Forgive me if I’m not congratulating officers for investigating Andrew now – instead of, say, many years ago when they were with him in Jeffrey Epstein’s house

How noble that Thames Valley police has let it be known that its misconduct-in-public-office investigation into Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor is also considering potential offences including corruption and sexual misconduct. On Friday, it made a public appeal for potential victims and witnesses to come forward.

Obviously, the best time for the police to have started quietly asking questions was shortly after Metropolitan police officers – Andrew’s close protection detail – ferried him back from a London nightclub to a house with some other friends in their 40s, and one young-looking 17-year-old girl. Then waited outside till he decided it was time to come home. But as the saying goes: the second-best time is now. No wait, the second-best time was probably when Andrew paid a reported £12m to settle out of court with Virginia Giuffre, despite maintaining he had no recollection of meeting her. (He denies any wrongdoing.) Ach no, the second-best time was when leaked emails suggest the former prince passed his Met close protection officer Giuffre’s birthdate and US social security number and asked him to carry out checks on her. Sorry, wrong again, the second-best time was a full 12 years ago, when Giuffre alleged that she was sex trafficked to and assaulted by Andrew on that night mentioned above, as well as on two other occasions.

Marina Hyde’s new book, What a Time to be Alive!, is out in September (Guardian Faber Publishing, £20). To support the Guardian, order your signed copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.

Marina Hyde is a Guardian columnist

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A lower-ABV highball that brings together cherry cola, red wine and Italy’s favourite bitter artichoke aperitif

Our highball menu at Circle 13 champions lower-ABV pours for relaxed evenings of petanque. This one’s a favourite at our park takeovers, as well as a nod to the Basque-inspired pintxo kitchen at our first permanent site in east London.

Marc Sarton Du Jonchay, Circle 13, London E2

His starring role in Richard Gadd’s brutal toxic masculinity series is a far cry from his days as Billy Elliot. The actor opens up about gruelling shoots, dancing on toilets – and why he can’t ever just chill out

Not many actors are relieved when they have to film an eye-poppingly explicit sex scene, but that was the case with Jamie Bell on Half Man. His role involved chemsex in saunas, dogging in car parks and illicit quickies in library loos. “Honestly, I was so grateful to be shooting that stuff and not fucking 16-page dialogue scenes, where you’re emoting and it’s so intense,” says Bell. “On days when my character had to have sex with random people, I’d think: ‘Thank God!’ Frankly, it came as a welcome reprieve.”

Richard Gadd’s first TV show since the Emmy-gobbling global Netflix hit Baby Reindeer, Half Man chronicles the combustible, codependent relationship between two “brothers from another lover”. Niall (Bell) is bookish, bullied and closeted. Ruben (Gadd) is the swaggeringly violent ex-con son of his mother’s girlfriend. The six-part drama – which reaches its devastating finale next week – traces the inseparable duo’s toxic relationship across three decades.

The world’s richest man can’t stop posting about how Lupita Nyong’o was chosen to play an imaginary woman

It was the casting choice that launched a thousand meltdowns. The Oscar-winning actor Lupita Nyong’o was confirmed as Helen of Troy in Christopher Nolan’s film adaptation of Homer’s The Odyssey, and the usual suspects immediately started squealing that the fall of western civilization was nigh.

Elon Musk, a man in possession of the world’s thinnest skin and fattest bank account, is obviously among the aggrieved. Musk started moaning about The Odyssey in January, when it was rumoured that Nyong’o had the role. Since a 12 May interview with Nolan in Time magazine made this casting official, Musk hasn’t stopped whining; he’s spent roughly a week attacking Nyong’o on X and amplifying other angry bigots. His main arguments appear to be that this is a historically inaccurate rendering of a mythological poem; Nyong’o, who was named People magazine’s “Most Beautiful Woman” in 2014, is not sufficiently beautiful; and the casting of a Black woman in a movie nobody is forcing him to watch is inextricably intertwined with a leftwing plot to undermine western society.

Arwa Mahdawi is a Guardian columnist

Bunting from hospital sheets, drawings on letters from the DWP, an installation made of damp: a new exhibition celebrates art that takes the challenges the artists have faced and turns them into drivers of creativity

“I’m having a flare-up’, is a really common phrase that you hear in the ‘crip’ community,” says Mariana Lemos, the co-curator of Flare Up, a group exhibition focused on art powered by illness, chronic conditions, disability, neurodivergence and deafness. The show includes artists who do and don’t identify as ‘crip’ (a defiant reclaiming of derogatory slang) and underlines the ebb and flow of symptoms to explore illness as anything but static. A flare, adds Lemos’s collaborator Natasha Hoare, “brings light to things that have been kept in the dark, ignored or invisible-ised. There’s a sense of celebration to it, perhaps.”

This would seem to be the case for French artist Benoît Piéron, a leading figure among artists addressing illness and who now also has a big solo show at Paris’s edgiest art space, Palais de Tokyo. In Flare Up, his pastel bunting crisscrosses a ceiling, before pooling on the floor in a heap, its energy apparently drained. Cut from hospital sheets, the party flags defy the infantilised days of the bedbound. The fabric, in its typically soothing nursery colours, has also soaked up the seeping life of the bodies it hides: be that fever sweats or sex. Piéron’s subtle, poetic reminder of the physical reality of an ill person, as well as the ups and downs of a chronic condition, is typical across the exhibition’s witty, ever-surprising artworks.

Memoir tells how the Jewish and Catholic parents of actor Isabelle and Caroline Huppert fell in love amid the rise of the Nazis. She explains why she wanted her ‘children’s children’ to know the story

Families have a way of appointing their own historians, even if the recruitment process remains obscure. In the late 1990s, Caroline Huppert – the fourth of five siblings, of whom the youngest is actor Isabelle – found herself alone with her father and a tape recorder. Over five days, he opened up about his life before and during the second world war. “I think I had that privileged position with him, because he had a taste for history, too,” she says. “But we didn’t have the same vision. I like the approach of what is called the nouvelle histoire, things like details of daily life in the past. With him, it was more emperors, kings, dates.”

More than 25 years later, their exchanges have led to her memoir, Une Histoire Cachée (A Hidden Story), a work that bundles up quotidian intimacy and big-ticket history in telling the story of how her parents, Raymond and Annick, fell in love. Their relationship so easily might never have happened: he was Jewish, she Catholic, and after they met in 1934 at Paris’s HEC business school, her haute-bourgeois family were opposed to them marrying. A big enough obstacle even before the Nazis invade France, and the young lovers are forced to flee the capital for the Free Zone near Lake Annecy. “I wasn’t aware of any of it in the least,” says the 75-year-old on a phone call from her home in Paris. “My parents weren’t people who talked about the past. They were always absorbed in the present, in action.”

Holaaaa señores, señoras en henhunnos. Heel erg buenos nieuwsos heden dios voor Europa. Na Australië, India en de Mercosurlanden in Zuid-Amerika zet Ursula(cucaracha) von der Leyen vandaag een handtekening onder een nieuwe GROTE HANDELSDEAL en wel met het altijd gezellige Mexico. Dat worden heerlijk goedkope taco's, burrito's en natuurlijk MEXICANO'S voor ons en heerlijk goedkope Goudse kaas, bratwurst en andere dingen die er niet hetzelfde uitzien voor en na consumptie voor Mexico. Daarnaast is het goed nieuws voor de importeurs van fluoriet, bismut en antimoon en dat is maar goed ook, want wij zeggen altijd: een dag zonder fluoriet, bismut en antimoon is een dag niet geleefd. Kortom, grandes fiesta por alle partidos. ARRIBAAAA!