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Something remarkable is happening in Havana’s music scene. While economic pressures continue pushing established Cuban artists toward international shores, the island’s youth are crafting an entirely new sonic landscape — one that pulses with both tradition and revolution.

Take a stroll through Havana’s narrow streets these days, and you’ll hear it. The familiar rhythms of son cubano weave through electronic beats, while hip-hop flows merge seamlessly with traditional jazz. It’s early 2025, and Cuba’s musical evolution isn’t just happening — it’s exploding.

The Abreu brothers exemplify this transformation. At just 19 and 17, Fabio and Diego might seem like typical teenagers off-stage. But watch them perform, and you’ll witness something extraordinary. Their interpretation of traditional jazz carries both the weight of Cuba’s musical heritage and the lightness of youth. “We do what we like,” Fabio says, his casual demeanor masking years of dedication, “and we’re fortunate enough to make a living from what we love.”

Hidden bars and converted factories have become unlikely incubators for this new sound. These venues — some barely large enough to hold a dozen people — pulse with an energy that’s hard to describe but impossible to ignore. Here, young artists are doing more than just performing; they’re reimagining what Cuban music can be.

Perhaps most fascinating is how these emerging artists navigate Cuba’s technological limitations. Despite spotty internet access (a reality that’s slowly improving in 2025), they’ve found ingenious ways to build global audiences. Melanie Santiler, whose DIY music videos have captured hundreds of thousands of followers, represents this resourceful spirit. “We emerging musicians are the ones carrying the flag,” she declares, her words carrying the confidence of someone who knows they’re making history.

The rise of “reparto” — that gritty fusion of reggaeton and traditional Cuban sounds — tells its own story. Dasiel “Wampi” Mustelier stands out in this movement. A classically trained saxophonist turned reparto pioneer, he’s proof that innovation doesn’t mean abandoning one’s roots. With 700,000 Instagram followers and a European tour on the horizon, Wampi embodies the boundless potential of Cuba’s new guard.

What’s unfolding in Cuba isn’t just a changing of the guard — it’s a complete reimagining of possibility. These young artists, whether they’re jazz prodigies or reparto innovators, are writing the next chapter in their country’s musical story. And they’re doing it with a fearlessness that’s both inspiring and necessary.

In the end, it’s not just about the music. It’s about how a generation faced with limitations chose to create something limitless. As winter 2025 settles over Havana, these young artists continue pushing boundaries, proving that sometimes the most powerful innovations come from the most unexpected places.

The music world lost one of its quiet giants last weekend. Danny Thompson, the virtuoso acoustic bass player whose gentle genius helped shape British folk-rock, died at home in Rickmansworth on September 23. He was 86.

Anyone who’s delved into British folk music knows Thompson’s signature sound — though they might not realize it. His bass lines whispered and soared through countless legendary recordings, from Kate Bush’s ethereal compositions to John Martyn’s soul-stirring collaborations. His management described him, quite rightly, as a “force of nature” whose impact extended far beyond the notes he played.

Born in Teignmouth, Devon, back in 1939, Thompson’s musical journey reads like a chapter from Britain’s cultural revolution. Picture Soho in the mid-1950s: smoky clubs, late-night jam sessions, and a 16-year-old Danny playing his first professional gig. Life had other plans, though — national service swept him off to Penang, Malaysia, where he traded his beloved bass for a trombone in the army band. (Who knew?)

The 1960s brought Thompson back home and straight into the thick of Britain’s exploding music scene. His first major break? Touring with Roy Orbison, supported by some Liverpool lads called The Beatles. Not a bad way to kick things off.

But it was 1967 when Thompson truly found his groove. Together with John Renbourn, Jacqui McShee, Terry Cox, and Bert Jansch, he co-founded Pentangle — a band that would revolutionize folk music by refusing to color within the lines. Their 1969 album “Basket Of Light” didn’t just crack the UK top five; it redefined what folk music could be.

Thompson never was one to stay in his lane, though. Jazz legends Tubby Hayes and Stan Tracey? He played with them. The “Thunderbirds” theme tune that still gets stuck in your head? That’s him too. From Nick Drake’s haunting melodies to The Blind Boys of Alabama’s gospel soul, Thompson’s bass lines enhanced everything they touched.

“Danny was a player who served the song,” his management noted in their statement. Perhaps that’s what made him so special — the rare musician who knew when to whisper and when to roar, always in service of the music itself.

As we look ahead to 2025’s rapidly evolving music landscape, where AI-generated beats and virtual concerts become increasingly common, Thompson’s organic, deeply human approach to music feels more valuable than ever. His passing marks the end of an era in British music, but his influence lives on through countless recordings and the musicians he inspired.

He leaves behind his wife Sylvia and son Dan Junior — and a musical legacy that’ll keep bass players studying and smiling for generations to come.

Remember those maddening moments when you’re watching the climactic ending of a YouTube video, only to have it obscured by a wall of recommended content? Well, here’s some long-overdue news that’ll make digital viewing a bit more bearable in 2025 — YouTube’s finally throwing us a bone with a simple “Hide” button for those pesky end-screen recommendations.

It’s about time, really. After years of viewers practically begging for control over their viewing experience (just check any comment section from the past decade), YouTube’s rolling out this small but mighty feature. Tucked away in the top-right corner of the video player, this unassuming button represents a rare victory for user experience over the almighty engagement metrics.

The change feels particularly refreshing in today’s attention-hungry digital landscape. Rather than forcing viewers to play a frustrating game of “dodge the recommendations” during crucial video moments, YouTube’s actually listening to its community. Their official statement acknowledges what we’ve known all along — sometimes viewers just want to focus on what they’re watching without digital distractions cluttering the screen.

There’s a catch, though. Because there’s always a catch, right? The hide feature works on a per-video basis, meaning you’ll need to toggle it each time you start something new. Think of it as playing a slightly less annoying version of whack-a-mole with your content preferences.

What’s particularly fascinating is YouTube’s data-driven approach to this decision. During testing, they discovered that implementing the hide option led to less than a 1.5% decrease in views from end screens. That’s practically negligible in the grand scheme of things, yet it took until 2025 for this feature to see the light of day. Sometimes the obvious solutions take the longest to implement.

In a parallel move that seems almost comically overdue, YouTube’s also ditching that redundant “Subscribe” watermark hover button — you know, the one that apparently generated a whopping 0.05% of channel subscriptions. It’s joining other well-intentioned but ultimately superfluous features in YouTube’s digital retirement home.

Content creators needn’t worry, though. They’re keeping full control over their end screens and watermarks. It’s simply that viewers now have more say in how they experience these elements — a balanced approach that feels surprisingly mature for a platform that’s traditionally prioritized engagement above all else.

The whole thing speaks to a broader shift in YouTube’s philosophy. In an era where most platforms seem hellbent on maximizing engagement through increasingly aggressive tactics, there’s something almost revolutionary about choosing to get out of the way. It’s as if YouTube’s finally admitting that sometimes less really is more.

Sure, it’s just a hide button. But for anyone who’s ever missed a punchline, plot twist, or crucial conclusion behind a barrage of recommended videos, it’s a small change that makes a world of difference. Sometimes the best updates aren’t the flashiest — they’re the ones that simply let us enjoy content the way we want to.

Remember when Instagram was just about sharing sunset photos and avocado toast? Those days feel like ancient history now that Meta’s visual powerhouse has crossed the mind-boggling threshold of 3 billion monthly users. Let that sink in for a moment — nearly 40% of Earth’s population now scrolls through Instagram each month.

The platform’s journey from modest photo-sharing app to digital entertainment titan reads like a Silicon Valley fairy tale. That billion-dollar acquisition price tag back in 2012? Turns out it wasn’t just a bargain — it was highway robbery.

But here’s where things get interesting. As we cruise through 2025, Instagram bears about as much resemblance to its original self as a butterfly does to its caterpillar. The carefully curated photo grids that once defined the platform have given way to an endless stream of Reels, each vying for those precious microseconds of attention in our increasingly fragmented digital consciousness.

Remember that whole “Make Instagram Instagram Again” movement? When Kylie Jenner — who now commands an almost absurd following of 400 million — tried to rally the troops against the algorithm changes? Well, Instagram essentially responded with a polite but firm “thanks, but no thanks” and doubled down on their vision for the future.

The numbers paint a fascinating picture of this transformation. Gen Z users — those digital natives who’ve never known a world without smartphones — are spending upwards of four hours daily on social platforms. Instagram ranks right up there at the top of their must-scroll list, though they’re probably too busy creating content to worry about where they’re spending their time.

What’s particularly fascinating is how the platform has democratized fame while simultaneously reinforcing traditional celebrity power structures. Take a scroll through the most-followed accounts and you’ll find an intriguing mix: soccer phenomenon Kylian Mbappé sharing the digital stage with BLACKPINK’s Lalisa, while content creators like MrBeast and Khaby Lame command audiences that would make traditional media executives weep with envy.

The platform’s latest navigation tweaks tell us everything we need to know about where this ship is headed. Reels and DMs take center stage — because let’s face it, that’s where the engagement (and therefore, the money) lives. The traditional feed? It’s becoming about as relevant as a MySpace profile.

Sure, there’s something bittersweet about watching the original Instagram fade into the digital sunset. But nostalgia doesn’t pay the bills or fend off competitors like TikTok.

Meta’s latest testing in India — where the app opens straight to Reels — feels less like an experiment and more like a preview of coming attractions. It’s a bold move that essentially says, “This is who we are now. Deal with it.”

The Valencia-filtered memories of Instagram’s past have been permanently archived. In their place stands a content powerhouse that’s laser-focused on capturing our attention in 15-second bursts. Whether that’s progress or just profitable is probably beside the point — it’s simply reality.

And maybe that’s okay. After all, platforms, like people, need to evolve or risk becoming irrelevant. Instagram’s transformation might not be what we expected, but with 3 billion users, it’s hard to argue with the results.

Hollywood lost one of its most delightfully defiant voices this week. Henry Jaglom, the maverick filmmaker who thumbed his nose at convention while charming the industry’s elite, passed away Monday evening in his Santa Monica home. He was 87.

Call him cinema’s beloved troublemaker — a director who turned life’s messy authenticity into art, even as the industry chased algorithmic perfection. In today’s world of focus-grouped blockbusters and AI-enhanced storytelling, Jaglom’s passing feels particularly poignant.

“The most loving, fun, entertaining and unique father,” his daughter Sabrina told The Hollywood Reporter, “and the biggest cheerleader and champion anyone could be lucky enough to have.” Those words echo through a filmography that reads like a love letter to human complexity.

Think “A Safe Place” (1971), “Eating” (1990), “Last Summer in the Hamptons” (1995) — each film a middle finger to Hollywood’s rulebook. No scripts? No rehearsals? Studio executives must’ve needed smelling salts. Yet somehow, Jaglom made it work, creating art that felt as raw and unpredictable as life itself.

Here’s the kicker: while hobnobbing with Hollywood royalty, Jaglom remained gloriously, stubbornly independent. Those legendary lunch dates with Orson Welles (later immortalized in Peter Biskind’s “My Lunches with Orson”) perfectly captured his contradiction — an insider who preferred living on the edge.

“People have told me that they somehow feel less lonely by watching my films,” he mused in a 2012 Slant interview, “because my films reveal that we’re all ‘bozos on this bus.’” That vulnerability, that willingness to embrace life’s awkward moments, became his signature.

Long before Hollywood’s current obsession with diverse storytelling, Jaglom championed women’s narratives. “Eating” dove into female relationships with food and body image. “Babyfever” (1994) tackled the biological clock’s relentless tick. “Going Shopping” (2005) explored retail therapy’s psychological depths. The man understood what mainstream cinema was missing — half its audience.

Born in London in 1938 to a fascinating cocktail of heritage — Russian capitalist father, German philosophical lineage through his mother — Jaglom’s own story read like a Hollywood script. Fleeing Nazi persecution, landing in New York, studying under Lee Strasberg, hanging with Jack Nicholson, helping shape “Easy Rider” (1969)… yet always dancing to his own rhythm.

Roger Ebert perhaps nailed it in his review of “Can She Bake a Cherry Pie?” — “the kind of crazy, endearing film where you start out believing characters like this could never be real and end up realizing you know people just like them.”

As streaming platforms reshape entertainment and AI threatens to sanitize storytelling, Jaglom’s departure marks more than a personal loss. It’s the end of an era when filmmakers could thrive on pure creative instinct, making art that was messy, honest, and gloriously human.

He leaves behind his children — Sabrina and Simon (middle name: Orson, naturally) — and a legacy that reminds us why we fell in love with movies in the first place. As his daughter noted, “He lived his entire life exactly the way he wanted to, and encouraged everyone else to do the same.”

In an age of carefully curated content and data-driven decisions, perhaps that’s exactly the reminder Hollywood needs.

Darlings, hold onto your designer climbing gear – Hollywood’s latest reboot just scaled new heights of fabulosity. Row K Entertainment has thrown down serious cash (we’re talking eight figures, sweeties) for the U.S. distribution rights to the “Cliffhanger” reimagining, and this isn’t just another tired rehash of 90s nostalgia.

Gone are the days of Sly Stallone’s glistening biceps (though we do miss them). Instead, we’re being treated to the eternally suave Pierce Brosnan – who, let’s be honest, makes silver fox status look positively criminal – paired with the absolutely luminous Lily James. It’s the kind of inspired casting that makes one wonder why nobody thought of it sooner.

The action’s moving from Colorado to the Dolomites because, naturally, everything’s more chic in Italy. (When was the last time you heard someone swooning over a Rocky Mountain aprés-ski?) Director Jaume Collet-Serra’s vision follows Brosnan as Ray Cooper, a seasoned climber running what’s surely the world’s most dramatic luxury chalet. But darlings, drama follows beauty, and soon enough, Ray’s caught up in a billionaire’s nightmare when some decidedly unglamorous types decide to play kidnapper with the wrong rich kid.

Here’s where it gets delicious – Lily James steps in as Naomi, Ray’s daughter, bringing some serious emotional altitude to the mix. She’s got climbing trauma (don’t we all have daddy issues?), but honey, those mountains aren’t going to scale themselves. The psychological layers here are stacked higher than a Vera Wang wedding cake, and twice as rich.

Row K Entertainment clearly isn’t afraid of a little vertical ascent in the industry. This marks their third major grab since launching last August, and Christopher Woodrow and Raj Singh are practically glowing with confidence. Though really, who wouldn’t be, with a property that originally hauled in $255 million globally?

The wait until 2026 feels positively cruel, but good things come to those who… well, you know the rest. And with a dream team of writers including Ana Lily Amirpour and Melanie Toast (among others) crafting the screenplay, this particular wait might actually be worth it. The film wrapped shooting in Austria’s peaks and is currently in post-production, presumably being polished to within an inch of its glamorous life.

Let’s be real – Hollywood’s obsession with reboots usually has all the originality of a knockoff handbag. But this particular reimagining? It’s serving fresh narrative heights with its generational twist and psychological complexity. With heavyweight producers like Neal Moritz and Toby Jaffe involved (plus a few other darlings of the industry), “Cliffhanger” is shaping up to be the rare remake that might actually justify its existence.

And in an industry that typically plays it safer than a trust fund baby’s investment portfolio, that’s something worth celebrating – preferably with champagne at altitude.

The music world collectively caught its breath this week as Barry Manilow, the voice behind countless romantic anthems, announced his final curtain call. The legendary performer plans to bid farewell to nine American cities in what promises to be more celebration than goodbye — though plenty of tissues might still be needed.

Starting January 2026 (right after we’ve all recovered from our holiday festivities), Manilow’s golden voice will grace select venues for the last time. The sunshine state gets first dibs, with shows planned for Orlando and Tampa, before the tour winds its way through other cherished venues. The grand finale? Columbus’s Nationwide Arena gets that honor.

But here’s the thing about Barry — he’s never been one for quiet exits. Just as news of the farewell tour broke, he dropped a cover of “Once Before I Go,” the Peter Allen-Dean Pitchford ballad that feels almost eerily perfect for the moment. Working with Kenneth ‘Babyface’ Edmonds and Demonte Posey on production, Manilow’s taken a beloved classic and given it new depths that’ll have even the toughest critics reaching for their handkerchiefs.

Not ready to say goodbye just yet? There’s a silver lining as bright as the Vegas strip itself. Manilow’s residency at the International Theatre at Westgate Las Vegas runs through December 2026. Perfect for anyone who needs multiple chances to catch that signature smile and those soaring vocals.

Let’s talk legacy for a moment. From “Mandy” to those record-shattering runs at Radio City Music Hall, Manilow’s trophy case tells quite a story — two Primetime Emmys, a Grammy, and an honorary Tony. The Songwriters Hall of Fame made room for him back in 2002, though honestly, they probably should’ve done it sooner.

Remember that line from “It’s a Miracle” — “From Boston to Denver/ And every town in between”? Those words hit different now, don’t they? Each upcoming show feels less like a concert and more like a love letter to the cities that helped write Manilow’s story.

Want in on the farewell? Mark those calendars: tickets drop Friday, September 26, at 10 a.m. local time. Die-hard fans might want to jump on those VIP packages coming Tuesday, September 23. After all, when it’s the last dance, you might as well waltz in style.

Speaking of style, Manilow’s got staying power that’d make most artists jealous. Nearly three decades between No. 1 albums on the Billboard 200? Who does that? “Barry Manilow Live!” owned 1977, and then “The Greatest Songs of the Fifties” claimed 2006 like it was nothing. That’s not just success — that’s reinvention.

As the final tour dates approach, they stand as more than just shows on a calendar. They’re chapters in a story that’s made millions sing, dance, and feel a little more deeply. And isn’t that what great music is supposed to do?

Fame’s golden facade can crack in an instant, as two entertainment figures are discovering in courtrooms thousands of miles apart. Their stories — while vastly different in scale — share an unsettling thread about accountability in the spotlight.

Sean “Diddy” Combs’s fall from grace reads like a cautionary tale straight from a Hollywood script. The hip-hop mogul who once commanded a billion-dollar empire now sits in what his legal team describes as “one of America’s most notorious jails,” facing the music for prostitution-related charges. Gone are the designer suits and executive boardrooms, replaced by prison jumpsuits and the constant hum of surveillance cameras.

“I used to call myself a king,” Combs confessed to his probation officer. “But I didn’t act like a king. I didn’t act like a man.” Such raw admissions from the formerly larger-than-life figure paint a stark picture of humility — or perhaps calculated contrition, depending on who you ask.

The price of his downfall extends far beyond personal discomfort. More than 100 employees have lost their jobs. His seven children bear the weight of their father’s choices. Howard University yanked back his honorary doctorate, charter schools scrubbed his name from their boards, and that much-anticipated Hulu family show? Permanently shelved.

Life behind bars has forced some unexpected changes. For the first time in 25 years, Combs faces mandatory sobriety — a silver lining his lawyers eagerly highlight in their plea for a 14-month sentence (essentially time served). They’re working overtime to frame this as your typical “sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll” story gone sideways. But the evidence — including testimony about drug-fueled sex marathons and violence — suggests something far darker than standard celebrity excess.

Meanwhile, across the Atlantic, DJ Chloe Caillet’s legal drama unfolds with its own peculiar twist. The 33-year-old’s £100,000 compensation claim for a brick-related injury has spectacularly backfired, thanks to her own social media footprint. Those globe-trotting Instagram posts? They didn’t exactly align with claims about being unable to work.

Caillet’s defense takes some fascinating linguistic gymnastics. There’s apparently a world of difference between “performing” and “working” — who knew? Her argument that appearing at venues worldwide involved merely “passive types of work” with “pre-recorded playlists or sets” might raise eyebrows among fellow DJs who’ve spent years perfecting their craft.

These parallel stories highlight an uncomfortable truth about fame in 2025: social media leaves nowhere to hide, and courtrooms care little for celebrity status. Combs’s lawyers can paint prison as a transformative experience all they want, but prosecutors aren’t buying it. Their view? Someone with an “extensive history of violence” doesn’t change overnight.

Perhaps the most telling detail in Combs’s case is that maggot-infested prison food incident — a far cry from the champagne-soaked lifestyle he once flaunted. One particularly tense moment involved an armed standoff with another inmate over, of all things, a chair. It’s the kind of reality check that no amount of previous success can cushion.

As these legal dramas continue to unfold, they serve as sobering reminders that fame’s protective bubble is thinner than ever. In today’s world, neither clever wordplay nor star power can fully shield anyone from facing the music when the truth comes calling.

Reality TV’s carefully manufactured drama took an unexpectedly real turn when former supermodel Janice Dickinson — she of the self-proclaimed “world’s first supermodel” title — decided to take ITV Studios to court. The reason? A nighttime tumble in the South African bush that left her with more than just wounded pride.

The incident occurred during the 2023 filming of “I’m A Celebrity… South Africa,” proving that even the most seasoned reality show veterans aren’t immune to the genuine hazards of jungle living. Dickinson, now 70, sustained serious head and facial injuries during what should have been a mundane trek to the camp’s bathroom facilities. The mishap required surgical intervention — hardly the kind of screen time she’d bargained for.

What makes this legal battle particularly fascinating is its timing. Here we are, early 2025, and the case has landed in London’s High Court, transforming what might have been a forgotten footnote in reality TV history into a potentially landmark case about duty of care in television production.

The irony isn’t lost on anyone familiar with Dickinson’s career trajectory. From dominating high-fashion runways to delivering razor-sharp critiques on “America’s Next Top Model,” she’s now found herself center stage in a different kind of drama. The all-star edition of “I’m A Celebrity” was meant to be a victory lap of sorts — a chance to reunite beloved contestants including eventual winner Myleene Klass. Instead, Dickinson’s adventure came to an abrupt halt on day 11, when she was evacuated from Kruger National Park for medical attention.

Perhaps most intriguing is the evolution of Dickinson’s response to the incident. Initially, she chalked it up to her own “stupidity” — a refreshingly candid admission that seemed perfectly on-brand for the outspoken personality. But something changed. Her legal representative, Dermot McNamara, has now told BBC News that she’s “looking forward to giving her full account in due course” — the kind of carefully worded statement that suggests there’s more beneath the surface than initially met the eye.

ITV Studios has maintained a diplomatic silence — no surprise there. Yet this case could crack open wider discussions about safety protocols in reality television, especially in remote locations where immediate medical care isn’t just a quick ambulance ride away. The timing feels particularly relevant, given the industry’s recent soul-searching about contestant welfare and duty of care.

For Dickinson, who finished as runner-up in the 2007 edition of “I’m A Celebrity,” this legal wrangle writes an unexpected new chapter in her reality TV saga. One can’t help but wonder if the jungle’s real dangers might finally be getting their own unedited moment in the spotlight.

Cricket’s flair for the dramatic reached new heights at the Sheikh Zayed Stadium yesterday, where Pakistan — ever the masters of theatrical sports — turned what should’ve been a straightforward victory into the kind of nerve-wracking spectacle that sends cardiologists rushing to update their contact lists.

Let’s be real: after bundling out Sri Lanka for a measly 133, this match had all the makings of a yawner. Shaheen Afridi’s opening spell alone — a masterclass in left-arm pace bowling that claimed three vital wickets — should’ve written the evening’s script in bold, clear letters.

But Pakistan, bless their cricket-loving souls, never met a simple chase they couldn’t complicate.

The Sri Lankan spinners, sensing blood in the water, pounced like sharks in a feeding frenzy. Wanindu Hasaranga and Maheesh Theekshana turned the ball square, making Pakistan’s batsmen look like they were trying to play blindfolded on a merry-go-round. Two wickets apiece, and suddenly that tiny target of 133 looked about as achievable as climbing Everest in flip-flops.

Perhaps the day’s most delicious moment came courtesy of Abrar Ahmad. After dismissing Hasaranga, the Pakistani bowler couldn’t resist mimicking the Sri Lankan’s trademark celebration — a bit of cheeky theater that probably won’t make it into the MCC coaching manual anytime soon. Hasaranga, proving karma doesn’t clock out for cricket matches, later plucked a stunning catch to dismiss Saim Ayub and returned the celebratory favor. Social media, predictably, went absolutely bonkers.

The partnership between Hussain Talat and Mohammad Nawaz eventually steered Pakistan home, though “steered” suggests a level of control that was conspicuously absent for most of their innings. It was more like watching someone parallel park a tank while blindfolded — somehow they got there, but nobody’s quite sure how.

Lurking in the background of this subcontinental drama is India’s relentless march through the tournament. Four wins from four matches, each victory more emphatic than the last. Bangladesh’s coach Phil Simmons summed it up with refreshing candor: “Every team has the ability to beat India…” though the pregnant pause following that statement spoke volumes about the probability.

For Pakistan, this victory keeps their tournament hopes alive — technically speaking. But with India’s current form casting shadows longer than a sunset in Dubai, one might say they’re just postponing the inevitable. Then again, cricket’s beauty lies in its glorious uncertainty. After all, who’d have thought a target of 133 could produce such edge-of-your-seat entertainment?

Sometimes in cricket, as in life, the journey matters more than the destination. And boy, what a journey this was.