Bob Mortimer returns to defend his crown, as comedians make screamingly funny TV in an attempt to make each other laugh for a prize

I was once shouted at for smiling during a breakup. I had to switch careers when I realised my favourite thing about being an actor was making other actors corpse on stage. Situations in which humour is forbidden are hilarious to me. It’s the pressure-cooker analogy, I suppose. “I’m the kinda guy who laughs at a funeral,’” sang Barenaked Ladies, and I’ve never related more to a lyric. Which makes the return of Last One Laughing UK (Thursday, Prime Video) very relevant to my interests.

The show is an elimination competition in which 10 comedians are locked in a softly furnished room for six hours, trying to make each other laugh while keeping a straight face themselves. Laughter and smiling are punishable by yellow cards, then red cards, leading to dismissal. It’s hosted by Jimmy Carr – who has such an odd laugh, it’s possible the entire format was crowdfunded by offended gulls who didn’t want to hear it any more.

Even as the first western journalist to interview Ayatollah Khomeini, I had no inkling of what was to come. Perhaps we should have learned from history

Watching Iran in flames, I can’t help wondering whether history is coming a grotesque full circle 47 years after the fall of the US-backed Pahlavi dynasty , or whether western powers are simply repeating past errors by attempting violent regime change from outside.

As a young reporter, I had a ringside seat for part of the 1979 revolution that overthrew Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi and installed an austere Islamic republic headed by a Shia Muslim cleric with the titles of “leader of the revolution” and “guardian jurist” ( vali-e faqih ).

Bob Mortimer returns to defend his crown, as comedians make screamingly funny TV in an attempt to make each other laugh for a prize

I was once shouted at for smiling during a breakup. I had to switch careers when I realised my favourite thing about being an actor was making other actors corpse on stage. Situations in which humour is forbidden are hilarious to me. It’s the pressure-cooker analogy, I suppose. “I’m the kinda guy who laughs at a funeral,’” sang Barenaked Ladies, and I’ve never related more to a lyric. Which makes the return of Last One Laughing UK (Thursday, Prime Video) very relevant to my interests.

The show is an elimination competition in which 10 comedians are locked in a softly furnished room for six hours, trying to make each other laugh while keeping a straight face themselves. Laughter and smiling are punishable by yellow cards, then red cards, leading to dismissal. It’s hosted by Jimmy Carr – who has such an odd laugh, it’s possible the entire format was crowdfunded by offended gulls who didn’t want to hear it any more.

As the sun sets on a tax-free scheme used by nearly a million people, there are calls for a better deal on retirement saving

Emilia Farr opened a lifetime Isa when the accounts went on sale in 2017 as a way to save for her retirement. But having built up a pot of £76,000, the self-employed IT worker was shocked to hear that the accounts are being pensioned off.

“For me, [opening one] was a no-brainer. I treat it like a pension, and the government bonus is a real incentive to save,” says Farr, 40, who lives in London.

She adds: “If you’re employed, even if you do nothing, you have a pension – but it’s very different for the self-employed.”

Lifetime Isas have proved to be a hit with millennials and generation Z: the number of “live” accounts has jumped by 45% in two years and now stands at almost a million (an estimated 964,000 in 2023-24, according to the most recent official data).

From Glengarry Glen Ross and Lawrence of Arabia to Liz Truss and Lord Salisbury, test your knowledge with the Saturday quiz

1 Which dictator spent his last days in power playing Candy Crush?
2 What children’s TV production company was founded by Anne Wood?
3 Rome’s Ludus Magnus was a training school for whom?
4 Where were Liz Truss and Lord Salisbury both appointed prime minister?
5 Referring to 17 metals, what does REE stand for?
6 In the title of an 1886 novel, what is David Balfour’s predicament?
7 Which fish has the scientific name Electrophorus electricus?
8 What sport is the subject of the documentary Love Means Zero?
What links:
9 Booker T & the MG’s; Manfred Mann; Ben Folds Five?
10 Genoese; Lepers; Millionaires; Rat Stabbers; Red Devils?
11 Moonfleet; Three Men in a Boat; The Wonderful Wizard of Oz; Consider Phlebas?
12 Glengarry Glen Ross; Lawrence of Arabia; The Great Escape; 12 Angry Men?
13 Arbuthnot Latham; Coutts; C Hoare; Weatherbys?
14 Horn; Agulhas; Leeuwin; South East; Whiore?
15 Nicholas Breakspear and Robert Prevost?

Dragged along by my dad to see Pentangle, I heard something ancient that kickstarted my obsession with this country’s folklore – an enchanted, subversive and strange version of a Britain where I could truly belong

I was 15 years old; at that fumbling, awkward age on the precipice of adulthood, desperately trying to figure out who I was, who I wanted to be, and where I belonged in the world. I grew up feeling perpetually “in-between”: half-white, half-black; half-British, half-Caribbean, and on the faultline between what sometimes felt like two worlds at war.

One night in 2008 my dad took me to see Pentangle play at the Royal Festival Hall on London’s South Bank. The band had risen to fame in the late 60s, known for fusing British folk melodies with blues and jazz syncopation. I must have stood out in the crowd – among the bearded men in sandals and socks – with my big hoop earrings and scraped-back hair. And although I dragged my feet on the way in, when I stepped out of the concert later that auspicious summer’s evening, I was changed for ever.

As the sun sets on a tax-free scheme used by nearly a million people, there are calls for a better deal on retirement saving

Emilia Farr opened a lifetime Isa when the accounts went on sale in 2017 as a way to save for her retirement. But having built up a pot of £76,000, the self-employed IT worker was shocked to hear that the accounts are being pensioned off.

“For me, [opening one] was a no-brainer. I treat it like a pension, and the government bonus is a real incentive to save,” says Farr, 40, who lives in London.

She adds: “If you’re employed, even if you do nothing, you have a pension – but it’s very different for the self-employed.”

Lifetime Isas have proved to be a hit with millennials and generation Z: the number of “live” accounts has jumped by 45% in two years and now stands at almost a million (an estimated 964,000 in 2023-24, according to the most recent official data).

From Glengarry Glen Ross and Lawrence of Arabia to Liz Truss and Lord Salisbury, test your knowledge with the Saturday quiz

1 Which dictator spent his last days in power playing Candy Crush?
2 What children’s TV production company was founded by Anne Wood?
3 Rome’s Ludus Magnus was a training school for whom?
4 Where were Liz Truss and Lord Salisbury both appointed prime minister?
5 Referring to 17 metals, what does REE stand for?
6 In the title of an 1886 novel, what is David Balfour’s predicament?
7 Which fish has the scientific name Electrophorus electricus?
8 What sport is the subject of the documentary Love Means Zero?
What links:
9 Booker T & the MG’s; Manfred Mann; Ben Folds Five?
10 Genoese; Lepers; Millionaires; Rat Stabbers; Red Devils?
11 Moonfleet; Three Men in a Boat; The Wonderful Wizard of Oz; Consider Phlebas?
12 Glengarry Glen Ross; Lawrence of Arabia; The Great Escape; 12 Angry Men?
13 Arbuthnot Latham; Coutts; C Hoare; Weatherbys?
14 Horn; Agulhas; Leeuwin; South East; Whiore?
15 Nicholas Breakspear and Robert Prevost?

Dragged along by my dad to see Pentangle, I heard something ancient that kickstarted my obsession with this country’s folklore – an enchanted, subversive and strange version of a Britain where I could truly belong

I was 15 years old; at that fumbling, awkward age on the precipice of adulthood, desperately trying to figure out who I was, who I wanted to be, and where I belonged in the world. I grew up feeling perpetually “in-between”: half-white, half-black; half-British, half-Caribbean, and on the faultline between what sometimes felt like two worlds at war.

One night in 2008 my dad took me to see Pentangle play at the Royal Festival Hall on London’s South Bank. The band had risen to fame in the late 60s, known for fusing British folk melodies with blues and jazz syncopation. I must have stood out in the crowd – among the bearded men in sandals and socks – with my big hoop earrings and scraped-back hair. And although I dragged my feet on the way in, when I stepped out of the concert later that auspicious summer’s evening, I was changed for ever.