Out this weekend: Ariana Grande and Justin Bieber's new duet, Michelle Obama's documentary on Netflix and the season finale of "Saturday Night Live."

The star will read the entire Tolkien book from start to finish with no breaks.

The actor will read the whole book from start to finish to raise money.

His fundraising target has now been increased to £250,000.

The actor on walking the red carpet while having an allergic reaction, her controversial Calvin Klein campaign and dressing like Michael Jackson

I’m not known for wearing outfits that are as completely covered up as this. Often, you are uncomfortable on the red carpet, worried that something is going to pop out, unzip or break. There was something about this look that felt like protection and armour to me. I wore it to the 2018 CFDA fashion awards and I loved how extreme it felt: chic and strong, slightly androgynous but with a femininity to it. It came together nicely with no stress – until I was in the car, when I realised I was having some kind of allergic reaction to my makeup! One of my eyes swelled up right before I was stepping out on to the red carpet. I panicked and put on my reading glasses to camouflage the fact that one eye was almost completely shut!

As a teenager, my relationship with apparel was fraught because I never cultivated my own style. My mom and I bought everything from thrift shops – I would wear the same jeans all year and then cut them into shorts – but every time I would go on a set I would be decked out in designer clothes. There was a disconnect: clothes were just something belonging to other people that I would embody, and then shed.

Many people will get coronavirus at some point during this pandemic and in the majority of cases will be able to manage the illness themselves. Emma Hammett, a nurse and founder of First Aid for Life, offers some advice on how to look after people who have mild or moderate symptoms at home.

If you're looking after loved ones whose  symptoms are severe or getting worse, you should seek medical help immediately – particularly if they are in a vulnerable group

• Find all our coronavirus coverage here
• Coronavirus symptoms: what are they, and should I see a doctor?
  

Ontario health officials reported 346 new cases of COVID-19 on Saturday morning, the lowest number of new cases since April 6.

Jeremy Corbyn's allies have been accused of using a report to "smear whistleblowers" and "discredit allegations" of anti-Semitism in the Labour Party during his tenure.

Coronavirus: the symptoms Read our LIVE updates on the coronavirus here

Some 138 prison staff have also contracted the virus in 49 prisons as well as seven prisoner escort and custody services staff.

Justin Bieber and Ariana Grande’s new video for “Stuck With U” features a variety of celebs and their significant others – and also confirms a few rumoured relationships.

I’m no stranger to forced isolation. For the better part of my 20s, I served as a nuclear submarine officer running secret missions for the United States Navy. I deployed across the vast Pacific Ocean with a hundred other sailors on the USS Connecticut, a Seawolf-class ship engineered in the bygone Cold War era to be one of the fastest, quietest, and deepest-diving submersibles ever constructed. The advanced reactor was loaded with decades of enriched uranium fuel that made steam for propulsion and electrical power so we could disappear under the waves indefinitely without returning to port. My longest stint was for two months, when I traveled under the polar ice cap to the North Pole with a team of scientists studying the Arctic environment and testing high frequency sonar and acoustic communications for under-ice operations. During deployments, critical-life events occur without you: holidays with loved ones, the birth of a child, or in my case, the New York Giants 2011-2012 playoff run to beat Tom Brady’s Patriots in the Super Bowl for the second time. On the bright side, being cut off from the outside world was a great first job for an introvert.

It’s been a month since COVID-19 involuntarily drafted me into another period of isolation far away from home. I’m in Turkey, where a two-week trip with my partner to meet her family has been extended indefinitely. There were no reported cases here and only a few in California in early March when we left San Francisco, where I run a business design studio. I had a lot of anticipation about Turkey because I’d never been here. Now I’m sheltering in a coastal town outside of Izmir with my partner, her parents, their seven cats, and a new puppy.

Shuttered in a house on foreign soil where I don’t speak the language, I have found myself snapping back into submarine deployment mode. Each day I dutifully monitor online dashboards of data and report the status of the spread at the breakfast table to no one in particular. I stay in touch with friends and family all over the world who tell me they’re going stir crazy and their homes are getting claustrophobic. But if there is one thing my experience as a submarine officer taught me, it’s that you get comfortable being uncomfortable.

My training began with psychological testing, although it may not be what you think. Evaluating mental readiness for underwater isolation isn’t conducted in a laboratory by clipboard-toting, spectacled scientists. The process to select officers was created by Admiral Hyman Rickover—the engineering visionary and noted madman who put the first nuclear reactor in a submarine—to assess both technical acumen and composure under stress. For three decades as the director of the Navy’s nuclear propulsion program, Rickover tediously interviewed every officer, and the recruiting folklore is a true HR nightmare: locking candidates in closets for hours, asking obtuse questions such as “Do something to make me mad,” and sawing down chair legs to literally keep one off balance.

Rickover retired from the Navy as its longest-serving officer and his successors carried on the tradition of screening each officer candidate, but with a slightly more dignified approach. Rickover’s ghost, though, seemed to preside over my interview process when I applied to be a submariner as a junior at the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland. I was warned by other midshipmen that I would fail on the spot if I initiated a handshake. So, dressed in my formal navy blue uniform and doing my best to avoid tripping into accidental human contact, I rigidly marched into the Admiral’s office, staring straight ahead while barking my resume. When I took a seat on the unaltered and perfectly level chair in front of his desk, the Admiral asked me bluntly why I took so many philosophy classes and if I thought I could handle the technical rigors of nuclear power school. My response was a rote quip from John Paul Jones’ “Qualifications of a Naval Officer.” “Admiral, an officer should be a gentleman of liberal education, refined manners, punctilious courtesy, and the nicest sense of personal honor.” My future boss looked at me, shook his head like he thought I’d be a handful, and told me I got the job.

Confinement opened something up in my psyche and I gave myself permission to let go of my anxieties.

Nuclear power training is an academic kick in the face every day for over a year. The curriculum is highly technical and the pedagogy resembles a cyborg assembly-line without even a hint of the Socratic method. Our grades were conspicuously posted on the classroom wall and a line was drawn between those who passed and those who failed. I was below the line enough to earn the distinguished dishonor of 25 additional study hours each week, which meant I was at school at 5 a.m. and every weekend. This is how the Nuclear Navy builds the appropriate level of knowledge and right temperament to deal with shipboard reactor operations.

I finally sat down for a formal psychological evaluation a few months before my first deployment. I was ushered into a room no bigger than a broom closet and instructed to click through a computer-based questionnaire with multiple-choice questions about my emotions. I never did  learn the results, so I assume my responses didn’t raise too many red flags.

During my first year onboard, I spent all my waking hours either supervising reactor operations or learning the intricacies of every inch of the 350-foot tube and the science behind how it all worked. The electrolysis machine that split water molecules to generate oxygen was almost always out of commission, so instead we burned chlorate candles that produced breathable air. Seawater was distilled each day for drinking and shower water. Our satellite communications link had less bandwidth than my dial-up modem in the 1990s and we were permitted to send text-only emails to friends and family at certain times and in certain locations so as not to risk being detected. I took tests every month to demonstrate proficiency in nuclear engineering, navigation, and the battle capabilities of the ship. When I earned my submarine warfare qualification, the Captain pinned the gold dolphins insignia on my uniform and gave me the proverbial keys to the $4 billion warship. At that point, I was responsible for coordinating missions and navigating the ship as the Officer of the Deck.

Modern submarines are hydrodynamically shaped to have the most efficient laminar flow underwater, so that’s where we operated 99 percent of the time. The rare exception to being submerged is when we’d go in and out of port. The most unfortunate times were long transits tossing about in heavy swells, which made for a particularly nauseated cruise. To this day, conjuring the memory of some such sails causes a reflux flashback. A submariner’s true comfort zone is beneath the waves so as soon as we broke ties with the pier we navigated toward water that was deep enough for us to dive.

It’s unnatural to stuff humans, torpedoes, and a nuclear reactor into a steel boat that’s intentionally meant to sink. This engineering marvel ranks among the most complex, and before we’d proceed below and subject the ship and its inhabitants to extreme sea pressures, the officers would visually inspect thousands of valves to verify the proper lineup of systems that would propel us to the surface if we started flooding uncontrollably and sinking—a no-mistakes procedure called rigging for dive. Once we’d slip beneath the waves, the entire crew would walk around to check for leaks before we’d settle into a rotation of standing watch, practicing our casualty drills, engineering training, eating, showering (sometimes), and sleeping (rarely). The full cycle was 18 hours, which meant the timing of our circadian cycles were constantly changing. Regardless of the amount of government-issued Folger’s coffee I’d pour down my throat, I’d pass out upon immediate contact with my rack (the colloquialism for a submarine bunk in which your modicum of privacy was symbolized by a cloth curtain).

As an officer, I lived luxuriously with only two other grown men in a stateroom no bigger than a walk-in closet. Most of the crew slept stacked like lumber in an 18-person bunk room and they all took turns in the rack. This alternative lifestyle is known as hot-racking, because of the sensation you get when you crawl into bedding that’s been recently occupied. The bunk rooms are sanctuaries where silence is observed with monastic intensity. Slamming the door or setting an alarm clock was a cardinal sin so wakeups were conducted by a junior sailor who gently coaxed you awake when it was time to stand watch. Lieutenant Weiner, it’s time to wake up. You’ve got the midnight watch, sir. Words that haunt my dreams.

The electrolysis machine was out of commission, so we burned chlorate candles that produced breathable air.

I maintained some semblance of sanity and physical fitness by sneaking a workout on a rowing erg in the engine room or a stationary bike squeezed between electronics cabinets. The rhythmic beating of footsteps on a treadmill was a noise offender—the sound could be detected on sonar from miles away—so we shut it off unless we were in friendly waters where we weren’t concerned with counter-detection.

Like a heavily watered-down version of a Buddhist monk taking solitary retreat in a cave, my extended submarine confinements opened something up in my psyche and I gave myself permission to let go of my anxieties. Transiting underneath a vast ocean in a vessel with a few inches of steel preventing us from drowning helps put things into perspective. Now that I’m out of the Navy, I have more appreciation for the freedoms of personal choice, a fresh piece of fruit, and 24 hours in a day. My only regrets are not keeping a journal or having the wherewithal to discover the practice of meditation under the sea.

Today, I’m learning Turkish so I can understand more about what’s happening around me. I’m doing Kundalini yoga (a moving meditation that focuses on breathwork) and running on the treadmill (since I’m no longer concerned about my footsteps being detected on sonar). On my submarine, I looked at photos to stay connected to the world I left behind, knowing that I’d return soon enough. Now our friend who is isolating in our apartment in San Francisco sends us pictures of our cat and gives us reports about how the neighborhood has changed.

It’s hard to imagine that we’ll resume our lifestyles exactly as they were. But the submariner in me is optimistic that we have it in us to adapt to whatever conditions are waiting for us when it’s safe to ascend from the depths and return to the surface.

Steve Weiner is the founder of Very Scarce, a business design studio. He used to lead portfolio companies at Expa and drive nuclear submarines in the U.S. Navy. He has an MBA from The Wharton School and a BS from the U.S. Naval Academy. Instagram: @steve Twitter: @weenpeace

Lead image: Mike H. / Shutterstock

The French are facing social disparities in the face of the coronavirus pandemic. With long bread lines and tensions with police, the Paris suburbs are faring poorly under the lockdown.

Arizona's Republican Gov. Doug Ducey's administration disbanded a panel of university scientists who had warned that reopening the state now would be dangerous.

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The Ontario government paved the way Friday, easing restrictions on pro sports teams by allowing them to open their training facilities providing they follow their league's "established health and safety protocols" in response to COVID-19.

"Our best-case scenario for this year is a drastically truncated season," Randy Ambrosie said. "And our most likely scenario is no season at all.''

Researchers say swearing might actually be good for you. #%$@ yeah!

The province is reporting 346 new cases of COVID-19 Saturday, bringing the total number of confirmed cases to 19,944. There were 59 more deaths reported, for a total of 1,599. Of those, 775 involved residents in the troubled long-term care system. There are now 237 outbreaks in the province’s care facilities, increase of three. After […]

Justin Bieber and Ariana Grande team up

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(Orchid Classics)
Natalya Romaniw (soprano), Lada Valešová (piano)
The on-the-rise soprano excels in this deeply personal Russian-Czech recital

Born in Swansea of Ukrainian descent, the outstanding young soprano Natalya Romaniw was singing – stunningly – the title role of Puccini’s Madam Butterfly at English National Opera when Covid-19 restrictions forced the abrupt termination of the run. She should also have performed the title role of Dvořák’s water nymph, Rusalka, at Garsington Opera this summer, where she made an impact in Tchaikovsky’s Eugene Onegin in 2016 and Smetana’s The Bartered Bride last summer. Disappointing for her at this turning point of her career, and for her growing number of fans.

Romaniw’s new album, Arion: Voyage of a Slavic Soul – dedicated to the memory of her Ukrainian grandfather, “my great musical inspiration”, explores repertoire by the Russians Tchaikovsky, Rimsky-Korsakov and Rachmaninov, and the Czechs Dvořák, Janáček and Novák. The pianist Lada Valešová captures the varied colours of the piano writing expertly, an equal and supportive partner. These 28 songs, especially the folk-rich examples by Janáček and Novák, suit Romaniw’s generous, big-toned voice, its timbre flecked and speckled with character and emotion. The eight songs by Dvořák grouped as Love Songs, Op 83, melancholy and lyrical, make us even more impatient to hear her Rusalka when the time comes.

US indie rock maverick Will Toledo is back with an experimental album that finds him collaborating with his own electronic side project

You cannot accuse Car Seat Headrest, AKA Will Toledo, of taking the easy route. Four years on from the release of breakthrough record Teens of Denial, Toledo is back with new album Making a Door Less Open, only now he is going under the name Trait and is wearing a gas mask in photos. Toledo’s restless and impassioned indie rock is looking a little different, too. The new album blends his classic songwriting chops with a bold exploration of electronic textures. This is the result of essentially making the album twice: once as Car Seat Headrest, and again alongside producer Andrew Katz as their jokey EDM side project 1 Trait Danger, before landing on a middle ground.

Related: The Guide: Staying In – sign up for our home entertainment tips

From skateboarding to Sunderland, here are the documentaries you suggested to get through live sport’s long shutdown

We recently recommended 12 sports films to watch during lockdown, and asked readers for their favourite documentaries. Here are some of your selections:

Available on Curzon Home Cinema (UK) and Prime Video (US); watch trailer here

Available on Netflix or to rent from YouTube/Google Play/Prime Video

Related: Missing live sport during lockdown? Here are 12 sporting films to watch

Available on Prime Video (free in UK)

Available to buy via Curzon (UK) and Beamafilms; watch the trailer here

Available to rent on Apple/Google Play/YouTube; watch the trailer here

Available via Starz on Prime Video (US) and on DVD; watch trailer here

Available on DVD and online; watch trailer here

Available on ESPN Player; watch the trailer here

Available on Prime Video (UK) and to rent on YouTube. Watch trailer here

Related: The Simpsons: Springfield's greatest sporting moments – quiz

• Rickie Fowler and Matthew Wolff the opposition at Seminole
• Broadcast to be screened live in UK and United States

Rory McIlroy, Dustin Johnson, Rickie Fowler and Matthew Wolff are to take part in an event to raise money for coronavirus charities. The foursome will play in the TaylorMade Driving Relief – a two-team skins challenge over 18 holes – at Seminole in Florida on 17 May.

McIlroy, the world No 1, will team up with Johnson against Fowler and Wolff, with up to $3m (£2.38m) going to the American Nurses Foundation and CDC Foundation. All four will follow strict physical-distancing measures and comprehensive testing will be used to protect players, TV staff and others at the course.

Related: Golf must be force for good when it makes long-awaited return | Ewan Murray

Queen guitarist says ‘I won’t be able to walk for a while’ after injury during lockdown and lambasts Boris Johnson over coronavirus

Brian May has complained of “relentless pain” after he was taken to hospital following a gardening injury that tore muscles in his buttocks – and, while in recovery, made a sustained attack on Boris Johnson’s preparedness for coronavirus.

Writing on Instagram, the Queen guitarist said: “I managed to rip my gluteus maximus to shreds in a moment of overenthusiastic gardening. So suddenly I find myself in a hospital getting scanned to find out exactly how much I’ve actually damaged myself. Turns out I did a thorough job – this is a couple of days ago – and I won’t be able to walk for a while … or sleep, without a lot of assistance, because the pain is relentless.”

The comic essayist on crying over Olive Kitteridge, his love for Richard Yates and the books that make him laugh

The book I am currently reading
Hidden Valley Road. It’s a nonfiction book about a family with 12 children, half of whom turn out to be schizophrenic. In the opening pages the mother sews a live bird’s eyes shut. And she’s one of the few who isn’t mentally ill!

The book that changed my life
Kurt Vonnegut’s Breakfast of Champions. A friend read it out aloud to me when we were hitchhiking across America in 1976, and it made me think: “That’s right – books!” After high school I had forgotten about them. As soon as I got a stable address, I secured a library card, and started making up for lost time.

With more Australian artists being asked to play for free in the lockdown, many are asking if it might do more harm than good

If live music died in mid March, it’s sure been noisy at the funeral. On platforms old and new, live gigs performed at home have streamed from trickle to tidal wave, breaking over the mobile devices of captive audiences. Global gig guide aggregator Bands In Town has added a livestream dropdown, and a new Australian state has been ceded by Eventfinda and tucked alphabetically between Victoria and Western Australia: the state of “Virtual”.

For fans it’s been fun. We’re loving seeing musicians’ pets and plants and enormous fingers fumbling for the flip screen button and, unless we’ve bought a URL ticket, there’s scandalously little to lose by dropping into, and out of, a show.

Politicians have set a high bar for themselves – success on coronavirus has created community expectations that will be challenging to shift

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The 7 Rings singer sang all six parts of the classic ballad

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