Former ministers said to have been caught on camera by journalists

A group of MPs, including former ministers, have been targeted in an elaborate sting operation in which journalists set up a bogus lobbying company and offered to pay them in return for political influence.

Among the politicians approached was Stephen Byers, the former cabinet minister and arch-Blairite, who was filmed describing himself as a "bit like a sort of cab for hire". He offered to trade Westminster contacts for £3,000 to £5,000 a day.

Others who were targeted in the undercover operation included former cabinet ministers Geoff Hoon and Patricia Hewitt. Margaret Moran, the Labour MP for Luton, was also involved.

The party tried to limit the damage last night by saying some MPs were "mortified" by how stupid they had been. However, nothing illegal has been alleged.

Twenty MPs were invited to attend meetings to discuss joining an advisory board and 10 turned up. The meetings were mainly held at offices in London's St James's Square. An undercover Sunday Times journalist asked them how the company could go about influencing policy and how it could improve its chances of winning a government contract.

Byers told her he had saved hundreds of millions of pounds for National Express through his contact with Lord Adonis, the transport minister, and had influenced food labelling proposals for Tesco after phoning Lord Mandelson, the business secretary. The MP said that his friendship with Mandelson was one of his "trump cards".

However, the next day he wrote an email to the meeting's organisers saying he had "overstated" the part he had played in trying to secure changes to the way in which the government deals with issues. "This means that I have not spoken to Andrew Adonis... or Peter Mandelson about the matters I mentioned," he wrote.

Byers issued a statement last night saying that at an informal meeting about a potential job opportunity he had made some "exaggerated" claims. "Having reflected on my comments I knew that I should immediately put the record straight. I did so the following morning by making it clear that I have never lobbied ministers on behalf of commercial interests. I later withdrew my name for consideration. I have always fully disclosed my outside interests," he said. Byers described the set-up as a "massive deception".

The operation is reported to feature in a Dispatches programme to be aired tomorrow on Channel 4.

The journalists set up a lobbying company known as Anderson Perry Associates, supposedly based in the US. Its website described it as a "bespoke consultancy that helps organisations and individuals maximise and exceed expectation". It claimed to have 120 clients in Europe, the Middle East and the US, operating in the health and defence industries.

The exposé is likely to thrust the issue of standards back to the heart of the election campaign as party leaders battle to show they will clean up parliament. The operation, which targeted MPs who are standing down from parliament, also targeted the Lords, with Baroness Sally Morgan, a former aide to Tony Blair, reported to have been approached.

Anushka AsthanaToby Helmguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

How Einstein told his ailing mother of his breakthrough on relativity

As an introduction to one of science's most revolutionary theories, one postcard from Albert Einstein – now on display at the Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities in Jerusalem as part of its 50th anniversary celebrations – is gloriously incongruent. "Dear Mother!" he writes. "Today some happy news. Lorentz telegraphed me that the British expeditions have verified the deflection of light by the sun." So sorry, by the way, to hear that you are not feeling well, he adds.

Thus Einstein reveals to his ailing Jewish mother that he has become famous as a genius, a man who has been vindicated over his claim that gravity can distort the space-time continuum. All that is missing is her reply. "He never writes, he never calls, and suddenly he's cleverer than Isaac Newton," she might have written. Sadly, we will never know.

The rest of the exhibition is made up of cabinets that display all 46 pages of his great work, The Foundation of the General Theory of Relativity, which forced scientists to redefine gravity, predicted the existence of black holes and revealed how galaxies are formed. Einstein wrote his theory between November 1915 and May 1916 in his Berlin apartment. Later it was presented to the Hebrew University and is now displayed so that visitors can attempt to follow the thinking of the great scientist. Each page has its own case, each lighted dimly in a room that has been darkened to protect the paper. "We have set [the pages] up like the Dead Sea Scrolls, to protect them but also to give the feeling of entering a kind of holy of holies, which is how we view it," says curator Hanoch Guttfreund. "You can see Einstein work as you look at the pages."

And this is probably the most fascinating part of the show. The pages have many cross-outs and insertions in meticulous penmanship – with an open acknowledgment that some of the maths was beyond even him. His great idea, although startling at the time, has endured. His mother would have been proud.

• Albert Einstein

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Can a luxury resort ever be green? A new hotel on the Maldivian island of Hadahaa is a true eco-paradise

With great pride, our "butler" Atheef is describing the utter deliciousness, the supreme sweetness, the irresistible flavour and vast superiority of the Maldivian mango. When I offer the Indian mango in comparison, he snorts with derision: the Maldivian variety is clearly in a much higher league. It's also only available in this island paradise for two months of the year, and as Atheef speaks I have a flashback to childhood and the giddy excitement of strawberries coming into season – a delight wholly unknown to my own children, for whom such exotic delicacies are these days pedestrian staples thanks to the global food market.

The Maldives, however, is not the place to get radical about eating only local, or indeed seasonal, foodstuffs: these idyllic islands rely on imported produce, and working out how to feed themselves while striving to become the first carbon-neutral nation on earth is one of the many conundrums facing the inhabitants of this breathtaking collection of islands. There are 1,190 of them in all, scattered among some of the most pristine coral reefs in the Indian Ocean, and at two metres above sea level this vacation paradise is one of the most threatened nations on earth. The most pessimistic estimates suggest that they will be underwater by the beginning of the next century, a danger their energetic new president, Mohamed Nasheed, is striving to publicise to the international community – last October the entire cabinet donned scuba gear and met underwater.

As a result of the very real threat on their doorstep, words like "sustainability", whispered among a very few of the forward-thinking hotels a decade ago, are now littered generously throughout their brochures. The bonanza that took place in the 1980s and 90s, turning the area around the capital, Malé, into a resort metropolis with barely a care for preserving reefs or local livelihoods, has thankfully all but come to a halt.

If the Maldives are a dot on the world map, the island of Hadahaa is a mere grain in an enormous oceanic expanse, as far south as you can go without crossing the equator. It lies in the utterly unspoilt and second largest atoll in the world, Huvadhoo. Until recently the whole area was off limits to visitors, the result of a government policy that sought to protect its ecosystem but also discouraged mingling between tourists and the local population, which put many travellers off these islands because they felt them to be a cultural void.

Since 2007 a small clutch of hotels has been allowed to set up among the native islands under the strictest environmental supervision, bringing employment and visitors to a region previously ignored. The contrast between this gloriously underpopulated, development-free atoll and the frenzy of the resort scene around Malé is extraordinary.

The latest arrivals, such as the one I'm visiting, pay more than lip service to environmental concerns. At Alila Hadahaa, which opened in August, they have their own desalination plant to create drinking water, hold a Green Globe Certification for planning and construction, and use wood certified sustainable from Malaysia. Most commendable of all is the presence of so many local staff; Maldivians make up 65% of the workforce. For a people in search of a homeland – as their president has described them – they couldn't be doing a better job of the audition. Staff such as Atheef – in his roving role of villa butler – and Shamin (snorkeller, babysitter, football expert and purveyor of popcorn) are proud of their country, eager to help you to experience more of it and so good with the kids that I feel surplus to requirements.

For a resort so clearly not imagined with children in mind – from the lavish luxury of the super-chic rooms to the glass and stone-hewn bathrooms – they couldn't cater for them better. Chicken curry sans spices, jelly made to order, babysitting on request and everywhere waiters happy to build "volcano land" in the sand, dive masters who long to take them snorkelling. I virtually have to wrestle the staff to get the children back for a couple of hours a day.

Alila's new resort is certainly architecturally adventurous. The two-storey state-of-the-art restaurant with its Bauhaus severity is slightly wasted on an ageing barefoot boho like myself, but the luxury beach bungalows and water villas make it a positively elemental experience. Of course it's an irony that is hard for the arriving tourist to ignore that the popular wooden water bungalows strung out on stilts above the aquamarine shallows at most resorts could, in the course of our children's lifetime, be all that's left of this island nation.

FOR THOSE WHO stray as far south as Hadahaa, the reward is a pewter evening ocean with a hazy shadow of islands on the far horizon, bearing no sign of human habitation. Ears pump with the complete silence we so rarely get to hear. When I take my four-year-old son snorkelling 5ft off the beach and find a lionfish swaying in the swell, a couple of Moorish Idols guarding the reef and as many small yellowtails as I can count, Dan starts to choke on his snorkel in excitement. To say the ocean is still stocked biblically here would be to underestimate what lies below.

Visiting the local villages is also now actively encouraged, as we discover when we are taken on an afternoon trip to Gadhdhoo, where hand-weaving straw tablemats and fishing offer the only alternative employment to the hotel and tourist sector. Despite obvious poverty and very basic amenities, the village looks like it is auditioning for a Best Kept Town award: no rubbish, well-tended homes with immaculate front yards and trees adorned with colourful strips of the Maldivian flag.

Shamin explains that every evening at sunset the women and children take to street cleaning in order to keep their collective home in good order. If only a similar civic spirit could be nurtured in the UK. During our amble around town an elderly lady in a headscarf (since 9/11 the Maldivians, previously relaxed Muslims with a little bit of local magic thrown in, have increasingly been embracing a stricter Islamic code) stops me to enquire whether Molly and Dan are my only children. When I reply that they are, she looks at me pityingly before declaring that she has produced 14. Patting my meagre contribution to the population on their heads, she wanders off chuckling in amusement at my uselessness as a woman.

This is my fourth trip to the Maldives and the first where I get to meet local people in their own environment and also to eat their cuisine. Along with western delights that include breakfast croissants the finest Parisian pastry chef would be proud of, Alila Hadahaa boasts a local restaurant – sand-floored, trestle-tabled and musically themed – offering the spiciest of curries, the tastiest of pumpkins, the crunchiest papaya and chilli salads on poppadoms, and pancakes with caramel bananas or fresh coconut rice pudding to follow. Where other Maldivian resorts can seem hell bent on ignoring their surroundings, this one is utterly committed to celebrating them.

On our last night, as the great fiery disc of the sun begins its exhausted slide into the sea, we spot a pod of dolphins gliding in and out of water thick as oil, feeding on the plentifully stocked and carefully protected home reef. The children, who have been weaving coconut-frond tapestries with Shamin, run shrieking toward the ocean, dropping clothes along the powder-white sand as they race into the sea in pursuit of each other. The dolphins make a hasty exit to open water, but in their absence a familiar figure steps into the frame: Shamin, waist deep in the ocean, still in uniform shorts and polo shirt, initiating a game with the kids.

It's my abiding image of our brief sojourn on this entrancing island. Thanks not to the cutting-edge design of the resort nor the fantastic food but to the seductive charm of the local staff, the five nights here number among the best vacations of my life.

HOW TO GET THERE... Elegant Resorts (01244 897 515; elegantresorts.co.uk) is offering seven nights at Alila Villas Hadahaa for the price of five, from £2,280 per adult, £2,070 per child (based on four sharing), including breakfast, British Airways flights and all transfers.

Visit guardian.co.uk/travel for more advice and travel suggestions

CARBON NEUTRAL... BUT WHAT ABOUT THE FLIGHTS?

The Maldives is engaged in an ambitious plan to become the world's first carbon-neutral country. By 2020 all its power will come from the wind and the sun, plus a biomass plant burning coconut husks. But the Maldives' biggest industry is tourism, so what about all the carbon emitted by the flights? There is no magic solution, but the government's plans include offsetting the emissions of all flights. Several offsetting methods are being examined, including buying "European emissions permits" which reduce pollution from Europe's factories. Until the scheme is operational, tourists have to arrange their own offsets. Mariella Frostrup did so with Climate Care (jpmorgan climatecare.com).

• Maldives

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Lunch-hour cosmetic surgery – 45-minute boob jabs, nonsurgical rhinoplasty – is booming in the UK. But nightmare stories are also on the rise. So are the treatments safe? We speak to doctors to find out, and take a front-row seat at a no-frills nose job

Cosmetic surgery is changing. One advancement is the use of twilight surgery, where they send you only half to sleep. Clinics are alive with dazed facelift patients, who keep their eyes open, frowning and smiling on demand, who come to after the sedation's worn off, their skin tight but bruised, able to remember nothing of the knife at all. There are other patients who trip in off the street for a half-hour boob job under local anaesthetic, and still more who book a session of Botox in their lunch-breaks. The current excitement, in plastics, is not in the perfection of a newly sculpted nose but in the speed at which patients can recover, and the market for these fast, temporary procedures is growing wildly.

The Knightsbridge Laser Clinic is one of many that has recently started promising lunch-hour transformations, offering laser lipolysis to eliminate fat, the G-spot injection to enhance sexual stimulation, Macrolane breast injections, nonsurgical rhinoplasty and Botox fillers to remove wrinkles. A block away from Harrods, I climb their carpeted stairs to the waiting room as the lunch-time rush subsides. Outside a light rain is falling, and the smell of a wet fur coat, woody and dead, hangs in the air of the clinic's small landing. Its owner brushes past me, straight into one of three white and well-lit offices. In a corner room, beside a sheeted bed, I soon take my seat, an audience of one at a 15-minute nose job.

The patient, a young, elegant woman with jewelled shoes, had rhinoplasty in Harley Street as a teenager but now wants it still straighter. Her first operation, which cost £8,000 and required a week in hospital, had left her with a smaller nose, she says, but slightly wonky nostrils. "You might not notice it," she says apologetically, "but I do."

The doctor, Salinda Johnson, a slight and surgically tweaked woman who studied cosmetic dermatology in Thailand, warns of the possible side-effects of today's procedure as she applies a numbing cream to the patient's face. "Soreness, redness, bruising," she chants, "which will settle down within two weeks and break down completely within a year." Johnson rereads the patient's notes and holds up a pink-nailed hand. "There is a problem – we can't do the procedure on a pregnant woman." Her nose glossy with anaesthetising cream, the patient exchanges hurried words with the doctor, and I look pointedly out of the window. An unwanted pregnancy. A sense that the risk is welcome. Minutes later, she is gone.

"Don't worry!" the doctor chirps. "We'll show you the procedure on our receptionist!" Diane has worked at the clinic for four months and, at 23, has already had Botox to fill in a frown line between her brows. Her nose is small and straight, but she has self-diagnosed – she feels there's a dent. She asks the doctor if she thinks rhinoplasty's necessary. "Nothing is necessary," Johnson says, applying the numbing cream. "So can you do my lips, too?" Diane asks, pouting. Johnson shows me the syringe, prefilled with a mixture of anaesthetic and Restylane filler, a hyaluronic acid. The needle is long, and she pushes it firmly into Diane's nose before using both hands to massage the filler into place. The air-conditioning system screams on, and dies just as quickly – the only sounds are Johnson's gloves, baggy on her tiny hands, squeaking.

I gather myself. Does it hurt, I ask Diane, who's breathing calmly, her fingers gently worrying the sleeve of her sweater. "No, I can't feel anything. I can just smell the rubber gloves." Were you interested in getting cosmetic surgery before coming to work here? "No!" she says, through the doctor's fingers, her nose changing shape, delicately, before my squinting eyes. "But I see so many people coming in at lunch time and leaving looking... fresher, and you can't even tell what they've had done. So I had laser hair removal, which feels like being slapped, and Botox, which was really nothing, and then I saw that you could make your lips look more defined with filler, so I've been pestering Salinda to do me."

Dr Johnson wipes around Diane's mouth with a small antiseptic cloth, and warns her that, on a pain scale, this will hurt a seven. She injects Restylane into the lips, and Diane's eyes flicker backwards. With her fingers, Johnson pushes the filler into a cupid's bow – the effect is that of a mother wiping chocolate smears off a child's mouth.

The Harley Medical Group, the UK's largest cosmetic surgery provider, published figures in January revealing the nonsurgical cosmetic surgery market (which includes the Macrolane boob jab, an injection that increases your bust size, and Restylane rhinoplasty, the injection that straightens your nose) saw continued growth in 2009, with dermal fillers and chemical peels driving the increase by 26% and 306% respectively. Last year also saw a continued rise in the number of male patients (up 5%), with "Boytox" (male Botox) and "Sweatox" (anti-sweat Botox) both contributing to the leap.

"Minimally invasive procedures rule today – and this is what consumers, and especially men, want most," says Wendy Lewis, independent cosmetic surgery consultant and author of Plastic Makes Perfect. "The benefits for consumers are: subtle improvements over time; nothing radical; less risky; definitely cheaper than big surgeries; no need for anaesthetic or going to hospital and catching MRSA; and no scars."

"There are many reasons why day surgery is becoming more and more popular," Dr Johnson tells me after Diane has floated back to her desk, swollen but smiling. "People who thought they didn't want to get surgery because they were not brave enough, or not rich enough, are interested in these temporary and non-expensive procedures – our nonsurgical rhinoplasty starts at £350. And it's so quick! The talking takes longer than the treatment. We have a lot of clients who work at Harrods and really do just pop in on their lunch breaks."

The market continues to swell, imperceptibly smoothing the faces of colleagues, relatives, local hairdressers. A study carried out for the Girl Guides last November found almost half of secondary school girls said they planned to have plastic surgery. "Girls and young women are telling us that they are finding it quite hard to accept their appearance, and it is starting at a much earlier age than we had previously thought," says Nicola Grinstead, a trustee of Girlguiding UK. "The survey shows girls as young as 11 are dissatisfied with how they look and are prepared to use surgery to make a change."

All the women I talk to in the clinic's waiting room flicking through OK! magazines agree that today Botox, and increasingly cosmetic surgery, really is "no big deal". They nod, eyes wide, and reel off names like a BBC3 news bulletin. Last year Kylie Minogue, Geri Halliwell, Jennifer Aniston and Courtney Cox all gave interviews about their Botox use, while a film critic compared Nicole Kidman's facial skin to melamine. This month Cheryl Cole was photographed walking through a London airport with lips like salted slugs, and reality star Heidi Montag, 23, underwent 10 procedures in one day and ended up looking just like lingerie model Caprice, who is 38.

In a culture that celebrates youth, the appeal of an injection that appears to shave a little time off your age is clear, especially for the famous and often-photographed. As the demand for surgery has grown, academics have increasingly discussed the democratisation of beauty. If everybody could, in the space of a lunch hour, become symmetrical and clear-skinned, would the power of prettiness be weakened? If we accept that we will be judged on our appearance, is the fact that we can control it almost liberating?

Two years ago, Observer beauty journalist Alice Hart-Davis was one of the first women in the country to try the Macrolane breast enhancement jab. "I had never seriously considered having a proper breast enhancement. I don't feel surgery is something to be undertaken lightly," she tells me. "But I've always wished there was something I could do to boost my bust just a bit that didn't involve surgery."

Macrolane, which arrived in the UK in 2008, is a gel filler which is injected into the breast with a long blunt needle. It increases the bust by one cup size, lasts a year and costs around £2,000. "The procedure was amazing," says Hart-Davis, "an instant result. I was beyond thrilled with it." Though clinics advertise boob jabs in their list of lunch-time treatments, and the injections are over in 10 minutes, she warns: "It's by no means a 'lunch-hour lift' type procedure; it doesn't take long, but I reacted strongly to the local anaesthetic: it didn't hurt, but I could hardly speak straight for the rest of the day. And your body and brain go into a kind of post-traumatic shock after any procedure like this. You need to take it quietly afterwards."

Three months after her injections, one breast deflated – she settled for stuffing her bra with a sock – and the other went rock hard. Her surgeon broke up the gel under anaesthetic, then injected more to balance her bra. A few weeks later, she felt a lump in her right breast. She panicked and returned to the doctor, who reassured her that it was nothing to worry about – just a lump of hardened gel. "That experience," she concludes, "alongside discovering that the research conducted on the product was not half as extensive as I'd been led to believe, and talking to several surgeons who strongly disapprove of the procedure, has put me off trying it again."

One such surgeon is Mr Charles Nduka, who runs the not-for-profit patient information website safercosmeticsurgery.co.uk. "There's so much misleading information being published about 'lunch-time' procedures," he says, "leading, at best, to unrealistic expectations and disappointment and, at worst, complications. Facial procedures such as Botox may leave localised swelling, redness and in some cases bruising, even in the best hands. This means that if you wanted to keep your treatment secret, lunch time may not be the best time.

"A major issue in the UK," he continues, "is that because fillers are classified as medical devices – the same as implants – rather than drugs, the regulations about who can administer them are among the most lax in the developed world. The recently introduced guidance from the Ihas [Independent Healthcare Advisory Services] is a mockery. It's a system of self-regulation which means that the very practitioners who should be regulated will not sign up. There have been more than 100 fillers introduced in the UK and in many cases they were withdrawn due to side-effects. Essentially the UK becomes a testing ground for new products."

So would he recommend traditional plastic surgery over the lunch-hour treatments? "Few people have social lives so hectic that they cannot give themselves the luxury of having a treatment in an unrushed fashion," Mr Nduka says, "without the anxiety that swelling might show."

Dr Mike Cummins, a GP and cosmetic surgeon who, after requests from patients, agreed to carry out group treatments at Botox parties, agrees that the "lunch-time" label can be misleading, but says that as doctors' experience of anaesthetics increases, "there continue to be more and more advantages to daycare procedures, both for the patient and the client. Laser-assisted liposuction is getting to the point where it's more than reasonable to do it under twilight sedation and cosmetic surgeons are all working to get the least trauma to tissue under local anaesthetic as possible."

In Jeanette Winterson's novel The Stone Gods, published in 2008 but set in a futuristic dystopia, people alter their genes to preserve their youth and get plastic surgery to amplify what's left. Only the protagonist, Billie, chooses to age naturally, wrinkling slowly among the smooth foreheads and perky breasts. Winterson worries about the normalisation of cosmetic surgery. "What really bothers me," she says, "is that women used to be made to believe that their minds were inadequate, but we were allowed our bodies. Now that we can't be told our minds aren't up to it, our bodies are paraded as defective. It is the same old control. It is not just an assault on women – it is a war on feminism."

She emails me later that day. "I find 'lunch-hour surgery' savage and cynical. An insecure woman is a woman who will pay to feel better about herself. Disguising insecurity and feelings of inadequacy as empowerment is part of the usual twisted message of consumer advertising, but where women are concerned the strategy asks us to fund our own oppression. We pay to feel better instead of asking why we are made to feel defective in the first place... We need to understand that what is happening to women now is part of a disturbing bigger picture and not just a question of: 'Does madam fancy a nose job?'"

How does Winterson see society progressing in this era of perfectibility? Does she predict new lows, new depths? "We'll all get fixed eventually. Parents will do it to their kids. It will become routine. The Stepford Wives world of the 1950s was made impossible by feminism. We are heading back that way by another route. Women made in the image of men."

After Diane's 15-minute nose job, I take a walk through Harrods' beauty hall. I feel a little drunk. I had gone into the clinic expecting gore, or at least tears, but I left shocked only at the dry eyes, lack of fuss, the ease, the speed and gentle effectiveness. The women in Harrods testing the perfumes are largely blondes, largely wrinkleless, and largely slim. I see three people who look like Caprice, but as reflected in varying fairground mirrors. I watch a mother pick out scented candles for her granddaughter's wedding reception, and admire her shiny still forehead as she quietly exclaims over jasmine perfumes. I'm suddenly aware, looking discreetly from face to face, of all the "work" done and all the work yet to be done. It is an awakening of sorts. A half-awakening, maybe, to an odd new twilight world.

QUICK FIXES The most popular nonsurgical procedures

MACROLANE: BOOB JAB Created by Q-Med, the Swedish company behind the wrinkle-filler Restylane, Macrolane was launched in Europe as a correctional filler for body indentations. It wasn't until it was used in Japan in 2004 that it took off as an alternative for breast implants – by January 2008, when it launched in the UK, about 30,000 Japanese women had had the boob jab. The procedure, which takes 45 minutes, involves a gel filler made of hyaluronic acid being pumped into the breast through a flexible knitting needle-sized canula. PRICES from £1,800

RESTYLANE: NOSE JOB Restylane, a water-based filler, is a synthetic reproduction of hyaluronic acid, a substance found in living organisms. Until recently its main use has been to plump lips and fill crow's feet, but the new procedure involves injecting the bridge of the nose to fill in dents, and the tip, so it appears perkier. Effects wear off within 18 months. PRICES from £350

BOTOX An injection of Botulinum toxin A (a diluted and purified form of the bacteria which causes botulism) softens and prevents frown lines. The jab, 22 years old this spring, changed the face of cosmetic surgery, with celebrities including Simon Cowell admitting to relying on it to look younger. Each year it is estimated to make its manufacturers around £800m from more than 60,000 injections. PRICES £230 to £390

JUVEDERM: LIP ENHANCEMENT A series of injections of Juvederm filler around the mouth can make the lips fuller and reshape ageing pouts. Juvederm contains hyaluronic acid which, by attracting water, plumps up the skin. Results last for up to a year. PRICES from £250 

• Women
• Plastic surgery
• Social trends
• Health

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· Liberal Democrat 'ready to be chancellor'
· Whitehall mandarins prepare for coalition

Vince Cable has held unprecedented and detailed talks with the top official at the Treasury about the Liberal Democrats' economic policies – and declared himself willing to serve as chancellor after the next election.

As Whitehall gears up for a possible hung parliament, Cable told the Observer that he had been questioned by Nicholas Macpherson, the Treasury's permanent secretary, about what the Lib Dems' demands would be in a coalition with Labour or the Tories.

Cable was unaware of such meetings having taken place with Lib Dem shadow chancellors before previous general elections. The talks were a sign that the Treasury was "taking seriously" the prospect of his party playing a leading role in economic policy in what could be the first hung parliament since 1974.

"He wanted to know what we attached priority to. He wanted to know what we felt strongly about," Cable said, adding that his ideas on tax and spending were well received. He didn't say to me: 'Yes, minister, but you can't do that'."

Cable, whose credibility has grown throughout the economic crisis, made clear that, if he was to be offered the chancellorship in a hung parliament, he would jump at the chance. He did not want to be "the most unpopular person in Britain" as public spending is slashed, he said, but added: "I wouldn't be in this business if I wasn't willing to take the responsibility if it was to come my way."

It comes as two more opinion polls point to a hung parliament. An ICM survey for the News of the World puts the Tories six points ahead on 38%, and research by YouGov for the Sunday Times suggested the party enjoyed a seven-point advantage.

David Cameron and his shadow cabinet have already held talks with senior Whitehall mandarins in preparation for a likely handover of power. But talks with a third party take place only where there is a serious prospect of it holding the balance of power.

Downing Street and the Treasury said Alistair Darling would present a "budget for growth" on Wednesday, portraying Labour as the party to nurse the economy back to health, with investment in jobs and industry, and warning that the Conservatives would jeopardise that with premature spending cuts.

The chancellor has little room for manoeuvre in pre-election giveaways, but one idea being seriously considered is to delay a 3p rise in petrol duty. Darling will announce a £1bn green infrastructure fund to invest in low-carbon technology and extend job schemes to help unemployed young people into work.

While the deficit is expected to be as much as £10bn below the £178bn forecast in his December pre-budget report, the Treasury stresses the focus will be on the chancellor's commitment to halve the deficit within four years. "It's a boring budget," said a No 10 source. "He may extend the odd payment here and there, but it is about stability and jobs."

In his weekly podcast, Gordon Brown states today that the recovery remains "fragile and in its infancy". The prime minister says that Labour's commitment to cut the deficit is "non-negotiable", but stresses that investing in jobs and programmes for industry is a way to reduce it in the medium term.

"It means not taking away the extra support too soon, which risks setting back the recovery and tipping us back into recession... If we allow unemployment to run riot, as happened in previous recessions, that will cost us more and add to the deficit," he says.

Cable made clear he would have serious reservations about working with either Labour or the Conservatives. "I'm worried about both," he said. "If either of them came back, Gordon, given his history, will be in denial about difficult decisions, and the Tories are in danger of doing foolish, precipitate things that could make the situation a lot worse."

Cable was noticeably more critical of the Conservatives' response to the financial crisis, saying that they should score "nul points" for failing to grasp the seriousness of the situation. "They haven't done anything to attract praise, because they completely and totally misunderstood the problems."

By contrast, Labour had had a "purple passage" in the autumn of 2008, when Brown led international efforts to recapitalise the banking sector after the collapse of Lehman Brothers.

The Conservatives sought to seize the initiative on reforming the bloated financial sector this weekend, promising to implement a US-style tax on banks if they win the general election, instead of waiting for an international consensus to emerge, as Labour has promised to do. Cameron spelled out the measure in a speech about taking on the "vested interests" in society, comparing the battle to constrain the banks today with Margaret Thatcher's attack on union powers in the 1980s.

Lord Myners, the City minister, said: "This ill-thought-out Tory briefing has all the hallmarks of a plan made up on the hoof."

• Vince Cable
• General election 2010
• Liberal Democrats
• Budget
• Economic policy
• Conservatives

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Gordon Brown's officials in close contact with union chiefs as Tories try to stoke row over party's funding

Desperate attempts to end the BA cabin crew strike were being mounted by government ministers last night as Labour battled to prevent the dispute from wrecking its preparations for the general election.

Gordon Brown's officials were in close touch with Tony Woodley, joint general secretary of the Unite union, throughout yesterday amid hopes that a settlement could be reached that would prevent the action spreading into next weekend. But sources close to the dispute said last night there was no basis for a deal and that no further talks were scheduled.

Yesterday the Tories turned up the pressure on Labour over the strike and its links with Unite by launching a new advertising campaign showing Brown dressed as a BA pilot under the headline "Gordon is doing sweet BA".

The political row surrounding the dispute deepened last night after it emerged that Unite is to give the Labour party £4m to help fund its general election campaign. The union agreed the deal with the Labour leadership a few weeks ago as Labour desperately sought the cash to mount an effective campaign against the Conservatives. The £4m represents half of the money that the unions have been asked for by Labour. Up to £2m is said to have been requested from Unison, the public services union, and another £2m from the GMB general union. Eric Pickles, the Conservative party chairman, told the Observer: "When travellers are facing the effects of Unite's militant action it is beyond belief that Brown can have the brass neck to keep his crumbling Labour government afloat with cash from these union barons."

Labour concerns about the strike will be reinforced by an ICM poll for BBC Radio 4's Broadcasting House, which shows only 25% of people say the action is justified, 60% say it is unjustified and 15% are undecided.

BA launched a strike-breaking operation of unprecedented scale yesterday, although Unite claimed that the airline had managed to fly only a third of its normal scheduled departures.

The airline claimed that half of the cabin crew rostered to work yesterday had turned up for their shifts and announced the reinstatement of more flights.

But one Unite official said the disruption caused, with hundreds of flights cancelled over the weekend, would be a wake-up call to BA's chief executive, Willie Walsh. "The next three days will determine whether or not we get back around the table," the official said.

Passengers at BA's Terminal 5 base at Heathrow airport were greeted by an array of unusual airline names on departure boards, as the likes of Transavia, Astraeus and Titan were brought in to carry passengers to their destinations.

The airline expected to fly 65% of passengers, or about 120,000 people, over the course of the weekend. A spokesman said that operations at Heathrow were "continuing to go well", with a full schedule operating at Gatwick.

BA customers at Terminal 5 were divided about the strike. "I am not anti-trade union – I have been a member of one for 20 years – but I don't understand what Unite is trying to achieve at a time when so many people are losing their jobs," said Barbara Bond, a consultant waiting for her flight to Hyderabad. Her return flight next week could be cancelled due to the next wave of strikes, with a four-day walkout scheduled to start next Saturday if no agreement is reached by then.

Hundreds of BA cabin crew attended a rally yesterday at their temporary strike headquarters at Bedfont football club, a few hundred metres away from Heathrow's southern runway.

The mood at Bedfont's packed social club was defiant and upbeat. One air stewardess, speaking on the condition of anonymity, said: "This can continue. It will go into the summer if necessary, until we get back round the table."

Unite's assistant general secretary, Len McCluskey, accused Walsh of behaving like an "industrial dictator" in the dispute over reductions in staffing levels on board British Airways aircraft. "He is more like a 19th-century mill owner than a 21st century chief executive."

Police said that the protests, including four picket lines at Heathrow, had been peaceful.

• British Airways
• Trade unions
• Gordon Brown
• Labour

Toby HelmDan Milmoguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

A battle between Marxists, Maoists and government allies has brought a wave of kidnappings and murders to the Indian state

The site is a patch of arid wasteland, ringed by a half-built wall, just off the potholed road from the flyblown town of Midnapore in West Bengal. There is little to indicate it is the cause of a murderous gang fight pitting communists, Maoists and allies of India's ruling government against one another in a battle for cash, power and resources.

A £30m steel plant is due to be built here by Jindal, India's biggest privately owned producer. The aim is to bring jobs and prosperity to the impoverished town of Salboni, but the plant's arrival has brought a wave of kidnapping, murder, arson and intimidation.

There is little trace of a new "India shining" in West Midnapore district. Its 3.5 million people have some of the highest rates of illiteracy in the country. There are only 3,000 under-trained and under-equipped police officers here, who are largely occupied guarding camps or making desultory patrols in areas most affected by the local Maoist guerrillas. Senior police intelligence officers in Kolkata, the state capital, estimate that between 90% and 95% of the relief and development funds channelled to rural areas are stolen. In the towns, the proportion sinks to "only" two-thirds.

When Jindal Steel announced it was to build the plant, there was much excitement. The decision was partly a result of generous incentives offered by the government of West Bengal, dominated by the Communist party of India (Marxist) for 33 years, which hoped to bolster its wavering hold on power.

But politics has brought violence, too. The body of Shibshankar Das was found sprawled on the single road through the village of Chotokalsingbanga on 8 March, close to his mud-walled, single-room homestead. A note pinned to the body said "police informer". In fact Das, a 35-year-old labourer trying to support a family on 70 rupees (£1) a day, was almost certainly an innocent, killed as an example.

"He was not a political person. We were poor, but things were OK," said Das's brother, Kamal. Asalota, his widow, sobbed quietly. "He never harmed anyone. I have no income. I used to weave baskets and he took them to market, but now he has gone. How can I pay to send my children to school?" she asked.

On a rope bed outside the home, beside the family's one cow, Das's 13-year-old daughter studied the newspaper carrying the front-page picture of her father's corpse in stunned silence.

Das had found himself caught in the complex three-way battle begun by local politics and the coming of the steel plant. In West Midnapore, political office means power. Whoever controls the neighbourhood around the site will control not just the workforce but the unions, the contractors, the development deals and the businesses the plant will generate.

The Communists, who have been in power for so long and are now flagging badly, are battling it out with the All India Trinamool Congress, a new party that makes up for its lack of ideology with populism and opportunism. This contest will climax in state assembly elections next year, and in Salboni the war is already well under way. "Only 1% of the supposed informers killed really are informers," said Superintendent Manoj Verma, chief of the district police. The real reason for Das's death is to be found in a neighbouring house where the family of Jagneswar Mahato, a small-time businessman and the local Trinamool Congress leader, was also grieving. Mahato, 38, was abducted last month and has probably been killed. His wife squatted in the dust as his brother dully retold how Mahato was last seen, covered in blood, being dragged away by Communist party thugs.

The Trinamool Congress won the village of Chotokalsingbanga from the Communists at the last local elections, largely because of the corruption of Communist officials. A day after the Observer visited, two more villagers were abducted. The police have registered 70 kidnappings in the past year and more than 160 "informers" have been killed.

West Midnapore has long been a base for Maoist insurgents – described by the Indian prime minister, Manmohan Singh, as the greatest internal threat to India in 60 years. "By creating a violent environment [in Salboni] they will be able to extort money from construction contractors [on the steel plant] to start with and then everyone else who follows," said Verma.

Contacted by the Observer, the local group responsible for Das's murder said they were "simply following orders".

There is one name that the villagers, almost all illiterate, rarely speak aloud: the Harmath, as the armed Communist party militias are known. The people of Vursa village, like those of Chotokalsingbanga, voted out the Communists last year. The Harmath first visited in December. Driving between the huts and cattle pens, they burned rice stores and this year's seed stock, and torched homes, stole jewellery and clothes and abused women. "We are an opposition pocket in a Communist area. We are day labourers, poor people. We have no defence," said Butnath Ghosh, 70. Repeated raids eventually drove the villagers out. They returned only a few weeks ago. "Without working we cannot eat. We had to return. But we are frightened," Ghosh said.

Across the district the same tales of violence and intimidation linked to the Harmath are told. "We live under a reign of terror," said one salesman in the town of Chandrakona, which has also seen a series of kidnappings.

Dipak Sarkar, head of the West Midnapore Communist party, said the militias were "a people's defence force to save their own lives and property. We help people resist by organising people, giving them courage, mobilising them," said Sarkar at the party's district headquarters. "But any weapons they might have are their own."

He denied any corruption or that the Communists might gain at the expense of locals. "When the party is helped, the people are helped," Sarkar said. "And the party is the people."

• India

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The favourite new drug of clubbers and schoolchildren hit the headlines last week when two young men died after taking it. Sold under a range of street names – meph, miaow miaow, MC, drone and bubbles – and easily available on the web, mephedrone is not illegal. But should it be? Here, four people from different sides of the debate – a user, a mother, a dealer and a doctor – have their say on 'the poor man's cocaine'

The user: Jack Starks

The first time I encountered mephedrone, meow meow, plant food or whatever you want to call it, was about a year ago at a friend's house in south London. We were back from a night out at the student union and all wanting to continue the party when my friend's flatmate, Brandon, got back from work and, with a sly smile, disappeared into his bedroom, to return with a huge box. He dumped the biggest pile of powder I had ever seen on the table. "This, my friends, is mephedrone," he said with relish. "And this is the future."

Like many students, I've never been one to say no to a new experience. We all end up running into drugs at some point, so I decided to see what all the fuss was about. I've always enjoyed a spliff and, on occasion, a little more, so I assumed this was just another casual substance I would be bumping into.

Nicknamed by users as "poor man's cocaine", mephedrone has swept through our nation's youth like a strong dose of salts, permeating every aspect of the party and night club scene. In less than six months, it has come from obscurity; everyone knows someone who's on it. Paradoxically, it was given a chance to become popular because of an EU restriction that prevented the importation of two substances necessary to the production of MDMA (ecstasy to the layman) that made it impossible to make or purchase any MDMA in Britain from late 2008. Mephedrone filled the gap in the market, and at half the cost of MDMA; it was everywhere.

You can snort it, drop it in "bombs" (rolling papers filled with it), and I've even come across people who eat it. The effect is euphoric, in some ways similar to ecstasy but much shorter-lived; you need to take a lot more of it a lot more often. The first time I took it, I could feel my heart pounding; everything seemed as if it was about to explode into life and I was up till the early hours in a wild rampage of excitement. But there any comparison ends. With mephedrone, the romance period is very short: after taking it just a couple of times, your tolerance increases dramatically, to the point that you're doing three or four times more than you were in the beginning to get high. Your appetite for the stuff also increases.

Brandon was well ahead of the curve. He was importing it from China at about a £1 a gram and selling it to students at £15. By mid-October, when our student loans had still failed to appear and finance was getting tight, we hit on the idea of doing the same. We could simply make a trip down to a seedy office in Victoria where we could buy it in bulk at wholesale price and then sell it on to our friends at a profit. Doing this you could turn £100 into £400 in a weekend and have a bit left on the side for yourself.

It became a crash course in drug dealing for beginners, and we weren't the only ones at it. Hundreds of students had spotted the gap in the market. You couldn't set foot in a club or house-party without someone walking past offering you "drone".

Whether or not this was legal is a good question, because although mephedrone isn't covered by the Misuse of Drugs Act, it is illegal to sell it for human consumption. Companies get round this by putting stickers on their product saying just that. When selling it, we would always tell people that it was not to be used to get high – it was almost a running joke. A very dangerous joke indeed.

When on it, you get very edgy (hence the comparison to cocaine) and you constantly crave more. It is possibly the most addictive substance I have ever come across. What makes it far more dangerous is that it is the first of a new breed of designer drugs, made purely to evade the laws surrounding controlled substances.

No one has considered what this will do to people in the short or the long term, and no one cares. Mephedrone might be called "plant food", but it is a plant decomposer, so what it does to your insides I dread to think. I once accidentally left a spoon in a bag of the stuff and came back three days later to find it had stripped off the outer coating and my mephedrone scattered with tiny silver bits of spoon. We still snorted it.

My stance was changed dramatically by my experience of prolonged use. After three or so months of using it at least a couple of times a week, I found myself in the darkest depression. I stopped taking it and suddenly found myself looking round at my friends with their eyes rolling in their heads and realised how much rubbish we had all been talking to each other. Good, straight-edge kids who barely used to drink have become crazed drug fiends, sitting in their house snorting plant food five days a week.

One friend of mine took it once and now has to use an inhaler, because he has permanently damaged his lungs. Another has almost ceased to be a friend, and is now a socially apathetic zombie, chasing mephedrone around London with his girlfriend, no longer able to interact without it, constantly asking if he can borrow 20 quid.

We've always been happy to get wasted on a night out, but I've never seen anything creep into so many everyday lives like this. I am horrified by the effect this drug has had on the people around me, and would urge anyone thinking about taking some tonight to change their plans.

Jack Starks is a student in his early 20s who lives in south London

The mother: Sophie Radice

For all those parents who have read with sadness about the deaths of an 18-year-old and a 19-year-old in Scunthorpe, but allowed themselves to be even slightly reassured that their own teenagers can't have come across mephedrone because they are so much younger, not yet clubbing and living very different lives, think again.

I first heard about mephedrone six months ago, at first from another north London mother whose son had ordered this "plant food" off the internet and who had roused her suspicions when he couldn't explain why he had suddenly developed an interest in gardening.

Then from my own daughter, aged 14 at the time, whose friends had discovered this legal high. She described them as "talking rubbish as if it is the most interesting thing in the world, and that they dribble and lick their lips and gurn and grind their teeth".

She said that people shook, bit holes in their lips and cheeks, were unable to feel their legs, were frightened because their heart was beating too fast and that their skin looked grey.

This might seem like any teenage group that has discovered harder drugs. It is rather like a description of my own group of friends at that age. What is different is that, in those six months, those friends who thought they were just experimenting seemed to need to take greater amounts of mephedrone on more and more occasions. Mephedrone is often sold in five gram bags and, as it is so "more-ish", it seems to be easy – even common – for a user to go through a whole bag.

Surely that kind of ever-decreasing, short-lived high is what makes dealers extremely rich and leads to the kind of desperate endless addiction of the crack-user?

Should all of this mean that we should immediately ban it? Well, I have always had a liberal view about drugs, believing that the criminalisation of drugs just creates an underground. I look at how making ketamine (a horse tranquilliser) a class C drug didn't stop its use among the young.

On an intellectual level, I agree with Professor David Nutt's measured suggestion of creating a "holding" class of D drug category. Within this category, sales would be limited to over-18s; the product would be quality-controlled, at doses limited as far as possible to safe levels; and it would come with health education messages. I also agree with Nutt that what we should look into is why teenagers are so drawn to taking drugs and why binge-drinking is so prevalent in this age group.

On a much more visceral, instinctive level, this "let's wait and see how harmful this drug is" D category doesn't comfort me at all. For this younger age group, the legality of mephedrone is a real attraction. While they can get hold of "weed" to smoke (mostly through older siblings, and even parents), because they are not yet going to clubs but to each other's houses or private parties they are rarely able to get their hands on harder drugs.

They can buy mephedrone off the internet or from headshops (shops selling drug paraphernalia) or stalls. Teenagers of this age seem to think that its legality means that it is safer than other drugs, which might also contribute to the wild abandon with which it is taken.

Health warnings wouldn't do a thing (my daughter says that, perversely, the deaths in Scunthorpe have made her friends even more determined to take the drug) and surely an over-18s rule on the net would be just like those porn sites that ask you to click a button to say that you are over 18 and that's all the proof you need. Prosecution of those selling to under-18s would be almost impossible in cases of website dealing.

For this age group, making mephedrone a class B drug would at least put up some sort of substantial hurdle and make it much harder for them to get hold of.

Just making it so much more difficult to track down may cause enough of a pause for some sort of easing-off from the enthusiastic consumption of what seems to be a particularly addictive drug.

Oh, and while we are waiting for a decision on this, look out for a fishy smell in your teenager's sweat, nose bleeds, restlessness, headaches, insomnia and a traces of yellowy powder on the surfaces in their room.

Sophie Radice is a journalist and mother of two who first came across the drug last year

The dealer: Mark

I have no background in narcotics. My worst offence is a puff on a joint in college, which I found unpleasant. I am at heart "anti" substance abuse, though I am in favour of free choice.

I own and run three normal, legitimate businesses, all of which, thanks to the recession, have had their troubles. Have you ever laid off a loyal member of staff? It's the worst feeling in the world. I was looking for a lifeline.

I first heard of mephedrone in September. A friend heard about a new chemical that was originally a kind of plant food. It was legal and its effects mimicked cocaine and MDMA. I started searching for information on Google and within an hour I knew this would be a winning business.

From the start, I wanted to run this completely legitimately. No shady cash deals, pay tax, give excellent service with a quality product at the right price. Was I comfortable with the concept? No. Did I want to lose my home to the bank? No. Decision made.

In the first weeks, I bought my stock inside the UK, but very quickly I began buying direct from a manufacturer in China. I registered a company and contacted a web designer.

This is where the problems started. Even before the press discovered mephedrone, it was not possible to find good professional help. Undaunted, I built my own website. No banks would touch the credit card side of the business. I fudged round this and I was up and running. I launched the website and within an hour had five sales. My first week I turned over £8,000; the second, £10,000.

Then, last November, mephedrone hit the headlines. Its use was blamed for the death of a 14-year-old girl, although this turned out not to be the case. I thought it was the end. How wrong I was. That week, sales doubled. When mephedrone is in the news, demand rockets. Last week came the death of two boys. (I cannot comment on this tragedy, except to say I do not believe mephedrone was the cause.) One of my websites, which usually gets around 1,200 hits a day, received more than 20,000. The media have made mephedrone what it is.

Before you leap to judgment, do you drink alcohol? It is deadly, with 8,000 deaths directly attributed to it in the UK in 2008. There is a huge trade in illegal drugs in the UK. But people do not have to be criminals. They don't have to buy bags of drain cleaner from dodgy blokes in pub car parks.

The process of importing has become difficult lately, as UK Customs has begun withholding shipments. I have had 40kg seized. No explanation has been given and Customs has made no contact. This is surely illegal.

Mephedrone looks likely to be banned. This is the most dangerous thing that can happen. It is essentially a very safe substance. There is no addiction and to date I know of no deaths directly attributed to it. There are suppliers online such as me who treat this as a genuine business and supply a quality product pure to the customer.

The day mephedrone is banned, I will shut up shop. The taxman will lose hundreds of thousands of pounds and the criminals will step in. Prohibition has always failed. And the genie is really out of the bottle this time. Millions have used mephedrone in the UK. If they are stopped from getting it legally, they will either buy illegally or, even worse, try something new.

No British government would have the courage to exercise the level of common sense needed to keep it legal, what with an election looming and swarms of horrified Daily Mail readers to impress. This government has already sacked the moderate, sensible and knowledgeable Dr David Nutt. Mephedrone will be banned – and be dammed.

Mark is a businessman and owner of several websites that sell mephedrone

The doctor: James Bell

I first heard about mephedrone last July. The young man sitting opposite me told me that it had just arrived on the nightclub scene. He had tried it at once. He was well-educated and from a prosperous and stable family (who knew nothing about his drug use). He was in my clinic to withdraw from another "legal high", GBL. After using GBL for a few months, he had been dismayed to discover that he had become dependent. His lament "I didn't know it was addictive" could have been uttered by most doctors and policy-makers.

We are all playing catch-up as new compounds are recognised, banned – and new drugs appear, the risks of which slowly become apparent. Legal highs are mostly compounds closely related to known (and banned) psychoactive drugs. Mephedrone is chemically very similar to ecstasy. The slight variation in structure makes it legal, but also means that mephedrone has different pharmacological effects and toxicity.

This makes difficulty for the advisory council on the misuse of drugs, which advises the government on whether a drug should be banned, as it has little information to go on. It takes experience to find out about the harms of particular drugs. It was only in the late 1990s, after years in which cannabis was regarded as a fairly harmless drug, that studies demonstrated it caused the development of psychosis in some vulnerable adolescents. News that two people died after using mephedrone suggests it may be dangerous, but we don't know enough. Mephedrone can cause cardiovascular problems, but I suspect that the post-mortem findings will identify other contributing drugs.

GBL, which was classified in December 2009, is a case study in legal highs. Many users overdose inadvertently and a small proportion progress to dependence. On trying to stop, users can experience severe withdrawal symptoms. Throughout 2009, most GPs and drug services knew nothing of GBL, and were unable to offer treatment. It was to catch up with this need that a "party drugs" clinic was established in south London . Attendees have reported that, since being banned, GBL is still readily available for same-day delivery, from internet sites outside the UK.

Mephedrone and GBL both enhance confidence and sociability and reduce sexual inhibitions. However, it is easy to lose the plot. The first dose of mephedrone produces intense euphoria, but repeated dosing produces decreasing pleasure and increasing paranoia and irritability – yet some people keep chasing the initial high until exhausted. This binge pattern of use maximises risks and minimises benefits of drug use.

A pre-election environment is a bad time to initiate a discussion about drugs policy, as there is a risk that any debate will degenerate into which party is going to ban more drugs, more rapidly. "Legal highs" are an easy target for moral outrage, precisely because they are legal and something can be done about that. More difficult is trying to address Britain's prodigious demand for drugs, legal and illegal. A non-partisan debate about reducing the harm would be valuable.

Dr James Bell is an addictions consultant at the South London and Maudsley NHS Trust

• Drugs
• Drugs policy

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Survey shows that patients face long waits for psychological 'talking' treatments, with children worse off than adults

Britain's GPs are increasingly angry and frustrated at not being able to get the right therapy for people with mental illnesses – especially for children, who face unacceptable delays in receiving help or do not get it at all, according to a new survey.

An "overwhelming" response to a survey sent out to family doctors by the Royal College of General Practitioners (RCGP) has painted a picture of patchy availability of adult psychological services across the country and an even poorer availability for children. Family doctors reported shocking cases of critically mentally ill people having to wait months for help, or not getting it at all, in breach of national guidelines.

The situation of children was worse than for adults, with 78% of doctors saying that they could "rarely" get help for a distressed child within the recommended two months' waiting time. One doctor reported the case of a 16-year-old rape victim who had started self-harming after being refused help, while another said a girl who had seen her sibling burn to death in a car was offered an appointment with the mental health service in six months' time. "Our service is appalling unless the kids are actually slitting their wrists – I see this as an area of huge need," said one GP.

Professor Steve Field, president of the royal college, wrote to members asking whether adult patients suffering from depression or anxiety disorders and requiring specialist psychological therapy were able to get treatment within two months. Some 1,150 doctors replied, with 65% answering "rarely". Only 15% of them answered "usually", with 20% responding "sometimes".

When asked about children suffering from emotional or behaviourial problems who needed such therapies, 78% of the GPs replied that "rarely" could they get the child help within two months with just 5.8% saying they could "usually" access treatment within the Nice (National Institute for Clinical Excellence) guideline of two months. "We were overwhelmed by the responses. It is shocking," said Field. "There is a strong sense of frustration coming through in many parts of the country and patients clearly deserve better. People should have access to approved treatments, and this has to be a wake-up call.

"If patients can't get access to talking therapies, then they will be on medication. Investing in mental health services will save the NHS and the economy a lot of money, and save it very quickly."

The survey was carried out as part of a campaign launched this month by the RCGP, the Royal College of Psychiatrists and the mental health charity Mind calling for all political parties to make a manifesto promise to back a new deal for children and adults with mental health problems. The government began its Improved Access to Psychological Therapies (IAPT) programme in 2007 after repeated clinical trials showed that "talking therapies" – where people are helped to challenge their own negative thoughts – are as effective as drugs in the short term and better in the long term at preventing relapses. That evidence led Nice to issue guidelines stating that people with depression and anxiety disorders should be offered the choice of cognitive behavioural therapy – a talking therapy.

The chief executive of Mind, Paul Farmer, says talking therapies save lives. "When someone is assessed as being in need of counselling or CBT, it is crucial that they can start treatment as soon as possible. Waiting months and months for urgent treatment would not be acceptable for patients with other health problems, and it should not be acceptable for patients with depression."

But while extra money has been given to health trusts around the country, it is now no longer ring-fenced and the campaigners want a political commitment to the IAPT programme from whoever wins May's general election.

"There has been some great work from the government and they deserve credit for being the first British government to take mental health seriously," said Richard Layard, of the London School of Economics.

Layard led a research team who in 2007 published a cost benefit analysis of psychological therapy. It found that the costs of providing psychological therapies would be recouped within two years in savings made on paying out incapacity benefit and lost taxes from more than a million people who are unable to work because of their mental health issues.

Layard said strides forward had been made but the service was spread too thinly. "IAPT has made very good progress, but it is still at a fragile stage if the political will is not behind it. We need to get mental health raised up as a national priority and see significant pressure brought to bear on primary care trusts to invest."

• Mental health
• GPs
• Health
• Children

Tracy McVeighguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

Surgeons say the recession has cut demand in America for cosmetic procedures that are not covered by health insurance

Americans appear to be finally falling out of love with cosmetic surgery after a new report revealed that the number of operations dropped by 18% last year.

The new reluctance to have a facelift, a tummy tuck or a breast enlargement marks a dramatic turn away from procedures that a few years ago seemed almost commonplace.

Figures collated by the American Society for Aesthetic Plastic Surgery show that 1.9m operations took place last year, down from 2.1m in 2005. One big factor cited by many plastic surgeons is the recession. The biggest downturn since the Great Depression has hit many high-end consumer industries; plastic surgery certainly qualifies as a luxury commodity for many Americans. Purely cosmetic operations, such as nose-shaping or breast enlargements, often cost thousands of dollars and are not usually covered by health insurance.

"I believe one can credit the downturn of the economy for the decline in surgical procedures that obviously are more costly than non-surgical procedures," said Dr Elliot Jacobs, a leading New York plastic surgeon whose private surgery is on Park Avenue.

But some say there could be something in the zeitgeist, too. Over the past decade, plastic surgery saw a massive boom. Something previously seen as the province of Hollywood royalty and the very rich trickled down to the merely wealthy and then the middle class. It became the subject of numerous TV shows, such as Nip/Tuck, which followed the antics of a pair of Miami plastic surgeons and famously opened its first episode in 2003 with the controversial line: "Tell me what you don't like about yourself."

It was not just soap opera that fell under the surgeons' spell: reality TV shows got in on the act, too. Programmes such as Extreme Makeover and The Swan gave ordinary people a chance of free operations to improve their appearance. The shows were not without controversy, especially The Swan, whose premise was to transform a contestant into a more beautiful person physically. However, both shows have been cancelled, and this year Nip/Tuck also broadcast its last episode.

Nor are celebrities immune from criticism about the plastic surgery they have undergone. Many stars receive frequent sniping in gossip columns for having operations deemed too obvious.

Recently reality-TV star Heidi Montag was on the end of an avalanche of criticism – even from her husband – after she revealed she had had 10 plastic surgery procedures in one year.

Dr Michael Hall, a plastic surgeon in Miami Beach, said that an age of excess in the industry had come to an end, mirroring wider society. "When it comes to plastic surgery, people are now using more common sense. They don't want radical procedures," he said.

But while full-on surgical operations might be falling, the number of non-surgical cosmetic procedures is steady or rising. Many plastic surgeons say there has merely been a shift in taste and treatment. Non-surgical operations, such as Botox, lip injections or lasering, are cheaper and becoming more effective. "Women are looking for non-invasive procedures," said Hall.

There are other changes, too, reflecting both cultural and economic trends. Dr Richard Baxter, a plastic surgeon in Washington state, noticed a marked decrease in the size of breast implants as the economy started to go downhill. Before the recession, fewer than a third of Baxter's clients chose a B cup implant; now about half pick a B. "People have turned to more natural-looking things," he said.

The question concerning the industry now is what the longer-term trend will be. Some predict a permanent shift, while others say there are already signs of a renewed up-tick. One thing most doctors agree on, though, is that there is still no shortage of demand for changing one's body, just a change in preferred methods. "Has the plastic surgery bubble burst? I doubt it. As long as a woman or a man has a mirror available, there will be a continued interest in plastic surgery," said Jacobs. Hall put it another way, pointing out that some human emotions and desires are both recession-proof and fashion-proof: "There is no lack of vanity. There is just a little more hesitation."

• Plastic surgery
• US healthcare
• United States

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The Piano by Jane Campion (1993)

If I hadn't seen The Piano when I did, I may never have made a feature film. I've been making little films since I was eight – I begged my father to buy me a Super 8 camera after he took me to see Doctor Dolittle with Rex Harrison – but for a long while I thought I wanted to make documentaries. I found cinema incredibly inspiring, but I wasn't hearing any voices that felt like my voice in that world. It was a bit like being a singer and hearing wonderful music, but feeling there was nothing in your range. When I first saw The Piano I suddenly felt, my goodness, this is something I could do. It was almost a lack of confidence, before. But seeing the film, the power of its imagery and the delicacy of the way that emotion was handled in it, it felt in tune with who I was as a person and who I was as a filmmaker. It made me see film as a possibility for myself.

I first saw it in a cinema on the King's Road with the man who was to be my husband. We'd only recently met. At that point I knew I very much wanted to have children, and here was a film exploring the relationship between a mother and a daughter. I was excited, but my boyfriend didn't really get it at all. He found it slow and uninspiring. Still, I remember in that moment feeling an incredible connection with the film.

It's really influenced me in a lot of specific ways, beyond giving me the feeling I could go out and do this. It has sunk in at a very deep level. There were shots in Bleak House that were directly inspired by The Piano. The way the humvees move across the desert in Generation Kill, these very still, tranquil shots – they're very like the shots of the piano on the beach. Even more recently, in Nanny McPhee, there are silhouette shots that are very like those of Holly Hunter being carried in across the waves. Anna Paquin who played the little girl is now in True Blood with Alex Skarsgård, who I cast in Generation Kill. She's so, so brilliant in the film and is now working with Alex. I love that.

It's been really interesting to me revisiting the film now that I've had children. It plays very differently, I've found other layers in it, about that closeness and the language between a mother and a daughter. They're a bit young now, but I look forward to the day when I can sit down and watch it with my daughters. I think they'd get a huge amount from it.

Susanna White's next film, Nanny Mcphee and the Big Bang, is released on 26 March

• Jane Campion

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A grisly twist in the tale of the gatecrashing Jolley Gang. Now will they end their grim hobby?

The death of Alan MacDonald was reported modestly, in passing: a paragraph on the social page of the Daily Mail. I think he would have liked the idea of his death making the papers, if his death hadn't been so peculiar. But I am just guessing.

I felt sorry for the dead man, going in those circumstances. I thought of Hilaire Belloc. I wondered whether God has a sense of humour. I wondered whether I am a bad person for wondering, in this context, whether God has a sense of humour.

This is not the first I've heard of Alan MacDonald.

At Christmas 2008, I wrote an article in this paper about the Jolley Gang. I had heard whispers of a seedy crew, led by a convicted fraudster named Terence Jolley, who make a hobby out of gatecrashing.

They gatecrash book launches. They gatecrash wine-tastings. Their favourite scam (because the food and booze are generous, and the questions few) is to gatecrash funerals.

They applied for seats at my father's memorial service. Fair enough; my father, a writer and broadcaster, was a public figure. We did reserve some space in the church (though not at the private reception afterwards) for readers of his work.

But the Jolley Gang did not describe themselves as readers. They pretended they had known him. Their interest lay not in paying tribute to his life, but in cadging free drinks off his family.

My father having lived for nearly 70 years, I couldn't prove that these people had never met him. So, being a stubborn sort of girl, offended by their tacky cheek and the insult to my father's memory, I set a trap.

I invented a wealthy industrialist called Sir William Ormerod, dotting his fictional life story around the internet. I then announced his death, and (in the guise of Sir William's heartbroken boyfriend) a lavish memorial for friends and family. I immediately received emails from the gang, telling anecdotes of happy times spent in Sir William's company, asking for the address and date. Got 'em!

Plan A was to go ahead with an entire fake memorial service and fill all the free sandwiches with laxative. Reluctantly putting this idea aside, I decided to write about them and hope that would be enough to end their little game.

I know, I know, the laxatives would have been more fun. But I was trying to be grown-up about it.

Unfortunately, the Jolleys' jollies continued. In the 15 months since that article, they have not stopped leeching off grieving families. If anything, their gall has grown.

In December, for example, the BBC website reported that the funeral of Coronation Street actress Maggie Jones had been "a beautiful and dignified private service for family, close friends and members of the cast".

It was, in fact, a beautiful and dignified service for family, close friends, members of the cast, and the Jolley Gang. Terence Jolley actually phoned ahead to ask the funeral director if food and drink would be served.

Did I expect things to be any different? I hoped they would. One of the gang gave me a personal promise.

Terence Jolley, the ringleader, was the only one that I knew for certain was a thoroughly bad egg. The others... well, maybe they were just weak. Maybe he did all the lying and they just came along for the ride. I hoped their consciences would be struck. Don't imagine daft young scallywags; these are middle-aged, privileged people. They are retired (some of them disgraced) magistrates, financiers, even diplomats. They are not idiots.

I wrote privately to one of them, a chap who makes an income selling diary stories to newspapers. I told him I understood he might want to attend public memorials to get these stories, but he should do it honestly, respectfully, without any lies and without Terence Jolley. He promised that he would, so I agreed not to put his name or photo in the paper.

Don't let me down, my friend, if you are reading this. I know you still go. I know you try to stand apart from the rest of the gang. Keep it that way. Keep even further away. And do switch your mobile off during the service.

What about the others? Ronald, Ilana, I notice you two are still at it. Will the fate of Alan MacDonald stop you, at last? Will you make a quiet resolution as his coffin goes by?

I think you'd better. You'll be in a church. And we just don't know whether God has a sense of humour.

Three weeks ago, the Jolley Gang gatecrashed a party at the Dorchester to celebrate the national day of Kuwait. They mingled with Kuwaiti dignitaries. They enjoyed drinks provided by the Kuwaiti ambassador. And one of them, Alan MacDonald, choked to death on a canapé.

What a strange, strange end to a life. You see why I thought of Hilaire Belloc. If this is the last page of the story, it's a poetic one.

How did you get there, Alan? You were 61 years old. A retired banker from a smart family. You had every chance. What attracted you to a fat fraudster like Terence Jolley? How did you feel, mingling at parties where you weren't invited?

What took you down that path which led to your final collapse, in a crowd of baffled strangers, on a mouthful of blagged canapé?

You were unmarried and childless; were you lonely? Your father, a vice-admiral, had been a royal aide; did you feel an entitlement to every circle? Or were you just bored?

I am grimly fascinated by this black-comic mob, without understanding their motivations. I can't be sure that this grisly twist will stop them. I'm superstitious; it would certainly stop me. But the curious behaviour of others... it's only ever guesswork in the dark.

Alan MacDonald's funeral is tomorrow. I considered going. But I didn't know the man.

www.victoriacoren.com

• Radio 4
• Coronation Street

Victoria Corenguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

Alistair Darling will announce plans to back low-carbon transport and energy projects in 'budget for growth'

Alistair Darling will this week announce a £1bn fund to kick-start investment in green transport and energy projects as part of a "budget for growth".

With Wednesday's budget coming weeks before an expected general election, the chancellor will use his plans for the new low-carbon infrastructure scheme to contrast Labour's support for industry with the Conservatives' more hands-off philosophy.

Business secretary Lord Mandelson, who has spearheaded the government's new, more interventionist approach, told the Observer that the Conservatives "wouldn't lift a single finger" to help manufacturing.

With the public finances tight, the new green fund will be relatively small in scale, but the government hopes to use the cash to tempt private investors to back innovative new ideas. "It's about saying there are ways in which the government can play a role, which are not necessarily multibillion-pound projects," said a Treasury source. He cited the model of the Sheffield Forgemasters plant, where Mandelson last week used an £80m loan from taxpayers to secure a £170m financing package that included support from the European Investment Bank and nuclear supplier Westinghouse.

The Sheffield Forgemasters deal – which will create 180 jobs initially and provide 1,000 apprenticeships – was one of several new industrial investments announced in recent weeks that have been secured with the help of public subsidy.

Mandelson said: "People say: why am I securing Vauxhall, why am I securing the Nissan electric car to be produced in Sunderland, why am I securing the development and production of Ford's green technologies, why did I go to Sheffield Forgemasters to deliver funding for a 15,000-tonne press? It's because if the government doesn't act here, some other government will. If we hadn't bridged the final mile in the way that we did, because the market couldn't or wouldn't provide, then the investment would have gone elsewhere."

With the government committed to reduce UK carbon emissions by 80% by 2050, radical changes in infrastructure and power generation will be needed over the coming decades. Labour hopes that by boosting low-carbon energy such as wind, wave and solar power, and helping to upgrade the transport system to use cleaner fuels, it can help to meet those targets while creating thousands of new "green-collar jobs".

But environmental campaigners warned that £1bn would not go very far. Andrew Simms, director of the New Economics Foundation, said: "If what they're talking about is less than one five-hundredth of the amount that was thrown at the banking system, at a point where investment banks have bonus pots bigger than £1bn, then while the idea is right, the size of the ambition smacks of skewed priorities."

Comparing the task of preparing for a new low-carbon era to the long drive from London to Edinburgh, he said: "You won't get very far on a teacupful of petrol." The Stern review on the economics of climate change suggested it would cost more than £10bn a year to prepare the economy for cuts in emissions on the scale needed.

Mandelson stressed that as well as underpinning growth, the budget would also reaffirm Labour's determination to tackle the public deficit. The latest official figures showed that the public finances are in a healthier state than the chancellor feared at the time of December's pre-budget report, and he could reduce his £178bn estimate of this year's deficit by as much as £10bn.

But Mandelson said that would not alter the government's plans for tax rises and public spending cuts in the years ahead. "We will maintain a tough deficit reduction programme: there's no question about it. It's necessary for the health of the economy, for the confidence of the markets. We will make it absolutely clear that what we have committed to, we will follow through."

However, Darling will also stress that – unlike the Conservatives, who would start cutbacks immediately – Labour will "lock in recovery" by maintaining its financial support for the fragile economy for another year.

The UK emerged from recession in the final quarter of 2009, growing by 0.3%, but Bank of England policymakers have left low interest rates in place, making clear they remain nervous about the sustainability of the upturn.

Separately, Mandelson is also likely to be given the task of overseeing a new state-backed investment bank, which will help to support businesses struggling to secure funding from banks.

• Budget
• Energy
• Carbon emissions
• Transport policy
• Alistair Darling
• Peter Mandelson
• Nissan

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Letter accuses leading Catholics of 'grave errors', but campaigners say it is not enough

Pope Benedict XVI yesterday rebuked Irish bishops for the negligent way they have handled sexual abuse cases in the Catholic church and issued an unprecedented public apology to the victims of paeodophile priests.

"You have suffered grievously and I am truly sorry," Benedict wrote in a pastoral letter released yesterday, which will be read at Catholic masses in Ireland. The letter also announced the setting up of a Vatican investigation team. "Many of you found that, when you were courageous enough to speak of what happened to you, no one would listen," he added. He accused bishops in Ireland of "grave errors of judgment" in their handling of thousands of "sinful and criminal" cases of abuse spread over decades.

Split into sections, the letter addresses victims, Irish bishops, abusive priests and parents. "There has never been a letter like this," said the pope's spokesman, Father Federico Lombardi.

The letter does not admit any responsibility on the part of the Vatican in relation to the scandals, nor does it specify punishments for Irish bishops who covered up for paedophile priests, moving them from parish to parish.

Following revelations that he swore abuse victims to secrecy in 1975, Cardinal Seán Brady, the head of the Irish Catholic church, has said he will seek guidance through prayer before deciding on his future. Benedict has yet to accept the resignations offered by three Irish bishops. Following the release of the letter, Brady said that all Irish Catholics should reflect upon it. "I welcome this letter," he said. "I am deeply grateful to the holy father for his profound kindness and concern."

It is evident from the pastoral letter that Benedict is deeply dismayed by what he refers to as "sinful and criminal acts and the way the church authorities in Ireland dealt with them".

Lombardi said yesterday there were no pointers to be found on Brady's future in the letter, which did not have an administrative or disciplinary function. "This is a pastoral letter... That is not touched on here," he said.

The letter comes as a new tide of sex abuse allegations threatens to engulf the Catholic church. Benedict himself has come under pressure over the explosion of abuse revelations in his home country, Germany, following a wave of cases in the US. Maeve Lewis, the Irish director for the campaign group against child abuse, One in Four, said she was "deeply disappointed" by the letter. "It falls short of what victims want, since it only tackles failures in the Irish church and not the failures that go right to the top of the Vatican, such as the 2001 ruling on secrecy," she said. "The church is still in denial."

Reports on abuse commissioned in Ireland have singled out a letter written by the current pope, then Cardinal Ratzinger, in 2001 instructing bishops to report all abuse cases to his office at the Vatican's Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith for confidential handling. Vatican officials have said the measure was designed to prevent cases being covered up at local level, but Irish bishops reportedly understood the letter to mean they should not report cases to the police. In yesterday's letter, Benedict urged Ireland's bishops to "continue to co-operate with civil authorities".

"That could be interpreted as an instruction on mandatory reporting of abuse to the police, and this is welcome, although it is not clearly stated," said Lewis. "But where the pope goes on to deal with the proper application of canon law in these cases, it suggests he has no idea that civil law supersedes canon law, that bishops should abide by civil law like any citizen."

The letter announces that a Vatican investigation, or apostolic visitation, will be carried out at a "certain diocese" in Ireland, as well as in seminaries and religious congregations. Such investigations are carried out when the Vatican believes a local church is unable to put its own house in order.

"A lot of people will be quaking in their boots in Ireland as they wait to see which diocese the pope means," said one church insider in Ireland.

But Benedict also sympathised with Irish bishops, telling them: "I recognise how difficult it was to grasp the extent and complexity of the problem, to obtain reliable information and to make the right decisions in the light of conflicting expert advice."

Rather than blaming abuse on an oppressive, conservative environment within the Irish Catholic church, Benedict singles out the creeping influence of liberal, secular society for weakening resolve against it. "In particular, there was a well-intentioned but misguided tendency to avoid penal approaches to canonically irregular situations," he writes.

Lewis added: "We are astounded that the pope links the problem to secularisation. It shows a misunderstanding of the dynamics of sexual violence and suggests there is little hope the church will ever know how to respond."

• Pope Benedict XVI
• Ireland
• Catholicism

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Protest groups that were targeted by infiltrators plan legal action to obtain access to police files after disclosures by Officer A

Political activists have reacted with anger to revelations in last week's Observer that their organisations were infiltrated by an elite undercover unit of the Metropolitan police.

Members of one of the groups demanded a public inquiry after the Observer disclosed that a former member of Special Branch, known as Officer A, had infiltrated far-left organisations in the mid-1990s to gather intelligence about potentially violent demonstrators. He was regularly involved in brutal confrontations with uniformed police officers and activists from the extreme right. On numerous occasions he engaged in violent acts to maintain his cover.

Many activists suspected they were being infiltrated by the state at the time, but it is only now that their suspicions have been confirmed. One target of Officer A, a former student union leader who has asked not to be identified, told the Observer: "I suspected that my phone might have been tapped. I believed that there might have been some police spies at the demonstrations that I attended. But however paranoid I was, I never imagined they would go so far as to invest the level of resources needed to give someone a completely new identity for five years and have them spy on someone like me. It really is astonishing."

Officer A was part of a secret unit of the Met known as the Special Demonstration Squad (SDS), which since 1968 had 10 full-time undercover operatives inside so-called "subversive" organisations to disrupt their ability to create disorder on the streets of London.

While Officer A targeted the far left, other SDS members were simultaneously infiltrating the far right. By the end of his four-year deployment he had become a branch secretary of a leading anti-racist organisation, Youth Against Racism in Europe (YRE). He used this position to assist in making contact with smaller groups that had a reputation for being involved in violence.

Hannah Sell, national secretary of the YRE at the time of Officer A's deployment, remembers him well but is furious at the implication that the group was involved in violence. "We organised mass peaceful protests against racism and the BNP. In doing so we often faced violence from the far right and the police."

The Observer understands that many of the tactics now used by police in public order situations were developed in response to SDS intelligence about the best way to control potential troublemakers. This includes the controversial tactic known as "kettling", in which protesters are hemmed in on all sides by police, a technique many believe only heightens tensions.

Lois Austin, YRE chair at the time of Officer A's infiltration, told the Observer: "We believe there should be a public inquiry into police tactics at demonstrations. It should be independent, not one where the police investigate themselves. We want to know about their use of spies and whether this unit is still operational."

The calls for an inquiry come amid fresh criticism of heavy-handed police tactics at the G20 protest in London last April, when newspaper seller Ian Tomlinson died of a heart attack soon after being struck by a police baton and pushed to the ground. It has emerged that plainclothes officers from City of London police mingled with the crowd to gather intelligence. Many former activists who believe they were SDS targets intend to take legal action in an attempt to obtain any police intelligence files about their activities.

• Police

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Nationwide protests sparked by falling living standards and demanding the prime minister's resignation have taken Kremlin by surprise

Thousands of people across Russia took to the streets yesterday demanding the resignation of Vladimir Putin, in the largest show of discontent since he came to power more than a decade ago.

Opposition movements called the nationwide "Day of Wrath" to express growing discontent at falling living standards following years of oil-fuelled growth. The protests followed weeks of sustained demonstrations across Russia that have riled a leadership that does not forgive displays of unrest.

Cries of "Freedom" and "Putin resign" filled the main square in Kaliningrad, where up to 5,000 people gathered in pouring rain. The Baltic territory, which is nestled between Poland and Lithuania and separated from the Russian mainland, has been the site of some of the largest protests to date.

"We want the government to start treating us like people, not like slaves," said Kirill, a 22-year-old student. Protesters called for free elections and complained about widespread corruption, high unemployment and rising prices.

Russia's first major anti-Putin demonstration was held in Kaliningrad on 30 January, drawing 12,000 people and shocking local leaders and the Kremlin. "It really surprised us," said Konstantin Polyakov, deputy head of the regional parliament, or Duma, and member of the ruling United Russia party. "We didn't think so many people would turn out, to be honest." The Kremlin was obviously shaken, dispatching a high-level delegation to the Baltic exclave and firing its Kaliningrad adviser, Oleg Matveichev.

Saturday's protest had been banned, and opposition leaders withdrew calls for an organised demonstration, fearing violence. Yet several thousand showed up anyway, organising through the internet and word of mouth.

"The general public in the regions is beginning to recognise that it is Putin who is actually to blame for various troubles they have – increased cost of living, communal tariffs, taxes and no growth in real wages," said Vladimir Milov, a co-leader of Solidarity, an umbrella opposition movement.

Regional and local elections held on 14 March appear to support that theory. United Russia, the party created with the sole purpose of supporting Putin's rule – he is currently prime minister – garnered unprecedentedly low results, losing its majority in four of eight regions and giving up the mayorship of Irkutsk, Siberia's largest city, to a Communist candidate who took 62% of the vote.

In Kaliningrad, protesters wore badges criticising United Russia and held aloft mandarins, the fruit that has come to symbolise the region's unpopular governor, Georgy Boos, a Muscovite appointed by Putin.

Few, even those in opposition, believe the Putin government will fall. "It will take time," Milov said. "But just two years ago it would have been impossible to imagine mass demonstrations making political demands like the resignation of Putin's government."

A poll this month by Russia's Public Opinion Foundation found that 29% of Russians were ready to take part in protests, up from 21% in February.

More than 1,000 people turned out on Saturday in the port of Vladivostok, where discontent has steadily grown since the government imposed a tax on imported cars. About 500 people rallied in Irkutsk and St Petersburg. Riot police broke up an unsanctioned rally in Moscow violently and arrested 50 activists. Authorities also shut down a website set up for the "Day of Wrath", www.20marta.ru, and in the northern city of Arkhangelsk an opposition leader was arrested and charged with theft.

In Kaliningrad, on the border with the European Union and far from the seat of power, the police presence was minimal, although agents in plain clothes roamed through the crowd.

"Our population is different from Russia," said Polyakov, sitting in his office adorned with photos of Putin and President Dmitry Medvedev, in what is, technically, Russia. "Our people, especially the youth, travel more to Europe than to Russia. There's no reason to go there."

In an implicit criticism of Moscow politics, he added: "We're more European – more relaxed, less eastern. And we're more democratic." Despite the protesters' rhetoric, Polyakov argued that Putin's popularity in the region remains high. His wife, Lyudmila, was born here and visits regularly.

But local authorities, acting in concert with Moscow, reacted with unusual harshness to Kaliningrad's wave of protests. They banned a rally in the city centre, saying protesters could gather in a stadium on the outskirts instead.

In an ironic twist, the government has been forced to give in to opponents of liberal market reforms. Following the Kaliningrad protest, it has promised to slow the post-Soviet desubsidisation of utilities like heat and water. That will only widen a budget deficit expected to exceed 6% of GDP this year.

"The leadership is scared," said Solomon Ginzburg, an independent deputy in the regional Duma. "I have been saying the Kaliningrad region is an indicator – in nine months, it will be all over Russia."

• Vladimir Putin
• Russia

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Unite and Labour are in an abusive relationship that stops any chance of worthwhile change

Success hasn't spoiled Charlie Whelan. He was a character assassin and thug long before he became famous. I last met the political director of Unite in the autumn of 2008 as he was encouraging compliant journalists to go after Alistair Darling. I thought I had witnessed all varieties of political hypocrisy, but Whelan still shocked me because he was attacking the chancellor for a crime that was no crime at all to anyone in the centre-left tradition.

Darling had correctly identified that allowing speculators to run riot had left Britain facing the worst financial crisis in 60 years. Gordon Brown had to betray a friend and denigrate an ally for this statement of the obvious because he was the bedazzled dupe who had borrowed as if the riotous market could roar on forever and told City bankers at the Mansion House in 2007 that Britain needed more, rather than less, of their "vigour, ingenuity and aspiration". Despite their loudly professed left-wing principles and equally suspect mockney accents, Whelan and Damian McBride went for Darling for honestly admitting that boom and bust had not been abolished after all. Lobby correspondents behaved like children egging on the playground bully, and allowed "government sources", hiding behind the coward's cloak of anonymity, to tell their readers that the chancellor's job was on the line.

The Thick of It does not give you the half of it. Before Darling, Whelan's target was Martin Bright, the New Statesman's political editor. He boasted to Bright's wife at the 2008 British Press Awards that he had the power to instruct Geoffrey Robinson, the magazine's Brownite owner, to fire her husband and father of her children for not showing due respect to Gordon Brown and for making a documentary about Ken Livingstone's indulgence of the Islamist far right. "He can't allow this. He can't allow criticism of Gordon. If Geoffrey's got any sense, he'll listen." Bright was duly forced out, although the paper insists that it remains a part of the free press, and that its compliance with Downing Street's publicly declared wishes was a coincidence.

I drag up these ugly scenes because the Tory attack on Whelan and Unite is missing the point. Conservatives claim that by making Brown's spin doctor its political director, Unite is using its powers of patronage to take over the Labour party. Unite officers are getting Labour nominations for plum seats – John Cryer in Leyton, Jack Dromey in Birmingham Erdington – while Unite money is funding the fight against the Tories in the marginals.

The money matters, of course, but the story isn't quite right. Manufacturing Birmingham was always going to look favourably on Dromey, who has been involved in industrial disputes since the 1970s. Meanwhile, far from being a Whelan placeman, Cryer was another of his targets. Along with fellow Unite officials, Cryer went on long-term sick leave after Whelan came to the union, the cause of which may be guessed by the grievance procedures they brought against him citing stress.

Unite isn't running Labour. Both are caught in an abusive relationship, and it is hard to know who is the abuser and who is the victim. The union is hurting Brown's cause by dragging him into air strikes just before an election, but the union movement and British politics is suffering as badly.

From the narrow trade unionist point of view, the BA cabin crew are not benefiting from having Whelan, the supposed master of spin, as a comrade. The media always turn on strikers, because managers briskly deunionised most of the industry in the 1980s, and because editors know that more readers will complain about a strike than support it. Even if you accept that bias, you ought to be surprised that Unite is putting its case so poorly. The public does not know that air hostesses and stewards are not revolutionary militants, but reasonable men and women who made a conciliatory offer to accept a pay cut instead of redundancies which extremist managers refused to countenance.

More widely, an opportunity to change the terms of public debate is being missed. Commentators announce that the recession and strikes herald a return to the 1970s, and cannot see that today's crisis is nothing like the collapse of social democracy a generation ago. Margaret Thatcher won three election victories because enough voters believed that exorbitant wage demands had wrecked the economy. This time, no one can plausibly maintain that the unions brought ruin to the country. The folly of the financial elite, and the neglect of the public officials and politicians who should have been regulating, brought us low in 2008. Trade unions ought to be agitating for causes which are close to their hearts: how to create a new Britain which is not so fatally dependent on the manipulation of money markets; how to revive manufacturing; and how to regulate the City so that never again do working- and middle-class taxpayers have to bail out the super-rich.

If they did, they would find that many Mail and Telegraph readers would support them, because they know that their taxes will rise and services will be cut to pay for the City's blunders. Yet Britain's largest union cannot begin an urgent conversation because it is not just tying itself to Labour but to the Brownite faction, which Unite's leaders dumbly believe to be a left-wing alternative to the hated Tony Blair. They don't understand that the Brownites are not rough yet honourable street fighters in the Labour movement, but the Westminster equivalent of Mafia enforcers who try to eliminate anyone who stands in their don's way regardless of their political beliefs. They assail the chancellor for knowing a classic crisis of financial capitalism when he sees it and journalists for criticising politicians who court religious reactionaries. When Brown is gone, they hope to extend the Brownite reign by persuading the unions to put the unprepossessing Ed Balls in his place, even though as Brown's deputy at the Treasury he was as culpable for the regulatory failure as his equally unprepossessing patron.

Outsiders look at our clannish politics and ask why the Conservatives cling to Lord Ashcroft and Labour continues to listen to Whelan when they bring nothing but disrepute to their parties. More striking is the torpor of the trade unions, which ought to be seizing the chance to create a new political consensus, but are letting it slip away.

• Gordon Brown
• Alistair Darling
• British Airways
• Trade unions

Nick Cohenguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

TV historian Niall Ferguson says that teaching should focus on chronology and the ascent of Europe

A leading British historian has called for a Jamie Oliver-style campaign to purge schools of what he calls "junk history".

Niall Ferguson, who teaches at Harvard and presented a Channel 4 series on the world's financial history, has launched a polemical attack on the subject's "decline in British schools", arguing that the discipline is badly taught and undervalued. He says standards are at an all-time low in the classroom and the subject should be compulsory at GCSE.

Ferguson makes the comments in an essay to be released this week. It begins: "History matters. Many schoolchildren doubt this. But they are wrong, and they need to be persuaded they are wrong."

He points to the popularity of TV series and books by celebrity historians such as Simon Schama, David Starkey, Peter Snow and Andrew Marr. "History, it might be said, has never been more popular. Yet there is a painful paradox. At the very same time, it has never been less popular in British schools," writes Ferguson.

History is compulsory up to the age of 14 but not to 16 in Britain, in contrast to most other European countries. In 2009, 220,000 candidates sat GCSE history in England and Wales – fewer than the number taking design and technology. At A-level the subject lags behind psychology.

"Numbers, however, fail to tell the true story of history's decline in British schools. When you consider the content of what is taught to teenagers, you begin to realise that the really surprising thing is how many, not how few, volunteer for the experience of studying the subject," says Ferguson.

He argues that there is far too much emphasis on teaching pupils about Nazi Germany (studied by half of those at GCSE and eight out of 10 at A-level) and complains that pupils are asked to choose "a smorgasbord of unrelated topics". The form of selection, he adds, "explains why, when I asked them recently, all three of my children had heard of the Reverend Martin Luther King, but none could tell me anything about Martin Luther."

Instead, Ferguson says history should have a "mandatory chronological framework" throughout secondary school and on to A-level. He also calls for more emphasis on western ascendancy, not in "an attempt to turn the clock back" but because understanding why the world became more Eurocentric after 1500 is the "modern historian's biggest challenge". He suggests a focus on why the scientific revolution did not take place outside Europe and how democracy emerged first in the west.

"We have recently witnessed a successful campaign to improve the quality of food served for lunch in British schools. It is time for an equivalent campaign against junk history," concludes Ferguson, whose argument will be published next month in Liberating Learning: Widening Participation, a collection of essays in which teachers, historians, philosophers and businessmen argue education has been impoverished by a narrow curriculum. It has been edited by Patrick Derham, the head of Rugby school, and Michael Worton, vice-provost at University College London.

Professor Colin Jones, president of the Royal Historical Society, said he applauded some of Ferguson's ideas, such as teaching history in longer, chronological blocks. But Ferguson's language was condescending and the argument ideological, he added.

"To change things we should work with teachers and other bodies and not just dismiss what is going on as 'junk history'. It is demeaning, unpleasant and untrue," said Jones, who warned against Ferguson's emphasis on western ascendancy.

"It is more ideological than he claims and the danger is it will be taught in a way in which the answer is known in advance and it is 'west is best'."

A spokesman for the Department for Children, Schools and Families said that suggestions to cut the amount of teaching on the world wars had always been opposed. "History is compulsory until 14 and remains one of the most popular subjects at GCSE and A-level," he said. "The new secondary curriculum, which started in September 2008, is clear that teaching must give children a chronological understanding of history using precise dates. Children must study a wide range of areas, including the development of British political power from the middle ages to the 20th century."

• History and history of art
• Teaching
• Schools
• GCSEs

Anushka Asthanaguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

Group of wealthy investors plans to take club back from Glazers and distribute shares to fans

Manchester United supporters spearheaded by a group calling themselves the Red Knights are poised to table a £1.25bn bid for the club by June that will involve fans owning a majority stake.

Under proposals being studied by the bidder's financial adviser, Nomura, around 30 wealthy Red Knights investors would take control of United by setting up a new company that would later invite fans from around the world to subscribe to new shares.

The structure of the bid is designed to wrest control of United from the US Glazer family as quickly as possible and to meet legal requirements that determine how firms can be run under collective ownership. "The takeover would be in two stages but the objective is to give the fans a central role in the club's future," said a City source.

Jim O'Neill, Goldman Sachs's chief economist, who is one of the founding members of the Red Knights, is keen to distribute equity as widely as possible among millions of supporters globally.

The idea is for United to resemble Spanish rival Barcelona, which is owned by its fans and where profits are ploughed back into the club. At the moment, United's profits are having to be used to service huge debts drawn down by the Glazers when they acquired United in 2005.

Barcelona relies on the same revenue streams as British clubs, but experts say its model could be adopted by Premiership teams with a strong sense of their own identity.

Japanese bank Nomura last week met with wealthy supporters of the Red Knights campaign, which is backed by investment banker Keith Harris and Paul Marshall, founder of London-based hedge fund Marshall Wace. The man in charge of negotiations is Guy Dawson, who set up financial advisory boutique Tricorn before it was recently acquired by Nomura.

Dawson has already held talks with the Manchester United Supporters Trust (Must) to demonstrate that the Red Knights are serious about giving fans a major say in how United is run.

Duncan Drasdo, Must's chief executive, said: "We want a big stake in the club although the exact size will depend on any take-up of shares in the event that supporters are invited to subscribe to new equity."

Drasdo adds: "It's important that as much of the debt is paid down as quickly as possible so that the club has maximum headroom to invest in new players and to ensure affordable ticket prices."

As a symbol of opposition to the Glazers, Must has been encouraging fans to forsake United's traditional red colours and wear green and gold scarves – the colours of the club, then known as Newton Heath, until 1902.

But a spokesman for the Glazers, who reiterated that the family had no intention of selling, said: "There is no dress code printed on the tickets, people are entitled to wear what they like. The important thing is that they show their support for the team."

Drasdo said "the amount of money flowing out of club to service the Glazers' £700m debt pile is quite astonishing. "United needs to invest a lot of money in new players in the next couple of years as well as eventually find a replacement for manager Sir Alex Ferguson. He is going to be a very hard act to follow and his successor will not come cheap."

United's chief executive, David Gill, has defended the Glazers, saying that funds are available for Ferguson to use in the transfer market this summer. Gill maintains the £80m received last year from the sale of Cristiano Ronaldo to Real Madrid is still part of the club's budget. Gill said: "The money from Ronaldo is sitting in the bank account."

Sources close to the Red Knights say that offers of financial support continue to pour in, with several sovereign wealth funds expressing an interest. Five British individuals are said to be willing to invest £10m apiece. It is understood they have also won the support of former United chairman Sir Roy Gardner.

• Manchester United
• Investing
• Mergers and acquisitions

Richard Wachmanguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

Austin Heap, the programmer from California, explains how he created Haystack, the software that broke the grip of Iran's censors after the disputed 2009 election

If you imagined a computer hacker with the know-how to topple governments, you might well picture someone who looks a lot like Austin Heap. He's a 26-year-old programmer from San Francisco with long wavy hair, wearing jeans, T-shirt and aviator sunglasses the morning we meet. He is also the creator of a piece of software called Haystack, which was a key technology used by Iranians to disseminate information outside the country in the protests that followed the disputed election result in June 2009, when President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad unconvincingly triumphed against three challengers.

The Iranian government already filtered its citizens' email and Skype conversations, but in the aftermath of the election, such censorship was increased in an attempt to identify dissidents who were using the web to organise and communicate with each other and with the outside world.

A tech wunderkind originally from Ohio, Heap developed Haystack to open up social networking sites such as Twitter and Facebook, giving voices on the streets a platform, and people in the west a window into a closed-down state. He's now the executive director of the Censorship Research Centre in San Francisco, a non-profit organisation founded with his colleague Daniel Colascione to provide anti-censorship education, outreach, and technology for free to those who need it most.

What is Haystack and how does it work?

Haystack is a piece of software that someone in Iran runs on his or her computer. It does two things: first, it encrypts all of the data; second it hides that data inside normal traffic so it looks like you're visiting innocuous sites. Daniel and I developed Haystack by looking at how the regime was using technology to filter the internet, and figured out the best strategy to get around it.

Why did you decide to take on the regime?

I remember the day of the election, sitting around watching Twitter, watching what was going on, reading the election results and thinking, that looks weird. Then I realised that the internet censorship had stepped up more than normal. I thought, hey, I can set up a few proxies and help a few people out. While I'm at it, why not post instructions online so other people could use their computers to get around the government filtering.

Imagine what you can do if you can watch someone's internet connection: you can watch them log into GMail, you can watch them log into Facebook, you can see who they're talking to, you can intercept messages. That's why the encryption part of Haystack was really important. It had to start on the user's side, on their computers. Then it makes its way through the government filters.

Were you politically motivated?

No. I just remember sitting there watching the election results thinking, why are they violently reacting to people who were voting? It's not like they were just jailing people; they were killing people in the streets – people who had a different opinion, people who wanted to share their stories and voice what they thought was right. It shocked me that someone would retaliate in such an inhumane way, and for someone to use the internet as a tool of oppression, as a tool to stop dialogue.

I gather that according to US law, it was illegal to export Haystack to Iran, simply because it would flout Iranian laws – but it did virally make its way onto Iranian computers...

I'll never forget the first person who got a copy of Haystack and sent me a screenshot of Twitter. All of a sudden, the internet was open again. Haystack also allowed people to make Skype calls back to their families securely. It allowed people to send GMail without worrying that someone would try to steal their password or monitor their communication. It gave them a layer of protection that allowed the random person to be a citizen journalist and to do so without the risk of persecution, jail or torture.

Is there content that shouldn't be spread around the web?

The internet is used for anything from drug trafficking to human trafficking. That's completely wrong. But when you decide that you're going to support an open internet, you have to open all of it. You can't go down this slippery slope of saying what's right and what's wrong. Who is this panel of people who's going to say this is OK, this is not OK? Outside the obvious things that are human rights violations, free speech is free speech.

Isn't that a very American point of view?

I don't think [Haystack] has anything to do with American ideology. I think that if you look at what the UN has listed as basic human rights, one of those is the ability to freely and openly communicate. No one should ever have to stop and say, "Can I be this? Can I think this? Can I say this?" It's what we as people deserve.

Who are your greatest critics?

I don't even know where to start. I have a whole fan club of people who hate me. There's clearly been opposition by the Iranian government. They recently passed a law that makes it illegal to use software or proxies that evade the censorship that they've imposed. They're detractor number one.

In my day-to-day life I meet people who don't support what I do. One of the most shocking examples was when someone came up to me and said, "Don't you get that Ahmadinejad is our Obama?" That took me back.

After Google announced it was leaving China, the Chinese government said that US-originated systems that opened up the governmental web blockades – such as Haystack - were acts of terrorism. Are you a terrorist?

It's interesting. There are a lot of things that they [China] do and pursue, a lot of laws that I don't feel anyone should observe. They have a long history of jailing dissidents and people who republish old cartoons. They pick and choose how to enforce laws and they come up with laws that frankly I would consider an act of terrorism of mankind. Maybe we should agree that we're both the same kind of threat, but to one another.

Hilary Clinton made a speech recently that outlined the US State Department's policy on web freedom. She argued that there was no place for censorship. What's the relationship now between the US government and Haystack?

I don't like the view that Haystack is a puppet of the US State Department, but I'm happy to see that the State Department is standing up for a free and open web. They have a long history of protecting human rights around the world and documenting abuses. This is the next step. We live in such an interconnected world. Policy makers, organisations that draft and enforce these policies need to catch up. And they are.

What's next for Austin Heap and for Haystack?

There are a lot of places around the world that are either severely censored now that could use people like me and tools such as Haystack, and they need to be addressed. That includes everywhere from Australia, which is currently dipping its toes in the censorship pool, to Egypt where there are more bloggers jailed than journalists: this is a global problem.

The way Haystack was developed was that we looked at how Iran specifically does its filtering and we came up with a method around it. If you look at what China does with their filtering, they use wildly different technology and have spent millions, hundreds of millions on their censorship. They're probably the best censors in the world. We hope to run down the list. Take on each country that has decided that it's going to try to use the internet against people.

• Iran
• Freedom of speech
• Human rights
• Software

Aleks Krotoskiguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

The French four-piece talk to Hermione Hoby about ants, surrealism and creeping success

In a bar in the Opéra district of Paris, brothers and guitarists Laurent Brancowitz and Christian Mazzalai – also known as one half of French band Phoenix – are reflecting on a cover version of the band's single, "Lisztomania".

"It would... bring a tear to the eye of an SS officer," says Brancowitz, shaking his head with wonderment. Later, speaking from New York, singer Thomas Mars agrees: "We all had tears in our eyes when we watched it." Google "PS22 Chorus Lisztomania" and you'll find a video of an American kids choir whose members look and sound like they've never loved a song so much in their lives.

It makes perfect sense that a bunch of elementary schoolchildren should have made such a brilliant cover. As Brancowitz himself explains, the band's fourth studio album was written without ties to a record label or manager because "we wanted to do something like kids again. That's always what we're looking for."

The album's reception last year suggests they found it. As you might guess from the title (in their words, "an equally glorious and stupid" one), Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix is a record blessed with a breezy playfulness, though its songs are meticulously crafted. Ten years on from their debut, the album has earned Phoenix two rather different badges of distinction: a Grammy for best alternative album, and the perhaps even greater accolade of being the most blogged-about band of 2009 (according to website the Hype Machine).

The band also has a fearsome reputation as a live act, something you can judge for yourself on the Observer's live album giveaway (see panel, left), an exclusive recording of the band performing in Sydney a few weeks ago.

They could be forgiven a spot of bumptiousness, then. Instead, they seem genuinely surprised that their London Roundhouse dates later this month sold out so fast. Brancowitz jokes that "there's been a lot of resistance from your little island; we feel like Napoleon trying to invade". Mars agrees: "It's a mystery in the UK. I feel like it's a love and hate relationship. Most of the things we were listening to come from the UK. But maybe before we weren't in sync with the era we were living in..."

Brancowitz has another theory as to why this album has been such a success: "It was the album we made with the most humility. The good things we do are the product of luck and not from our personal songwriting genius." So modest! "No, but it's true," he protests gently. "It takes a lot of courage to admit it. It's a long, chemical process. We just sit and a few thousand tries later..."

That slow-burn approach to songwriting (they took two years to make the album so "a few thousand tries" perhaps isn't too outrageous an estimate) is mirrored in the steadiness of their rise. Gradual success has been, as Mazzalai puts it, "a pure pleasure at every step".

When I ask whether their inclusion of musical "naffness" (Alphabetical, their second album, betrayed a penchant for 70s soft rock, for example) has been a conscious thing, Brancowitz replies with a typically rococo turn of phrase. He concedes it's semi-conscious, but is, he says, always based on "an instinctive ravishment".

Such un-English wording possibly accounts for the charm of their (English) lyrics. As Mars explains: "We like doing lyrics that are cryptic and abstract, we leave out all the in-betweens, everything that makes sense. That's impossible to do in French, because every word betrays what's going on. In English you can put all these pieces together and create this weird, poetic thing." He pauses. "It's very like French surrealism in a way."

As that mental leap from truncated English to French surrealism indicates, the band remain utterly Gallic, despite their formative diet of My Bloody Valentine, the Smiths and any other British band that, as Mars puts it, have "something about them that makes me lose my balance".

The two brothers, plus Mars and bassist Deck D'Arcy (all four are in their early 30s), grew up in the conservative Parisian suburb of Versailles, a place where, Brancowitz says, "it's really easy to be a rebel without a cause – you don't have to have a very crazy haircut. It's very Catholic, so there are a lot of families of old nobility..."

"They're scary," adds Mazzalai.

Scary though it may have been, there's no question that being four kindred spirits in what they paint as a cultural wasteland has gone a long way in binding them together. "Alone we are poor, but together..." Mazzalai trails off.

Brancowitz, a man of many metaphors, continues: "You know ants? They have very minimal tasks but in the end they build these very complex structures. That's the same for us. Really, I don't remember taking creative decisions, they just happen."

They also insist they're "really bad musicians in terms of technique". "I don't even know how to do a scale," claims Brancowitz, prompting Mazzalai to add: "We don't know how to play with other musicians. I tried with friends to do sessions a few times and it's always a disaster."

Touchingly, Mars echoes many of these sentiments when we speak later. While the other three live in Paris, he's now based in New York with his film director girlfriend Sofia Coppola, who is expecting their second child in May. His relocation hasn't put any distance, musically, between him and his bandmates though.

"On our own we are not really great," he tells me. "It's not that I don't believe in my friends but the four of us have this thing, this balance of us all together."

Accounting for that balance, Brancowitz says: "Thomas has a very abstract vision of everything, and Deck is more of a mathematician – when there's a decision about harmonic complexities, he's there. He knows every equation."

There's a certain indulgent affection to the way they talk about their bassist, I suggest. "Ah, but we're all weirdos," smiles Brancowitz. Mazzalai takes up the theme: "We're all fascinated by mathematics, we love it. But you know," he adds with a shrug, "even beats are mathematical – it's mathematics that makes people dance."

This is as perfectly Phoenix-like a sentiment as there can be. Cerebral precision and mindless abandon are an irresistible combination – and those jiving elementary school kids aren't the only ones to know it.

• Phoenix
• Pop and rock

Hermione Hobyguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

Charles Arthur investigates how the ways in which we watch sport, read magazines and do business with each other could change for ever

Don't act too surprised if, some time in the next year, you meet someone who explains that their business card isn't just a card; it's an augmented reality business card. You can see a collection and, at visualcard.me, you can even design your own, by adding a special marker to your card, which, once put in front of a webcam linked to the internet, will show not only your contact details but also a video or sound clip. Or pretty much anything you want.

It's not just business cards. London Fashion Week has tried them out too: little symbols that look like barcodes printed onto shirts, which, when viewed through a webcam, come to life. Benetton is using augmented reality for a campaign that kicked off last month, in which it is trying to find models from among the general population.

Augmented reality – AR, as it has quickly become known – has only recently become a phrase that trips easily off technologists' lips; yet we've been seeing versions of it for quite some time. The idea is straightforward enough: take a real-life scene, or (better) a video of a scene, and add some sort of explanatory data to it so that you can better understand what's going on, or who the people in the scene are, or how to get to where you want to go.

Sports coverage on TV has been doing it for years: slow-motion could be described as a form of augmented reality, since it gives you the chance to examine what happened in a situation more carefully. More recently cricket, tennis, rugby, football and golf have all started to overlay analytic information on top of standard-speed replays – would that ball have hit the stumps, the progress of a rally, the movement of the backs or wingers, the relative flights of shots – to tell you more about what's going on. Probably the most common use is in American football where the "first down" line – the distance the team has to cover to continue its offence – is superimposed on the picture for viewers.

But those required huge systems. AR took its first lumbering steps into the public arena eight years ago: all that you needed to do was strap on 10kg of computing power – laptop, camera, vision processor – and you could get an idea of what was feasible. The American Popular Science magazine wrote about the idea in 2002 – but the idea of being permanently connected to the internet hadn't quite jelled at that point.

"AR has been around for ages," says Andy Cameron, executive director of Fabrica, an interactive design studio which works with Benetton, "maybe going back as far as the 1970s and art installations that overlaid real spaces with something virtual." He mentions in particular the work of pioneering computer artist Myron Krueger.

What's changed in the past year is that AR has come within reach of all sorts of developers – and the technology powerful enough to make use of it is owned by millions of people, often in the palms of their hands.

The arrival of powerful smartphones and computers with built-in video capabilities means that you don't have to wait for the AR effects as you do with TV. They can simply be overlaid onto real life. Step forward Apple's iPhone, and phones using Google's Android operating system, both of which are capable of overlaying information on top of a picture or video.

Within the small world of AR, one of the best-known apps is that built by Layar, which – given a location, and using the iPhone 3GS's inbuilt compass to work out the direction you're pointing the phone – can give you a "radar map" of details such as Wikipedia information, Flickr photos, Google searches and YouTube videos superimposed onto a picture you've taken of the scene. For Americans, it will also pull in details from the government's economic Recovery Act – so that if you're on Wall Street and want to see how many billions went into which building, it will show you.

Or, more usefully, Yelp offers an augmented reality application that will show you ratings and reviews for a restaurant before you walk in – the sort of thing that could make restaurants quiver with delight, or shudder in horror.

Or maybe it wouldn't need to know where it is; only who it's looking at. A prototype application demonstrated at the Mobile World Congress in Barcelona in February took things a little further again. Point the phone at a person and if it can find their details, it will pull them off the web and attach details – their Twitter username, Facebook page and other facts – and stick them, rather weirdly, into the air around their head (viewed through your phone, of course). "It's taking social networking to the next level," says Dan Gärdenfors, head of user experience research at The Astonishing Tribe, a Swedish mobile software company.

And there are fabulously useful applications: at Columbia University, computer science professor Steve Feiner and PhD candidate Steve Henderson have created their Augmented Reality for Maintenance and Repair (Armar) project. It combines sensors, head-up displays, and instructions to tackle the military's maintenance needs: start working on a piece of kit, and the details about it pop up in front of you. Imagine if you could put on a pair of special goggles when you needed to investigate your car's engine, or a computer's innards, and the detail would pop up. That's the sort of idea that Armar is trying to implement, though for the military at first..

Yet it's fashion which seems to have leapt quickest into this technology. The T-shirt with AR in London Fashion Week was developed by Cassette Playa, a label that has been worn by Lily Allen, Rihanna and Kanye West. Carri Munden, who designed it with the Fashion Digital Studio at the London College of Fashion, described it as "mixing reality and fantasy". Adidas, too, has launched trainers with AR symbols in the tongues: hold them to a webcam and you are taken to interactive games on the Adidas site.

The process by which the strange symbols get translated into images is simple enough: the website takes the feed from your webcam (you have to explicitly allow it to do so, so there are no security worries) and analyses it for the particular set of symbols that the program is looking for. (Some easy calculations mean the symbols can be detected whichever way up you hold the item.) Videos and pictures are then sent back to you.

Andy Cameron says that the arrival of an open-source, hence free, AR tool kit has let companies build their own AR applications, using Flash – the pervasive animation and video technology used for many online ads and YouTube's videos – "which immediately meant you had huge penetration, because Flash is everywhere". (Something like 98% of all computers are reckoned to have Adobe's Flash Player installed.)

"If you build your AR application with Flash, then you can get it out to everybody in the world with a computer with a webcam," says Cameron.

Benetton is using AR in its latest campaign, called "It's My Time" which aims to get members of the public to put themselves forward as potential models, and uses AR to show more details about existing models. But its first most visible use of AR was last year in issue 76 of Benetton's Colors magazine, a quarterly fashion product. Dozens of pages have AR symbols: hold the page up to a webcam, and you see film and more photos of the person on the page. "The Colors editor and the creative director of Fabrica got very excited about it," says Cameron.

Cameron can see huge potential which could even revive the fortunes of print advertising. "Think of a commercial page, an advert, in a fashion magazine. It's pretty expensive. With this – and this is the way that the more hard-nosed people in Benetton saw the advantage – it means that you can get more products on the page." Print an AR code, get people to come to the site, and you can show them so much more, while measuring the return from your effort.

The technical cost is a tiny part of the overall effort. "The printing and photography cost [of the advert] is the same. And the development cost is pretty small."

And of course where advertisers go, the publications that house them are sure to go as well. Esquire magazine in the US and Wallpaper* in Europe have done "augmented reality" editions, with Robert Downey Jr coming to life on the cover of the former, and AR text providing videos and animation in the latter. But there are more possibilities for journalism using AR: for example if you "geotag" newspaper articles (so that you say that an item relates to a particular place) then someone visiting a site could learn about events relevant to the area via their smartphone.

Book publishers too are leaping in: Carlton Publishing will release an AR book in May, featuring dinosaurs that pop out of the pages when viewed, yes, through a webcam. Future releases include war, sport and arts titles which will also have extra AR elements.

Yet in media it's the advertisers who are most excited. The possibilities of geotagged, targeted adverts – which in effect hang in the air until someone comes along to find them with a smartphone – or of AR adverts which open up a whole new world of opportunities (and perhaps discounts or loyalty bonuses) when you follow them through – are yet another glimpse of the holy grail ofads that know exactly who and where you are.

Is there a risk that we'll all become AR'd out – that it will become boring as advert after advert invites us to hold it up to a webcam? "What's hot today is ancient history tomorrow," says Cameron. "There have been a lot of bad uses of this technology with a rush to use it. We have had the chance to reflect on what it means and how to use it. The key is that it should be an enhancement of the stuff on the printed page."

Even so we're still in the early stages, he argues. "It's very primitive – having to use a webcam, holding a magazine up to it. Obviously we're really interested in the opportunities with handheld devices. It's very frustrating that the iPhone doesn't allow access to the live video stream." (Nor does it run Flash, another problem for would-be AR designers.) "People in design are very annoyed with Steve Jobs," he observes. "We don't really understand why Apple won't allow that."

Given that access, he says, "you could hold your iPhone up to a billboard and get something amazing right there". What about the alternative, such as Google's Android-based Nexus phone? "It looks like you could do it on that," he says. But of course the iPhone is a target market. "Maybe Apple wants to keep that for itself," Cameron says. "Maybe they're lodging patents. Or maybe the processor on the iPhone isn't fast enough."

Yet there are some who think that AR has already had its brief time in the sun. At the Like Minds conference in Exeter at the beginning of March, Joanne Jacobs, a social media consultant, described an AR application that demanded you buy a T-shirt and then go and sit in front of your webcam – so you could play Rock, Paper, Scissors. By yourself.

"It's hopeless," Jacobs said.

Cameron admits to some uncertainty about AR's measurable impact. "I don't know if it sells more things, but it seems clearly a good thing if we can get people who may be customers to participate in the adverts." But, he adds: "If people start to play with the adverts in a way that exposes them to more products, that's got to help bring a commercial return."

• Augmented reality
• iPhone
• Social networking
• Advertising

Charles Arthurguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

Relish the last throes of winter with a simple, warming stew. The joy of these slow-motion casseroles is that they are fantastic value and the cook is almost redundant

Winter is turning into spring. All my favourite bits of winter are still here: waking up in a freezing bedroom; the sight of snowdrops at the dark end of the garden; the clear thinking that seems to go hand in hand with ice-white skies. But here and there are the occasional signs of the new season emerging, the odd shaft of sunshine on your back or a redcurrant leaf unfurling in the fruit patch.

Spring is a long way off in the kitchen, and winter food is still what I want on a daily basis. Thick stews and bean casseroles, sticky puddings, bottle-green cabbages and root vegetables all the sweeter for spending a little time subzero. Spring may be in the air, but for those who cook from locally grown ingredients there might as well still be snow on the ground.

All this means there is time to indulge in big food from deep, steaming pans. A chance to bask, for just a little longer, in the heart-warming glow that comes from cooking cheap ingredients slowly. The sort of food you need a ladle and a bowl for.

What I really like about this slow-motion cooking is the way so much of it comes into being with so little help from us. We may spend a little time putting these dishes together, but after that the food tends to get on with things for itself. The cook becomes virtually redundant. I'm talking about the sort of recipes for which only cheap cuts will work. Cuts with a bone. A ham hock or a lamb shank. A row of neck chops or a ring of oxtail. The bits of the animal that come with jelly and cartilage, fat and sinews to break down in the long slow cooking and enrich everything they touch.

This is sublime winter's afternoon cooking: a few onions softened slowly in bacon fat, dripping or butter then used to add sweetness to the bargain-basement cuts of meat and bone, a chorizo maybe or a Toulouse sausage heavy with garlic, pancetta in the piece or a lump of Polish sausage. Suppers that involve cheap meat made luxurious by slow cooking and a backbone of some sort of pulse or another – boiled black-eyed beans, butter beans, haricots or borlotti. Little more is needed in the way of shopping: a bunch of herbs including bay, thyme, a stick of celery, perhaps, then covered with water or some very light stock. It needs a peaceful skimming with a draining spoon to remove any froth, followed by a long, slow session in the oven.

Rhubarb aside, there is little to please the fruit lover at this point in the year (though there are truly amazing pineapples about), so I raided the pantry again this week for plump dried fruits. Figs will bake to a silky mouthful or sit calmly plumping up on the hob in water, apple juice or wine. This week I paired them with honey and redcurrant jelly, a sweet, shining sauce to be eaten as it is, or perked up with a mixture of orange-scented yogurt. Winter food with just the tiniest hint of spring.

LAMB SHANKS AND BLACK-EYED BEANS

I say black-eyed beans, but you could use haricot or chickpeas if that is what you have to hand.

Serves 4
500g black-eyed beans
2 bay leaves
a little olive oil
4 lamb shanks
3 medium onions
3 small sprigs of thyme
4 plump cloves of garlic
2 heaped tbsp plain flour
750ml stock or, at a push, water

For the crust:
150g fresh white breadcrumbs
a handful chopped parsley
a little olive oil

DIRECTIONS
Soak the beans in cold water overnight to plump them up. The next day, drain them and bring to the boil in deep water together with the bay leaves and a good glug of olive oil. Boil hard for 10 minutes, then reduce the heat so they simmer merrily till they are tender yet retain their shape and some bite – a matter of 30-35 minutes or so. Drain the beans in a colander and set aside.

Season the lamb shanks and lightly colour them in a little oil – 2 tbsp should do – in a heavy-based casserole. Once they are pale gold, remove them, but leave their cooking fat behind. Peel the onions, cut them in half and then cut each half into thick segments. Let these soften in the pan over a medium heat, adding a little more oil if there is less than a couple of spoonfuls of fat left. As the onions soften, add the thyme sprigs and the garlic, peeled and finely sliced. When all is soft and translucent, stir in the flour and leave to colour lightly for 2 or 3 minutes before gradually stirring in the stock to make a thick, oniony sauce. Set the oven at 180C/gas mark 4.

Tip the cooked, drained beans in with the onions, then tuck in the lamb and any juices from the plate, and season with salt and black pepper. Simmer for 30 minutes partially covered with a lid, stirring from time to time to check that the beans are not sticking. Add more stock if you feel it needs it.

To make the crust, mix the breadcrumbs and parsley with 3 or 4 tbsp of olive oil, then scatter over the top of the casserole. Transfer to the oven, covered loosely with foil, for 60 minutes or until the lamb is tender. Remove the foil and let the crust crisp up for 10-15 minutes or so.

FIGS WITH CRANBERRIES AND ORANGE

Serves 4
350g plump dried figs
100g dried cranberries or cherries
1 vanilla pod
2 tbsp honey
3 heaping tbsp redcurrant jelly

DIRECTIONS
Sit the dried figs, cores up, in a saucepan – there is no need to soak them first. Scatter over the cranberries or cherries and tuck in the vanilla pod. Pour over enough water to reach the neck of the figs, then spoon in the honey.

Bring to the boil, then immediately turn down the heat, partially cover with a lid (you don't want the liquid to boil away) and leave to simmer for 20 minutes or until the figs are full and soft.

Remove the fruit to a bowl or individual serving dishes. Turn up the heat and get the liquid boiling. Add the redcurrant jelly and continue boiling until the liquid has reduced to a few rich tablespoons – a matter of 5 minutes or so. Keep your eye on it.

Spoon the warm syrup over the figs and serve with the yogurt cream below.

For the yogurt cream:
100ml double cream
150ml strained yogurt
grated zest of a small orange

Whisk the cream till thick. Stir in the yogurt and orange zest

Email Nigel at nigel.slater@observer.co.uk or visit guardian.co.uk/profile/nigelslater for all his recipes in one place.

• Food & drink

Nigel Slaterguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

With a new collection of short stories to his name and two of his plays currently showing in New York, the notoriously private Pulitzer prize-winner discusses masculinity, his battle with drink and his 'tumultuous' relationship with Jessica Lange

Where do you even begin with Sam Shepard? With his Pulitzer prize? His Oscar nomination? The fact that he's routinely described as "America's greatest living playwright?" Or if you're going to be superficial about it – and I am, just for a moment – maybe the place to start is with the image of him as the tall, taciturn test pilot, Chuck Yeager, the cowboy-ish character he played in The Right Stuff; a man whose life was spent exploring the outer edge of what is and isn't possible.

But then I speak to Patti Smith on the phone and ask her what her impression was of Sam Shepard the first time she met him back in 1970 (shortly before they began an affair), and it's the first thing she says too: "He was just everything that one could want. He was – still is – a very handsome man. And he had this animal magnetism. It was almost visceral. He was so high energy and had a real glint in his eyes. He was born for rock'n'roll. I had no idea who he was when I met him. He was a drummer in a band, the Holy Modal Rounders, at the time and he just had something in him that made him a great, great performer. I just thought he was the future of rock'n'roll. I had no idea that actually he was this great writer too." If you had to invent an all-American literary hero, he'd be something like Sam Shepard. With his slow, western drawl, and his love of the open road and the empty badlands way out west, he's always seemed like the authentic voice of a certain sort of American manhood; telling stories – of suffocating families and wretched lovers – from the forgotten, inbetween places of the American outback. He wrote the screenplay for Paris, Texas, the great, atmospheric Wim Wenders film, and played another cowboy-ish character in Robert Altman's adaptation of Shepard's stage play Fool for Love, fixing an image in the public imagination of both him and a remote, fly-blown America a world away from the metropolises on either coast. But then Sam Shepard is that man. He comes to New York for work but his heart is with his horses back at the ranch in Kentucky that he shares with the actress Jessica Lange, his partner now for nearly 30 years.

All this, then, and a literary reputation that it's hard to overstate. According to Christopher Bigsby, professor of American literature at the University of East Anglia, who I consult on the matter, he's simply the most significant playwright of the past 50 years. His biography groans with accomplishments, he's written nearly 50 plays, acted in dozens of films, directed others, and written the screenplays for still more. And then there's the books about him, the academic treatises on his art, a Cambridge companion to his work, critical exegeses of his themes, analyses of his stagecraft... oh, the list goes on and on.

The one thing he isn't, though, is much of a talker. He doesn't often give interviews but when he does he's routinely described as "taciturn" and "private"; his answers are "curt" or "terse". He's "famously press-skittish". Worse, I read time and again of how he's "notoriously protective of his privacy" and won't answer personal questions. Which is a shame because there are so many personal questions I want to ask him. About his relationship with Jessica Lange, and his time with Patti Smith, and his three children, and being on the road with Bob Dylan. He's spoken extensively about his relationship with his alcoholic father before, but not about his own drinking: last year he was arrested for driving under the influence and ordered to attend an alcohol rehabilitation programme.

He'll talk about the work but there's nothing I read which gives much sense of him as a man. I can't help but feel a pang for the journalist who asked him if, one day, he might turn their conversation into dialogue in one of his plays. "We're not having a dialogue, this is question and answers," he says curtly. "Dialogue is like jazz. Dialogue is creative.'"

I am prepared for the worst, then, and when he ambles into the restaurant he's chosen near New York's Times Square, it seems this is probably just as well.

How long have we got, I ask, while fumbling with my tape recorder.

"Well," he says sitting down and ordering tea, "that all depends on the questions."

It's a heart-sinking moment and, as it turns out, a completely misleading one. Because it transpires that Sam Shepard isn't actually cold or taciturn or intimidating at all. Or at least the Sam Shepard I meet isn't, because it turns out that there seem to be several different Shepards co-existing side by side. At one point, he says of Jessica Lange that her greatest quality, or the one that struck him most acutely when he first met her, was her modesty. "I'd never met anybody like her," he says. "She was astounding. One of the great things about her, aside from her natural beauty, which was remarkable, was her humbleness."

But he has it too. He's dressed in country clothes – a checked shirt and a nondescript jacket – and, unlike most writers, he has an outdoors complexion; a lived-in face. But what's most noticeable is his sense of humour. It's a lovely, gentle thing; he pokes fun at me, at himself; and when I listen back to the tape, I realise something more shocking still: he doesn't just laugh, and on occasion guffaw, he actually giggles. Sam Shepard is a giggler.

The private, difficult Sam Shepard is nowhere to be seen. Or at least not for a good three hours of tea drinking and conversation that is remarkably relaxed. The restaurant, an unpretentious place he's chosen, is deserted when we arrive. It gradually fills with the pre-theatre dinner crowd, becomes loud and noisy, and has started  to empty again by the time I finally blow it and ask a question too far. Nice, easy Sam vanishes instantly, replaced in a second by cautious, wary Sam. "Oh, he's a very charming guy," Patti Smith tells me. "Very compassionate and thoughtful about other people's feelings. But he's not one for bullshit either."

But then I ought to know something of the idea of two Sam Shepards, existing side by side, because it's how he wrote himself in his most famous play, True West: as two warring brothers, Austin the Hollywood screenwriter, and Lee the desert drifter, two sides of the same Sam Shepard coin, intellect versus instinct locked in an eternal battle for supremacy.

Perhaps the most astonishing thing of all about Shepard's talent is the sheer range of it. He's risen to the top of his field in almost everything he's tried his hand at, but, despite all the diversions, the acting and the directing and the music playing, he is, at heart, a writer. Who simply can't stop writing. Not one but two of his plays are currently playing in New York – Ages of the Moon, a new work, and A Lie of the Mind, a modish revival directed by Ethan Hawke. On top of which, a new collection of short stories, Day Out of Days, has just been published. It's the kind of success that most writers would maim and kill for, although it's largely beside the point, says Shepard.

"The funny thing about having all this so-called success is that behind it is a certain horrible emptiness. All this stuff is happening. And yet it is not what you are after as a writer. Even though they are relatively successful. Ages of the Moon has sold out, the book is doing well, and yet it's not The Thing. And then you're left... there's this feeling... what is it, then? And, I guess, it's the writing itself which is important."

His sheer output is evidence of Shepard's drive to write. He burst on to the off-off-Broadway scene in 1964, writing in his off-duty hours from waiting tables in the Village, enthralling his audience with his exotic tales of the badlands way out west, puncturing the greatest American myths, and he hasn't stopped writing since. It's the process, I say, not the results, that makes you happy?

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Although happy isn't the exact word. It makes you feel that you're not useless. That you're at least putting your hand in. I think without writing I would feel completely useless."

These days he seems to have it all: as much professional success as he can handle, a long and steadfast relationship, three children, the ranch in Kentucky and bolt holes in New York and New Mexico. And, in some ways, he's the American dream personified: he was born Samuel Shepard Rogers in Fort Sheridan, Illinois, the son of a second world war bomber pilot. As a child he was "Steve Rogers" but after a short stint at college studying animal husbandry he lit off across America, finally landing in New York, where he emerged as "Sam Shepard". His life is the ultimate act of self-creation; he came from nowhere, was little-read and poorly educated, and he turned himself into one of America's leading literary lights.

"And yet still feel so unfulfilled?" he says, and ponders on it for a moment or two. But then anyone with even the slenderest acquaintance with Shepard's work knows that "the American dream" is to be treated with circumspection; in Shepard's universe it's a false concept to be blown wide apart and splattered across all surfaces.

"The great thing for me, now, is that writing has become more and more interesting. Not just as a craft but as a way into things that are not described. It's a thing of discovering. That's when writing is really working. You're on the trail of something and you don't quite know what it is."

He writes on a manual typewriter, and refuses to so much as look at the internet. "I have a cellphone but I have no Google, I have no gaggle."

Really? But everything you've ever wondered, ever, is out there, I say.

"No, no, no! The things that I wonder about most are not on the internet, I promise you that."

He's still, even after all these years, he says, an outsider. "I'm inhabiting a life I'm not supposed to be in... and at certain times in my life I have felt a wrongness. And not a moral wrongness but a sense that this isn't what I was born to be doing." The writers who he responds most to are those who seem to share a sense of "aloneness", and "writing is almost a response to that aloneness which can't be answered in any other way".

For Shepard, the heart of this, seemingly, and a recurring theme in his work, is bound up with the relationship he had with his alcoholic, abusive father. It's there in True West, Fool for Love, Curse of the Starving Class, Buried Child and A Lie of the Mind, and even now, at the age of 66, it troubles him still. In Fool for Love, written almost three decades ago, the main character is haunted by the chilling possibility that he is turning into his father. Back then it was a fear; now, he says, it has become a fact.

"You think about it, you talk about it, analyse it, and then all of a sudden you have become the thing that you were most vehement against. It's very Greek. They invented this shit. Or at least gave it a name."

He's been sober, he says, since the drink-driving incident a year ago. "And prior to that I was sober for four years and then I relapsed. It's a constant struggle. It's such a knucklehead disease because you refuse to see it. It wasn't until the 90s that I actually started going to AA and made a real compact with myself to quit. And I did quit for four years. And then I picked it up again. It's like being a junkie. I think I have that sort of thing in my blood, in my psyche. I can become addicted very easily, although the curious thing is that I have two sisters who are not. So I don't know. Maybe it's just a toss of the dice."

It's the sort of thing a Sam Shepard character might say. In the new book, Day Out of Days, characters wander through the pages, lost within their own lives (one of the most memorable features a man trapped in a public toilet who is literally driven mad when he's forced to listen to Shania Twain on an endless loop). They struggle for personal agency or a sense that they're in control of their own lives.

"And they never are," he says. "That's the one thing about being an author as opposed to being in one's life is that you have the illusion that you can bring some form to it. Which is the beautiful part of it. You don't feel that you are so much in chaos. I don't know what it would be like if I didn't have some form, short stories or plays or whatever."

He feels "blessed", he says, to have discovered writing. "It fulfils something in me that I don't know how I'd serve otherwise." His father was a bright man, the winner of a Fulbright scholarship, a fluent speaker of Spanish, but he never found that outlet. Or at least the outlet he found was drink. He struggled with the return to civilian life after the war, moving his family from airbase to airbase, training as a Spanish teacher, until he was sacked for drinking, and then moving the family to Duarte, California, where he attempted to farm, his drinking increasing year by year. "The alcohol just completely deranged him," says Shepard.

Roxanne, his younger sister, told People magazine back in the 80s: "There was always this kind of facing off between them [Shepard and his father], and it was Sam who got the bad end of that. Dad was a tricky character because he was a charismatic guy when he wanted to be. And at the other side he was like a snapping turtle. With him and Sam it was that male thing. You put two virile men in a room and they're going to test each other."

It's this quality, of a simmering, barely controlled violence that disrupts and distorts all of Shepard's families, that is at the heart of much of his best work. In Shepard's world, romantic love as the meeting of two souls and the family as the nurturing heart of American life are nothing but delusions. "They're wonderful retreats from the illusion of being protected from spinning off the planet. But I don't believe it. And I never did."

So you didn't celebrate Valentine's Day then?

"Oh yes. We just did. I bought her a couple of bottles of wine. I don't drink."

It's not the most romantic gift, I say.

"They were two really good bottles of wine. Really good ones. Oh, and a tape measure. Because she was putting up a painting."

Love in Shepard's universe is never straightforward, never wholly life-enhancing; it's life-destroying, too, a struggle for power or control; a curse as well as a blessing. He and Lange have survived but the relationship was "tumultuous" from the outset. "I mean, we have long periods of relative calm. But then you know..."

But you've always seemed like such an incredible match.

"Yeah, well, we're definitely an incredible match. But, you know, not without fireworks... although at this point, you know, she's the only woman I could live with. Who could live with me! What other woman would put up with me?"

She is, he says, the most honest person he's ever met. "I've never known her, ever, to lie about anything. And I couldn't say that about..."

Yourself?

"About myself. About anybody. Men lie all the time."

Really?

"You don't know that?" he says and raises his eyebrows. "Whereas Jessica has this absolute honesty. I think it's a direct quality of the midwest, of that background that she's from."

While the children were growing up, that's where they lived, in Jessica's hometown in Minnesota, down the road from her mother (and with Jessica's daughter from her relationship with Mikhail Baryshnikov, Shura). It's the equivalent, today, of Brad and Angelina deciding to settle in a suburb of Wisconsin. But then, although Shepard and Lange have both appeared in movies, and been nominated for Oscars – Shepard, one; Lange, six (and she's won two) – they've always refused to be movie stars.

There's a couple of great quotes from Jessica about you, I say.

"Is there? My God. What? Actually, no. Just give me the good ones."

She said: "No man I've ever met compares to Sam in terms of maleness."

"Well, that's a double-edged sword."

Really? I took it as a compliment.

"This morning she had a conversation with me about France, because she was in Paris in the 70s, about the gay scene in Paris, which she was very enchanted with. She was talking about a couple of incidents, and at the end of it I said: 'Well, that's very charming.' And so I think she now thinks I'm a homophobe because she said: 'Asshole!' and stormed out of the room. I thought, 'Oh my God, well obviously I'm not sophisticated enough to talk about the gay 70s in Paris.'"

He was married once before, to another actress, O-Lan Jones. She was 19 at the time, he was 26. Their son, Jesse, was born shortly after the wedding, and then Shepard met Patti Smith. The attraction was instantaneous, as was their affair, an intense, full-throttle romance, conducted mostly at the Chelsea Hotel. It was Shepard who encouraged Patti Smith to become a performer. "She already had this incantatory, lyrical, chanting way of talking, all she needed was a little shove. She was inhibited by not knowing guitar. I said: 'Guitar is just a back-up for your voice. You're not going to be Jeff Beck, don't worry about it. Just learn these chords and you'll be able to back yourself up.' And then it turned out she has this extraordinary voice too."

Reading about the Jones-Shepard-Smith triangle, it all seems very 60s somehow, an amicable bohemian ménage à trois. When I speak to Patti Smith, though, she puts me straight: "It was the early 70s. And it wasn't that amicable."

Shepard had decided to return to his wife and baby. "And it was painful," says Smith. "We knew it was going to end and we were in a room at the Chelsea Hotel. And instead of sitting around and moping, Sam said: 'Let's write a play.' And I said: 'I don't know how to write a play.' And he said: 'I'll be one character, and you can be the other.' And we just sat up all night, him writing a line and then pushing the typewriter across the table to me, and then I'd write a line."

The result was Cowboy Mouth, which opened at the American Place Theatre with Sam Shepard and Patti Smith playing themselves, in a double bill with Shepard's play Back Bog Beast Bait in which O-Lan played a character based on Patti. It was too much, and without warning, Shepard quit, and fled with O-Lan and Jesse to London.

There are so many of these ruptures in the story of your life, I say to Shepard. You're doing one thing and then suddenly you're doing something else.

"I know. I don't why it had to be so traumatic. It very definitely felt like these were earthquakes when they happened. They're terrible and yet on the other side of the coin they're ecstatic. Like when I met Jessie. It was terrible leaving my oldest boy at that time. He was 13, which is a really hard age. And, in one way, I can't forgive myself for that. And, in another way, I'm glad of the life that I've had with Jessie. What's the trade-off? It's always felt like that. The other thing that's kind of amazed me is that I've had absolutely no qualms about setting off into unknown territory. I've never been afraid to just start something new."

It was on the set of the film Frances that he met Lange. I tell him that one critic I read claimed that after meeting Jessica his depiction of male-female relationships became more complex and interesting. He says that you started writing meatier parts for women.

"Hmm. I guess that's true. Fool for Love came out of my relationship with Jessica and that's pretty powerful."

Fool for Love features a tumultuous relationship between two characters, Eddie and May, who both attract and repulse each other. And who, it turns out, are half-brother and sister.

I was looking at photographs of you and Jessica next to each other and I was struck by how similar you look, I say.

"We do, kinda."

Is the theme of incest in Fool for Love in some way borne out of that?

"I'm sure there's something about that. I'm sure when you're looking for someone, you're looking for some aspect of yourself, even if you don't know it... What we're searching for is what we lack. You lack something and your hope is that it'll be fulfilled by who you find."

His relationship with his father has had such a profound effect upon his life, his work, it's inevitable that he must have reflected upon his own effect upon his children, Jesse, 39, Hannah, 24, and Samuel Walker, 22.

He hesitates when he replies. "I would like to think... you can never determine how you are going to influence someone, particularly your children. I mean, they are all musicians in some way or another, so I feel as though... I think that's a result... And my daughter is also a really good writer. Really good."

The thing about your children compared to you, I say, is that they had a very stable...

"Stable?"

Oh, is that the wrong word?

"Well, relatively stable."

They haven't had the childhood that you had...

"They haven't had an abusive childhood. On the other hand, they have a different set of problems."

Having a father who is very successful..."

"And a mother," he says. "Yeah. There's a lot of stigmas. My youngest boy is very, very shy. He doesn't want anything to do with celebrity. And my daughter, she's not crazy about it. None of them covet fame."

He shies away from speaking about his sons but he seems happy enough to talk about Hannah, his daughter, currently studying for a PhD at the University of Galway.

"I never thought about having a daughter and then I had a daughter and it was a remarkable thing. It was very different from having a son and your response to it. With a son, it's much more complex. And it's probably because of my stuff in the past. With a daughter, I was surprised at how simple it is."

It's to her, he says, that he intends to leave his notebooks, "because she's the one who's asked for them."

He's obsessed with his notebooks, he says; they travel with him wherever he goes, "like gremlins". And he fishes his current one out of his coat and shows it to me. On the inside back cover he's written the places it's been to with him over the year – Sicily, Kentucky, New Mexico – and then he flicks through the pages and says, "Look at this! Look at these drawings." And he shows me some stick men, riding the sort of horses I drew aged eight. "You know, I was sitting in the University of Texas where they have the original manuscript of Watt by Mr Beckett and it was amazing because there were all these drawings on them, so I sat there one afternoon and copied them!"

It's almost as if Sam Shepard has spent his life circling around Samuel Beckett. It was discovering his plays as a young man that first inspired him to write, and Patti Smith says that in those days he never went anywhere without a copy of one or other of his plays on him. "Of course, now he's read everything. He's always discovering something new, whether it's Japanese death poetry or some new Venezuelan writer or whatever."

Not meeting Beckett is his greatest regret, he says. "My greatest literary regret."

Do you think you're starting to look like him, I say, tongue-in-cheek, although there's an element of truth to it; he's still recognisable from his cinematic glory days but his face is craggier now, crisscrossed with experience. He guffaws, enjoying the joke.

"No! It'd be flattering if I did but I think my features are a little bit more savage."

Themes of regret and remorse, of time passing and humans ageing have started to creep into his work. "I don't believe people who say, 'I have no regrets'. How can you not have regrets?"

Death, he says, changes all perspectives. When I ask him how old his father was when he died, he replies immediately. "A year older than I am. He was 67."

Does that weigh on you?

"I think about it. But it doesn't weigh on me because of the way in which he died." His father was run down by a car while drunk. "So I don't worry about it that way. I don't worry about the way I'm going to die...

But do you think about death?

"Yeah. There's not a day goes by. But that has always been the case. We're all haunted by it in one way or another. And it's the easiest thing in the world to push it away, you just get a cappuccino. But, yes, you're haunted by it in a different way [as you get older]. I feel its presence. I feel it in sleep, in dreams, in waking. Particularly in the morning."

Do you think about the things that you would lose?

"No. You feel that you're diminishing in some way. You feel that your senses are diminishing. I don't see as well. I'm not as quick as I used to be. Things like that. Knock on wood, I'm not sick. I don't how people deal with that... I mean life is tough enough. And now you're going to die! Wow!"

In Ages of the Moon his central character, Ames, has been unfaithful to his wife. "She discovers this note, this note from this girl, which to this day I cannot for the life of me remember," says Ames. "Some girl I would never in a million years have ever returned to for even a minor blow job."

"Minor?" asks his friend, Byron.

In his earliest plays, Patti Smith says, his characters had to act. "They had to do something, kick a door down or whatever. Now they tend to be more introspective. They're more likely to examine what they're doing and why."

And Shepard too. His life is in his plays, he's always said that. And so I ask him. About Ames's infidelities. About whether that's been a source of regret for him too.

"I'm not going to talk about that. You're not going to sucker me into that one! When did you think I was born?"

Oh dear. It's a classic interview mistake: the question too far. He's amicable enough, and we carry on for five or so more minutes, but I've got the other Sam. He looks the same but I can tell he's scanning the horizon for an escape route; it's Sam Shepard, the cowboy, the character in all his plays; the desert drifter, shifty, cautious, suspicious of strangers. The giggles are over. And then he's gone, with the briefest of handshakes and a rush to the door. It's not an entirely inappropriate ending. Shepard's world is a place of blundering people and blundered words; where plots are never neatly tied up and truths are only ever hinted at, never fully revealed, least of all to the characters themselves.

Day Out of Days is published by Knopf

• Sam Shepard
• Fiction
• Theatre

Carole Cadwalladrguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

France 12-10 England

France duly won the grand slam, but not in the manner to which their supporters had become accustomed. It was England, gallant in defeat, who showed the ambition and enterprise with Ben Foden and Chris Ashton damning the national management for not being bolder sooner, but once again they were outsmarted. A rainy night in Paris was not the time to discover that handling was not taboo in rugby.

England scored the only try and came close to adding three more while France barely threatened their line, but the conditions demanded a territory game, something England belatedly came to realise and they brought on Jonny Wilkinson for the shoot-out. He kicked one penalty but was never in range for a drop goal as France claimed their fourth consecutive title in seasons after a Lions tour.

France had already won the championship courtesy of Scotland's victory in Ireland a few hours before, but they had made it clear all week that the title would be a mere consolation and that it was the grand slam and England's scalp they craved.

They were presented with two early opportunities to attack after Dylan Hartley's crooked throw into a line-out in his own 22 led to France being awarded a free-kick at the subsequent scrum. They took it quickly but settled for the very English option of a drop goal from the fly-half François Trinh-Duc.

England then decided to play like France. Toby Flood launched his back line from deep and Mike Tindall freed Mark Cueto with a long pass. The ball was quickly recycled, Flood threw a cut-out pass to Flutey who gave the ball in one movement to the debutant, Chris Ashton. He in turn shipped it quickly to Ben Foden on the left wing who had an unopposed 30-metre run to the line for Flood to convert, an example of how to create space without making a break.

The last time England had shown any swagger was when Flood played in the centre against Wales, and then only off turnover ball. Not even the rain put them off last night, Ashton twice breaking tackles only for his kick to be charged down by Clément Poitrenaud before England surrendered possession at the breakdown.

England's catharsis left France stunned to the point of catatonia. Flood went on a mazy run just outside his own 22 and it was Les Bleus who were applying the brakes, Trinh-Duc's long touchfinder winning applause from the crowd before Morgan Parra missed a long-range penalty.

England were missing Steve Borthwick in the line-out, even if their general demeanour more resembled that of his successor as captain, Lewis Moody. Simon Shaw's right shoulder gave out again after 15 minutes and he was replaced by the Stade Français lock Tom Palmer, one of five France-based players in the squad.

England's scrum started to go backwards, missing Shaw's ballast, and the role reversal continued as France, growing ever more cautious, crept back into the lead with two Parra penalties, the second after England's's front row collapsed a scrum after being shoved ignominiously backwards. The referee taking such a disdainful view of England's scrummaging was Bryce Lawrence, the New Zealand official who contentiously blew Phil Vickery off King's Park during the first Test between the Lions and South Africa last year.

The rain fell ever harder but still England looked to keep the ball in hand. It was, perhaps, another example of the one-dimensional approach that has been their ruin since the 2003 World Cup, over-reliance on a gameplan. Too much of the match was being played in their half and two more penalties for scrum collapses gave France the position from which Parra kicked his third penalty.

Both England's props were feeling the squeeze and the hooker Hartley had been warned after his knee connected with the prop Thomas Domingo's ribs. It was one way of trying to sort out the problems in the scrum, but England conceded 10 penalties and free-kicks to two in the opening period, indiscipline undermining their new-found ambition and they went into the interval 12-7 down.

England made two changes in the front row at the start of the second-half, Steve Thompson and David Wilson adding bulk up front and getting the scrum out of reverse gear. England continued to seek space but they were most threatening when turning the defence by kicking: Care's chip to the line would have been taken by Foden had it not bounced into touch, while Ashton, a right-footer playing on the left wing while Cueto was a left-footer playing on the right, lost the race for his chip ahead with Poitrenaud.

England had clearly been told to play more in their own half, but kicking is not Flood's forte. He was hopelessly short with a long-range drop goal attempt and sliced a weighted kick towards the France 22 directly into touch. The visitors had at least stopped haemorrhaging penalties and their defence, apart from one move that saw the wing Marc Andreu threaten down the right, did not suffer from doubt.

Foden and Ashton, in contrast, were causing the defenders grief with their angles of running and footwork, but England were not turning pressure into points. Cueto's run into the midfield was not picked up and he had a clear run into the home 22: Flutey was outside him, but Cueto tried to step Poitrenaud and was nailed.

As the game entered the final quarter, France's nemesis over the years, Wilkinson, was brought on. He went to outside-half with Flood shifted into the centre in place of Flutey. It was now about points and when Julien Bonnaire boneheadedly took out Care at a ruck near halfway, Wilkinson brought England back to within two points with a 50-metre penalty.

England were now within a drop goal of winning. France had been 9-8 ahead in the last five minutes of the 2007 semi-final against England at the Stade de France when a Wilkinson penalty and drop goal turned the game. The crowd tried desperately to rally their side as Les Bleus looked to set up camp in England's half, but nerves and hands betrayed the new champions.

Wilkinson kicked deep, hurting his shoulder after leading the chase, and France four times ran from deep. Bonnaire blatantly entered one ruck from the side but was not penalised, though after Julien Malzieu had been hauled down on his own 10-metre line, James Haskell, not long on, flopped over the top.

France gave away a penalty of their own through Jean-Baptiste Poux. Wilkinson's kick only made the halfway line as the countdown clock reached zero. England were forced to move the ball, but Cueto's knock-on ended the game to the relief of France and the anger of the England manager, Martin Johnson, who came on to the field to remonstrate with the officials over a quick line-out four minutes from the end, which saw Wilkinson gain 60 metres, but that was not the reason England lost.

• Six Nations rugby
• France rugby union team
• England rugby union team
• Rugby union

Paul Reesguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

The conventional wisdom about Arsenal's title push is that they have the easy run-in. Compared to Chelsea and Manchester United it is apparently a piece of cake. A home game against the team above the relegation zone by virtue of goal difference was supposed to be one of the tastiest of the lot, but Arsène Wenger's team came oh-so-close to suffering a terrible dose of indigestion.

The game hinged on a critical incident a minute before half-time, when Thomas Vermaelen was shown a red card for tangling with Guillermo Franco. Not so easy all of a sudden. But the way Arsenal regrouped, resettled, and finished off West Ham showed they have the heart to take this adventure as far as they possibly can. Their title rivals may have games in hand, but Arsenal wake up this morning looking down on everyone.

The quest now moves to Birmingham. For different reasons recent games have all felt central to the plot of this unfolding drama, but St Andrew's is a challenge that feels particularly pivotal in terms of Premier League aspirations. Against the kind of direct opponents they have been known to find unsettling, they will travel without their first-choice centre-halves. As a prelude to Barcelona, its importance cannot be overlooked.

As much as it was natural for Arsenal to be thankful for the return of their captain and top scorer Cesc Fábregas, the reinstatement of Alex Song after a two-match suspension was equally reassuring. The Cameroonian anchor has been crucial, and has matured into an important safety net in front of a back line with a tendency towards fragility.

Alongside him Denílson was chosen ahead of Abou Diaby. This was surprising. A more creative player is the norm alongside Fábregas and Song in midfield, but Denílson was favoured ahead of Diaby and Tomas Rosicky. Was this an experiment with Barcelona in mind?

Arsène Wenger was firm that West Ham was the absolute priority, and the Denílson selection turned out to be an inspired one. The Brazilian provided his team with the gift of an early goal. He was alert to the opportunity to pickpocket Valon Behrami and skillfully smuggled the ball to Nicklas Bendtner. When it was returned to him, Denílson drilled a first-time shot into the bottom corner.

Denílson has elicited his fair share of moans from the crowd this season, especially during a period when he found the going tough in midwinter. But here he sparked. Maybe he had borrowed some of Bendtner's enormous supply of confidence (there is plenty to spare). This was his fourth league goal from 16 starts this season, and not for the first time it was an important goal, too.

He might have had another soon after. At the end of a tippy-tappy move, Denílson chested the ball down and volleyed goalwards. His flourishes were all the more valuable as Arsenal were not at their fluent best in the first half. Fábregas took an early kick on the foot and looked very unhappy with the perpetrator, Behrami, with whom he later had words. The Catalan was not running freely at all and strained to exert any great influence. Samir Nasri and Andrey Arshavin were a little flat, too.

West Ham had enough glimmers to suggest Arsenal would be foolish to take this at too much of a presumptuous stroll. Junior Stanislas broke down the right flank and whipped in an inviting cross which Mido couldn't reach, then Gaël Clichy and Sol Campbell made excellent interceptions as West Ham built towards goal.

In the last minute of the half, the pendulum swung viciously. Franco surged onto a high pass and Vermaelen missed the header, then in his desperation to retrieve the situation was clumsy as he tussled with the Mexican. Although contact was minimal, Franco tumbled inside the penalty area. The referee Martin Atkinson was so far behind the play he was closer to the centre circle than the penalty box, but trusted the instincts of his linesman. Not only did he point to the spot, he sent off Vermaelen. Wenger was infuriated, and waited at half-time to remonstrate with the officials.

In the meantime, Diamanti struck his kick well, but Manuel Almunia plunged to produce an inspired save. His record with penalties is one of his best features, and Arsenal were immensely grateful.

Interestingly, Wenger chose not to make a substitution and Song dropped back to fill in at centre-half. He had his work cut out as West Ham set about the second half with attack in their hearts. It was not long before Arsenal did make a change, with Diaby replacing Bendtner and Arshavin leading the line.

Arsenal hauled themselves back again to force the game up towards the edge of Rob Green's box. Emmanuel Eboué became increasingly influential, and his ability to win free-kicks kept up the pressure. Campbell ambled up for a corner but headed too close to the keeper.

Gianfranco Zola, so desperate for points, sent on the attacking power of Carlton Cole and experience of Benni McCarthy. With 12 minutes to go a sizzling left-footer from Cole shuddered against the base of Almunia's far post.

Back came Arsenal, and Matthew Upson handled in the box inexplicably as Fábregas bore into the danger zone. Another penalty. In the swirling rain, the captain steeped up to rifle in, Green diving the wrong way. "We are top of the league," sang the crowd giddily. It ain't easy, but it sure is scintillating.

THE FANS' PLAYER RATINGS AND VERDICT

LOUISE COWBURN, Observer reader I'm absolutely delighted. It felt so good when we were singing "We are top of the league" – even if it is only for half a day. It's been absolutely ages since we had that kind of atmosphere in the stadium and it showed how resilient we are as a team to play for half a game when we were down to 10 men. That totally dispelled the idea that we are all style above substance. We really ground it out. I didn't see if Vermaelen should have been sent off but from the crowd reaction it seemed harsh. But he walked off like a true gent with no complaining. After he went, Song was absolutely brilliant when he dropped back.

The fan's player ratings Almunia 8; Eboué 8, Campbell 8, Vermaelen 7, Clichy 7; Fábregas 8, Song 10, Denílson 8, Nasri 7 (Sagna 74 6); Bendtner 7 (Diaby 58 6), Arshavin 6 (Eduardo 84 6)

TIM & TOM CONLAN, Observer readers Two words: utter disgrace. I didn't like the selection – why Cole was on the bench was beyond me. It shows the negative attitude of the entire club at the moment. There is no ambition: when you're in a relegation fight you have to throw caution to the wind. Arsenal weren't that good, especially after they were down to 10 men. Our midfield battled but there were no proper balls, no quality round the box. Forget the penalty – even if we had scored I still think Arsenal would have come back to win 3-1. It wasn't even a penalty to begin with. They were down to 10 men and they were still the better side.

The fan's player ratings Green 7; Spector 5, Tomkins 7, Upson 6, Daprela 6; Diamanti 3, Kovac 4 (Noble 70 n/a), Behrami 5, Stanislas 7; Mido 3 (McCarthy 75 n/a), Franco 3 (Cole 57 5)

TO TAKE PART IN THE FANS' VERDICT, SPORT@OBSERVER.CO.UK

• Arsenal
• West Ham United
• Premier League

Amy Lawrenceguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

The alt-weekly newspaper war in San Fransisco - The titanic struggle between The Bay Guardian and SF Weekly (owned by Village Voice Media), as told by Eli Sanders of Seattle alt-weekly The Stranger.

Charlie Brooker has ruled himself out of a role in the rumoured reboot of video game show GamesMaster. Tech Digest spoke to the Guardian columnist and Newswipe presenter at last night's BAFTA Video Games Award ceremony, where he presented the...

Musicians, DJs and authors to reveal their favourite hangouts

Have your say on the Travel blog

HiFi, New York

HiFi is the best rock'n'roll bar in NYC.The room is covered with empty album sleeves and the juke box is hands-down the best in the city – I believe there are about 3,000 albums on it, so you can't complain about them not having your song. There is a fantastically affordable happy hour and a great local crowd. Like the rest of the East Village, it can get a bit much on weekend nights, but most of the time it's my favourite bar in town.
· 169 Avenue A, +1 212 420 8392.
Craig Finn, lead singer of the Hold Steady

Pegu Club, New York

The entrance to the Pegu is an unassuming doorway on the south side of West Houston Street. It's only when you are up the stairs that the glory of this place hits you. It is like going back to the great clubs of the 20s, when the staff were pretty and jazz and cocktails ruled. On a recent visit, two amazing Django Reinhardt-style guitarists were swinging through 30s classics. Cocktails are taken seriously here – the art of proper, classy drinking is almost a motto. At the weekend it can get pretty busy as it is becoming the "in" place.
· 77 West Houston Street, +1 212 473 7348.
James Pearson, artistic director, Ronnie Scott's, London

Po' Monkey's, Mississippi

It was a balmy night in September when I visited Po' Monkey's juke joint. It's a ramshackle hut powered by a single cable in the tiny town of Merigold, deep in the Mississippi delta. A poster on the door warned: "Bring your liquor inside but not your beer." The walls were cluttered with posters and age-old postcards, while toy monkeys swung from the rafters. It was low lit – smoky but inviting, with beer and whiskey flowing freely. Terry "Harmonica" Bean took to the tiny stage, elbow to elbow with the crowd, and delivered a mind-blowing, foot-stamping performance that will stay with me forever. Delicately soulful cries came from his ageing gruff voice, while stupendous bluegrass melodies oozed effortlessly from his antique steel guitar. This was raw blues at its authentic and spine-shivering best.
· +1 662 514 7488, 15km from Cleveland.
Dan Hipgrave, co-founder of Original Music Company (originalmusictravel.com), which launched this month and specialises in music-themed holidays

The Spirit Store, Ireland

The Spirit Store in Dundalk, County Louth, is on the edge of town beside a small harbour. There's a small, friendly bar downstairs which opens around 4pm, but it is the live music upstairs that is the main draw. You would be hard-pressed to find anywhere as welcoming to an artist and more genuinely music-driven in its programming of events. That's why I keep going back there to play, and why many other artists who have outgrown the 120- or so capacity venue keep returning. So many venues and promoters are about the money but Derek Turner, who books the music, is driven by something much more.
· +353 42 9352697.
Duke Special, musician. His DVD box set, The Stage, A Book & the Silver Screen is out now

The Hideout, London

Not exactly a venue, not exactly a bar, entrance to Trishas/The Hideout/that door on Greek St (as it is variously known), is obtained by boldly knocking on what appears to be the entrance to a flat above a shop, striding through a starkly lit corridor and down a flight of stairs, before mumbling an explanation to the owner as to why you don't appear to be in possession of a membership card – having accidentally put it through the washing machine normally does the trick. Inside, you'll find a cupboard-sized, candle-lit cavern which can be hired out for private music showcases. But stumble in unannounced after hours on a weekend and you might also find a doo wop or jazz band sandwiched into the corner between the usual crowd of transvestites, metropolitan hipsters and veteran Italian locals.
57 Greek Street, Soho, London.
Krissi Murison, editor, NME

The Shed North Yorkshire

I first played at this blink-and-you'll-miss-it shed in the tiny village of Brawby back in 1998. It only held 64 people and we scraped our legs on the front row's knees. It has since moved to Hovingham village hall, though it retains its name. The man behind The Shed, Simon Thackray, has presented events from the Fish and Chip Van Tour with a trombonist, to mixed media knitting installations – saxophonist Lol Coxhill playing free jazz in a skip to coach trips for folks in knitted Elvis wigs touring sites of Elvisian interest in Ryedale. My own band, Hank Wangford and the Lost Cowboys, started a tradition of Christmas gigs at The Shed, where we play morose songs and have a riotously miserable time. The Shed was the inspiration for my village hall tour around Britain, which I am currently writing up as a book. And, after 235 villages, The Shed is still the loony best.
· 01653 668494.
Hank Wangford, writer and musician. His CD, Whistling in the Dark, is out now

A38, Budapest

For me, the greatest gig of 2009 was at A38, a huge old ship that used to lug coal up and down the Danube. The lower deck is now a state-of-the-art live music venue, but bits of engine room equipment are still there. Even though the boat is held down in dry dock by 100 tonnes of concrete, the bottles still jingle on the shelves of the bar when the parties get wild. The booking policy is great – they've had cutting-edge electronic artists such as Ikonika, Dorian Concept and Foreign Beggars play recently. And nothing compares with the signature dish of the restaurant on the upper deck: rooster stew, complete with the crest and testicles of the bird.
· +36 1 464 39 40.
Mary Anne Hobbs, Radio 1 DJ. Her show is broadcast on Thursdays 2-4am

Wild At Heart, Berlin

Wild At Heart is a whisky-soaked, no-nonsense rock'n'roll joint in Berlin's old anarchist district, Kreuzberg: a seven-nights-a-week venue painted blood red, crammed with Elvis memorabilia, Hawaiian gods and a lifetime's supply of hard liquor. For 15 years it has presented bands from all over the world – mostly punk, rockabilly, psychobilly, 60s garage and surf. I spent a memorable evening there talking to TV Smith from the Adverts and another with Wreckless Eric, both of whom started out with punk label Stiff Records in 1977, and I've played there with my band, the Flaming Stars. The music's loud, but the welcome is friendly, and the club also runs the Tiki Heart cafe and clothes shop next door, where you can eat, drink and kit yourself out in a spectacular variety of rock'n'roll clobber.
· Wienerstrasse 20, +49 30 610 747 01.
Max Décharné, singer in the Flaming Stars and author of A Rocket in My Pocket: The Hipster's Guide to Rockabilly, to be published by Serpent's Tail in June

Mesa de Frades, Lisbon

Mesa de Frades in Alfama, the oldest district of Lisbon, is the sort of place you dream of hearing fado, the traditional soulful Portuguese music. A tiny converted chapel with tiled walls, it is full of locals and quality performers booked by owner Pedro Castro, a great guitar player. You can come for the music, which starts late – around 11pm – or book a table and come for an excellent dinner beforehand. A couple of years ago I sat here watching Carminho, the amazing young fado singer who is now the talk of Lisbon. When the music starts, the doors are shut to enclose the tiny performing space. It's what fado in Lisbon should be, but so rarely is.
· Rua dos Remedios 139A, +351 91 702 9436, mesadefrades.com. Booking is essential.
Simon Broughton, editor of Songlines magazine (songlines.co.uk/musictravel)

Il Folk Club, Turin

In the heart of Turin, off Piazza Statuto, you'll find the best of all worlds: from Wednesday to Saturday Il Folk Club plays host to Italian and international jazz, folk and world musicians. How this Italian institution – legendary in Turin for over 20 years – has remained generally unknown to travellers and music junkies outside Italy is a mystery. Alongside its regular programme, Il Folk Club is also the launching point for Radio Londra, a monthly mini-festival which fuses British musicians such as Jim Mullen, Kit Downes, Brandon Allen and Quentin Collins Quartet, with local stars such as Mario Pozza, Enzo Zirilli and Dado Moroni. The bar is simple – one central room with space for about 150 people, exposed brick walls, and a stage – so the focus is always on the incredible music.
Via Ettore Perrone 3, Turin.
Sam Sollai, buyer and events coordinator, Ray's Jazz at Foyles

Gerbard, Barcelona

This little neighbourhood bar used to have a green door with panes that rattled when you opened it, but it has now been replaced with something more solid, partly to keep the sound in. It's run by Mar and Nacho, both dyed-in-the-wool culés (Barcelona supporters), and nights there are long and loud. You can hear Sam Lardner, an American resident who plays his own fusion of flamenco and bossa nova, or wonderful classical and flamenco guitarists like Daniel Figueras and Pedro Javier Hermosilla, or the Covers Project, with frontman Philip Stanton. The eating and drinking are delicious too – Galician-style octopus, traditional meatballs, pimientos de padron (small green peppers), and wine for not much more than a euro a glass. A great night out in the Alta Zona.
· C/ Ivorra 24, Sarria, Barcelona, +93 203 4988.
Rupert Thomson, author living in Barcelona. His latest book, This Party's Got to Stop, will be published on 8 April

La Casona del Molino, Salta, Argentina

Salta, in north-west Argentina, is well-known for its folk music heritage. This has given rise to the creation of pena, which roughly translates as a place where musicians and music lovers come together. Seven nights a week you can experience this at La Casona. The venue's five colonial rooms are filled to the brim with musicians, professional and amateur, folk, jazz and others, locals who come down from the Andes bearing pan pipes and drums, and some foreign visitors, all coming together to jam the local tunes. As a musician, I found great comfort in the fact that this kind of place exists in the world. And of course, many people come simply for the music.
· La Casona del Molino, Caseros.
Lizzie Ball, violinist and singer. She will be performing – and launching her album – with Machaca at La Linea Festival in the Purcell Room on London's South Bank on 27 April

Salón Rosado de la Tropical, Havana

The first time I asked a taxi driver to take me to Havana's Salón Rosado de la Tropical back in 1989 he said it was a place for Cubans, not foreign tourists – and certainly not lone women – and I'd better watch out as it could be rough. He'd obviously never been inside this mecca of Cuban dance music, where all the top bands play regularly, testing their latest material in front of the sexiest dancers on the island. In Cuba, most music venues are geared to tourists and too expensive for ordinary Cubans, who are often not allowed in anyway. Not so the Salón Rosado. This is the closest you can get to hanging out with a Cuban clientele. Dedicated to the memory of Beny Moré, Cuba's touchstone band leader of the 1950s, it started out life a Spanish cultural centre at the beginning of the 20th century. These days there's a balcony reserved for tourists overlooking the dance floor where, if you're lucky, you may rub shoulders with the musicians as they gather for the gig. Although today reggaeton and hip-hop dominate street tastes, Salon Rosado continues to offer a window on to the latest music scene and is a dancer's dream.
· Avenida 41 esq. 46, Nicanor del Campo, Marianao, +53 7 203 5322.
Jan Fairley has been travelling to Cuba since 1978 and is writing a book on women and music in Cuba

Liquid Room, Tokyo

Leading Japanese venue Liquid Room has been going for about 15 years and hosts weekly bands and DJs from Japan and around the world. The website may say it closes at 12, but the last time I played there, as The Orb, they didn't let us out till 6am. There's a beautiful cafe upstairs and the friendly enthusiasm of Tokyo clubbers has to be experienced to be believed. The last time I played there I took a bag of Space Dust (the sweet!) which made me very popular.
· Higashi, Shibuya-ku, Tokyo, +81 3 5464 0800, liquidroom.net.
Alex Paterson, co-founder of The Orb and HFB, his new project. HFB's first three EPs are available from 12 April on Malicious Damage Records

New Africa Shrine, Lagos, Nigeria

Lagos is not your classic tourist destination; it's a prohibitively expensive city of 14 million people and a crime record to frighten even the toughest traveller. But Nigeria's notorious capital does have one musical landmark worth going the extra mile for: the New Africa Shrine. It's named after the legendary club run by the late musical activist Fela Kuti, which was razed by soldiers. Fela's daughter Yeni and her musician brother Femi have built up a nightclub that can hold thousands and has live music throughout the week. It's not for the faint-hearted, but the Shrine is probably the safest place in Lagos: it has its own police force. You'll get a warm welcome, and hear some of the best live music in the region.
· Pepple Street, Ikeja.
Rose Skelton, music and travel journalist specialising in West Africa

• Bars and clubs
• United States
• New York
• Ireland
• World music
• Budapest
• Hungary
• Berlin
• Germany
• Lisbon
• Portugal
• Yorkshire
• Argentina
• Havana
• Cuba

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It's one of the biggest events of the year for the UK gaming industry. And Olly Murs is here. Follow it live with Jack Arnott

8.25pm: There are thirteen categories tonight spanning all the genres of gaming, including an overall best game field which will doubtless draw the most attention. It's worth checking out Bafta's official website for more info, but here are the nominees for this main category:

Assassin's Creed 2
Batman: Arkham Asylum
Modern Warfare 2
Fifa 10
Left 4 Dead 2
Uncharted 2

I spoke to Ray Maguire, chair of the Academy video games commitee about how they were judging the categories tonight. Use of innovation was something he mentioned a few times as being an important criterion, and he also assured me that the industry expert judging panel had played each game through to the finish. My money's on Uncharted 2.

8.14pm: Tonight, the Park Lane Hilton sees the great and good from the UK gaming industry - and Shigeru 'God' Miyamoto - celebrate the past year in gaming.

I've been on the red carpet for about two hours where I've managed to briefly chat to a pretty random selection of vaguely video game-related celebrities. I'm now in a media suite eating complimentary peanuts and M&S sandwiches waiting for kick-off. It's basically exactly what I imagine the Oscars to be like. Tune in from 8.45 for live updates.

If you're lucky, I may even tell you what Edith Bowman's favourite game is.

• Game culture

Jack Arnottguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds