Analysts say Putin and Xi will aim to align positions during Russian leader’s unusually long stay

Vladimir Putin will travel to China this weekend for what the Kremlin has called a “truly unprecedented” visit to his most important ally, which comes at a crunch moment in talks over Ukraine.

During the trip, which is expected to stretch to close to a week – unusually long for the Russian leader – he will attend the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation summit, hold talks with Xi Jinping, and take in Beijing’s Victory Day military parade marking 80 years since Japan’s defeat in the second world war, where Putin is due to be the star guest alongside North Korea’s Kim Jong-un and leaders of Iran and Cuba.

Organiser of petition says French president ignoring expert advice that artefact too fragile to be transported to UK

The Bayeux tapestry is so fragile that transporting it risks irreparable damage, French experts have said, as a petition urging Emmanuel Macron to reverse a “catastrophic” decision to loan the unique embroidery to Britain passed 60,000 signatures.

France’s president declared in July that the nearly 1,000-year-old, 70-metre-long wool-on-linen artwork, which depicts William the Conqueror’s victory over King Harold II of England at Hastings in 1066, would cross the Channel next year.

As a kid, I wore this jacket to meet Bertie Bassett – and it still reminds me of being carefree at two or three, before the awkwardness of my preteen years

I’m not saying I peaked at two, but I certainly gave myself an uphill struggle. This jacket was from M&S, or St Michael to be precise. Bomber-style, it was white cotton with red, blue and yellow stripes. It was jolly and innocent in the way of a deckchair, and I appear to have worn it a lot in 1986 and 1987, with mustard dungarees, or shorts and T-shirts in clashing prints. On my feet, I am often pictured wearing scuffed white trainers or a pair of T-bar shoes that are still stashed away in an attic in Sheffield. They were my first proper pair of shoes and, as I would tell anyone who would listen, they were burgundy, not red.

I was too young then to be able to remember anything concrete from this period, and what I can recall is filtered through grainy family photo albums: vast, northern French skies and wide sandy beaches, jellies (the shoes) and Calippos. My dad’s BMW, the smell of his cigar smoke clinging to the leather seats and the packet of Soft Mints that was always in the glovebox. Crazy golf and grownups’ parties where women in mists of perfume laughed raucously about things I couldn’t understand.

One was a happily married and internationally famous writer, the other a cool, funny hairdresser and ex-drug addict. Then a shock diagnosis pitched them into an intense love affair ...

Sometime in the summer of 2017 I wrote in my journal, “Jesus fucking Christ, please save me.” I was trapped in hell, and I could see no way out. Our beautiful, sunny, two-bedroom penthouse apartment in the East Village – which I had rented for Rayya to make her happy in the last months of her life – had become a dungeon of misery, danger, degradation, drugs. Rayya kept the shades drawn at all hours of the day, not only because the light hurt her eyes but also because she had become intensely paranoid that she was being watched by the police, and that they were coming for her.

And, to be honest, the police might very well have come for her (for both of us, actually), because our apartment now contained thousands and thousands of dollars’ worth of cocaine – some of which Rayya was cooking down and shooting into whatever veins she could find upon her beaten-down, disease-ridden body, some of which she was freebasing, some of which she was snorting up her now constantly bloodied nose. But most of the coke, as of this moment, she had chopped up and laid out in thick rails on the coffee table, next to an overflowing ashtray, a bottle of whiskey, several bottles of morphine and trazodone and Xanax, a stack of fentanyl patches and a cluster of empty beer bottles. And these heaping lines of cocaine she counted, weighed and studied all day long.