Solve clues, fill the grid. 3 new puzzles every day!

Nothing ruins a morning's breakfast faster than eggs that stubbornly cling to your griddle because the surface has turned sticky or patchy. This common frustration usually stems from skipping a…

Solve clues, fill the grid. 3 new puzzles every day!

Solve clues, fill the grid. 3 new puzzles every day!

An album by Whin Released 2026-11-06 September sun slopes in the kitchen window, fadge fries gently on a griddle pan, birdsong seeping through the window and one last lazy bee stirs itself from a card...

An album by Whin Released 2026-11-06 September sun slopes in the kitchen window, fadge fries gently on a griddle pan, birdsong seeping through the window and one last lazy bee stirs itself from a cardboard crate of apples, there’s the clink of a spoon, a mug radiating warmth. Nothing’s happening but there’s loads going on.  Summer Visitor, third album from collaborative, multidisciplinary reeling/spooling guitaretc duo Whin, springs sprightly onto a branch, flitting in like a greenfinch at the birdbath in a summer drought. Robert Dallas Gray and Martin Henry’s previous Whin collaborations evoke quiet, domestic, homely space where the creaks of chairs, crawling children, whispered thanks and secrets shift through the interpolations of guitars and other instruments. Summer Visitor hugely expands these scales, both outwards and inwards, to transportive effect.   An opening of fingerstyle and Nick Drake-style High Folk gives way to turbulent billows of reverbed guitar as Jill O’Sullivan’s spirited, colourful fiddle playing finds us rapidly in unconventional territory. City Haiku, Hours and particularly Euston Parakeets obliterate distinctions between tuneup and performance – players’ playing resolving in and out of itself, suggestions of the reveries in Jim O’Rourke’s early 00s rock albums, of Mahar Shalal Hash Baz, of Woo or Arthur Russell’s Instrumentals, of the sun suddenly breaking through on a grey day when you’re out walking the dog.  Lots more singing. Martin Henry’s fragile sweet/sour lyrics noticing little birds in the bushes, small changes in atmosphere, fragmented half-heard conversations and memories. Fritz Welch’s understated, tone-perfect percussion like the sound of cords rubbing against each other on a night walk home, like keys and coins pressed together in a pocket. And huge emotional shifts, So It Goes and Solstice both expansive tilts at depicting churning existential interiority and stirring, hopeful new days to come. Then a cavalcade of the everyday in miniature.   “Yeah, let's go for another one.”    A breeze rustles beech leaves on a branch in a forest, the dog runs down the stairs, there’s a big moon out slightly occluded by a half a cloud. You are passed a warm drink. A string slightly buzzes as you start to play.  In your bed, the rain on the roof, all around. Colm Linnane, September 2026

September sun slopes in the kitchen window, fadge fries gently on a griddle pan, birdsong seeping through the window and one last lazy bee stirs itself from a…

Solve clues, fill the grid. 3 new puzzles every day!

Solve clues, fill the grid. 3 new puzzles every day!

Solve clues, fill the grid. 3 new puzzles every day!

Nothing ruins a cast iron griddle faster than the belief that soap is forbidden or that a stiff wire brush will magically restore its surface. I've seen countless pieces lose their seasoning to…