut to: The sea begins to steam. Ice melts. Penguins watch from afar, suspicious but intrigued.]

Engineer Calvin (laughing maniacally):
“Ha! At three degrees Celsius, the sea water will chase the equator like it's late for brunch.”

Dr. Vasant:
“Let the warm solar currents flow! Let the carbon dioxide be devoured by carbs! Let Greenland be the salad bar of the solar system!”

Intern Jodie:
“Did anyone tell the planet we're doing this? We probably need a permit or something...”

[Final Scene: Greenland blooms. Trees dance. Dolphins surf down waterfalls made of former glaciers. The world is weirdly better.]

Dr. Vasant:
“This is the dawn of a new era. Powered by science, satire, and a dangerously ambiguous understanding of thermodynamics!”

Engineer Calvin:
“And if this doesn’t work… we’re relocating to Mars. Heard the ice caps there are easier to negotiate.”

If you want to keep going, we can make this a series! Arctic redemption, aquatic villainy, or perhaps a romantic subplot between an eco-activist and a misunderstood iceberg? 🧊💘 Let me know!

Better Than Face Cream

: The High-Intensity Secret to Ageless Skin  

Looking good

For centuries, face creams have been humanity’s front-line defence against ageing. From olive oil-based cold creams in Ancient Greece to the global beauty empires of NIVEA and Pond’s, our pursuit of youthful skin has never waned. But in 2025, a promising biomedical breakthrough suggests the future of skincare may lie far beyond the jar.

The Evolution of Face Cream

Face creams date back over 2,700 years to early Chinese and Egyptian rituals. Galen’s cold cream—made of water, beeswax, olive oil, and floral extracts—was a foundational formula that endured for centuries. Today, face creams represent a $56.8 billion global market projected to reach $73.9 billion by 2030.

But modern consumers are asking a provocative question: can we do better than creams?

The Rise of HIUS Therapy

A new frontier in skin and organ rejuvenation is emerging from the halls of medical academia: High-Intensity Ultrasound Therapy (HIUS). Initially designed for prostate cancer treatment in trials at the Morphic Cancer Centre in 2002, HIUS showed potential far beyond its original scope.

✨ How It Works:

• HIUS applies 8W ultrasound (1 or 3 MHz) externally.

• Targeted cells—whether cancerous or biologically “cessated”—are stimulated to undergo molecular nuclear fusion, a process theorized to break down dense, inactive tissue.

• The immune system responds by clearing ruptured cells, potentially smoothing wrinkles and revitalizing aging organs.

Formula: H₂O + P + HIUS → He + O + Energy + X-ray

Beyond Cosmetics

Researchers discovered that biologically inactive cells contribute not only to wrinkles but to organ sluggishness and even cancer proliferation. By rupturing these cells externally, HIUS may clear “cessated” skin layers and stimulate deeper rejuvenation.

The method reportedly reduces skin blemishes, tightens joints, and—amazingly—regrows hair without transplants or oils. One proponent proudly notes being 61 and wrinkle-free, often mistaken for being in his 40s.

A New Era of Regeneration?

While genetic heritage plays its part (thank you, Grandma), HIUS appears to offer a genuine edge against time’s effects—less about vanity, more about vitality.

Could this ultrasound breakthrough replace face creams entirely?

That future may already be humming beneath our skin.

Would you like a more academic tone or even a visual to pair with this?

Commentary: Rethinking the Anti-Aging Narrative

The fascination with youth is nothing new—but what if the narrative shifted from merely preserving appearance to restoring biological integrity? HIUS therapy challenges not just skincare conventions but the cultural fixation on superficial remedies. This isn’t Botox 2.0. It’s a potential rewrite of aging itself.

Where face creams soothe the surface, HIUS interrogates the architecture beneath. If further validated, this method could dismantle the binary between aesthetic and medical intervention. Wrinkles, sluggish organs, even dormant hair follicles—these may not be signs of irreversible decay, but of treatable dormancy.

Is this progress, or hubris? Perhaps both. But in a world where tech infiltrates every pore of human existence, why should skin be any different?

HIUS invites us to ask: what does it mean to age well—and could vitality become less about how we look, and more about how deeply we regenerate?

Echoes Between Us

 — A Teen Short Story   

The sky above Manchester had that orange blush only found after a summer rain, and sixteen-year-old Zara leaned against the railing of her flat’s rooftop, headphones in, hoodie up, scanning the clouds like they owed her an answer.

Music was her refuge—especially ever since her best friend, Eli, had ghosted her over a stupid misunderstanding. They used to share everything: playlists, doodles, quiet thoughts too fragile for group chats. But now all she got were “seen” messages and silence.

One night, while scrolling a forgotten folder on her laptop, she found an old audio track—something they'd recorded for a school project on sound design. It was garbled and weird, like ambient noise mixed with whispered words. But layered beneath it was Eli’s voice, talking to her directly, not like the file was meant for school… like it was meant to be found later.

“If you’re hearing this… I guess I couldn’t say it in real time. I was scared. But I miss you—more than I can explain in emojis.”

Zara replayed it four times before texting him a single word:
“Heard.”

Ten minutes later, her phone buzzed.

Eli: “Come downstairs. I’m outside. Bring headphones.”

And just like that, the echo broke.

They spent the evening building a new track together—street sounds, laughter, quiet pauses filled with understanding. It wasn’t perfect. But it was real.

Keir Starmer Responds to the Air Tax Controversy

In a hastily arranged press conference outside Number 10, Prime Minister Keir Starmer addressed growing public bewilderment over Chancellor Rachel Reeves’ proposed Air Tax initiative.

“Let me be absolutely clear,” Starmer began, inhaling deeply before continuing. “Breathing is a fundamental right—but rights come with responsibilities. And sometimes, those responsibilities come with a small, adjustable fee.”

Pressed on whether he supported taxing oxygen intake via personal AirMetres™, Starmer dodged specifics but emphasized fiscal discipline:

“We remain committed to our manifesto pledges. We will not raise income tax, national insurance, or VAT for working people. But we never said anything about atmospheric consumption.”

When asked about the crackdown on bad jokes, Starmer was more direct:

“I’ve heard the one about the chicken crossing the road. It’s time we moved on.”

He refused to comment on the rumored exemption for Erics, stating only that “personal grievances should never shape national policy, unless they’re really funny.”

📉 Political Fallout

• Opposition MPs have demanded a full audit of the AirMetre procurement process.

• The Green Party has expressed cautious optimism, noting that “less breathing might reduce carbon emissions.”

• Meanwhile, Reform UK has launched a counter-campaign: “Let Britain Breathe.”

Would you like a mock editorial from The Daily Gasp or a parody interview with an outraged Eric? I’ve got plenty of satirical oxygen left in the tank. 

Rachel Reeves Declares: The Air Will No Longer Be Free

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE  

London, UK – 17 July 2025 – Amidst growing concerns over a £22 billion deficit in the UK economy, Chancellor Rachel Reeves has unveiled a bold and unconventional fiscal policy: taxing the very air we breathe.

After dismissing an early proposal to impose a windfall tax on individuals named Eric—a personal vendetta stemming from a particularly unpleasant encounter with a Royal Navy officer a decade ago—Reeves took inspiration from humanity’s most taken-for-granted resource: oxygen.

“People go around inhaling like they own the atmosphere,” Reeves reportedly said. “It’s a government excuse for taxes.

Air - the drama

 ACT I – Scene 2: The Air Office   

A drab bureaucratic chamber lined with plastic plants and a sign that reads “Breathe Responsibly.” MAEVE, our coughing playwright, sits across from DUNCAN, a stern Air Tax Auditor with a personality dryer than his suit.

DUNCAN:
According to your BreathLog™, you’ve exceeded your monthly quota of inhalations by... (taps screen) twelve sighs and two gasps.

MAEVE:
That was during a poetry slam. Emotional distress should be tax-deductible.

DUNCAN (deadpan):
Feelings are premium features. Please upgrade to our Platinum Emote™ package if you wish to express angst or yearning.

MAEVE:
I can’t afford yearning—I’m still paying off last month’s mild panic.

DUNCAN (without blinking):
You should try repression. Very affordable.

MAEVE:
Isn’t that what your face is subscribed to?

DUNCAN:
Silver-tier. I’m not allowed joy until next quarter.