Donald Trump has defended his company's decision to temporarily lay off more than 150 workers at his private Mar-a-Lago club.

A second wave of coronavirus cases could put an "unimaginable strain" on the US healthcare system this winter, the country's top health official has warned.

The Bishop of London tells April Roach there has never been a greater need for people to come together to help feed hungry Londoners You can donate here virginmoneygiving.com/fund/FoodforLondonNOW

From being "too slow" to act on testing, PPE and the lockdown, to care home deaths and Boris Johnson's attendance at meetings, ministers are caught in a storm.

Prince Charles said he was left "utterly heartbroken" by the "tragic story" of the 13-year-old Muslim boy who died alone after contracting coronavirus.

The Government has reportedly ordered 50 million tests which can show if a person has had coronavirus.

Record-breaking daredevil pensioner Jack Reynolds has died aged 108, his family have said.

Clinical director says virus is 'scary' because it's so unpredictable

Many countries, including ours, are battling the question of how to lift the lockdown.

The chief medical officer for England has said the country is not "consistently" past the peak of coronavirus deaths.

This is the heartbreaking moment a carer read a granddaughter's final goodbye to her grandmother, just two days before she died while suffering coronavirus symptoms.

A huge blaze has broken out at a block of flats in north London.

A Swedish city plans to cover its main park with a tonne of chicken manure to discourage people from going there during the coronavirus outbreak.

Coronavirus: the symptoms Follow our live coronavirus updates here

Ryanair has said it expects up to 3,000 jobs to be lost as part of a restructuring of the airline.

PM makes declaration but UK sees second highest rise in cases in 24 hours, with 6,032 more

Joe Biden has denied sexually assaulting his former staffer 27 years ago.

NHS ambulance staff have created a heartwarming video to say thank you to the community for the support they have received during the coronavirus crisis.

NHS staff are "breaking down" on the frontline of the fight against coronavirus, a Labour MP and A&E doctor has warned.

Police have arrested 13 people and issued 11 more with fines after breaking up two parties in Liverpool during coronavirus lockdown.

A dating app is providing London bus drivers with free face bandanas, amid fears of a lack adequate personal protective equipment (PPE) for frontline transport staff.

On the criteria for a claimant to be looking for work being paused for three months, Ms Coffey said: "We do however want claimants to continue to look for work wherever they are able to do so."

Two 20-year-old men were arrested on suspicion of public order offences

In today's Diary: Martha Lane Fox says government must get coronavirus app right / Mary Beard's new online habit / Nicky Morgan mulls book / The best Lords Zoom backgrounds

The first cohort of children are returning to school in Wuhan, China, where the first case of the new coronavirus was reported late last year.

Detectives believe an unidentified second man known to the victim, found dead in his car, killed the academic before taking his own life.

Security minister James Brokenshire said a top scientist "made the right decision" in resigning from the Scientific Advisory Group for Emergencies (Sage ) after he broke lockdown restrictions.

Key workers in the frontline battle against coronavirus should be paid a real living wage, the Archbishop of York has told the Lords.

Boris Johnson's father has told how he broke Covid-19 lockdown rules to buy a newspaper after the Prime Minister's son was born.

The UK is "not out of the woods" and will live with coronavirus for some time as the death toll passes 31,000, Environment Secretary George Eustice has said.

The 5,100 sq km behemoth which broke away from Antarctica in 2017 drops its own large chunk of ice.

Scientists are working on better solar cells that will turn more of the sun's rays into electricity.

There is now an outbreak of COVID-19 linked to Canada Post's main plant in Calgary, according to Alberta Health Services.

Egypt’s President Abdel-Fattah el-Sissi has approved amendments to the country's state of emergency that grant him and security agencies additional powers, which the government says are needed to combat the coronavirus outbreak. An international rights group condemned the amendments, saying the government has used the global pandemic to “expand, not reform, Egypt’s abusive Emergency Law.” The new amendments allow the president to to take measures to contain the virus, such as suspending classes at schools and universities and quarantining those returning from abroad.

Received wisdom doesn't hold up in pandemics, experts say

Scientists have made a major breakthrough that could help us understand the origin of our universe, they say.

'We can tell you that the Earth still looks just as stunning as always from up here, so it's difficult to believe all the changes that have taken place since both of us have been up here,' one astronaut had said before coming back home

Comet had prompted excitement as astronomers expected it to be visible to the naked eye – but it has since broken up and is getting dimmer

Nasa and the European Space Agency have shared new images of Comet Atlas as it flies towards Earth.

'Reinvention' of ceramics firing process could be used by artificial intelligence to create new materials with wide range of possible applications

Camelids produce antibodies that have been found to neutralise Covid-19

LA LOCHE, Sask. - Amanda Black feels lucky that her symptoms have remained mild since she tested positive last week for COVID-19. She and her six-year-old son, Malachi, have runny noses and can't taste their food. "We seem to be OK so far," Black said in an online video from her home in La

Actor Kevin Spacey has broken his silence over sex assault allegations, comparing being shunned by the film industry to those who are out of work as a result of the coronavirus crisis. The 60-year-old American Beauty star has not appeared in a professional movie or series since accusations of abuse were made by several men. "I don't think it will come as a surprise for anyone to say that my world completely changed in the fall of 2017,” he said in comments made during an interview for the German business conference Bits & Pretzels podcast. “My job, many of my relationships, my standing in my own industry were all gone in just a matter of hours.” The former House of Cards lead, who was dropped by the show after allegations surfaced, has largely kept a low profile since the allegations were made. He was also removed from the film All the Money in the World, which had to be reshot with actor Christopher Plummer. Spacey has always denied the claims, several of which date back several decades. “While we may have found ourselves in similar situations, albeit for very different reasons and circumstances, I still believe that some of the emotional struggles are very much the same," he said. “And so I do have empathy for what it feels like to suddenly be told that you can't go back to work or that you might lose your job and that it's a situation that you have absolutely no control over.” At the end of the podcast interview, Spacey added: “I was so busy defining myself by what I did or what I was trying to do, that when it all stopped I had no idea what to do next. All I knew how to do was act, I was born to do it. “I don’t want to sugarcoat this devastating time that we’re in, I am hoping that I can encourage you to see an opportunity in all of this and turn this into a positive.”

The Rooms is eager to document how people are coping with the current pandemic to build a record for the future.

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Read the full interview HERE

Needing to clear my head, I went down to the Penobscot River. There they were, swimming with the mergansers, following an early pulse of river herring to the mouth of Kenduskeag stream: two harbor seals, raising sleek round heads for a few long breaths before rolling under the waves.

Evidently it’s not uncommon for seals to swim the couple dozen miles between Bangor, Maine, and the Atlantic Ocean, but I’d never seen them here before. They were a balm to my buzzing thoughts: What happens next? Will I become a vector of death to my elderly mother? Is the economy going to implode? For a precious few minutes there were only the seals and mergansers and the fish who drew them there, arriving as the Penobscot’s winter icepack broke and flowed to sea, a ritual enacted ever since glaciers retreated from this continental shelf.

In the months ahead we can look to nature for these respites. The nonhuman world is free of charge; sunlight is a disinfectant, physical distance easily maintained, and no pandemic can suspend it. Nature offers not just escape but reassurance.

The nonhuman world is free of charge; sunlight is a disinfectant, and physical distance is easily maintained.

In 1946, in the aftermath of World War II, with the Nazi threat vanquished but the Cold War looming, George Orwell welcomed spring’s arrival in London’s bombed-out heart. “After the sorts of winters we have had to endure recently, the spring does seem miraculous, because it has become gradually harder and harder to believe that it is actually going to happen,” he wrote in “Some Thoughts on the Common Toad.” “Every February since 1940 I have found myself thinking that this time Winter is going to be permanent. But Persephone, like the toads, always rises from the dead at about the same moment.”

So she does. And so the slumbering earth warms to life. Two nights before the seals, two nights before World Health Organization declared a pandemic, before the NBA shut down with teams on the floor and fans in the seats, before the fright went beyond viral into logarithmic, was the Worm Moon: the full moon named for the imminent stir of earthworms in thawing soil.

In burrows beneath leaf litter, hibernating toads prepare to open what Orwell called “the most beautiful eye of any living creature,” resembling “the golden-colored semi-precious stone which one sometimes sees in signet rings, and which I think is called a chrysoberyl.” Nearly as beautiful are the eyes of painted turtles waiting on pond bottoms here in eastern Maine, the ice above now retreating from shore, mallard couples dabbling in newly open water.

The birds are the surest sign of spring’s imminence. Downtown the house finches are holding daily concerts. Starlings are starting to replace their gold-streaked winter plumes with more iridescent garb. In the street today I saw two male mockingbirds joust above the pavement, their white wing-bars fluttering territorial semaphores, abandoning the contest only when a car nearly ran them down. 

There are many quieter signs, too: pale tips of shrubs poised to grow, a spider rappelling off a low branch, fresh fox scat in the driveway. It’s red from apples preserved under snow and lined with the fur of field mice and meadow voles whose secret winter tunnels are now revealed in the grass. Somewhere soon mother fox will give birth, nursing her blind hairless charges in underground peace.

Eastern comma butterflies will gather on the trunks of those apple trees and sip their rising sap. Not long after the first orange-belted bumblebee queens will appear, inspecting potential nest sites under fallen leaves and decomposing logs. Warm rainy nights will bring salamanders and newts, just a few spotted glistening inches long, some of them decades old, out from woodland hidey-holes and down ancient paths to vernal pool bacchanals held amidst a chorus of spring peepers. Woodland ephemerals will bloom in sunshine unfiltered by still-bare treetops. My favorite are trout lilies, colonies of which illuminate forest floors with a sea of bright yellow blossoms, petals falling once the canopy unfurls.

“The atom bombs are piling up in the factories, the police are prowling through the cities, the lies are streaming from the loudspeakers,” Orwell wrote, “but the earth is still going round the sun.”

At this point there’s no end of studies showing how nature is good for our health, how patients recover faster in hospital rooms with windows overlooking trees, how a mindful walk in the woods will lower stress and raise moods. All true, but at this moment something deeper and more urgent is offered. An affirmation of life.

Will the nightmare scenes out of Italy and Spain and now New York City spread across the land? How long will the pandemic last? Will it completely rend our already tattered social fabric? When can I again play hockey or go to a coffee shop or use a credit card machine without feeling like I’m risking my own and other lives? Who will die? Nobody knows for sure, but in a few weeks the swallows will arrive, and tonight above the fields at dusk I heard the cries of woodcock.

Secretive, ground-dwelling birds with limpid black eyes and long, slender beaks attuned to the frequencies of earthworm-rustles, their feathers blend perfectly with leaf litter and old grass. They rely on this camouflage, going still rather than fleeing a walker’s approach, taking wing only as a last resort.

When they do, their flight is notable for its slowness and the quavering whistle of their wings. At no other time than in spring do they dare draw attention, much less put on a show: calling out, with an urgent nasal buzz best described as a peent, and flying straight upward before spiraling against a darkening sky.

Brandon Keim is a freelance nature and science journalist. The author of The Eye of the Sandpiper: Stories from the Living World, he’s now writing Meet the Neighbors, forthcoming from W.W. Norton & Company, about what it means to think of wild animals as fellow persons—and what that means for the future of nature.

Lead image: Tim Zurowski / Shutterstock

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