The likes of Kylie, the Spice Girls and Vanilla Ice are made to perform like K-pop stars, taking on challenges including eating snails. The logistics must have been nightmarish – shame the show is so vibeless

Megan Thee Stallion. Patti LaBelle. Kylie Minogue. Two-fifths of the Spice Girls. These are just a smattering of the multiplatinum sellers in the all-singing, all-dancing trailer for KPOPPED, which, honestly, looked epic. If I had been reviewing this new Lionel Richie-produced singing contest based on those 109 seconds alone – complete with roaring stage pyrotechnics and Megan performing a K-pop version of her smash hit Savage – it would have been an easy five stars.

Sadly, the series that follows isn’t quite as irresistible. Each of the eight episodes sticks tightly to the same format: an established Korean boy or girlband is split in two, with each half paired with a different “western” solo artist to reimagine one of the guest’s hits. They then perform said cover together, along with military-precision dance moves. At the end of each episode, a studio audience decides which song was “kpopped” the most effectively (exact metrics aren’t provided, but it essentially boils down to “which is the most up-tempo, and maybe a little menacing to boot”). Where bands like Boyz II Men are involved, the show forgoes having two guest artists, and each group just performs twice (once with each half of the Korean outfit), effectively competing against itself. I know, I know, it doesn’t make sense. Take that up with Apple.

After my grandfather died, I claimed his heavy, silk-lined overcoat and wore it with Doc Martens. I sat on it in parks, slept under it on people’s sofas. Then, one day, it disappeared ...

I was 15 when Grandpa died. He was 69, too young, but on the plus side he was doing what he most loved – digging on an archaeological site. We weren’t close in the way I was with Granny; he could be quite scary. But we got along fine and I liked him. Mum said I could help myself from his wardrobe.

I had only known him dressed for retirement, in blue workers’ overalls for archaeological digging, or baggy beige shorts for caravanning holidays. But it seemed he had been quite dapper back in the day. I helped myself to collarless shirts and a couple of suits (the best was a silvery-grey mohair one that wouldn’t have looked out of place in Paul Weller’s wardrobe). And this overcoat.

Divorce is not an end but a beginning, says Rafia Afi, who gets women together to change ideas about toxic marriages

On the bus making its way through Kerala to the misty hills of Vagamon, a group of 15 women, many wearing hijabs and dupattas, with colourful shirts pulled over jeans, hum a melodious tune, clapping and swaying in rhythm.

Once off the bus, the women start their hike through the lush tea plantations. Reaching a peak, they stop to face out over the vast valley, link hands and sing a hopeful song about newfound freedom.

Our colleagues deliver educational and cultural programmes in some of the world’s most dangerous places. And they don’t give up when things get tough

• Scott McDonald is chief executive of the British Council

On Wednesday night, our office in Kyiv was damaged in a Russian missile attack. It was a stark reminder of the risks that an organisation such as ours faces in conflict-affected areas. I was relieved to hear that all colleagues were safe and accounted for. One colleague was injured and admitted to hospital but thankfully he is in a stable condition.

Working under such conditions around the world is challenging, and yet, time and again, our colleagues and partners demonstrate courage and commitment in carrying on despite the dangers. Their resilience is extraordinary. We are working to find ways to minimise disruption and continuing to support our team there.

Scott McDonald is chief executive of the British Council

The former 007 and current star of The Thursday Murder Club revisits his old haunts in London’s Camden Town and Primrose Hill. Can he get past the security guard at the Roundhouse, where he once walked a tipsy Tennessee Williams to his car?

It is a weekday morning and I am standing beside Pierce Brosnan on a deserted backstreet, watching a woman in a hairnet and white wellies hosing down the entrance to a fishmarket. The former James Bond is in full flow. “You know the scene in MobLand where I’ve got my foot on that guy’s throat and Tom Hardy is shooting the shit out of everyone?” He is talking in his rich, buttery burr about the recent series in which he and Helen Mirren play the heads of an Irish crime family. “We shot that right here!” He waves at the woman, who silences her hose temporarily. “Hi, hello,” he calls out. “I shot a television show here called MobLand.” She smiles back at him. “Yes,” she replies sweetly, as though indulging a confused uncle. “No idea, has she?” he chuckles. The hose springs back to life with a hiss.

Brosnan, 72, was raised in Navan, County Meath but is now generally to be found at one of his homes in Hawaii or Malibu, and is in London for the release of The Thursday Murder Club, the film adaptation of Richard Osman’s cosy crime bestseller. Brosnan teams up with Mirren, Ben Kingsley and Celia Imrie as retirement-home sleuths whose weekly divertissement solving historical cold cases turns serious when fresh corpses start popping up. Today, he has agreed to a one-off meeting of the Wednesday Nostalgia Club, strolling around the area of north London where he cut his teeth and earned his stripes. “Down the lane of memory,” he says cheerily.

My condition has a name – visual snow syndrome – and it could be with me for the rest of my life

It was in February of this year that I first noticed something wasn’t right. I was coming to the end of my maternity leave with my second child, and had recently retrained from being a wedding cake-maker to a food stylist, something I loved. As well as looking after two kids with my husband, Chris, I was picking up lots of work. I was probably juggling too much, but life was exciting.

That week, I’d just finished a big job and was exhausted. I began to notice flashing lights in my vision. I assumed it was a migraine from overworking – I used to get them as a teenager – and didn’t think too much of it.