Spotted by dicentra: 

Any hint of laughter will trigger the alarm.

Update: Also, yes, I know, Captcha is still misbehaving. 

Update 2: Okay, tired of waiting, I’ve now disabled Captcha. What could possibly go wrong? 

Polly Toynbee, that is:

There is an instinctive bond between Guardian readers – we almost nod to one another as we read the paper on a train.

Yes, I bet you do, Polly. I bet you do.

Update:

In the comments we’re also discussing this, spotted by Robert. Apparently, artists and writers are being “ignored to death”:

The artist in America is being starved, systemically and without shame. In this land of untold bounty… the American creative class has been forced to brook a historic economic burden while also being sunk into sunless irrelevancy.

You see, it’s simply ghastly that craftsmen and labourers can have nicer cars than “the makers and chroniclers of our culture.”

Cat changes mind. // Tiny kitchen, tiny breakfast. // Magnets in a blender. // Your tablet needs knobs. // British academia, where you can’t say that. (h/t, Franklin) // A congregation of ladybirds. // How to peel a hard-boiled egg. // At last, a goatee shaving template. “Fits most size faces.” // Hong Kong neon undersides. // Who changed history? // He collects synthesizers. // Brutal London architecture. // Badass. (h/t, PootBlog) // Popcorn maker of note. // Perpetual pizza. // Drunk and high animals. // Headphones that glow. // How to survive falling through ice. // He’s cooler than you. // Enliven your meetings with swings. // I bet you don’t have a lamp like this. // That. // Fox and hound. // And finally, a photon’s journey across the solar system, in real time.

George Monbiot is once again howling at the Moon. He reaches almost immediately for that Guardian staple, the presumptuous “we”:

We may have lost our attachments, our communities and our sense of meaning and purpose, but there will be more money and more stuff with which to replace them. Now that the promise has evaporated, the size of the void becomes intelligible.

Mr Monbiot – for whom the glass is always half-empty, and poisoned, and possibly on fire – uses the word “we” no fewer than eleven times. Like so many of his Guardian colleagues, our anhedonic columnist is infinitely modest and therefore keen to tell us how “we” feel, thereby adding gravity to his own joyless, rather marginal worldview. “We,” it turns out, have “lost our attachments… our sense of meaning and purpose,” and “we” are “lost in the 21st century, living in a state of social disaggregation.” Apparently, “our” world – in which, says he, “most forms of peaceful protest are now banned” – has been “pulled apart by consumerism and materialism.” It’s an “age of loneliness.”

Yes, dear readers. The odds are stacked against us and the situation is grim. Happily, however, “we” – that’s thee and me – now “find the glimmerings of an answer” in, among other things, “the sharing… of cars and appliances.” While yearning, as we are, for an “empathy revolution.” What, you didn’t know?

Previous visits to the Happy Land of Monbiot™ can be found here, here and here. 

It seems to be some kind of budding process.