Israeli military issues evacuation order for Gaza City’s Shejaiya neighbourhood while Palestinian emergency service says attacks killed at least seven people
The United Kingdom Maritime Trade Operations (UKMTO) said on Friday it had received a report of an incident 150 nautical miles (172 miles) north west of the city of Hodeidah in Yemen.
In what felt like a Greek tragedy, Trump didn’t win the first presidential debate of 2024 – but Biden certainly lost it
That sickening thud you heard was jaws hitting the floor. That queasy sound you heard was hearts sinking into boots. That raspy noise you heard was a US president embodying what felt like the last gasp of the ailing republic.
My dreams of reliving the good old days of NHL 94 on the Sega Mega Drive were thwarted by the unexpected difficulty of getting online play to work
I am very grateful for my dual nationality right now. The horror of Scotland’s dour Euro 2024 performance has been tempered by a swashbuckling Canada in their first ever Copa America, and a Canadian hockey team in a Stanley Cup final for only the third time in 18 years: the Edmonton Oilers, a team so utterly Canadian they have a fossil fuel as a name.
Thank God for NHL 93 and 94 on the Mega Drive. Not only were they twin peaks of sports gaming perfection, they are also the reason why I can walk into any pub in Canada and bluff my way through conversations about Mario Lemieux, Steve Yzerman and Mark Messier. And make an argument as to why Jeremy Roenick is the most underrated hockey player of his generation based purely on the fact that he was all four horsemen of the apocalypse rolled into one in NHL94. He was up there with the likes of Barry Sanders in Madden, Kylian Mbappé in any Fifa and the Stockton/Malone Combo in NBA Jam – players so freakishly good that you can’t lose if they are on your team.
We didn’t need this show. Each candidate has had time to show us who they are, and one is a felon trying to destroy democracy
The American people lost the debate last night, and it was more painful than usual to watch the parade of platitudes and evasions that worked in the debate format run by CNN. The network’s glossy pundit-moderators started by ignoring the elephants in the room – that one of the two men standing at the podiums was a convicted felon, the leader of a coup attempt, an alleged thief of national security documents who was earlier this year found liable in a civil court for rape, and has promised to usher in a vengeful authoritarian regime if he returns to office.
Instead they launched the debate with the dead horse they love to beat in election years, the deficit and taxes. Throughout the excruciating evening, Joe Biden in a hoarse voice said diligent things that were reasonably true and definitely sincere; Donald Trump in a booming voice said lurid things that were flamboyantly untrue. The grim spectacle was a reminder that this is a style over substance game.
Rebecca Solnit is a Guardian US columnist. She is the author of Orwell’s Roses and co-editor with Thelma Young Lutunatabua of the climate anthology Not Too Late: Changing the Climate Story from Despair to Possibility
From one of the best television series of all time to rushed, unfocused and half-baked, the cooking drama’s third season is a big letdown. Is it a victim of its own success?
Before we begin, it’s important to point out that The Bear is one of my favourite shows of all time. If you ever need to look for a perfect season of television, I will always point you to The Bear’s first eight episodes. That season was incredibly stylish, overwhelmingly propulsive and filled with characters you found yourself rooting for. More than anything, though, it was about something. The first season of The Bear was about leaving home, returning changed and trying to fit back in. This thumped through every scene of every episode. It was stunning.
While season two allowed itself to unspool a little, it was still driven by an unbeatably strong engine, in the countdown to the opening of a new restaurant. There was still such momentum that, like everyone else, I wolfed it down in one go. Season three couldn’t come quick enough.
The Canadian towers over his opponents, even in a sport for the very tall. But his attributes may not suit the modern game
For those of you out there who might describe yourselves as “tall,” meet Olivier Rioux, the high schooler who just signed on to play for the University of Florida in the fall. Rioux is absurdly tall – 7ft 9in (for now) to be precise. Whether playing alongside his high school-age teammates or surrounded by them in the huddle, the 300lbs beanpole looks for all the world like one of those adults who passes themselves off as a teenage player just for the thrill of beating up on kids. The only thing about Rioux that’s not tall are his tales.
Rioux has been on a rapid growth curve for some time now: 5ft 2in in kindergarten,6ft 1in by the time he was eight. By the time he was 12, and 7ft, he would have made the 6ft 9in LeBron James look undersized. Around that time, highlights of him dominating his tragically ill-equipped competition began making the social media rounds, an optical illusion to rival the dress meme. (Are the other kids six feet or six years old?) Four years ago, Guinness World Records pronounced the then 14-year-old Rioux as the world’s tallest teen at 7ft 5in. That would have put Rioux a notch above the 7ft 4in NBA rookie of the year, Victor Wembanyama. He even looms head and shoulders above legendary NBA leviathans such as Gheorghe Mureșan (7ft 7in), Yao Ming (7ft 6in) and Sim Bhullar (7ft 5in). “People see his size,” Canada national team assistant coach Michael Meeks said of Rioux, “and their expectations are pretty high.”
The affluent constituency is home to Mayfair clubs, Soho theatres and City types – one of whom told me: ‘We need to pay more tax’
A red glow spreading across the land may be so bright you could see it from space, if polling predictions are right. In that Labour flare, let’s pinpoint one astonishing constituency the party looks likely to win for the first time in history. Conservative for ever, the City itself, part of the Cities of London and Westminster constituency, would be turning red. Look at the symbolism.
The king in Buckingham Palace would have a Labour MP for the first time. So would the Palace of Westminster, the supreme court, the Old Bailey, Scotland Yard, Westminster Abbey, St Paul’s Cathedral, Catholic Westminster Cathedral and Methodist Central Hall.
Authors, critics and Guardian readers discuss the titles they have read over the last month. Join the conversation in the comments
The main book I’ve been reading this month is I Love Russia by Elena Kostyuchenko, translated by Bela Shayevich and Ilona Yazhbin Chavasse. The exiled activist and journalist explains the “love” in the title as being like the love she has for her leg or arm: she has to care about it and react when it hurts, whether she wants to or not. And so the book, now the winner of this year’s Pushkin House book prize, collects Kostyuchenko’s reporting from around Russia in the years of its leadership’s dark and merciless commitment to retaining power at every cost, via media domination, disregard for rule of law, exploitative ultrapatriotism and territorial aggression. But the focus here is on the periphery rather than the centre: on life far from Moscow and St Petersburg.
Following Lenny Henry’s 2022 criticism of lack of diversity, this year’s bill features Janelle Monáe, Danny Brown, Little Simz and more
As Ron wandered around Glastonbury’s West Holts stage, something caught his eye: a huge gleaming statue of an afro comb with a clenched fist shooting out of the ground.
“That caught me off guard,” says the photographer from south London, who was at the festival for the first time. “I have the exact same one in my pocket.”
(NAWR Music) Violinist Rose Linn-Pearl and sound artist husband Dan weave their artistry into a vivid collection evoking the natural wonders of their Welsh home
Peiriant pronounced pie-ree-ant) is a Welsh word for a machine or an engine, a fittingly eerie name for the atmospheric duo of violinist Rose and sound artist Dan Linn-Pearl. A couple who returned to their native Wales in recent years, and co-founded the Nawr concert series in Swansea and Hay-on-Wye (alongside free improvising harpist and Richard Dawson collaborator Rhodri Davies), their second album, Dychwelyd (pronounced Duh-ch-wel-id – returning), explores the idea of going back to a source in sound, marrying folk textures and techniques with shimmery, modulated guitars and post-rock drones.
Living in the mountainous Bannau Brycheiniog, through which the rivers Wye and Usk flow, Peiriant make music that is anchored to that landscape, revelling in its drama and delicacy, frills and fissures. Opener Taflu Dŵr (Throwing Water) begins with Rose hacking at her strings before her notes build to a cascade, her violin bursts sounding like the sprays of a river careering into the sea. Then come her folk-evoking fiddle melodies, giving a human dimension to tracks such as Carreg (Stone) and Llethr (Slope). They scrape and fight in the former against Dan’s subaquatic pulses, conveying a mighty power. In the latter, they soar blissfully above subtler, iridescent electronics, suggesting a kite in gentle flight.
Revival69 glimpses into starry Toronto Rock and Roll Revival, which gave Beatles fans a new look at John Lennon
In the summer of 1969, promoter John Brower thought he had a foolproof plan for a classic concert. Though just 22, he had already promoted successful shows by some seminal rock bands of the day, leading to his creation of the first full-scale pop festival in his native city of Toronto. That two-day event, held in June, starred acts as hot as Sly and the Family Stone, The Band, and Blood, Sweat & Tears. But the artist who wound up stealing the show that day was none other than Chuck Berry, who hadn’t had a hit in years and who was then in his early 40s, a virtual fossil by hippie rock fan standards. None of that mattered, according to Brower. “Chuck was so brilliant that everyone loved him,” he said. “His performance gave me the idea to get all the pioneering acts from the 50s back together to create the ultimate rock ‘n’roll revival show.”
What happened next lurched from one disaster to the next, only to transform, through a series of unforeseen circumstances and hail-Mary passes, into one of the most improbably significant concerts in pop history. “All of the iconic things that wound up happening weren’t anything like what any of us had dreamed of,” Brower said. “What I imagined was a caterpillar. What happened was a butterfly.”
New coalition formed to push for repeal of colonial-era laws and reduce barriers to access for those seeking mental health help
Pressure to decriminalise suicide in four Caribbean nations is mounting as a new coalition has come together for the first time to fight for the repeal of colonial-era laws.
A group of people with experience of poor mental health, government officials, activists, legal experts and healthcare workers, led by organisations in the Caribbean, will advocate for legislative reform. They want to reduce barriers for people seeking help and ensure that mental health services can operate without fear of legal repercussions and ultimately save lives.
The Swedish actor is playing a bamboozled police officer in What Remains, a film written by his wife and starring one of his sons. He looks back on mixing Marvel with arthouse, taking risks with Lars von Trier and Sweden joining Nato
Stellan Skarsgård is speaking to me from his cabin, outside Stockholm, and why shouldn’t he look relaxed and happy, in those clement, sun-dappled surrounds? But it is so disconcerting. His performance in What Remains, as a battle-scarred police officer, trying to keep hold of his family, his bearings and his scepticism in the face of a criminological modernity that puzzles him, joins a body of knotty work that UK audiences would probably date back to Breaking the Waves, Lars von Trier’s 1996 classic. His smallest facial gesture speaks fathomless emotion. I am a huge Mamma Mia! fan – in which he plays Bill Anderson – so I have seen Skarsgård smile, but even then, not all the time.
What Remains is based, loosely, on a famous case in Sweden: it was the 90s, and the so-called “retrieved memory” technique was huge, even though in the US, where it was developed, it had already been disallowed as reliable evidence. “All psychologists in Sweden were using retrieved memory at the same time, a lot of men were put in jail for violating their children,” Skarsgård says. “It’s really the fabrication of memory. It was very optimistic, to think you can just open up the memory and look at it. Every divorce you’ve been through, you’ll know, the truth isn’t exactly as everybody says.”
The first knockout stage has several intriguing matches, including Spain against Georgia and France v Belgium
Italy are unbeaten against Switzerland in 11 games stretching back to qualifying for the 1994 World Cup but they look vulnerable here. They were worryingly open against both Albania and Spain and the switch to a back three against Croatia only seemed to make them flatter going forward. In goal Gianluigi Donnarumma has had a fine tournament, but a lack of creativity and the absence of a top-class centre-forward are major issues.
Have people forgotten the pre-Southgate tournament record across a long period – including defeat by Iceland?
Time for an excursion. Time for Gareth Southgate and Steve Holland to live a little. The group stage’s done, the draw has opened up, the path to the final in Berlin is kind. Clearly, it’s time for them to step outside England’s secluded Blankenhain base, check in with the local tourist board and find out what the state of Thuringia has to offer.
A trip to the nearby city of Weimar is one option. But the bigger city of Erfurt, home to England’s press pack during Euro 2024, also has its charms. Here we find a medieval tour, quite a bit about the outspoken 16th-century monk Martin Luther and, continuing with the religious vibe, the amazing spectacle of Erfurt’s Old Synagogue, an 11th-century site that somehow avoided destruction by the Nazis.
Authenticity in Germany is a breath of fresh air in comparison to the behemoths dominating their domestic leagues
Over breakfast at a cafe in Berlin’s Prenzlauer Berg district, three English visitors could be heard discussing the next Premier League season. It felt like a yellow card offence to anyone fully absorbed in this summer’s spectacle, but some things are best let slide. The question: who would be relegated? Ipswich, Southampton and Leicester, came the consensus. Nobody could quibble with the rationale that new arrivals to the division have the odds stacked more firmly against them than ever.
Perhaps they hopped west on the U-Bahn that afternoon to see Austria, hitherto underwhelming on the big stage, leave Olympiastadion breathless with an exhilarating win over the Netherlands that propels them into genuine contention for a return on 14 July. Hopefully they were sitting somewhere comfortable, or downing shots of chacha in appropriate company, the following night when Georgia ripped up the rulebook with a daring, emotional victory against Portugal.
The rise of the extreme entourage for leading players means even Wimbledon is struggling to make space for everyone
As she took her first timid steps as a professional tennis player 21 years ago, one of the most important early decisions Victoria Azarenka made was to invest in her own fitness coach. Having enjoyed an outstanding junior career, Azarenka already knew she wanted to be a top tennis player for as long as she could and that beginning to build a formidable team around her was a priority in order to achieve it. Back then, though, not everyone did.
“I think when I started, when I was a young player, I was one of the few players who travelled with a fitness coach,” says Azarenka, smiling. “And now it’s fitness coach, physio, psychologist, videographer, manicurist and everything … It’s sometimes exaggerated but tennis has become more professional.”
Gawain Jones won the English Open after a playoff with Michael Adams while the former Russian Elmira Mirzoeva is the women’s champion
Experienced grandmasters won both the Open and women’s English championships at Kenilworth last weekend, but teenage talents made significant advances and even reached the prize list in both events. Pre-teens also narrowed the gap to the established stars.
GM Gawain Jones, 36, won the open title after a speed playoff with the top seed and favourite, GM Michael Adams, 52, who had led until the final round and was also winning the tie-break until a spectacular own goal allowed checkmate in one.
(Quality Control Music/Motown & Republic) The rapper and singer are both unafraid to confound fans by taking stylistic chances, but here their soulful ambition doesn’t quite gel
Lil Yachty and James Blake have each strayed a fair distance from their artistic beginnings. On last year’s Let’s Start Here, the 26-year-old Atlanta rapper left fans baffled or delighted by his unexpected pivot to Pink Floyd-tinged psychedelia, having made his name on a string of oddly avant garde trap ditties. Meanwhile Blake, once the auteur crooner of the post-dubstep scene, is these days the go-to producer for rap A-listers looking for an injection of sad-robot soul.
So their collaboration makes perfect sense on paper, but in reality, Bad Cameo sounds like it’s got stuck in the planning stages, with handfuls of promising ideas stuffed awkwardly into ambient song shapes. There are moments of genuine spine-tingle – like hearing Yachty’s elastic voice funnelled through Blake’s black box of tricks on Missing Man and Transport Me, and the almost-gospel Red Carpet, an a cappella threaded with Hammond organ and analogue hiss.
Eight tats in, I’ve worked out a failsafe way to ensure they are healed and glorious in a fortnight
Like one in four people in Britain, I have a tattoo. Eight of them, in fact, and their visibility means people frequently ask me, before embarking on their first, how to care for a fresh one. This interest in aftercare must be soaring, because a number of good-quality dedicated tattoo-skincare brands (like Stories & Ink, from £15) are popping up, as are tattoo-specific products within mainstream skincare lines.
I have mixed feelings, because looking after newly tattooed skin is the same as that for skin generally – to keep the surface moist and the barrier protected – and I’m not convinced one needs to spend additional cash on anything special (although I respect the impulse to buy a lovely new cream to celebrate your new artwork, of course).
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