BBC News
์ค๋
๊ธฐํ
'They were coming from everywhere' - cockroach infestations rise after milder winters
A man who had a cockroach infestation at his apartment says the experience was "very stressful".
๐ฌ๐ง ์๊ตญ ยท "FESTA" ยท ์ด 4๊ฑด
ํํฐ ๋ณด๊ธฐํ์ฌ ์ง์
50.0
0 = ๋ถ์ ์ฐ์ธ
50 = ์ค๋ฆฝ
100 = ๊ธ์ ์ฐ์ธ
์ต๊ทผ 7์ผ ๊ธฐ์ค 3,913๊ฑด์ ๋ถ์ํ ๊ฒฐ๊ณผ, ๋ด์ค ์ฌ๋ฆฌ์ง์๋ 50.0(๊ท ํ)์ ๋๋ค. ๊ธ์ 0๊ฑด(0.0%)ยท์ค๋ฆฝ 3,913๊ฑด(100.0%)ยท๋ถ์ 0๊ฑด(0.0%)์ด๋ฉฐ, ์ค๋ฆฝ ๋น์ค์ด ๋๋ ทํ๊ฒ ๋์ต๋๋ค. ์ฑํฅ ์ง์๋ ์ข ํฉ 2.5(์ค๋ ๊ท ํ)์ ๋๋ค.
A man who had a cockroach infestation at his apartment says the experience was "very stressful".
Videos on TikTok showed rows of insects crawling over kitchen cabinets and window sills in homes across the UK.
Gagosian, Grosvenor Hill, London Not only does this giant plastic bag make the intangible physical, it gains a bodily sense of weight and an unexpected emotional resonance When he wasnโt busy wrapping buildings and bridges in vast reams of fabric, Christo was wrapping absolutely nothing. The Bulgarian artist made his name โ alongside his partner Jeanne-Claude โ with a wrapped Reichstag, a swaddled Arc de Triomphe and an enveloped Pont Neuf. They found a way of containing, embracing, protecting and smothering the whole world. But in the 1960s, he was trying to wrap air. Nothing more. Christo (Jeanne-Claude hadnโt been given full joint credit at this point) wanted to contain the air within a room, but the original idea was limited by technical constraints. Now, 50 years after it was first proposed for the Institute of Contemporary Art in Philadelphia, and six years after Christoโs death in 2020, heโs finally pulled it off. The opening room at Gagosian has been bisected horizontally, a huge polyethylene sack splitting the room in two, held to the ceiling by white ropes. It droops low, sinking into the middle of the space, forcing you to crouch to get under it. Youโre forced into a physical relationship with the work, bullied into changing how you interact with the environment. Christo: Air is at Gagosian, Grosvenor Hill, London, until 21 August Continue reading...
In early modern Europe, around the time when lenses began to bring the world (and heavens) into newfound focus, patients started appearing in medical records with a particular ailment: a firm belief that they were made of glass. Tamara Sanderson investigates the source and manifestation of this delusion, and finds a psychological idiom that once carried the weight of what could otherwise not be said.