We had a nice long conversation with . . . Gnat? Daughter. Natalie. Sorry, sometimes the old old habits assert themselves. She'd been to Florida with friends and had tales to tell. They went camping in the Everglades. Dad thinks: shady criminals in adjacent tents, waiting until 2 AM to strike. But it was fine. We heard of the commonplace nature of crocs, and her proximity to them. At this point you shudder but you're glad you're hearing about it now. Then a trip to snorkle far from shore, which makes you imagine your child paddling alone in the ocean because the tour boat blew up. But it was actually shallow water. Then they went clubbing. Visions of roofies slipped into drinks.

Like I said, all told in retrospect, so the fatherly clench was lessened by the assurance that everything turned out to be the Best Vacation Ever.

(better than the Corn Palace?)

(probably so)

I was somewhat alarmed by this story: "Experiments to dim the SUN in bid to curb global warming will be approved by the UK government within weeks." (Daily Fail, but they're quoting a Telegraph story.) Of all the countries to come up with the idea of reducing the amount of sun its residents get, England would seem to be last on the list. Also, this is how the Matrix got started. Also, I think a poll of most of England outside of the government, universities, and tanks of Cogitating Boffins would regard the idea as utter tosh, because Climate Dread is quite low on the list of concerns for most UK residents. I'm sure there are plenty of people who have it so good they can devote all their mental activities to appeasing the contentious relationship between the Sun God and the Earth Mother, with an hour set aside each day to worry about Knife Crime (blades are just jumping up from the gutter into the hands of people and wiping away their entire personal moral construct, forcing them to stab without thought) and the Growing Peril of the millions of proto-Adolescent young men who are being drawn to the dark side by gormless dorks such as Andrew Tate, but outside of these types, maybe there's a general assumption that the government should not muck about with the Sun.

It makes me wonder if the algos think I want bad news about the sceptered isle, because I don't. I want stories about how the town of Withering-on-the-Moor set up a hedgehog crossing, or how an old lady in Farthingsaxtonmund has been knitting tea cozies in an attic for 40 years while she waits for her husband to return from sea. "I've a good view of the harbor up here. I look up once an hour." As a confirmed Telegraph reader, I gravitate towards a form of muscular pessimism, which has the strength to point out the inanities and insist on applying the remnant forces of British Spirit to reassert the national spirit.

It's not my country! Why do I care? But I do, and so do millions of Yanks keen to see the nation claim the fourth plinth for a bulldog.

And all of this is completely at odds with my own experience. But, I don't live there. My stays are charmed with brilliant people and wonderful places - and all that gives me hope. I was listening to The Rest is History's two part series on the Rolling Stones today, and A) I thought it was a fascinating reminder of England's cultural power, and B) I don't even like the Rolling Stones. Really. I just always found them sloppy, for the most part. And yes, there are a few songs I love. There's always a few songs you'll love. But the wit and erudition and verbal style of the presenters is so endearing I could listen to anything they choose to discuss, because of the particular sensibility on display.

I don't know how I got on that, other than it was a warm bright day, and if anyone looked up at the sun and shook his fist and insisted Sol Invictus must be thwarted lest the planet perish, we'd bundle him off to Bedlam. Or the editorial page.

So! What's the journey that takes us from this image . . .       . . . to this one?

Every so often I come across an old news story that changes completely the way I view something. In this case, something that’s not even there. u/lasocs on reddit has a subreddit after my own heart, posting old historical pictures and newspaper clippings. This was a jaw-meet-sternum moment: It was never built. Old man Depression killed those expansion plans. There were many such plans for big hotels in the 20s and 30s, with the Wesley Temple, the Ivy Tower, the Sheridan. But the Curtis expansion was different. It makes me rethink those two strange towers. What’s more, the two towers are prefigured by the two original buildings of the hostel, now tucked in between. It’s possible that the hotel might not have been demolished if this monster had been built. But it would’ve suffered the usual trajectory. A building that big, from that era, would’ve changed the character of its neighborhood in the 80s, and might have spurred a different type of development. Who knows. I can’t find anything in the archives about the decision not to build, and it’s hard to search because Curtis hotel returns a billion hits. It was the place where people had their meetings.       The Typothetae? A group of master printers.       Usadians?       The only thing that comes up is a Saskatoon executive association group. The about page says: The name “Usadian” originated from joining the designation “U.S.A.” and “Canadian”. The name Usadian was used in both Canada and the United States of America (USA). The purpose of the name was to affiliate the Executive Associations of all major cities in Canada and USA under the same name. Okay, that helps. Plug that into newspapers.com, and you get lots of results. International Business Association. Philanthropy. Fellowship. Connections. Lots of 21st century hits, but they’re all Canadian. There doesn’t seem to be a going concern on this side of the border anymore, which is rather sad.       Surely that's disbanded?     Only one hit in Mpls now: The Mercury Club is celebrating its 102 nd  anniversary and is proud to announce this year’s winners of what is believed to be the longest running Jewish scholar-athlete award in America.  Low-profile org, otherwise. Lithographers. Shoe-rebuilders. Freight Agents. So many organizations, and how many exist today? Probably more by a factor of 10X - but they’re all online. Not the same. Anyway, the search landed me on a 1937 edition of the Star, and two things stuck out that will be familiar to faithful Bleatniks, and show how we’ve assembled our own corner of cultural literacy. Remember these contests? I found another. Remember the unsatisfying, attenuated story of Bela Laren, court reporter? I found another batch. Sigh. Am I obligated to hoover up these for later release? I think we now the answer to that. Anyway, that's when I stopped clicking.