From CMAT and the Carpenters’ fresh starts to the Beatles’ Here Comes the Sun and Nina Simone’s Feeling Good, starting again is a rich theme in pop. Here are some of the best examples

It’s hard to imagine anyone’s heart not being lifted a little by Right Back Where We Started From: the euphoric rush of new love rendered into three minutes of cod-northern soul (performed, unexpectedly, by various ex members of ELO, the Animals and 60s soft-poppers Honeybus). Avoid the 80s cover by Sinitta at all costs.

I wasn’t sure journalism was for me until I ended up in a bar with a group of lawless, funny co-workers who complained long and hard about the panther suspended above us in a cage

In the mid-90s, I was working as an admin assistant on the listings magazine of the London Evening Standard, and was about to be fired. OK, I wasn’t that good at the job, but I was also done with it. It was on my mind that I needed an actual job, one that you could describe to someone: “I’m an X.” At what point did you get to say: “I’m a journalist”? And was that even a real thing? A lawyer friend had told me: “I see mine as a profession and yours as more of a trade.” I ruminated on that a lot.

Anyway, some time between my latest misdemeanour and my inevitable disciplinary letter, someone from the main paper, let’s call him Pete Clark because that was his name (everyone else will go by initials, but Pete’s dead now, and he would want to be named, I think), asked if I wanted to go to a party. It was no special occasion, just the launch of a bar; this happened every night in the 90s, even Mondays. He was 43, but all old people look the same when you’re 23, so I felt as if the viscount owner of the paper had noticed me from the top of his gold mountain and invited me to a ball.

If you don’t fancy the last warm finger or two of beer in your can, save it to bake into these fluffy, flavourful rolls

I often don’t finish a large bottle or can of beer, leaving a bit in the bottom that barely seems worth saving. When I remember, I’ll pop it in the fridge and save it to add to a stew or batter, but today’s rolls are my new favourite way of using it up.

(4AD)
The standout act in the sprechgesang wave, the four-piece’s newly expansive sound carries singer Florence Shaw’s distinctive tales of mundane lives spiralling out of control

Dry Cleaning’s third album features a lot of strikingly odd lyrics. Take your pick from “alien offshoot mushroom, going the gym to get slim”; “my dream house is a negative space of rock”; or, indeed, “when I was a child I wanted to be a horse, eating onions, carrots, celery”. But it’s an ostensibly more straightforward line, from Cruise Ship Designer, that seems destined to attract the most attention. “I make sure there are hidden messages in my work,” says vocalist Florence Shaw as the track draws to a conclusion, the muscular guitar riff that’s driven it along devolving into a janky, trebly scrabble.

Initially, the lyric appears to characterise what Dry Cleaning do, and Shaw in particular. From the moment they first appeared with the 2018 EP Sweet Princess, the south London quartet have attracted adjectives such as “surreal”, “enigmatic” and “inscrutable”. Most of the British bands who emerged around the same time bearing a roughly equivalent blend of post-punk guitars and spoken-word vocals sounded angry or sarcastic or straightforwardly comedic. Dry Cleaning, on the other hand, seemed mysterious. Shaw’s lyrics were collages of overheard remarks, recycled YouTube comments, lines from adverts and non sequiturs, delivered in a voice that was too icy to sound whimsical. It’s variously been characterised as “anhedonic” and “achromatic”, but might more straightforwardly be described as sounding politely bored. She occasionally shifts from speaking into singing in an untutored voice that brings to mind Stuart Moxham of Young Marble Giants’ line about their understated vocalist Alison Statton sounding “as if she was at the bus stop or something”. It was all intriguingly confusing: here were songs that could indeed contain hidden messages, that seemed like puzzles to be unpicked.

As young people take on a messy dating landscape, they’ve created their own lexicon to match. Here’s like what phrases ‘bird theory’ and ‘monkey branching’ mean

This year marked a decade since the term “ghosting” hit the mainstream. At the time, the idea that someone could abruptly cease communication with a lover without explanation seemed like the peak of indignity. How naive we were. In the 10 years since, finding a partner has only become more confounding – an oftentimes fruitless exercise in humiliation that is increasingly pigeonholed by social media jargon.

Gen Z, a cohort who came of age during a loneliness epidemic, a masculinity crisis, and a coordinated attack on the rights of women and the LGBTQ+ community, faces a far messier landscape than their millennial predecessors could ever imagine. And so their dating glossary has grown longer and more deranged, with phrases like “Shrekking” and “monkey branching” testing the limits of your sanity.

Red flags – Behavioral quirks indicating a potential partner is bad news. Examples include calling their exes crazy, subpar tipping habits, a love of Woody Allen films, a burgeoning DJ career …

Green flags – These quirks validate your decision to pursue a mate. Examples include checking in to make sure you got home safe after a date, low screen time, owning a bed frame …

Beige flags – These usually describe niche, mostly benign quirks. Examples include being an enthusiastic birdwatcher, still carrying around a pen in their purse, paying rent in cash …

Swap chicken for beans and avoid cheeze … From a MasterChef finalist to a maker of ready meals, high-profile vegans give their favourite recipes and tips

This new year, you may be embarking on Veganuary, or have resolved to eat less meat and dairy in 2026. What are some of the simplest switches to make and most nutritious dishes to try with minimum fuss? Vegans share their tips on how to eat a balanced plant-based diet.

Her voice soundtracked the 60s and 70s, but the revolution silenced her. The legendary singer finally has her say, in this uneven memoir

If you ask any Iranian to name the most important female pop star in our country’s history, they’ll say Googoosh. Nobody else comes close. Over six decades of revolution, suppression and exile, Googoosh has gone from singer to cultural icon, a symbol of a country’s grief for its murdered, imprisoned, and muzzled artists, and a living link between pre-revolutionary Iran and the diaspora.

Googoosh was just three years old when she started singing in small halls and cabaret venues where her father worked. By her teens she was a film actor and a fashion icon. In the 60s and 70s, when my mother was a teenager, Googoosh was everywhere: on television, in films, magazines, on the radio. She kept recreating herself – her style, her moves, her hair. (My mother and many of her university classmates copied Googosh’s famous wispy haircut.) For a while, this bold, creative young woman shaped how westerners saw Iran, and how a generation of Iranian women understood modernity, femininity and public life.