Robert Habeck says world has moved on from weaponising energy to using tariffs, technology and more to inflict harm

The weaponisation of energy when Russia invaded Ukraine has given way to “weaponising everything” since Donald Trump returned to the White House, Germany’s former economy minister has said.

Robert Habeck, the Green politician responsible for keeping the lights on during the last energy crisis, said the belief gas “would never be a political weapon” led successive German governments blindly into Putin’s trap by building the Nord Stream pipelines and selling strategic reserves to Gazprom, which Russia emptied before the invasion.

Health service’s 2025 staff survey found that one in seven had experienced violence from patients or the public

Hundreds of thousands of NHS staff have been attacked, harassed, bullied, or subject to racism, latest NHS figures show.

The health service’s 2025 staff survey found that one in seven had experienced violence from patients or the public, while more than a quarter reported harassment, bullying and abuse, the highest levels in three years.

Blonds really do have more fun – a special-occasion sweet treat that’s perfect for Mother’s Day

It’s often my own impatience that forces me to make no-bake cheesecakes over baked ones. They’re not at all as faffy, though it’s pretty hard to beat the lighter, silkier texture you get with a baked version plus the extra effort is worth it on a special occasion such as Mother’s Day. I’ve sweetened the filling for this one with caramelised white chocolate – it brings a beautiful, creamy, dulce de leche-type caramel flavour that even the biggest white chocolate haters should enjoy. If making your own caramelised white chocolate feels a step too far, however, just buy bars of blond chocolate instead. Top with gently poached rhubarb for a pop of colour and to cut through the richness.

Langstone, Hampshire: A glistening raft of jelly is a promising sign of a frog resurgence after newts dominated for a decade

I register the arrival of spring through small, dependable signs in my garden: queen buff-tailed bumblebees wobbling through purple crocuses in search of nectar; the pungent scent of wild garlic; bluetits prospecting the nest box below my bedroom window; and the wren’s cascading song heralding the start of the breeding season.

Frogspawn used to be one of these markers, but not for many years. Then, 10 days ago, glancing more from habit than expectation, I saw it – a glistening raft moored against the water forget-me-nots . After such a long absence, it felt quietly momentous.

Langstone, Hampshire: A glistening raft of jelly is a promising sign of a frog resurgence after newts dominated for a decade

I register the arrival of spring through small, dependable signs in my garden: queen buff-tailed bumblebees wobbling through purple crocuses in search of nectar; the pungent scent of wild garlic; bluetits prospecting the nest box below my bedroom window; and the wren’s cascading song heralding the start of the breeding season.

Frogspawn used to be one of these markers, but not for many years. Then, 10 days ago, glancing more from habit than expectation, I saw it – a glistening raft moored against the water forget-me-nots . After such a long absence, it felt quietly momentous.

Langstone, Hampshire: A glistening raft of jelly is a promising sign of a frog resurgence after newts dominated for a decade

I register the arrival of spring through small, dependable signs in my garden: queen buff-tailed bumblebees wobbling through purple crocuses in search of nectar; the pungent scent of wild garlic; bluetits prospecting the nest box below my bedroom window; and the wren’s cascading song heralding the start of the breeding season.

Frogspawn used to be one of these markers, but not for many years. Then, 10 days ago, glancing more from habit than expectation, I saw it – a glistening raft moored against the water forget-me-nots . After such a long absence, it felt quietly momentous.

When I was growing up, she rarely dispensed advice. Instead, I watched her closely, holding on to her quiet wisdom

I often picture my mother that wild, hot summer we moved to the house of my childhood. She is 5ft 3in in the long grass, wearing a vest and a pair of small cut-off shorts. She is digging borders and battling the sticky bobs. She is telling me about the patch of tiger lilies and the cooking-apple tree; about the light speckling through the unkempt branches. “Glory be to God for dappled things,” she says.

My mother has always been a rare combination of poetry and practicality – I know few others given to quoting Gerard Manley Hopkins while simultaneously hacking down nettles, or tiling walls while listening to John Betjeman records. She has a remarkable gift for transforming the ordinary: a bedroom skirting board would be decorated with a mouse and a mouse hole; a packed lunch’s sandwiches cut at unexpected angles; the most mundane shopping trip often accommodated a detour to the art shop to admire the bottles of Winsor & Newton inks.

A pilot scheme offering some artists €300-plus a month for three years is being made permanent. But should something so fundamental be run like a lottery?

I won the lottery. Out of around 8,000 artists, my name was randomly chosen to be one of the 2,000 who the Irish government would pay a basic income. This pilot scheme was a test of whether a policy of supporting artists would pay off in terms of creative work, wellbeing and, calculated down to the cent, the money that society would make back.

For three years, we were paid €325 a week with no strings attached, other than filling out a survey. We could continue earning and applying for artist grants. I am a freelance writer who, like most artists, has always had to work outside my creative focus to afford to live, constantly worrying I will never be able to afford a home myself or to start a family. As such, the basic income was life-changing.

Caelainn Hogan is the author of Republic of Shame

A pilot scheme offering some artists €300-plus a month for three years is being made permanent. But should something so fundamental be run like a lottery?

I won the lottery. Out of around 8,000 artists, my name was randomly chosen to be one of the 2,000 who the Irish government would pay a basic income. This pilot scheme was a test of whether a policy of supporting artists would pay off in terms of creative work, wellbeing and, calculated down to the cent, the money that society would make back.

For three years, we were paid €325 a week with no strings attached, other than filling out a survey. We could continue earning and applying for artist grants. I am a freelance writer who, like most artists, has always had to work outside my creative focus to afford to live, constantly worrying I will never be able to afford a home myself or to start a family. As such, the basic income was life-changing.

Caelainn Hogan is the author of Republic of Shame