This December, Morley Opera School invites audiences to an evening of passion, wit, and reflection with Opera Scenes: CONSEQUENCES, a vivid exploration of human choices and their inevitable aftermath. Under the expert direction of William Kerley and musical direction by Panaretos Kyriatzidis, this production offers a captivating journey through some of opera’s most powerful and emotionally charged moments. With Nicholas Bosworth at the piano and Conor Costelloe crafting evocative lighting design, the performance promises to be both musically and visually enthralling.
The program brings together a diverse range of works, from the Classical elegance of Gluck and Mozart to the modern intensity of Britten and Poulenc. Each scene has been carefully chosen to highlight the theme of consequences—how human decisions, driven by love, pride, fear, or faith, shape the fates of individuals and societies alike.
The evening opens with Gluck’s Paride ed Elena, a lyrical portrayal of the mythic lovers whose choices ignite the Trojan War. Through Gluck’s graceful yet emotionally charged score, the audience witnesses how desire can lead to destiny’s most devastating turns. The theme of secrecy and consequence continues in Domenico Cimarosa’s Il Matrimonio Segreto(The Secret Marriage), where comic misunderstandings and clandestine vows lead to both hilarity and heartbreak. Cimarosa’s sparkling ensemble writing and elegant wit remind us that even the most humorous situations often conceal real emotional stakes.
From there, the performance moves to Mozart’s Idomeneo, a masterwork of the Classical era that delves into the tension between duty and compassion. When the Cretan king must sacrifice his own son to appease the gods, Mozart’s music swells with moral anguish and divine intervention—a striking depiction of how promises made in desperation can lead to unbearable consequences.
The evening then shifts to the haunting world of Benjamin Britten’s The Rape of Lucretia, a twentieth-century chamber opera that reimagines an ancient Roman tragedy. Britten’s sparse, evocative score and stark moral commentary confront audiences with questions of innocence, violation, and redemption. It is one of the evening’s most profound explorations of consequence—where an individual act of violence reverberates through history.
Finally, the performance concludes with scenes from Francis Poulenc’s Les Dialogues des Carmélites, a deeply moving account of faith, fear, and courage during the French Revolution. In this extraordinary work, a community of nuns faces execution for their beliefs, and each character must decide how to confront mortality with dignity. Poulenc’s luminous harmonies and spiritual depth offer a fitting conclusion to a night that examines the human condition in all its complexity.
Opera Scenes: CONSEQUENCES is more than a showcase of operatic talent—it is a reflection on the moral and emotional choices that define us. Presented by the students of Morley Opera School, it demonstrates the artistry, discipline, and dramatic insight cultivated within this renowned institution. Among its talented performers is Jadwiga, a classically trained singer and music graduate who offers private singing lessons in classical, opera, and musical theatre styles https://www.morleycollege.ac.uk/event/morley-opera-school-presents-opera-scenes-consequences/
Performances take place on Thursday, December 11 at 7:30 PM, Friday, December 12 at 7:30 PM, and Saturday, December 13 at 2:00 PM at the Johnny Harris Theatre Studio, Morley College London, 61 Westminster Bridge Road, SE1 7HT. Tickets are priced at £10.00 (plus booking fee £11.55 online).
An evening of beauty, reflection, and emotional truth, Opera Scenes: CONSEQUENCES is an essential event for opera lovers and newcomers alike—a reminder that every choice, whether divine or human, carries its echo.
By Guest Writer Manchester based award winning artist and my friend Loveartpix.
November is Men’s Mental Health Month, and as usual, I want to move beyond the usual catchphrases like ‘Talking Helps‘ as it’s far more complex than that. The question I keep returning to (because it’s personal) is this: does our generic, neurotypical framing of “men’s mental health “leave too many men like me behind?
Campaigns, days, and months do matter – they reduce stigma by getting the much needed conversations going and remind us to check in on friends. But what is their impact if suicide rates are still just as high, and some of the men at greatest risk (neurodivergent men) are largely left out of the conversation?
We rarely say this plainly: autistic people face a much higher risk of suicide than non‑autistic people. A large Swedish population study found that autistic adults, especially those without intellectual disability, were around nine times more likely to die by suicide than their non‑autistic peers (Hirvikoski et al., 2016).
Autistic adults without intellectual disabilities are, on average, more likely than non‑autistic peers to experience mental health conditions such as anxiety and depression. Factors that contribute include chronic camouflaging/masking, sensory overload, social mismatch and stigma, late or missed diagnosis, and barriers to tailored support.
In clinical samples, the picture is even starker: two‑thirds of autistic adults report lifetime suicidal ideation, and about one‑third report suicide plans or attempts (Cassidy et al., 2014). If the risk is this high, why isn’t this part of the headline of our November conversations?
And what about the many who are undiagnosed – men whose autistic traits are missed or misread due to lack of awareness? How many die by suicide after years of the wrong treatment, the wrong framework, or a string of mental‑health labels that never addressed neurodivergent needs in the first place? We don’t track this well enough to know – this, for me, is very worrying.
I’m not speaking in theory. For more than two decades, I repeated the same words over and over, and the responses I received didn’t fit their box – so it was a continuous battle creating more mental health issues.
“Look Dez, you’ve taken every combination of medication we can offer you. What else do you want us to do?” – words you don’t want to hear from the psychiatrist in charge of your mental health and well being!
Even after my diagnosis, I’m basically begging for support in any way possible, but they still don’t have an answer. Right now, no services are willing to accept my case. That isn’t a lack of “talking.”It’s a system that doesn’t understand or accommodate neurodivergent needs.
“Talk to someone.” “Pick up the phone.” “Open up.” These messages are well‑meant—and sometimes they help. But they assume a neurotypical nervous system. When distress is driven by sensory overload, alexithymia (difficulty identifying and describing feelings), shutdown, or the aftermath of masking, being asked to “speak up” on a phone call, or in fluorescent‑lit rooms, with vague questions, can be not only ineffective but also actively dysregulating and even traumatic.
Personally, I often communicate better in text when I go into meltdown (and after), I need time to process, and rely on concrete, direct language and clear communication. Standard CBT delivered at a pace, full of metaphors and homework that assumes neurotypical cognition, doesn’t work unless it’s really adapted. Yet adapted therapy is patchy across the UK, and post‑diagnostic support for adults remains weak at best – if it exists at all! I’ve learned this the hard way: I’ve been “talking” for years. What’s missing isn’t the willingness to speak – it’s services that listen but don’t know how to respond to neurodivergent communication without pathologising it.
Diagnostic waiting lists have exploded. There are now well over one hundred thousand people in England awaiting autism assessments, with many waiting far longer than the 13‑week standard – often 12–24 months or more. Adult ADHD pathways are similarly overloaded. Late diagnosis isn’t just an administrative delay; it can mean decades of inappropriate treatment plans, missed adjustments at school and work, and a build‑up of trauma from being told to “try harder” in systems not built for your brain. Each missed or delayed diagnosis is a missed opportunity for prevention – especially when we know suicidality is elevated in autistic populations.
89% of autistic adults in the UK aged 40-59 are undiagnosed – Kings College London (2025)
This is why the generic approach to “men’s mental health” feels inadequate to me. Awareness months aren’t wrong – they are just incomplete. We can’t keep telling men to “open up” while offering only neurotypical doorways.
Here’s a truth I wish we’d say out loud: it’s a huge barrier when men are already “talking,” but the system still can’t understand what they’re saying. I’ve used the same words for more than twenty years. The approaches offered back haven’t matched my needs – and I am not a unique case! Even after my diagnosis, when I articulate my needs clearly, services have no adapted pathway, no training, or no remit that fits. At this moment, I’m not being accepted by any service. That isn’t impartial; it’s exclusion by design.
Neurodiversity, complex trauma, and racialised stress each demand deep, specific knowledge. Very few clinicians are experts across all three. That’s not a criticism of individuals; it’s a system‑design problem. Our pathways remain separated: autism/adhd/dyslexia over here, trauma/cptsd over there, “men’s mental health” somewhere in a campaign toolkit. Meanwhile, men sit on waiting lists, collecting labels, and learn to mask harder. Many still struggle to speak openly – especially when their experiences don’t match neat, neurotypical scripts of sadness, worry, and recovery.
Campaigns must reflect the facts: men are not all the same, and neither are their minds – neurotypical and neurodivergent.Put neurodivergent men on the list and on the panels. Highlight that autistic burnout is not laziness; that ADHD‑related rejection sensitivity can look like despair; that shutdowns and meltdowns are not misbehaviour. And tell men this clearly: if standard tools haven’t worked, maybe it’s the tool and not you!
And let’s make the suicide data visible, not buried in academic journals. If autistic men face a dramatically higher risk, surely that belongs on the first slide, the first poster, and the first funding line?
We should admit where the evidence base is thin and choose humility. Research is (hopefully) accelerating, but we’re years from fully understanding these intersections. Until then, ‘specialists’ need to listen more to lived experience – with an open mind, and not through the generalised, stereotypical lens that turns nuance into “non‑compliance.” Ask what helps. Believe the answers. Adapt!
None of this diminishes the value of awareness months; it actually refocuses them. If we want November’s messages to be more than posters and hashtags, we have to build services that fit all men, not the imaginary neurotypical everyman. The stakes are life and death. A system designed around the most complex needs will serve everyone better.
‘I have personally reached out to some well-known men’s mental health services and asked how they handle neurodivergent individuals, and I have been met with half-hearted replies and almost snubbed to my face’ – an all too common response in my experience.
Acceptance has been central to how I navigate life now – there isn’t any help out there at the moment, as the research simply isn’t there. Acceptance hasn’t removed the struggle, but it has reframed it for me. I have been ‘speaking up’ for years. I don’t need another generic neurotypical catchphrase. I need services that recognise what I’m saying – and are ready and able to respond with understanding, compassion and a willingness to make reasonable adjustments.
Sources for the statistics mentioned:
– Hirvikoski, T. et al. (2016). Premature mortality in autism spectrum disorder. A population‑based study in Sweden. Findings include markedly elevated suicide mortality, especially among autistic adults without intellectual disability.
– Cassidy, S. et al. (2014). Suicidal ideation and suicide plans or attempts in adults with Asperger’s syndrome attending a specialist clinic. Reports 66% lifetime suicidal ideation and 35% plans/attempts.
When news broke that Lubaina Himid RA, CBE would represent Britain at the 2026 Venice Biennale, the art world let out a collective cheer. At 72, the pioneering British artist—born in Zanzibar, based in Preston—has earned a place among the most influential voices of her generation. Her work, a dazzling blend of history, storytelling, and social critique, has long challenged the narratives that dominate Western culture, shining a light on the contributions of Black figures who have too often been overlooked.
Himid is no stranger to breaking ground. In the 1980s and 1990s, she curated trailblazing exhibitions like Five Black Women (1983) at London’s Africa Centre and The Thin Black Line (1985) at the ICA, putting Black female artists firmly on the map at a time when mainstream galleries barely noticed. Her daring vision earned her the Turner Prize in 2017, and a CBE followed in 2018, honours that recognise not just her artistry but her remarkable influence on the British cultural landscape.
And yet, Himid remains delightfully down-to-earth. On hearing of her Biennale invitation, she laughed, “with both disbelief and pleasure,” before reflecting on the opportunity:
“It is such a great honour and at the same time a brilliant and exciting opportunity to make something particularly special, which resonates with multiple audiences, communicates with complex histories, and looks to a more collaborative future.”
The Path to Venice
Being chosen to represent Britain in Venice is no small feat. The British Council, which manages the UK’s pavilion, conducts a rigorous selection process. Artists are nominated and assessed by curators, critics, and cultural institutions from across the country. Their proposals are scrutinised for artistic excellence, innovation, and international significance—a combination that signals not just mastery of craft, but an ability to spark conversation on a global stage. The final decision rests with the Pavilion Commissioner and the Visual Arts Advisory Group.
It’s a recognition that places an artist at the very pinnacle of contemporary British art, transforming their career and showcasing their vision to a global audience. For Himid, whose work thrives on dialogue, this platform offers a chance to create a profound, immersive experience in Venice’s historic spaces.
Reimagining the British Pavilion
Himid is renowned for pushing the boundaries of painting, sculpture, and installation, fusing textures, narratives, and sound to construct spaces that feel alive, vivid, and socially urgent. Emma Dexter, Director of Visual Arts and the British Council Collection, describes Himid’s approach as “a radical optimism combined with incisive social critique,” noting that her exhibition will transform the Pavilion into a journey of discovery.
For Venice 2026, Himid’s work promises to be both playful and profound, intimate yet expansive—a conversation across centuries and continents, a reminder that history is never neutral, and that art can illuminate the stories we have forgotten.
From her early curatorial triumphs to her recent global recognition, Lubaina Himid has always worked at the intersection of history, identity, and imagination. Venice will be the latest—and most spectacular—stage for her audacious vision, a moment that promises to resonate far beyond the gilded canals and crowded pavilions of Italy’s floating city.
In 2026, the British Pavilion will not just exhibit art—it will tell a story, vibrant and urgent, through the eyes of one of Britain’s most brilliant and fearless artists.
We’re thrilled to share some fantastic news — Firepit Art Gallery and Studios CIC has received our very first grant as a Community Interest Company! Thanks to the Greenwich Healthier Communities Fund, we’re able to bring an inspiring new initiative to life: FIREPIT FEELS.
This milestone marks an exciting step forward in our mission to make creativity accessible, inclusive, and nurturing for everyone. With the support of this grant, we’re launching a pilot programme of free and pay-what-you-can workshopsdesigned to foster creative health and wellbeing within our local community.
About FIREPIT FEELS
FIREPIT FEELS is a culturally-rooted series of workshops taking place in Greenwich Peninsula, created to support and uplift individuals from Global Majority, LGBTQIA+, and Neurodiverse communities, particularly those from disadvantaged backgrounds. Our aim is to offer a welcoming, affirming space where creativity, culture, and connection come together to enhance emotional and mental wellbeing.
We warmly invite you to take part in any — or all — of our upcoming sessions:
November 12th, 7–9pm – 🎨 Inhabiting Uncertainty on the Canvas — Painting Workshop
November 23rd, 1–3pm – 🧘♀️ Unfold: Movement & Meaning — Yoga & Journalling
December 14th, 1–3pm – 🧵 Chinese Knotting Jewellery & Mindfulness
January 8th, 7–9pm – ✏️ Our Art Circle — Drawing Workshop
January 22nd, 7–9pm – 📚 Queer Narrative — Collaging and Storytelling
Every aspect of FIREPIT FEELS has been developed collaboratively, with guidance from an Accessibility Consultantand a Psychotherapist, ensuring that the programme is inclusive, neurodiversity-affirming, and trauma-informed.
Each session is relaxed and supportive. We’ll provide sensory aids for those who find them helpful, and a dedicated welfare support guide will be on hand to make sure everyone feels safe, comfortable, and welcome throughout.
About Firepit Art Gallery and Studios CIC
Located in the heart of Greenwich Peninsula, Firepit Art Gallery and Studios CIC is a community-led art hub that celebrates creativity in all its forms. Our mission is to make the arts accessible, inclusive, and sustainable by hosting co-created workshops, exhibitions, and events that reflect the diverse voices of our community.
Run by local artists, we believe in the power of art to connect people, spark dialogue, and support wellbeing. Whether you’re a seasoned creative or a complete beginner, Firepit is your space to explore, express, and belong.
To stay updated on our events, projects, and exhibitions,
Together, let’s make Firepit Feels a space where creativity truly heals, connects, and inspires.
Zohran Mamdani: A New Dawn for New York — and a Setback for Trump’s America
By Steven Smith
Let’s get one thing straight: Sadiq Khan is a terrible mayor — but not because he is Muslim. He’s a terrible mayor because, quite simply, he hasn’t done the job well. Faith has nothing to do with competence.
I would like to think I ever judge anyone by their religion. Yet when I hear from certain extreme right-wing Christians, my instinct is that they’re often deeply uncomfortable with the LGBTQ+ community. Many cherry-pick verses from the Bible to justify their prejudices, conveniently ignoring the passages about kindness, humility and turning the other cheek — a principle that seems to have lost all meaning for them. As are extreme Muslims and many other religious devotees. I do not want them in power.
And how many of these self-proclaimed moral crusaders have later been exposed as hypocrites, caught in scandals that betray the very values they preach? No one wants to live under Sharia law, but equally, most of us are not rejecting Eastern culture or faith. Jewish politicians, for instance, aren’t out trying to convert everyone. The truth is simple: people should be judged on their integrity, their empathy, and their ability to lead — not the faith they were born into.
Historically, the right wing has struggled with LGBTQ+ acceptance. Look at Reform’s Ann Widdecombe, a devout Christian who remains openly opposed to gay rights, or Nigel Farage, who rails against same-sex marriage yet hasn’t exactly been a shining example of domestic harmony himself.
So, why shouldn’t New York — one of the most diverse cities in the world — have a Muslim mayor? The measure of leadership isn’t found in the label of one’s faith but in the breadth of one’s humanity.
When Zohran Mamdani swept to victory as New York’s new mayor, he didn’t just win an election — he ignited a cultural and political shift. At just 33, the Ugandan-born, Queens-raised son of Indian immigrants and the first Muslim to hold the office, Mamdani represents a fresh, progressive vision of leadership grounded in empathy, equity, and inclusivity. For women and LGBTQ+ citizens, his victory signals something powerful: a mayor who sees diversity not as a slogan, but as the city’s greatest strength. And for Donald Trump and the hard-right movement that thrives on fear and division, Mamdani’s rise is a direct ideological defeat.
Mamdani’s political roots run deep in social justice. Long before his mayoral run, he made his name in the New York State Assembly by fighting for tenant protections, affordable housing, and workers’ rights. But what sets him apart is his understanding that social equality must include gender and sexual equality. His policies go beyond token representation — they promise tangible protections and support for women, LGBTQ+, and trans individuals who continue to face discrimination and economic barriers in one of the world’s most diverse cities.
During his campaign, Mamdani declared: “New York must be a sanctuary — not just for immigrants, but for every person whose existence has been politicised.” That message resonated strongly with LGBTQ+ voters and women’s advocacy groups, weary of years of policy rollbacks and toxic rhetoric at the national level.
His mayoral platform includes one of the most comprehensive pro-equality agendas ever proposed for New York City. At its heart are three major commitments: establishing an Office for LGBTQIA+ Affairs to coordinate inclusive policies and investigate discrimination; pledging $65 million for gender-affirming healthcare and reproductive rights clinics; and strengthening women’s economic and reproductive rights through expanded paid family leave, subsidised childcare, and increased funding for domestic violence shelters and legal aid. These policies represent not just symbolic progress but systemic reform, tackling the intertwined roots of inequality and positioning New York as a beacon for progressive governance in a deeply divided nation.
Some observers initially wondered whether a devout Muslim mayor could fully champion LGBTQ+ and women’s rights. Mamdani’s leadership has already answered that question decisively. He has stated repeatedly that his faith teaches compassion, justice, and respect for human dignity — values entirely consistent with protecting the vulnerable. By separating personal belief from public duty, he embodies the pluralism that defines modern New York. His election sends a potent message that faith and equality are not mutually exclusive.
To understand why Mamdani’s victory is such a blow to Donald Trump, one must look beyond New York’s borders. Trumpism thrives on nostalgia — a yearning for a rigid, exclusionary version of America defined by dominance and division. Mamdani represents the opposite: a confident, multicultural future where inclusion and equality are strengths, not threats. Under Trump, the federal government rolled back protections for transgender people, restricted abortion access, and emboldened hate groups. Mamdani’s success proves that this politics of fear no longer holds sway everywhere — especially not in America’s largest city.
What happens in New York often echoes nationally. Just as Fiorello La Guardia’s social reforms and Michael Bloomberg’s urban policies shaped national conversations in their eras, Mamdani’s agenda may set the tone for a new wave of progressive mayors. His approach fuses social justice with fiscal realism — leveraging the city’s enormous budget to create measurable improvements in equality and opportunity. His administration’s first-year priorities include making the Metropolitan Transportation Authority free for students and low-income riders, expanding affordable housing projects on city-owned land, increasing investment in public schools with inclusive sex education, and introducing gender-balanced representation in city boards and commissions.
Mamdani’s election is also a cultural moment — one that renews New York’s identity as a sanctuary for those who dream of freedom in all its forms. From Stonewall to suffrage, the city has long been a crucible of progress. His leadership promises not only policy change but also a revival of civic optimism: a belief that governance can be both compassionate and competent. His first speech after victory captured this perfectly: “We are not here to manage decline. We are here to imagine abundance — for women, for queer and trans people, for every New Yorker who has been told to shrink their dreams.”
Let’s get one thing straight: Sadiq Khan is a terrible mayor — but not because he is Muslim. He’s a terrible mayor because, quite simply, he hasn’t done the job well. Faith has nothing to do with competence.
Nor would I ever judge anyone by their religion. Yet when I hear from certain extreme right-wing Christians, my instinct is that they’re often deeply uncomfortable with the LGBTQ+ community. Many cherry-pick verses from the Bible to justify their prejudices, conveniently ignoring the passages about kindness, humility and turning the other cheek — a principle that seems to have lost all meaning for them.
And how many of these self-proclaimed moral crusaders have later been exposed as hypocrites, caught in scandals that betray the very values they preach? No one wants to live under Sharia law, but equally, most of us are not rejecting Eastern culture or faith. Jewish politicians, for instance, aren’t out trying to convert everyone. The truth is simple: people should be judged on their integrity, their empathy, and their ability to lead — not the faith they were born into.
Historically, the right wing has struggled with LGBTQ+ acceptance. Look at Reform’s Ann Widdecombe, a devout Christian who remains openly opposed to gay rights, or Nigel Farage, who rails against same-sex marriage yet hasn’t exactly been a shining example of domestic harmony himself.
So, why shouldn’t New York — one of the most diverse cities in the world — have a Muslim mayor? The measure of leadership isn’t found in the label of one’s faith but in the breadth of one’s humanity. rise represents a decisive shift away from the politics of grievance and exclusion. His administration promises to put women’s rights, LGBTQ+ equality, and social justice at the heart of city governance. For a nation still grappling with polarisation, his victory is both an inspiration and a challenge: proof that diversity can win, compassion can govern, and inclusion can be a source of strength rather than division. For Donald Trump and those who profit from cultural conflict, Mamdani’s triumph is a warning shot: the future belongs to those who build bridges, not walls. He is a mayor for all and a flash that thinking Americans have had enough of the red hat .
Frieze London 2025.PHOTO: LINDA NYLIND. COURTESY OF FRIEZE
By Steven Smith
“This was Frieze in its most mature form — calm, confident, and beautifully human.”
This October, Regent’s Park once again became the beating heart of contemporary culture, as London’s premier art fair returned with a noticeably more reflective air. Gone were the flashing lights and social-media gimmicks that once dominated the scene — in their place, a quiet confidence and an emphasis on meaning over market value. Frieze London 2025 proved that the true allure of art lies not in the roar of spectacle, but in surprise, sincerity, and the occasional whisper that lingers long after the tents come down.
A Quieter Kind of Dazzle
Each autumn, the white tents of Frieze rise like a sleek temporary city, drawing curators, collectors, and celebrities who glide between installations and champagne bars. But this year, something had shifted. The fair felt calmer — less about performance, more about purpose.
The tone was set from the outset. New entrance pavilions — elegant aluminium structures created by A Studio Between using 75 per cent recycled metal — signalled sustainability rather than status. It was a small yet telling gesture: Frieze has grown up.
Inside, the fair’s redesigned layout provided space to breathe. Instead of the crowding and visual overload of previous years, this edition privileged air, light, and contemplation. And what stood out most was originality. You weren’t left thinking “Hirst homage” or “Bacon knock-off” — though artistic lineage was there — the work felt boldly its own.
Frieze remains vast — more than 280 galleries across Frieze London and Frieze Masters — yet this year’s coherence was striking. Focus, the section dedicated to younger galleries, became its emotional anchor. Thirty-plus exhibitors explored climate, identity, displacement, and belonging with genuine urgency rather than opportunistic messaging.
One standout installation — a delicate shelter of reclaimed textiles and timber — spoke quietly yet powerfully of “home”. No gimmicks. Just humanity.
Even the major galleries opted for subtlety. Gagosian, Hauser & Wirth, and White Cube resisted spectacle in favour of introspection: small, thoughtful works that drew viewers in rather than overwhelming them.
“Frieze 2025 is a fair about stories, not stunts.”
The Market Mood
Frieze is both cultural pilgrimage and high-stakes shop floor — and the cooling market was impossible to ignore. Economic uncertainty has made collectors judicious, especially in Britain. Yet the fair thrived precisely because it did not mask reality.
Dealers confessed that sales were careful but consistent. Relationships mattered more than rapid-fire transactions. There was less frenzy, more trust — and with it, a sense of optimism that art still carries weight when times feel lean.
Art with Intention
What defined Frieze this year wasn’t a single blockbuster piece — but a collective tone of intentionality. Works spoke across booths about survival, memory, fragility, and the search for place.
Even architecture joined the conversation. Those aluminium pavilions — modest in shine yet rich in idea — mirrored the fair’s shift: modernism stepping into mindfulness.
Once known for glamour and provocation, Frieze has found its inner voice. No longer chasing viral moments, it invited something rarer: genuine attention.
“If previous years shouted, this one spoke — and everyone listened.”
Naudline Pierre, Bathers, (2025). PHOTO: COURTESY OF NAUDLINE PIERRE AND JAMES COHAN
Moments of Stillness
Frieze 2025 balanced buzz with calm. The chatter of negotiations coexisted with long, quiet looks. Visitors paused not because works were famous — but because they were interesting.
Climate anxiety, migration and belonging were recurring ideas, but handled with nuance rather than sloganising. There was vulnerability — a powerful antidote in a world polished to a shine.
Where It Wobbles
A fair this size still overwhelms. After several hours, even the sharpest eye risks softening into what insiders call “booth blur”. And while sustainability was championed, the contradiction of air-freighted masterpieces inside temporary architecture remains unresolved.
Yet for Frieze, these were growing pains — not failings.
“After three hours, the brain begins to flatten everything into booth blur — but somehow, this year, the art fought back.”
London’s Moment
Amid market turbulence, Frieze reaffirmed London’s role as the art world’s soulful heart. Where Basel can feel clinical and New York transactional, London offers intellect tempered with humour — grit paired with grace.
A temporary city in a timeless park: that is its poetry.
Frieze London 2025 was the grown-up edition — less showmanship, more sincerity. It favoured ideas over Instagram, meaning over money. It reminded us that great art doesn’t always demand attention. Sometimes it waits. Sometimes it whispers. And sometimes, if you pause long enough, it tells you exactly what you needed to hear.
“This was Frieze in its most mature form — calm, confident, and beautifully human.”
Why Katie Price Needs to Back Off and Let Her Kids Shine Without Her Interference
Growing up is never easy — not for the average teenager, and certainly not for those with famous parents. For most young people, adolescence is about carving out your own identity, deciding who you want to be, and pursuing your chosen career or further education. It’s a period of self-discovery and independence. But when your every move has been played out in the glare of the press since childhood, the challenge is far greater.
Children of celebrities live with a unique pressure. They’re often unfairly labelled with the now-infamous tag “Nepo Baby” — short for “nepotism baby” — a term referring to someone whose career mirrors or is connected to that of their famous parent. The implication is clear: their achievements aren’t earned but handed to them through family connections. The phrase is often used as an insult, suggesting that their success is unearned, undeserved, or simply the result of privilege.
Of course, this isn’t always the case. Some celebrity children go out of their way to avoid using their family name, working hard to make it on their own merits. In many instances, the public only learns of their famous parentage long after they’ve established themselves. On the flip side, stepping into the same spotlight as a parent and not quite measuring up can be devastating for mental health. The pressure to “live up to” a legacy can crush even the most talented young person.
Take Princess Andre, for example. She’s a young woman with dreams, ambition, and — crucially — talent. Under the guidance of Clare Powell, a woman I’d call a genius in the world of entertainment management, Princess has been making strides toward building her own career. Powell is the same powerhouse who played a key role in shaping Katie Price’s early career. Importantly, Katie is not directly involved in Princess’s current projects.
Stunning Princess Andrea
Now, I’ve been a huge supporter of Katie Price over the years — I’ve defended her when many wouldn’t. But on this occasion, Katie, it’s time to take a step back. In fact, take one hundred steps back. Be a proud mum, but let Princess shine without you hovering in the background. It’s about dignity — a word that doesn’t often appear in the Pricey vocabulary — and allowing your daughter to succeed on her own terms.
I have a close friend whose sons are both stars now: one’s a famous rock musician, the other a West End performer. Before their success, my friend made a conscious decision to stay out of their spotlight. No hanging around at every audition, no being photographed at every event. She let them find their own way, even if it meant watching from the sidelines. That kind of quiet support is invaluable — and something Katie could learn from.
The truth is, Princess already has “star” written all over her. Yes, her famous parents have opened some doors — there’s no denying that. But she’s also beautiful, poised, polite, and grounded in a way that the teenage Jordan (Katie’s former alter ego) simply wasn’t. While Katie at that age was known for her brashness and colourful vocabulary, Princess seems to have a quiet charm and grace that’s refreshing to see.
Of course, fame dynamics can get tricky within families. I’ve seen it happen. Sometimes a parent who’s spent years in the spotlight finds it hard when their child begins to eclipse them. I remember a friend whose mother was always the centre of attention. We once attended a concert together, and during the show, the star actually stopped mid-performance to compliment my friend’s daughter — “Who is this beauty?” they asked. The girl was thrilled. But when she turned to share the moment with her mum, the mother had vanished, unable to handle not being the one in the spotlight.
Even Hollywood royalty have faced this. Liza Minnelli once admitted that her mother, Judy Garland, struggled to accept her daughter’s fame. It’s a reminder that parental pride can sometimes be mixed with a very human sense of insecurity.
In Princess’s case, the potential is huge. She has the looks, the talent, and the personality to carve out a significant career in modelling, media, or whatever creative path she chooses. The worst thing that could happen is for her efforts to be overshadowed by her mum’s drama, headlines, or interference.
Some might argue that Katie’s involvement is only natural — after all, she’s been in the industry for decades. But let’s be honest: sometimes experience comes with baggage. Katie’s falling-out with Clare Powell has been well documented, but that shouldn’t affect Princess’s choices. Powell helped make Katie a household name in the first place. This is show business — not “show friends” — and if I had a daughter with career ambitions, I’d want her with the best possible management team. Personal disagreements shouldn’t dictate professional decisions when a young career is on the line.
If Katie truly wants to support her daughter, she needs to be a cheerleader, not a co-star. Let Princess have her own brand, her own media moments, and her own relationship with the public. This doesn’t mean disappearing from her life — just from her professional life. Turn up to watch from the audience, not to stand centre stage. Offer advice privately, not through the pages of a tabloid.
In today’s media-saturated world, it’s hard enough for young people to find their place without the shadow of a famous parent looming over every opportunity. Princess deserves the space to make mistakes, learn lessons, and earn her own applause. And if she’s anything like she seems — poised, polite, and full of potential — she’ll do just fine.
The bottom line? Princess Andre has a bright future. But for her to truly shine, Katie Price needs to take not one or two, but one hundred steps back — and stay there until she’s invited forward. That’s what real support looks like
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Good luck to Jack Kay .
If proof was ever needed that you can flog your soul to the devil for fame, look no further than the sudden, stratospheric rise of Ibiza’s self-styled “final boss.” One click of a camera, one cheeky social media post, and bang — he’s out-trending the Pricey and even the Trump. That’s no small feat, considering those two can normally generate headlines by simply breathing in public.
The man behind the moniker? Jack Kay. No chart-topping singles. No Oscar-bait performances. No tell-all autobiography written “in his own words” but suspiciously sounding like it was dictated to a ghostwriter over Zoom. Just… Jack. A man who, by all accounts, was minding his own business until fate, flash photography, and the internet combined to anoint him this week’s celebrity overlord.
And do you know what? Fair play to him. He’s a smashing lad by all appearances, and I can’t help but root for him. In fact, I’m practically booking my front-row seat for his inevitable debut on Celebrity Big Brother or I’m a Celebrity… Get Me Out of Here! Picture it now: Jack in the jungle, wearing a head torch, looking mildly confused while chewing kangaroo testicles for the nation’s amusement. It’s practically destiny.
Of course, his overnight success has sent a few noses wildly out of joint in the fame industry. Imagine clawing your way up the greasy celebrity pole — posting your best pout, cultivating “scandals,” leaking your own “leaked” texts — only to have Jack Kay swoop in with one photo and walk off with the nation’s attention like it’s a free canapé at a launch party. Delicious.
It’s not just the wannabe-set bristling either; the whole saga has become a sort of cultural Rorschach test. Some see Jack as proof of the absurdity of fame in the age of the algorithm. Others see him as the internet’s latest crush. I see a man who’s managed to play the game without even reading the rulebook.
Because let’s be honest, the rules have changed. Once, you needed a record deal, a primetime slot, or a scandal big enough to get a mention in the News of the World (RIP). Now? You just need a single moment that makes the internet collectively say: Yes, this one. This is our new obsession. It could be a photograph. It could be a TikTok. It could be an ill-advised comment made in a kebab shop at 3am. And suddenly, you’re hot property.
Will Jack’s reign as Ibiza’s final boss last? Who knows. The internet’s love affairs are fickle. One minute you’re the meme of the moment, the next you’re that guy people vaguely remember seeing “on something once.” But for now, Jack’s milking his fifteen minutes with style, and I, for one, am here for it. If he has done a deal with the devil, I hope it came with a decent rider — champagne, sunglasses, and maybe a small island.
Hurray — Wednesday is back on Netflix! And if that wasn’t already a big enough treat for fans of the macabre, there’s an extra twist in the cobweb this season: the legendary Joanna Lumley has joined the cast as Wednesday’s formidable grandmother.
Yes, you read that right. From Absolutely Fabulous to The Wolf of Wall Street, Lumley has always brought her own brand of razor-sharp wit and undeniable glamour to every role. Now, she’s stepping into the delightfully creepy world of the Addams family, and honestly, it feels like a match made in gothic heaven.
Hi Oscar, We at 2Shades think you are art. We love your openness about living with addiction, and we would love to know more.
Thank you so much—that’s a wonderful thing to say. And thank you for having me. It was lovely meeting you at the Routine exhibition recently.
I’m Oscar, an artist based in London. I make a lot of different things, but mostly graphic illustrations that revolve around fashion, comic books, or BDSM. I’m a recovering alcoholic and addict. I’ve been sober for a while now, and I’ve been working on both my creative career and rebuilding my life—I’m even back at university. I love bold colours, especially red (my absolute favourite), which features heavily in my work. But sometimes, just simple black-and-white linework can be really rewarding too. You’ll usually find me watching horror movies, rocking out to the Sugababes, drawing some femme fatale in a fabulous outfit—or playing video games, of course.
I’ve been drawing for as long as I can remember. It’s been a way for me to express so much—my sexuality, my adoration of femininity, my experience as a queer person, or just the thrill of an incredible superhero fight scene. Now I’ve had the chance to exhibit and work as an illustrator, which has been amazing. I’m only getting better, so I’m excited to see what the future holds.
What does it feel like to create, for you?
For me, creating is perfect concentration and calm. My head is usually full of thoughts—non-stop—except when I’m drawing or designing. That’s when everything quiets down. I get totally absorbed in the world of the piece, in the details of the colours—or I just disappear into the flow of (deafening) music and let the pen take me somewhere new.
I’ve grown a lot as an artist since getting sober. I had to figure out how to be creative again, because my addiction robbed me of that desire—and the ability. I worried it wouldn’t come back. Part of me thought art was lost to me, or at least the passion for it was.
Thankfully, it came back—but it feels different now. These days, I create with less intention and let my emotions and the pen guide me. Trusting my skills is a big part of that. I’m the best I’ve ever been, and there’s a sense of security in that, because it allows me to just let go. That freedom is why creativity is such a safe space for me.
When you’re an addict, so much of your life is micromanaged. I avoid certain places when I’m too tired or upset because the pull of alcohol or drugs can be dangerous when I’m not stable. I have to constantly protect myself in a world where addiction is everywhere. Being around alcohol and drugs is exhausting—so I make sure I recharge, or I crash.
Creation is free of all the mental admin I have to do every day around addiction. That’s why it’s such a solace. I get to be somewhere else, someone else—feeling, seeing, and doing something else. It’s incredibly freeing.
Can you remember the earliest thing you created artistically?
Absolutely. I’ve always loved comic books and still collect them—I’ve got hundreds in my room. They were my gateway into art. I used to print out images of my favourite characters at primary school and try to redraw them as best I could.
Around that time, I also became obsessed with the brides of Dracula—after seeing Van Helsing with Kate Beckinsale. Those brides were everything to a young gay boy from South London. Flowing sleeves that turned into wings? Iconic.
I also drew Storm, Elektra, Catwoman, and Raven from Teen Titans because I grew up watching all those shows, not even realising there were decades of comics about these amazing women I could be reading. I started copying comic pages and poses from books I bought or found online. Comic artists are incredibly underrated—the technical and artistic skill needed is mind-blowing.
Redrawing other artists’ work was how I learned. It’s a great skill to develop early on. Even now, I love watching artists create on YouTube. That’s how I pick up new techniques—watching how someone shades or sketches anatomy, then figuring out how I’d do it. I tell every new artist I meet: understand the process. See how other people use the medium. It’ll change your practice.
What correlation does addiction and art have for you?
Addiction seeps into parts of who I am and, by extension, my art. My obsessive focus on one subject or style until I burn out feels very much like addiction. My love of recurring colours or patterns feels repetitive—like addiction did.
But, honestly, addiction was the opposite of being an artist for me. Toward the end of my using, I just stopped creating. There was nothing left inside to work with—no soul to put into art. Addiction stole that from me. Even though it was my own doing, it still feels like a theft.
That whole “depressed addict artist” stereotype? It wasn’t me. There was no creating going on. I don’t know how people stay functional in addiction. I couldn’t. Everything outside of using and, occasionally, working just faded away.
That said, art can be just as self-indulgent as addiction—just without the destruction. And it can pay! Which is the opposite of addiction, where I only ever lost money. So in that way, it’s gratifying.
Do you have any stand-out influences in your creative journey?
Yes! René Gruau is my favourite fashion illustrator. The first time I saw his work, I was blown away by his minimalism—but also by the drama and flair. His use of red (swoon) and sheer elegance… phenomenal.
Simone Bianchi is a comic book artist I’ve loved for over a decade. He paints many of his pieces, which makes them feel unique—especially in comics. His grasp of anatomy and colour is chef’s kiss. He drew Storm better than anyone at Marvel. Big hair, boots, cape—flawless.
Tim Sale is another one. Famous for Batman: The Long Halloween and one of my favourites, Catwoman: When in Rome. His work feels like a fashion illustrator started doing comics. Perfect intersection of the things I love. He passed recently, which devastated me. The industry lost a legend.
Music is also a huge influence. I have a very visual connection to it—like a movie trailer in my head. I never draw without music. It’s the emotional gateway to my creative brain. I often play the same song on repeat for hours when I’m trying to stay in a feeling.
Nowadays, my inspiration is more internal. I rarely use references unless I’m doing commissioned work. But I still like life drawing sometimes—to keep my skills sharp.
How did you control the battle with addiction?
I wouldn’t call it “control,” because there’s not much you can control. For me, it all comes down to one non-negotiable truth: Sobriety or death. If I use again, I know I’ll die. That’s not melodramatic—it’s just the reality. So there is no choice. I’ve worked too hard to rebuild my life and relationships. I’m not throwing that away.
I take my peace seriously. Work is work, but my life means more. If I don’t want to go out, I don’t. If I need a day to myself, I take it. I fought for my happiness. I’m not sacrificing it for anyone.
AA helped me massively—especially early on. Those people saved my life. But as it’s anonymous and not about promotion, I’ll leave it at that.
Do you remember your darkest moment dealing with addiction?
Yes. Any time I tried to end my life. It happened a few times during my addiction. Thankfully, I wasn’t successful—but I remember that feeling of walking around not wanting to be here. I truly believed the world would be better off without me.
That feeling consumed me for years. The only relief came through explosive, manic episodes that never ended well. I felt hollow, like I had nothing left to offer.
These days, I still have hard moments—days or even weeks of depression—but now I know it’s not forever. That helps. Therapy helps too. Lots of it.
What’s next in your journey?
I just graduated with a first in Graphic Design! So right now, I’m job hunting and creating more art. I’ve been lucky to exhibit a few times and would love to do more of that. I’ve also got some creative projects in the works I can’t talk about yet—but I want to do everything. I didn’t think I’d live past 21, so the fact that I have time now? That feels powerful.
I’d love to put my work on clothing. That would be amazing. But for now, it’s more art, more exhibitions—and staying open to new projects. Commission work has always surprised me in the best ways.
Do you feel people are quick to judge you?
Probably. But it doesn’t bother me.
I’m gay. I live in a world where my community is still criminalised in many countries. Judgment comes with the territory. I have a small circle of people whose opinions matter. Everyone else? Irrelevant.
I love heels, claws, and makeup sometimes. Any queer person will tell you: being visibly queer means being hyper-aware of how you’re perceived. But I’m not hiding any part of myself to appease someone else’s discomfort. That’s a terrible deal.
I’m also quite introverted now. I enjoy my own company. And if someone doesn’t like me? Not my problem. I’m not for everyone—and I don’t want to be. That sounds exhausting.
I’m not unkind. I’ll apologise if I’m wrong. I work hard in therapy so my issues don’t hurt my people. But I also stand by myself. If I’m not sorry, I don’t say it. There’s great power in saying, “I’m not sorry.”
And hey—I draw men being sexually tied up. I expect judgment. But art is made to be disliked as much as it is to be loved. If someone hates my work, great. That’s their job as the audience: to respond. Love or hate—it means it made them feel something. That’s all that matters.
Quick Fire Sushi or Chinese – Neither Kiss or Slap – Both Bowie or Madonna – Madonna Favourite Place in London – My house First thing you’d change as mayor for a day – Free dental / Legal protections for trans people that can’t be undone by a moron
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Once upon a time, in the heart of a mystical French village called Saussignac, lived a magical little boy named Malachi. He had recently moved into a grand, enchanted house nestled among endless vineyards, and from the moment he arrived, he knew it was no ordinary place.
Malachi loved his new home. It was full of secrets, with winding corridors and hidden rooms yet to be discovered. He spent his days with his loyal friends: Frankie, the bouncy dog; Bob, the wise old retriever; Charlie, the unimpressed three-legged cat; and his cheeky imaginary companion, Popo le Tech, who was always up to mischief.
The garden outside was wild and overgrown, with brambles and weeds as tall as trees. Though far too messy for playing, it was filled with mystery. Beyond it stretched miles of golden vineyards, rustling in the summer breeze.
One sunny afternoon, as Malachi gazed out of his bedroom window, he spotted something peculiar—a boy in their garden! He was digging furiously, as though searching for something hidden deep underground.
“Look! What is that boy doing in our garden?” Malachi cried.
Bob lifted his head, let out an excited little fart, and barked at Frankie, “Let’s go see!” The two dogs bounded downstairs like furry cannonballs.
Charlie, curled on the windowsill, stretched lazily. “Dogs,” he muttered. “So dramatic.”
Malachi dashed downstairs, accidentally knocking into Grandma Nanson, who was mid-yoga pose.
“Take your shoes off before you come back in!” she huffed from her Downward Dog pose.
Popo le Tech bounced over her with a giggle. “Keep your hair on, Gran!” he called, pulling a silly face that made everyone laugh—except Charlie, who just rolled his eyes.
Outside, the boy in ragged clothes continued to dig.
“That’s our garden!” Malachi shouted.
The boy spun around, startled. He was pale and thin, his eyes hollow.
“Please,” he said softly. “Help me.”
Bob gently licked the boy’s hand, then turned to fetch Grandma—but the boy raised his hand. “No,” he whispered. “Only you can see me.”
Malachi’s eyes widened. “Who are you?”
“My name is Paul,” the boy said. “I lived here, many years ago. My family was happy… until the pirates came.”
“Pirates?” Malachi gasped.
“Yes. They came one night—led by the evillest pirate of all, Captain Steven, and his cruel second-in-command, Smithers. They stole everything. Even the birthday cake my mum baked for my gran’s seventy-eighth!”
“They locked up the grown-ups and kidnapped the children, forcing us to work on their dreadful ship.”
Malachi’s mouth dropped open.
“Only Grandma escaped,” Paul added with a grin. “She talked so much they dropped her off ten villages away to get some peace!”
Frankie barked with amusement.
“My best friend, Le Tech, and I snuck into their supply cart and found a chest of gold—more treasure than you can imagine. We buried it right here, in this garden. One day, we hoped to return and throw a feast for the whole village.”
“But… you didn’t come back?” Malachi asked.
“We were caught,” Paul said grimly. “Le Tech was made to walk the plank. I was spared, but I spent years as their prisoner.”
Now Paul looked desperate. “Captain Steven is coming back—with a new crew of horrors, including One-Eyed John, who’s rumoured to eat pets! We must find the gold before they do. But no grown-ups can know. And definitely not the cat.”
Charlie sniffed indignantly. “Charming.”
“If the treasure is returned to the villagers,” Paul continued, “a magical fairy will appear to drive the pirates away—and reunite the families they took.”
Malachi glanced at the kitchen window. Grandma Nanson was now wearing a green face mask and fussing about sand on the floor.
He looked back at Paul—and then at his brave companions. They all nodded.
“Alright,” Malachi said. “We’ll find the gold and save the village.”
Popo le Tech did a backflip and whooped, “Adventure time!”
And so, under the Saussignac sun, a magical boy, two loyal dogs, a reluctant cat, a mischievous imaginary friend, and a boy from the past began their quest…
Part Two: The Pirate Gardeners
The next morning, Malachi awoke to golden sunlight streaming across his bedroom floor. He stretched and yawned. Outside, Popo le Tech was already playing with Bob and Frankie.
“I want you to meet someone,” she said, waving them over.
Standing behind her were two large men in muddy boots and overalls.
“These are the new gardeners,” Grandma explained.
The men turned. One wore a wide-brimmed hat and had eyes like ice.
“I’m Mr Steven,” he said. “Would you like to walk the—uh—plank? I mean, some sweets?”
“No thanks,” Malachi said quickly.
The second man stepped forward. “I’m John,” he grinned, licking his lips as he looked at the pets. “What delicious—I mean, what cuddly animals.”
The dogs growled. Even Charlie hissed.
“No children in the garden,” Mr Steven snapped. “We’re digging it all up.”
“Why?” Malachi asked.
“For your grandma’s birthday surprise,” John said. “Is she turning seventy-six by any chance?”
“I’m thirty-nine!” Grandma snapped. “Honestly!”
Later, when the “gardeners” weren’t looking, Paul pulled Malachi aside.
“It’s them,” he whispered. “The pirates. They’re back.”
“We have to find the treasure before they do,” said Malachi. “And protect the fairy.”
“The gold is under this house,” said Le Tech, appearing beside them. “The pirates must’ve found one of the old maps.”
“But how do we reach it?” Paul asked.
“We’ll need a map of the house,” said Malachi. “And we must find a way underneath.”
The children and pets slipped out the back door unnoticed. The race had begun.
Meanwhile, behind the hedge, Mr Steven scowled.
“That boy knows something.”
“We should tie up the gran and torture her with a curling iron,” John hissed. “Make Malachi walk the plank!”
“And the pets?”
“Eat them!” John cackled.
“Not yet,” Steven growled. “First we get the gold.”
Part Three: The Fairy Awakens
“Oh no,” said Gran, wearing a green beauty mask to look extra pretty for her birthday. “The garden’s not looking very good.”
She leaned out of the window and called to the gardeners, “I don’t think this is right! Can you come in to discuss it?”
John looked shocked as he stared with his one good eye.
“It’s a hideous sea witch!” he screamed.
“Just act natural,” said Captain Steve, giving a wink. “It’s only that overly chatty Gran.”
As they came inside, Gran—being kind—offered them some water but insisted they take off their shoes.
This was a big mistake.
Not only did their feet stink, but their socks were full of holes—and worms crawled out of their boots onto the clean floor.
Gran screamed. “My lovely floors!”
Then she noticed something even worse. The floorboards near the kitchen sink were starting to lift.
She couldn’t believe it. “What on earth is going on?”
“Get her!” barked Captain Steve. “Tie her to the chair and gag her to shut her up. We’ll send her miles away where no one can hear her complaining. Or feed her to the sharks!”
John was only too happy to oblige. Gran put up a good fight and managed to cover him in green slime, but he tied her to a white chair in the living room, took off his stinky sock, and shoved it in Gran’s mouth.
Part Four: The Midnight Dig
That night, all was still.
Suddenly, sparkles of light danced across Malachi’s bedroom. Bob farted with surprise and nudged Frankie awake.
Malachi opened his eyes. “Look!”
A beautiful fairy floated before them. “I am Mirabella,” she said. “You’ve done well, brave Malachi. The treasure lies under the kitchen wall. Dig, and my spirit will be released—and the villagers will be free.”
“I’m too small to dig,” Malachi whispered.
“We’ll help,” said Charlie with a sigh. “No one ever lets a cat rest!”
Mirabella sprinkled fairy dust over them all. They hurried to the garden, guided by her light.
Part Five: Victory
Captain Steven was furious. “We’ll make Malachi scrub the decks forever! Let’s find that gold!”
Suddenly, the floorboards burst open with a blast of golden light.
Out came Malachi, Bob, Frankie, Charlie—and the glowing treasure chest.
“It’s okay, Gran,” Malachi said, untying her. “We’ve found the gold. And those aren’t gardeners—they’re pirates!”
The pirates screamed and began evaporating into thin air.
“I’ll be back!” Captain Steven howled.
The garden filled with glowing spirits—the villagers the pirates had once taken. They smiled at Malachi.
“Thank you,” said Paul and Le Tech. “We can rest now.”
Mirabella hovered above them. “Call my name three times if ever you need me.”
And with that, she vanished into the stars.
Epilogue
Later that day, Malachi’s mums returned.
“Terrible gardeners,” one muttered. “They’ve wrecked the garden.”
“Mum, we met pirates! And a fairy! And I found gold!”
“What an imagination,” they laughed.
That night, as Malachi drifted off to sleep, he looked under his pillow.
2Shades Magazine 