Russell T Davies in his office at his home in Manchester. Photograph: Fabio De Paola/The Observer
Russell T Davies in his office at his home in Manchester. Photograph: Fabio De Paola/The Observer
The acclaimed screenwriter recalls his life during the 1980s Aids crisis, and reveals why it is only now, with his new TV series Itâs a Sin, that he feels able to tell a story that has haunted him for decades
RussellTDavies
Sun 3 Jan 2021 03.00 EST
Last modified on Sat 30 Jan 2021 10.09 EST
There are things I canât say here. Men I dare not name. The first man I ever had sex with. A man I loved for three months in 1988. That hilarious friend I spent a mad week with in Glasgow. All of them dead, now. And they all died of Aids.
TODAY marks the second part of our special tribute edition to those lost to Covid-19 this year. As we reach the end of 2020, a year filled with loss and pain for so many, it’s a poignant moment to reflect on the devastation the virus has wrought - but also to remember the people behind the statistics. The heartbreaking reality of the coronavirus pandemic has been felt in every corner of the district, with many lives taken too soon by the virus. The Telegraph & Argus hopes this special edition will provide a comforting place for people to remember their loved ones lost to Covid-19 in a lasting tribute. Read the first of the tributes articles here.
10 Deadly Cases Of Hypnosis
When a person is hypnotized, he seems to be in a sleeplike state. But his brain is actually more active than usual except for the precuneus. That part of the brain is deeply involved with the consciousness of the self. It’s not needed when we create imagery that doesn’t include ourselves, which is what hypnosis does.
Sounds harmless, doesn’t it? If hypnosis just turns on our imaginations and makes us less conscious of ourselves, we shouldn’t lose our free will or be in any danger. Yet a series of unusual deaths related to people who were hypnotized suggests otherwise.
Classical music 2020: Blockbuster dreams, dashed hopes
Chris Gray, Correspondent
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The digital world premiere of Apollo Chamber Players In the Shadow of the Mountain Courtesy Apollo Chamber PlayersShow MoreShow Less
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One of the sites along the Buffalo Bayou where music from ROCO can be heard.Courtesy ROCOShow MoreShow Less
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A small, masked and socially distanced audience watches the Houston Symphony perform at Jones Hall on Friday, Sept. 18, 2020, in Houston.Godofredo A. Vásquez, Houston Chronicle / Staff photographerShow MoreShow Less
In September, Houston Grand Opera staged a very different opening night: a two-person recital co-starring soprano Tamara Wilson and pianist Patrick Summers. With no live audience, the performance was filmed in the makeshift broadcast studio inside the Wortham Center’s Cullen Theater.
Stardate: unknown
Station log: Kira, Bashir, Dax, O’Brien, and some others are toasting recent arrival Lieutenant Hector Ilario, who has been doing some superb piloting of the
Defiant. Later, Dax escorts a spectacularly drunk Ilario back to his cabin, where he shows her a picture of him laughing with two of his Academy classmates and flirts with her a bit before she heads back to her own cabin. The next morning, she awakens to a commotion: Ilario has been shot and killed at close range with a tritanium bullet. Sisko recognizes the bullet as belonging to a TR-116, a Starfleet prototype that was basically a modern take on an old-fashioned rifle. Starfleet abandoned the TR-116s, but a Starfleet officer could have access to the replicator pattern. Chemically powered projectile weapons leave powder burns when fired at close range, but there are no signs of such residue on Ilario’s body.