Keyword – Life and style
Trefwoorden – Hair care, Men’s hair, Women’s hair, Life and style, Beauty
Title – Is it true that … hard water damages hair? | Hair care | The Guardian
Author – https://www.theguardian.com/profile/kate-lloyd
Link – Is it true that … hard water damages hair? | Hair care | The Guardian
Publish date – 2026-09-07T07:00:27.000Z
Category – Lifestyle
URL – https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2026/sep/07/is-it-true-that-hard-water-damages-hair

F rom hair treatments to shower filters, a wave of products have been launched promising to protect hair from the “problems” caused by living in a hard-water area. But are they really necessary? “Hard water has a higher concentration of dissolved minerals, especially calcium and magnesium,” says Desmond Tobin, professor of dermatological science at University College Dublin. “These are naturally occurring in water, particularly water that is not rainwater.”

When water moves through soil and rocks, such as limestone, minerals dissolve into it and remain there when it comes out of your tap. These minerals are responsible for the limescale that builds up in your kettle.

“You know you’re living in a hard‑water area by how easy it is to lather up soap,” says Tobin. “If it is really difficult, and it forms a kind of scum rather than bubbles, you’re in a hard-water area. It’s healthy to drink, but it can trigger some issues.”

Washing your hair in hard water can leave mineral deposits on the hair shaft, which some believe make it look duller and feel rougher. There is evidence that calcium and magnesium can accumulate on hair washed in hard water, although the evidence that this causes damage is less clear.

Removing this buildup can cause problems, though, especially for those with dry or brittle hair. Tobin says the best shampoos for doing so are high lather and contain ingredients such as sulfates, which can be harsh on those hair types. “It’s this balancing act between removing the buildup and leaving enough oil in the system to condition the hair,” says Tobin.

If you live in a hard-water area and notice your hair getting drier, Tobin recommends installing a water softener in your home.

Keyword – Travel
Trefwoorden – Finland holidays, Scandinavia holidays, Road trips, Scandinavian food and drink, Europe holidays, Travel
Title – Going for gold: an early autumn road trip across Finland’s sparkling lake district | Finland holidays | The Guardian
Author – https://www.theguardian.com/profile/annabelle-thorpe
Link – Going for gold: an early autumn road trip across Finland’s sparkling lake district | Finland holidays | The Guardian
Publish date – 2026-09-07T06:00:27.000Z
Category – Lifestyle
URL – https://www.theguardian.com/travel/2026/sep/07/autumn-road-trip-finland-lake-district

I wasn’t sure what to expect from an autumn trip to Finland, my first ever to the country, but spending an afternoon sprawled on a deck chair beneath blazing blue skies certainly wasn’t part of it. After a morning walking beneath the leafy canopy at the Mustila Arboretum – the oldest, most extensive botanical garden in the country – and a lunchtime wine-tasting (more of which later), my friend Sara and I pitched up at the Sahanlahti resort, deep in the Finnish Lakeland , only to find sun-drenched scenery that felt far more Mediterranean than Nordic.

Sahanlahti was the second stop on a mid-September road trip from Helsinki to the shores of Lake Saimaa; a journey in search of ruska , the spectacular autumn colours that blaze for a few short weeks before the long Finnish winter sets in. However, on our opening drive east from the airport to the Radalla resort, set on Lake Urajärvi, most of the thousands of trees we drove past were resolutely green, with just the very tips of the leaves tinged with auburn, like a foliage balayage .

“You’re too early,” the waitress told us, cheerfully, after we had checked in to our chic waterfront cabins, and were tucking into hefty plates of crispy garlic chicken, scattered with freshly picked chanterelles, in Radalla’s quiet dining room. “But you might get some sun tomorrow.” Later, walking back to our cabins through thick drizzle, we agreed she was most probably just being kind.

The Radalla resort is just one of dozens of lakeside hotels scattered across southern Finland – many with self-catering cabins, sauna complexes and gleaming metal steps that lead from wooden piers down into the chilly waters of the lake. The grey drizzle we awoke to made a dip less than appealing, and instead we decided to set off for our next stop, taking in the arboretum en route before finding a place for lunch.

Driving in southern Finland turned out to be quite different from other countries. Most settlements fringe the lakesides, so they tend to be tucked away down side roads leading off from the main highway. Instead, trees – those resolutely green trees – rolled past us for mile after mile, until slowly the fields began to melt into lakes, one after another, the road snaking alongside the blue-grey waters, or stitching together small islets that lay scattered between them.

Googling somewhere for lunch, Sara came across the Ollinmäki winery , an unexpected find in a country that grows absolutely no grapes. Instead, berry wines are hugely popular, and once settled in at our table, we were persuaded to try a flight of six, accompanied by a bowl of hearty elk soup (which tasted considerably better than it looked) and a leaf salad with local cheese. One wine, the white currant and berry Myllärin Matti was particularly delicious, with the tang of a crisp sauvignon – although I wouldn’t want to find out what a Finnish hangover feels like.

From the winery it was an easy drive to Sahanlahti, by which time the weather had cleared and pin-sharp blue skies gleamed above the shores of Lake Saimaa. The main house – painted butterscotch-yellow and dating back to the mid-18th century, when the owners presided over the local sawmill – had a languidly old-fashioned air, but dinner at the Koskivahti restaurant was anything but: rich mushroom soup, slivers of goose confit with lingonberry sauce, wafer-thin beetroot carpaccio with tangy goat’s cheese.

It might have been too early for the leaves to turn, but we had arrived right in the middle of harvest season, when heading out into the fields and islands to pick wild mushrooms and berries (of which there are 35 different varieties) is practically a national sport. We had barely set down our bags at our final stop, Järvisydän resort, before we were whizzing out across Saimaa on a small motor boat, baskets tucked between our feet, to hunt for chanterelles and look for rare ringed seals and ospreys.

The sky was flawlessly blue as we whipped across the water, disembarking first to pick the mushrooms – slashes of bright yellow among the green undergrowth. We were guided in our harvesting by Sebastian, the 12th generation of the Heiskanen family to be running Järvisydän. “Back in 1654,” he told us, “my family were given a portion of land by the Russian tsar, to build a tavern on the route between St Petersburg and Helsinki.” More than 350 years later, the tavern has morphed into a 100-room resort, offering everything from starkly modern glass-walled cabins, high in the forest, to hexagonal log houses with bedrooms set off a central, fire-lit atrium, and camping pods.

It’s an extraordinary place: everything – from the vast reception, dwarfed by a replica Viking longship hull hung above reception, to the restaurants, bar and the Hobbit-like spa – is built entirely from local stone and timber. A visit to the spa seemed the perfect way to warm up after our chilly boat trip, with six different saunas to dip into – although the “sunken log” sauna, where the temperature reached 70C, gave me some sense of how an ice-cream might feel if left out in the sun.

Of the three resorts we visited, Järvisydän was the standout – for its history, for the spectacular scenery of Lake Saimaa that surrounds it, for the delicious mushroom soup and for the long, sunlit walk we took on our final afternoon, through the dense pine forest, where red squirrels skittered around in the branches above. It was a wrench to leave on our last morning, but as we sped back along quiet roads to Helsinki, we agreed Finland had – in spite of our foliage fail – outstripped our expectations. It was more beautiful, more peaceful, more sunkissed than we could ever have imagined.

Ruska (the vibrant colours of autumn foliage) begins in the north of the country in early to mid-September, reaching the Lake Saimaa region in the south by early October.

The trip was provided by Discover the World . A four-night bespoke self-drive trip staying at Radalla , Sahanlahti and Järvisydän resorts starts at £794 pp, including B&B and car hire, but not flights.

Keyword – Television & radio
Trefwoorden – Television & radio, Culture, Podcasts
Title – A crucial look at the disappearance of Austin Tice: best podcasts of the week | Television & radio | The Guardian
Author – https://www.theguardian.com/profile/hannah-j-davies,https://www.theguardian.com/profile/hollie-richardson
Link – A crucial look at the disappearance of Austin Tice: best podcasts of the week | Television & radio | The Guardian
Publish date – 2026-09-07T06:00:27.000Z
Category – Culture
URL – https://www.theguardian.com/tv-and-radio/2026/sep/07/a-crucial-look-at-the-disappearance-of-austin-tice-best-podcasts-of-the-week

Pick of the week I’m Not a Monster Presents: Where Is Austin Tice?

It has been 14 years since US marine turned journalist Austin Tice went missing in Syria. Much has changed in the embattled nation since then – not least the end of Bashar al-Assad’s regime – but Tice is yet to be found. In this series , Josh Baker and Sara Obeidat uncover crucial new evidence, some of which has already made headlines. Sensitive and highly suspenseful. Hannah J Davies Widely available, episodes weekly

Drive Thru Magic

Fans of Heated Rivalry will surely love this new queer indie drama pod written by and starring Briggon Snow (The Bright Sessions), with Daniel J Kim (Cobra Kai) as his fellow lead. Its irresistible, bite-size instalments – set at a drive-thru takeaway – fizz with young love, while also tackling tough topics such as grief and dementia. HJD Widely available, episodes weekly

Jane Austen Stories: Emma

A second series of sharp Regency lit from the Noiser podcast stable, as narrated by the ever-charming Julie Andrews. This unabridged version of the novel about a committed meddler and matchmaker (described by Austen as “a heroine whom no one but myself will much like”) has original music and immersive sound design to boot. HJD Widely available, episodes weekly

Fault Line: Haditha

Film-maker Michael Epstein hasn’t been able to forget the Haditha massacre of 2005, when 24 unarmed civilians were slain by US marines. His dedication to pursuing the true story behind a shocking chapter of the Iraq war is clear in this iHeart show, as he expertly pulls on forgotten threads, drawing on years of investigation and interviews. HJD Widely available, episodes weekly

End of the World

The zombie apocalypse alarm goes off and broadcasting mates Dan Noble and Will Short get a comedian into their bunker to chat about their survival plan of action. What would be your weapon of choice? Who would you sacrifice? Emmanuel Sonubi is the first to get very enthusiastically stuck in, with future guests including Olga Koch and Al Nash. Hollie Richardson Widely available, episodes weekly

What are you listening to this week? Share your top tips below

Keyword – Books
Trefwoorden – Biography books, Books, Stephen Hawking, Science, Culture, Physics
Title – Hawking by Graham Farmelo review – the dark side of genius | Biography books | The Guardian
Author – https://www.theguardian.com/profile/philip-ball
Link – Hawking by Graham Farmelo review – the dark side of genius | Biography books | The Guardian
Publish date – 2026-09-07T06:00:26.000Z
Category – Culture
URL – https://www.theguardian.com/books/2026/sep/07/hawking-by-graham-farmelo-review-the-dark-side-of-genius

W hen I wrote an unadoring review of Stephen Hawking’s final book, a collection of essays published posthumously in 2018, New Scientist suppressed some of my criticisms on the grounds that it was “too early” to voice anything other than praise for the physicist who died, aged 76, that March. It was apparently still too early in 2021, when no British publisher would touch Charles Seife’s exposé of Hawking’s bullying and self-aggrandising behaviour, Hawking Hawking.

In this new biography, veteran science writer Graham Farmelo takes a different approach. It is a comprehensive and accessible portrait of a brilliant scientist and an extraordinarily determined man who also possessed deep personal flaws to which the scientific community and the public mostly turned a blind eye. The uncomfortable but unavoidable truth is that Hawking’s overweening ambition and self-promotion, his repeated failure to acknowledge the work of others, his sexism and controlling behaviour were largely ignored because of his disability. I think it is indeed going to take us years to process that.

As this book was authorised by the Hawking family, and as Farmelo (whose superb biography of Paul Dirac, The Strangest Man, won a Costa award in 2009) is a generous and kind writer, I had feared the warts would be omitted. But instead Farmelo handles them mostly by letting others’ words speak for themselves.

But let’s start with the science, which offers a genuinely inspirational tale. As Farmelo says, while Hawking’s longevity against all odds was surely due in part to the exceptional care and treatment he received, “it was his unconquerable will, resilience and fortitude that did most to make his remarkable career possible”. His scientific achievements would be impressive by any measure; when accomplished in the face of debilitating and ultimately paralysing motor neurone disease, they are extraordinary.

Like many scientists of his calibre, Hawking was a slow and rather lackadaisical starter. But once installed at Cambridge for a PhD under the supervision of astrophysicist Dennis Sciama, his sharp intelligence emerged. It was there in early 1963 that, after a series of falls, he was diagnosed and given less than 10 years to live. Undeterred, and despite steadily declining mobility and speech, he was electrified by the work of physicist Roger Penrose, 10 years his senior, on the gravitational collapse of dead stars into what had become known as black holes.

That process was predicted by Einstein’s 1915 theory of general relativity, but Penrose was the first to show convincingly that it should lead to a “singularity” where all the star’s matter condenses to zero volume: an object with mass but no matter. Hawking had the brilliant insight that this same process, happening in reverse, could explain the big bang, in which the entire universe came into being from “nothing” 13.8bn years (as we now know) ago.

That was his first triumph, described in a 1970 paper with Penrose. The best came four years later, when Hawking proposed that, thanks to the peculiar quantum-mechanical nature of spacetime, black holes are not really black because they should constantly radiate a dim glow of particles – now called Hawking radiation – that will eventually lead to their evaporation. That work was a virtuosic blend of four fundamental ideas in physics: general-relativistic gravity, quantum mechanics, thermodynamics and information theory.

It was the high point of his research career: Hawking’s scientific achievements were largely done by the time he became a global celebrity, appearing on Star Trek and The Simpsons and becoming the subject of the 2014 Oscar-winning biopic The Theory of Everything. It is “as a truly great elucidator of black holes” that he will be remembered, Farmelo rightly judges.

I’m not alone in thinking Hawking’s work on black-hole thermodynamics and the discovery of Hawking radiation were worthy of a Nobel prize. (Hawking became obsessed to an unseemly degree with getting one.) But let’s keep it in proportion. Anyone who compares Hawking to Einstein knows nothing about Einstein or physics. Einstein made wide-ranging contributions to the discipline, but Hawking’s expertise was narrow and his forays outside it were sometimes embarrassing. Even in the closely related field of particle physics he said things that were, as Peter Higgs (of Higgs boson fame) said, “total crap”. “He made pronouncements about things he had no understanding of,” Higgs said – in the confident knowledge that it would make newspaper headlines the next day, uncritically lapped up by reporters.

Which brings us to the problematic stuff. While professional colleagues mostly spoke about Hawking with reverence and affection, it is often those closest to him who speak of another side. His father, Frank, worried that the teenaged Stephen “was developing into a selfish character … like a small boy who took everything but gave little in return”. There was evidently no love lost with his sister Mary, who called him “one of the most self-centred people I’ve ever met”. At Oxford, some friends found him rather lazy and entitled, and at Cambridge “annoyingly haughty”. His youngest son recounted how his father was “hugely competitive” and never let him or his siblings win at board games.

His unsparing ridicule of his first wife Jane’s religious beliefs contributed to their marital tensions, and the sacrifices she made often went unremarked by him. The pressure of going from lover to carer would never have been easy, but Hawking’s “authoritarian” demands and indifference to Jane’s interests added to her isolation. His adoptive brother, Edward, admitted “I’ve never really felt close to Stephen … he seems very cold.” And his mother, Isobel, complained how he would ignore people when it suited him. “I suppose what in other people would just be bad manners is excusable great-mannishness in him,” she wrote bitterly in her diary.

Sometimes the indulgence gets creepy. Who else’s Marilyn Monroe obsession would be pampered by hiring a lookalike to croon “I want to be loved by you” to him in a “whispery voice” on his birthday? What Farmelo calls “flirting” might have been seen as something else if Hawking had not been using a wheelchair. He does not mention the nights at Stringfellows strip club and makes light of the trip to (pre-conviction) Jeffrey Epstein’s island. But we do hear how Hawking’s victory in a scientific bet was celebrated by making his opponents deliver lectures in T-shirts showing scantily clad women. Hilarious.

Hawking was scandalously bad at giving due scientific credit to others, a trait evident from the outset when he failed to indicate his debt to Penrose. Worse was his treatment of physicist Jacob Bekenstein, whose idea about the connection between the area and the entropy of a black hole he mercilessly derided before discovering for himself that Bekenstein was right – and then essentially claiming the idea as his own, which Farmelo says “disappointed some of Stephen’s friends”. Hawking could clearly be a supportive and kind adviser to his own students, but when one discovered an argument for why Hawking was wrong about a conjecture concerning black holes, he tried to get him dismissed from the Cambridge PhD programme.

Some of his colleagues, Farmelo says, “believed that Stephen’s talks were ‘all about him’ and that he rarely gave much public credit to his peers”. Farmelo suspects they rarely grumbled because “such comments would have been interpreted as mean-spirited”. But mean-spiritedness rarely deters academics; what he surely means is mean-spirited about a scientist with a disability. And there’s the problem. If we were to start finally treating Hawking as we do any other scientist, it would be a positive step for disability in science (which is still poorly accommodated). The effect on Hawking’s legacy is another matter.

Hawking: His Life and Work by Graham Farmelo is published by John Murray (£30). To support the Guardian, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com . Delivery charges may apply.

Keyword – Fashion
Trefwoorden – Fashion, Life and style, Social media, Digital media
Title – A new start after 60: I was always quiet – but at 82 I’m a famous, funny fashion influencer | Fashion | The Guardian
Author – https://www.theguardian.com/profile/paulacocozza
Link – A new start after 60: I was always quiet – but at 82 I’m a famous, funny fashion influencer | Fashion | The Guardian
Publish date – 2026-09-07T05:55:25.000Z
Category – Lifestyle
URL – https://www.theguardian.com/fashion/2026/sep/07/a-new-start-after-60-i-was-always-quiet-but-at-82-im-a-famous-funny-fashion-influencer

‘I t took me till I was 80 to realise that I’m quite an outgoing and loud person,” says Vivienne Truran. Now 82, she has 829,000 followers on Instagram, where she posts daily videos about her outfit choices, including which of her trademark glasses work best with her look, all in her lilting Cardiff accent.

It all started 18 months ago. “I think I want to be an influencer,” she announced in one of her first reels. “Now, what can I influence people in?”

Wasn’t Truran outgoing when she was younger? “No,” she says. “My husband, Martin, was 6ft 4in. Rugby player, good-looking chap. When he walked into the room, he took the room. So I, like a good wife, was in the background. You can’t have two noisy people in a relationship. It doesn’t work.”

They were happily married for more than 40 years; but Martin got dementia and had a number of strokes, and died in hospital during Covid. Truran has no children, and no siblings. Feeling isolated, she would make a cake and sometimes take a piece to her then neighbour – now talent manager – James Rolling, and they became friends. It was Rolling who persuaded her to get in front of the camera.

He introduced her to his friends as his carer, for a joke; hence her Instagram tag @vivthecarer. They “respect each other and are a good team”, Truran says, but if she could change her tag, she would be “Viv from the Vale … like Jenny from the block”. She describes herself as a “timeless fashionista”, which she says is her third career.

Truran grew up in Cardiff, Wales. She was raised by her grandmother and her mother; her parents divorced when she was three. In childhood, she says, “I thought of myself as ‘a pound a week’, because that’s what my father paid my mother in maintenance … My mother brought me up never to rely on anybody but myself.”

At 16, Truran wanted to train to be a hairdresser, but her mother insisted she join the civil service “because there was a good pension. I was 16!” But, she says, “in those days you did what your parents told you to do”. She worked for the Post Office (then part of the civil service), then British Telecom, and took redundancy at 48 – before reinventing herself as an antiques dealer.

“I realised I was quite entrepreneurial,” she says. “I’d buy something and think: ‘I can sell that for a lot more.’” Back then, “rather than do Google Lens and say, ‘What’s this?’, you had to use your brain.” At her busiest, she ran three antiques stalls. “It was a gamble,” she says. “But you were gambling on yourself, your ability.”

Truran thinks her mother would love her Instagram posts. Even in a care home, after she was diagnosed with cancer, “she would go down for breakfast, then she’d change to go down for lunch, then change to go down for dinner. She absolutely loved dressing up.”

Historically, Truran says she was less interested in fashion, though she did take a pair of her first husband’s swimming trunks and style them as hotpants in the 1960s, and then there was her beatnik phase.

Life as an influencer has given her a different identity, and a routine. “I get up every morning, have a shower, get dressed and make my video. When you’re retired and older, the best thing you can do in your life is find yourself a routine.”

Truran has become so well known that sometimes she gets stopped in the street. “It’s all surreal. People say to me: ‘You’re famous.’ Why am I famous?” she says. “I’m nobody special. I’m just somebody who sits in a house, puts on clothes and chats a lot.” Still, she hopes to reach 1 million followers.

“We’ve got to make the most of what we’ve got and live to the full, because we don’t know what’s around the corner,” she says. “Don’t listen to what other people tell you. Listen to yourself.“

She enjoys subverting age-related expectations. Shopping in a branch of the fashion chain Pull & Bear recently, she noticed young women looking at her in surprise when she leaned forward to pay with her Apple watch. “I do enjoy saying, ‘Look, I might be old, but I’m alive.’”

Her followers have become a kind of community. “I always say to them: ‘Come on. Keep following me on this journey.’ I’m very excited about that. We don’t know where we’re going … but let’s see.”

Keyword – Food
Trefwoorden – Food, Pastry, Vegetables, Herbs and spices, Nuts and seeds, Cheese, Pie, Baking, Snacks, Seafood, Biscuits
Title – Cheese pie, seed crackers and prawn rolls: Ravinder Bhogal’s recipes for cooking with filo | Food | The Guardian
Author – https://www.theguardian.com/profile/ravinder-bhogal
Link – Cheese pie, seed crackers and prawn rolls: Ravinder Bhogal’s recipes for cooking with filo | Food | The Guardian
Publish date – 2026-09-07T05:00:25.000Z
Category – Lifestyle
URL – https://www.theguardian.com/food/2026/sep/07/filo-pastry-recipes-cheese-onion-pie-seed-crackers-prawn-rolls-ravinder-bhogal

I love this gossamer-thin pastry for its lightness and crunch, not least because it can be used for both sweets and savouries. Once, on a trip to Athens, I learned how to make filo from scratch: it needs to be rolled very, very thin, so, unless you are skilled with a rolling pin, it’s hard and time-consuming. Luckily there are good ready-made varieties out there (if you’re using the frozen variety, make sure it’s fully defrosted). And always keep the pastry you are not working with under a damp cloth, because it dries out very quickly and will probably crack.

Cheese and spring onion pie (pictured top)

This boasts four varieties of cheese and a ruffly top of crisp, golden filo that requires no complicated technique.

Prep 15 min Cook 1 hr, plus cooling Serves 6

300g feta , crumbled 250g firm ricotta , crumbled 200g halloumi , grated 150g gruyere or a sharp cheddar , grated 150ml single cream 3 eggs 25g chives , finely chopped 25g dill , finely chopped 25g flat-leaf parsley , finely chopped 1 large bunch spring onions (8-10), trimmed and finely sliced Finely grated zest of 1 unwaxed lemon Nutmeg Sea salt and black pepper 125g butter , melted 8 sheets filo Sesame seeds , to scatter

Heat the oven to 180C (160C fan)/350F/gas 4. In a large bowl, combine the cheeses, cream, eggs, herbs, spring onion, lemon zest and a good grating of nutmeg, then season to taste.

Line the base of a 20-23cm cake tin with baking paper and grease the sides with melted butter. Lay a sheet of pastry in the bottom of the tin, allowing the excess to hang over the sides. Brush generously with butter, then lay on another sheet of pastry at a slight angle, so it doesn’t completely overlap the first sheet, and brush that with butter, too. Repeat until you have six filo sheets covering the base and sides of the tin.

Spoon the filling into the pastry base and flatten it out with the back of the spoon. Brush another piece of pastry with butter, fold it in half and lay it on top of the filling, tucking in the excess pastry. Repeat with the last sheet of pastry, then fold in all the overhanging filo to create a lovely textured top. Brush with the remaining butter, sprinkle over the sesame seeds, then bake for 45 minutes, until golden. Leave the pie to rest and cool for 15 minutes before serving.

Seeded filo crackers

These require no dough making or rolling: they’re simply made by layering ready-made filo pastry. They have an addictive crunch, and are ideal for swiping through your favourite dips.

Prep 5 min Cook 20 min, plus cooling Serves 6

1 tbsp fennel seeds 1 tbsp caraway seeds 1 tbsp coriander seeds 2 tbsp sesame seeds 2 tbsp nigella seeds 1 tsp pul biber ½ tsp onion powder 1 tsp flaky sea salt 4 sheets filo pastry 100ml extra-virgin olive oil

In a mortar, lightly crush the fennel, caraway and coriander seeds, then stir in the sesame and nigella seeds, pul biber, onion powder and salt.

Heat the oven to 180C (160C fan)/350F/gas 4. Put a sheet of baking paper the size of your baking tray on a work surface, and top it with a sheet of filo. Brush with olive oil, then lay over a second sheet of filo, pressing it down lightly to get rid of any air pockets, and brush with oil. Repeat with the remaining two filo sheets, brush the top with the remaining olive oil and scatter over the spiced seed mix generously and evenly, pressing it in gently, so it sticks.

Using a sharp knife, cut the filo into strips, triangles or squares – whatever you like – then slide the baking paper on to a baking tray and bake for 10 minutes. Leave to cool on the baking sheet to crisp up, then serve with your favourite dip.

Saffron prawn boreks

With the addition of saffron, these crisp prawn rolls feel rather lavish. Perfect to pass around at a party with a glass of something fizzy.

Prep 15 min Cook 40 min, plus cooling Makes 16 small boreks

2 tbsp olive oil 1 onion , peeled and very finely chopped 1 red pepper , halved, pith and seeds removed, and flesh finely chopped 1 carrot , coarsely grated 1 green bird’s eye chilli , finely chopped ½ tsp pul biber 1 pinch saffron threads , steeped in 1 tbsp warm water for 5-10 minutes 200g raw prawns , peeled, deveined, half blitzed in a food processor, half roughly chopped 25g coriander , leaves very finely chopped Finely grated zest of 1 unwaxed lemon , plus the juice of ½ lemon Sea salt 4 sheets filo 75g butter , melted 1 tsp fennel seeds mixed with ½ tsp pul biber , to garnish

Put the oil in a pan on a medium heat, then saute the onion, pepper and carrot until soft but not coloured. Add the green chilli, pul biber and saffron, stir-fry briefly, then take off the heat and tip into a bowl. Leave to cool slightly, then stir in the blitzed and chopped prawns, coriander, lemon zest and juice, and season with salt.

Heat the oven to 180C (160C fan)/350F/gas 4. On a clean surface, lay out a filo sheet and brush it with melted butter. Using a sharp knife, cut the filo into four equal rectangles. Spread a log of the filling mix along the short end of one rectangle, leaving a 1½cm gap on each side, then roll up the pastry, tucking in the ends to secure the filling. Put the roll seam-side down on a lined baking sheet and brush with more melted butter. Repeat with the remaining three sheets of filo and filling, then sprinkle over fennel seed and pul biber mix.

Bake for 15-20 minutes, until golden brown and crisp, and serve hot or at room temperature

Keyword – World news
Trefwoorden – Sweden, Indigenous peoples, Mining, Environment, Europe, World news, Critical minerals
Title – Reindeer and rare-earth minerals: Swedish politicians take aim at Indigenous Sami in mining dispute | Sweden | The Guardian
Author – Miranda Bryant
Link – Reindeer and rare-earth minerals: Swedish politicians take aim at Indigenous Sami in mining dispute | Sweden | The Guardian
Publish date – 2026-09-07T04:00:24.000Z
Category – News
URL – https://www.theguardian.com/world/ng-interactive/2026/sep/07/reindeer-and-rare-earth-minerals-swedish-politicians-take-aim-at-indigenous-sami-in-mining-dispute

For the Swedish-Sami politician Åsa Larsson Blind, it was something of a watershed moment in the national conversation around Indigenous rights.

In late April and May, as the country geared up for this month’s elections, the deputy prime minister and energy minister, Ebba Busch, gave a series of speeches and articles publicly attacking the Sami’s rights to graze reindeer herds on their ancestral lands. Reindeer husbandry, Busch said at one press conference, “is an industry that affects very large areas, but has limited economic significance”.

Her Christian Democrats party, a junior partner in Sweden’s three-party centre-right coalition government, called for reindeer numbers to be cut, for reindeer husbandry to no longer be considered a “national interest” and for the state to “reclaim responsibility” for land used by herders.

The government’s goal is to open up the country’s sparsely populated north for mineral resource exploitation – as Sweden and the EU more generally seek to reduce dependence on Chinese imports – and to expand its nuclear power capabilities.

Larsson Blind said that anti-Sami sentiment in the run-up to elections – especially at the local level – was not new, but that the scope of the recent rhetoric was “quite astonishing”.

“If you look at it from afar, it means that the deputy prime minister is highlighting one group of people … as being the enemy of development in Sweden,” the board member of the Sami parliament, which exists to safeguard Sami interests, said in an interview. “She is really clearly not feeling the need to have the support of the Sami.”

Issues of Sami land rights have moved from local to national prominence in the run-up to the 13 September vote. In its manifesto, the Christian Democrats pledged to “resolve the conflicts between reindeer husbandry and industrial development” and to protect “everyone’s right to hunt on state-owned land”. The far-right Sweden Democrats – who could enter government for the first time after the vote – have also singled out reindeer herders in their manifesto, pitting them against industrial development, tourism and the wider Swedish public and questioning their land rights.

The row has centred on the state-owned mining company LKAB’s plan to expand a vast iron ore mine next to the town of Kiruna to encompass the Per Geijer deposit, which holds Europe’s largest known reserve of rare-earth elements. The plan involves relocating subsidence-hit Kiruna itself to a new and more stable site. Last summer, the town drew global attention when its striking red wooden church, designed to resemble a lávvu (a Sami hut), was rolled 5km to its new home .

Many among the Sami population near Kiruna – Sweden’s most northerly town – fear the pitting of mineral resources against land rights heralds a larger threat to their livelihoods and culture.

The traditional herding routes of the Gabna Sami people have already been significantly affected by the Kiruna mine. Anna-Karin Niia, a Gabna herder, said she felt ignored by Stockholm. The Sami people are Indigenous “constitutional protectors”, she said. “It’s not just a simple matter of quietly reducing reindeer herds and making these kinds of statements so that you win the 2026 election.”

“Even if the state or the government or the EU says it is important to have minerals, at the same time, Indigenous rights, Sami rights, the local[s] are just as important. We also need nature.”

For Larsson Blind, the government’s positioning has shattered hopes that Swedish politicians might take their responsibilities seriously when it comes to Sami people. “It is very harsh but I think it has also opened eyes in our own ranks. It has really opened up a divide that is very hard to overcome,” she said. “Even if we have known that previous governments haven’t prioritised Sami rights issues, it hasn’t been politically correct to say it so abruptly and out loud. But now it is possible to do that, so the boundaries have been pushed.”

Lars-Marcus Kuhmunen, the head of the Gabna community , said LKAB’s plans for Per Geijer would “put an end to everything” for the Sami, because it would cut off the connection between the calving grounds and the mountain area and forest region. He also believes it would act as a “starting gun” for increased industrialisation across Sweden. “It will affect all Sami villages,” he said. “We feel like we have a lot resting on our shoulders.”

Over coffee at his home in Kiruna, Nils-Johan Labba, a master craftsman and politician in the Sami parliament, said the relocation of Kiruna had left the town “bleeding”, affecting everything from transport to education. He said he wished the government had focused on resolving the town’s problems instead of “hating on minorities”.

Peter Kullgren, a member of the board of the Christian Democrats, said: “Sweden has a responsibility to protect Sami rights, but the government must also be able to weigh up Sami rights with other very strong public interests. Our mineral resources are strategically important for Sweden and Europe and we already have high standards of consideration, dialogue and influence but the state must also be able to make decisions about when important public interests are working against each other.”

In a statement, LKAB said the process of expanding the Kiruna mine was still at an early stage. “Our intention is to continue evaluating the potential of the mineral deposit,” it said. “The application is currently being reviewed by the mining inspectorate of Sweden, and the consultation process is ongoing.

“We understand that our plans for the new deposit would have an impact … We have submitted a reindeer herding impact assessment that includes proposed measures intended to support the conditions for continued reindeer herding in the area.

“Our starting point is not to dismiss the concerns that have been raised, but to work toward solutions that can reduce impacts and create the conditions for safeguarding both interests over the long term.”

Keyword – Fashion
Trefwoorden – Fashion, Life and style, Men’s fashion
Title – ‘Work hard – nobody cares how good you used to be’: Paul Smith at 80 on love, fun and his fabulous life in fashion | Fashion | The Guardian
Author – https://www.theguardian.com/profile/eminesaner
Link – ‘Work hard – nobody cares how good you used to be’: Paul Smith at 80 on love, fun and his fabulous life in fashion | Fashion | The Guardian
Publish date – 2026-09-07T04:00:23.000Z
Category – Lifestyle
URL – https://www.theguardian.com/fashion/2026/sep/07/work-hard-nobody-cares-how-good-you-used-to-be-paul-smith-at-80-on-love-fun-and-his-fabulous-life-in-fashion

G o for a browse in the Paul Smith shop in Mayfair, London, on any given Saturday and you’ll likely find an older shop assistant, straight-backed in fine tailoring, approaching to help you with a new shirt, or a suit for a special occasion, perhaps a jaunty pair of socks. There aren’t many global fashion brands, Paul Smith points out, perhaps unnecessarily, “where the owner is a Saturday boy”. But working in his shop, one of more than 130 around the world, is probably Smith’s favourite part of the job. “It’s fantastic, you meet so many interesting people,” he says, smiling broadly. Smith’s whole career, he says, has always been about doing things in a different way. He’s the untrained fashion designer who created a global British brand, who put a bright lining or some stripes into classic tailoring, and who has turned down multiple substantial offers to buy his company, in order to remain in control.

Sir Paul Smith has just turned 80 – and he has the enviable energy of someone less than half his age, swimming each day before 6am. He’s about to publish his memoir, Threads: My Life in Style. It’s been a good opportunity to do a stocktake. His has undoubtedly been a lucky life – right place, right time, right people (not least his wife, Pauline, whom he met at the age of 21 and who has been integral to his success) – but it’s also a story of hard work, integrity and modesty. We’ll get to whether those values are still relevant in a harsher, more competitive world, and whether Paul Smith can survive.

Smith is wonderfully warm and likes to chat. We’re sitting at a table in the basement of his Mayfair shop, surrounded by beautiful and expensive mid-century furniture (he has always sold interesting objects alongside his clothes). Every so often, a staff member walks by and he’ll break off to catch up (“You all right? You had a nice time?”). Online shopping is all very well, I tell him, but I love real-life shops too, or at least those with character. Will they survive? “I hope that the 12 and 14-year-olds today will realise that there’s so much falseness out there,” and that they can find joy and surprise in “an individually owned shop, or a conversation you can have [there]”.

Smith didn’t intend to become a designer. Born in 1946, he grew up in a suburb of Nottingham and wanted to be a racing cyclist until he was hospitalised for eight weeks in a bad accident that ended his dream. “I suppose the nearest link with creativity was my father being an amateur photographer,” he says. Harold Smith worked as a credit draper – people would buy clothing from him in instalments – and Smith got his first job with the same company at the age of 15. Harold also co-founded a local camera club. “I used to go and listen to people talking about something called composition and lighting, and then spent time in the dark room with my father.” Funny, creative, a bit of an inventor, his father seems to have a stronger presence in his book than his mother. Was he more of an influence? “I think so, yes. The photography really taught me to look and see . So I suppose that helped me look at things carefully. And he was a very good communicator.” Harold died at 92, still inventing fun contraptions (“I suppose a lot of that was creativity or lateral thinking”) and keeping a lot of young friends, which Smith does too. His mother, Marjorie, was loving and stable, which did a lot for Smith’s self-assurance. “I suppose the security of having a mum like that was really nice.” Later, he says, explaining his approach: “I think it’s just I’m so at ease with life.”

A 21-year-old Smith was still living at home when he met Pauline, who is six years older than him and already had two children and a dog. “It was instant family,” says Smith. Pauline had trained at the Royal College of Art, had worked in London at a fashion company and was then teaching art in Nottingham. She introduced Smith to art, creativity and interesting people. All of it – this new world, and being a stepfather to two young children – was “real big stuff”, he says.

In 1970, Smith was working at a Nottingham boutique. After he took some courses in clothes construction, Pauline encouraged him to open his own “shop” – a tiny back room of a building on a little lane in the city centre – which he called, with hilarious fanciness, Paul Smith Vêtements Pour Homme. “I know, that was a bit pretentious,” he says, laughing. From there, Smith gradually built a business with more than 1,200 employees, about 130 shops around the world (the brand is huge in Japan) and, at its peak, a turnover north of £200m a year.

The 70s were an exciting time to be building a fashion brand. After opening a shop in New York, Smith and friends would go to Studio 54, pushing glamorous Pauline to the front and following in her slipstream. Smith remembers seeing Liza Minnelli there, among others. “[There was] Andy Warhol, there was Karl Lagerfeld, Issey Miyake, Woody Allen,” he says. “We became nocturnal for a week. At the same time there were great art galleries, and openings – [art dealer] Leo Castelli, and people like [Robert] Rauschenberg, and artists that were hot kids on the block.”

It was special, he says, “because it was a time of blank paper, being able to try things out. There was nobody to say you couldn’t do it. I think the problem we all have now is that everything’s so homogenised, everything’s so available. We’re overburdened with information, with opinions, with everything.” Back then, he says, even the smallest things could feel like a huge discovery – the rag rugs he found on a Greek holiday and brought back for the shop, a penknife from an obscure fishing store. Smith discovered the Filofax, the essential 80s yuppie organiser, made by an old east London military supplies company; he popularised it by stocking it in his shop.

In the 90s, Paul Smith the brand hit its fashionable peak, worn by royalty, film stars, rock stars and anyone who’d saved up a bit of money for a wedding or to look good on a Saturday night. Smith became friends with many icons, including David Bowie, Jack Nicholson and Paul McCartney. Did he ever feel out of his depth or intimidated by them? “I suppose [it’s] lack of education,” he says. “I’m hopeless at reading, I’m dyslexic, I’m lousy at history.” He left school at 15, but then, he adds, many rock stars left school around then too. And with rock stars and royalty, “you should never assume that they don’t feel the same. My company motto is ‘never assume’, and that’s helped me enormously over the years.”

The company has struggled in recent times. “We’re definitely not as relevant as we used to be,” says Smith. But longevity “is very much about hard work, continuity, reassessing, never thinking you’ve ‘made it’ because nobody cares how good you used to be”. The world may have changed, but there is still a market for beautiful clothes, says Smith. “If you were here last Saturday, [we sold] at least 10 suits for weddings, for instance. It’s my job to understand the world and how it’s changing, and the wishes and demands of the public.”

Smith is surrounded by young people in the company, he says, which helps to keep him in touch. “Yes, a lot of our customers are older, but 20-odd% are not, they’re quite young, which is really exciting.” But what he has noticed, when he looks at younger people, is less individuality. “They’re not as … brave is the wrong word, but the creativity in terms of dressing is not as it used to be. I think there’s a lot of nervousness about standing out and peer pressure, and what you think you should look like. Whereas we just did whatever was part of our personality.” I think he’s getting at the idea that a slight eccentric and unique Britishness has been lost in globalisation. Remembering his own youth, “I had very long hair, I had velvet trousers.” It was silly, but fun, he says.

The company has never quite recovered after the pandemic – there’s not much need for workwear when many people work from home in the comfort of a tracksuit. Meanwhile, Brexit, he says, “was a nightmare”. Last year, Paul Smith made a pre-tax loss of £16.7m and, Smith says, “we’ll lose again this year, but luckily I’ve got enough [to cover it]”. But he adds, “we’re going down the right route now. We’re on the verge of breaking even again.” The world is tough: “wars everywhere”. And unlike the energy and optimism of the 70s, 80s and 90s, it feels as if the general mood among people, he says, is worry. Smith has survived recessions and the 2008 financial crash. Does this period feel more difficult? “To me, it does. I’m not sure whether it is, but to me it does.” One reason is that independent shops are struggling – Smith has always sold to other boutiques, and they’re closing rapidly, hit by high costs and fading high streets. Is he an optimist? “I personally am, because I’m so full of joy the whole time – and positivity.”

As the majority owner, Smith runs the company as he wants. “The good thing is that your expectations are your expectations, they’re not the shareholders’ expectations,” he says. “As soon as you’re in a commercial situation, it’s all about the profit, the expansion, and I’ve seen so many lovely companies die because of financial takeovers.” When he says “die”, I realise he doesn’t mean they collapse, but lose their soul – which I think, to him, is the same thing. In his book, though, he writes about feeling a pang of envy if he heard about Prada, say, opening a new shop. Less so now, though. “Over the years you make comparisons and you think: ‘Oh, should I be doing that?’ In the last two or three years I’ve grown out of that.”

Smith received many big offers to sell throughout his career. Why didn’t he? “I like my job, I love going into work. I love the fact that you can have an idea and turn it into reality, I think that’s really exciting.” Although he certainly is rich, there’s also a modesty to him. He drives his Mini to work, and while he and Pauline live in a swanky part of west London, it’s in the same home they’ve owned since 1980. He was never motivated by money, he says. “We don’t desire jets, we don’t desire grand things, and that was always it, right from the beginning.” What did he want to achieve when he set out? “This sounds crass and stupid, but just a nice life, a nice day. Pauline and I were in love, we are in love still. And luckily we’ve done well.”

The DNA of the brand is so wrapped up in Smith, will it survive without him? “I don’t know. I think so, because there’s enough key people who understand it. It will change, of course it will change, but the basic DNA should stay the same. [It] should be a company that’s modest, down to earth, gives good service, respects people.” It does, sadly, sound a little old-fashioned and idealistic in our brazen capitalist age. Smith points out they have new executives, including a new managing director, who “come from very commercial backgrounds, so the wish for me is getting the balance right. I think I probably am such an oddball in today’s world that you’ve got to make sure that you’ve got a team behind you.”

Smith has no intention of retiring. “I don’t think Pauline would want me at home,” he says. His latest passion is Paul Smith’s Foundation, passing on knowledge and skills – and eventually bursaries – to young designers and entrepreneurs. “All the things I didn’t know at 20 is what I’m trying to help them with.” Not just the sexy stuff like design, but essential things such as VAT and contracts. He intends to leave all his money to the foundation. “Literally everything,” he says. (Pauline has her own wealth from selling her stake in the company and will look after the family, he says.) “My wish is to just help future generations.” He is appalled at big fashion brands who employ young designers straight out of college, “draining the ideas from them” and then putting them out of a job within a few years.

Smith wrote his book with these young designers in mind. “I wanted a book that helps people in the creative industry realise that you can do it a different way,” he says. But lots of us could do with being reminded, from Smith’s account, about what makes a good life – curiosity, creativity, humour, looking after people, and ambition but not greed. In a challenging world, he stays upbeat, he says, with “humour, a lovely team, not taking myself too seriously”. Plus, working in his shops, chatting to customers, taking delight in the art on the walls and the beautiful things he helps to create or find. He isn’t so different from the young man who opened his first shop 56 years ago. “I definitely think I’m still a shopkeeper.”

Threads: My Life in Style by Paul Smith is published on 10 September by Macmillan, in hardback, ebook and audio, read by Bill Nighy. To support the Guardian and the Observer, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com

Do you have an opinion on the issues raised in this article? If you would like to submit a response of up to 300 words by email to be considered for publication in our letters section, please click here

This article was amended on 8 September 2026. Paul Smith’s company made a pre-tax loss last year of £16.7m, not “more than £22m” as an earlier version said, owing to an editing error.

Keyword – Sport
Trefwoorden – NFL, US sports, Sport
Title – Roger Goodell’s NFL reign to reach 24 years after new contract extension | NFL | The Guardian
Author – Associated Press
Link – Roger Goodell’s NFL reign to reach 24 years after new contract extension | NFL | The Guardian
Publish date – 2026-09-06T18:33:23.000Z
Category – Sport
URL – https://www.theguardian.com/sport/2026/sep/06/roger-goodells-nfl-reign-to-reach-24-years-after-new-contract-extension

NFL commissioner Roger Goodell has agreed on a four-year contract extension that runs through the 2030 league season, ending on 31 March 2031.

In a memo sent to NFL owners on Sunday, New England Patriots owner Robert Kraft said: “We believe we are very fortunate to have Roger at the helm for the next four years.”

Kraft is the chairman of the league’s compensation committee.

“Throughout the negotiation process, the Committee worked closely with an independent third-party compensation consultant and outside counsel to structure a deal that aligns Roger’s compensation with the League’s long-term interests and success,” Kraft said. “To that end, the agreement is heavily performance based, with more than 95% of the total compensation tied to Roger’s and the NFL’s performance measured against various metrics and at the discretion of the Compensation Committee.”

Financial terms of Goodell’s new contract weren’t immediately known. He reportedly earned $63.9m for the 2019-20 and 2020-21 seasons. The NFL hasn’t been required to disclose Goodell’s compensation on an annual basis because the league office is no longer structured as a tax-exempt trade association.

This is the fifth contract extension for the 67-year-old Goodell, who has served as commissioner since succeeding Paul Tagliabue in 2006. He began his NFL career as an administrative intern in 1982 under then-commissioner Pete Rozelle.

Under Goodell’s leadership, the NFL’s popularity and revenue have skyrocketed. The Washington Commanders were sold for $6.05bn in 2023 and the Seattle Seahawks were sold for $9.612bn this offseason, setting a new record.

The league has continued expanding its global reach, and is playing a record nine international games this season.

The expiration of Goodell’s contract coincides with the end of the current collective bargaining agreement, which also expires in March 2031.

Keyword – Life and style
Trefwoorden – Life and style, Australian lifestyle, Family
Title – Kindness of strangers: A hall-of-fame athlete helped my 94-year-old mum buy a vacuum cleaner | Life and style | The Guardian
Author – https://www.theguardian.com/profile/katie-cunningham
Link – Kindness of strangers: A hall-of-fame athlete helped my 94-year-old mum buy a vacuum cleaner | Life and style | The Guardian
Publish date – 2026-09-06T15:00:09.000Z
Category – Lifestyle
URL – https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2026/sep/07/kindness-of-strangers-a-hall-of-fame-athlete-helped-my-94-year-old-mum-buy-a-vacuum-cleaner

F or a 94-year-old woman, my mother is still very busy and active. So when a vacuum cleaner she liked the look of went on sale at a national electronics chain, Mum drove herself to the nearest store to buy it.

Unfortunately, the shop in her area had sold out by the time she got there. The sales assistant told her it was still available in another Melbourne store – but that store was an hour’s drive away. As active as she is, Mum pointed out that at her age she really could not manage a drive of that length. She asked the sales assistant if they could transfer the vacuum to this store and was flatly told no.

Just as Mum was feeling a bit taken aback by the poor customer service, the woman in the queue behind her interjected. She told Mum that she was happy to drive all that way, pick up the vacuum, then bring it to Mum’s house for her.

The woman in the queue seemed to be a genuinely nice person, so Mum allowed the vacuum to be ordered for her and gave the woman her address.

As Mum recounted this story to me later, my heart sank. I couldn’t envisage a good outcome. But how wrong I was!

The stranger was as good as her word. The next day, she drove all the way to pick up this vacuum cleaner and bring it to my mother’s house. Finally, having delivered the vacuum, the stranger asked if Mum was OK with putting it all together. Of course she wasn’t, so the woman did it for her.

They kept in touch and even later went out for coffee – Mum doesn’t let anyone go that quickly! It was only later that Mum discovered the woman was actually a very well-known Australian sportswoman: basketballer Michele Timms.

Neither my sister nor I live in Melbourne, so Mum relies on friends and family there for help. That a stranger would step up like that made me feel that there is real hope for the world. The generosity of it is mind-blowing, and something that is unexpected in this day and age.

What is the nicest thing a stranger has ever done for you?