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As its title suggests, this musical about Claude Monet is full of reflections – fittingly so given the artist's preoccupation with light. In 1916, while struggling to complete The Water Lilies with cataracts, the ageing painter (Jeff Shankley) retreats into memories of his early career. His single-minded younger self (Dean John-Wilson) may be about to change art forever, but looking back, all Monet sees is the personal cost of his drive, particularly his mistreatment of his first wife, muse and mother of his children, Camille (Brooke Bazarian).For a man usually defined by his success, this alternative reflection is refreshing. Also bouncing back at Monet are his peers' struggles, the artistic establishment's dismissal of impressionism, and art's relationship to war and women. So abundant are these reflections, in fact, that Carmel Owen's ambitious book at times becomes a house of mirrors – enticing but with a distractingly split focus.There are certainly strengths, though, not least Libby Todd's set: a floor-to-ceiling jumble of empty canvases, which fill with huge impressionist paintings, vivid washes of coloured light and animated backdrops rendered in flickering brushstrokes. It's an invitation to step inside the artistic movement that favoured feeling over realism.Director Christian Durham has an accomplished cast on his hands. Shankley brings moving introspection (and a brilliant turn as a sniffy Paris salon clerk), while Bazarian and John-Wilson deliver standout singing on a stage full of mighty voices. Their connection, however, is outshone by those between young Monet and his fellow impressionist upstarts Bazille (a lovable Ritesh Manugula) and Renoir (a breezy Sam Peggs), whose moments together are the show's strongest. They fizz with the impatience of young rebellion, and their bickering, which provides much-needed moments of gentle humour, gives way to genuine devotion.An excellent eight-piece orchestra takes on Owen's songs, which lead us aptly through the story's tonal beats – lush strings for young love; jaunty woodwind for bantering artists. But none are distinctive enough to reach the heights of "hum it all the way home".Like Monet's, this musical's ambition sometimes comes at a cost, but it still lands in a place of beauty and deep feeling.

Egil Johansen, the landlord of the Kenton pub in Hackney, east London, describes recent incidents involving children as "like the wild west." He has now banned children entirely after a three-year-old fell down a cellar hatch while parents sat elsewhere, a five-year-old crashed into staff carrying drinks, and six parents brought 10 hyperactive children after a birthday party while ignoring their behavior."In every case, the parents blame us when something goes wrong or get really angry when we ask them to control their children," says Johansen, who has run the pub for 17 years. "I'm legally obliged to keep children safe on my premises and if the parents let their children run riot, the only answer is to not allow them in at all."Johansen initially tried banning children only after 5pm, but this interim measure failed to address the underlying issues. Despite online criticism framing him as the "baddie," he expresses sadness about the situation: "I'm a publican; I'm a people-person. It gives me no joy to ban anyone, but it's just not safe: parents don't control their children and our other customers were beginning to go elsewhere. I had no choice."The Kenton's decision reflects a growing trend among UK pubs seeking to differentiate themselves from establishments that "resemble soft play centres without the ball pit." While some welcome this shift, others view it as unwelcoming to families, creating a culture war in the pub industry.Lee Jones, landlord of the Brewers Arms in West Malvern, Worcestershire, reversed a previous child ban: "We're dog-friendly, child-friendly, adult-friendly. We're just friendly – we don't distinguish. Pubs are for the community and I don't see bans in the spirit of what we're here for." Jones reports that when children become rowdy, staff can address the issue with parents, though this is rarely needed.Stephen Boyd, who runs the Alma in south London, took a different approach after attempting to attract young families. He found families with children consumed disproportionate time and resources with special requests for diluted drinks, heated beverages, and customized meals, while adult customers waited longer for their orders."You just need a couple screaming, banging on a table or running up and down, and it dictates the whole atmosphere of the pub," Boyd says. "Parents would take massive umbrage if staff asked them to stop their children doing something." After implementing a child ban, he describes the change as "a fucking revelation" with staff retention improving and takings doubling.Despite the positive results, Boyd faced significant backlash: "I got a lot of online hate. Mainly from people who had never been to the pub but felt I was doing something morally hateful."Tom Stainer, chief executive of the Campaign for Real Ale, acknowledges the debate is "very live" but emphasizes: "But you do have to look at the responsibility of the parents in these situations, not just at the pubs. They're the ones responsible for making sure that their children behave."Financial considerations also drive some decisions. Mandy Keefe, landlady of the Wheel Inn in Ashford, banned children partly for behavioral reasons but also financial ones: "If a third of my Sunday customers were children eating from a reduced-rate child's menu and not drinking any alcohol, that wouldn't be financially viable."Across the UK, pubs are making individual decisions based on their specific circumstances, but as Johansen's experience demonstrates, it only takes one serious incident to settle the question for good.

Scotland has taken a significant step in the early detection and treatment of spinal muscular atrophy (SMA), a rare genetic condition that causes progressive muscle wastage, by becoming the first part of the UK to screen newborn babies for the condition.The screening, which is part of the existing heel prick test offered to all parents in Scotland about four days after birth, is funded by the Scottish government and pharmaceutical company Novartis. The goal is to assess how well screening can detect SMA earlier, allowing babies to receive treatment as soon as possible.SMA affects an estimated 1 in 14,000 births worldwide and impacts movement, breathing, and swallowing. Without treatment, it can limit life expectancy to two years. The condition was brought to wider attention after former Little Mix singer Jesy Nelson revealed in January that her twin daughters had been diagnosed with SMA.Campaigners, who have long advocated for newborn testing, hope the Scottish pilot will result in approval for the heel prick test across the UK. Giles Lomax, chief executive of SMA UK, said the screening pilot in Scotland would be “a huge impetus for other parts of the UK to speed up their own testing plans”. He hopes the Scotland trial will provide data that would convince the UK National Screening Committee to approve UK-wide testing.There is no cure for SMA, but there are now three NHS-funded drug treatments available. Lomax emphasized that with these treatments and newborn screening, “the future for anyone diagnosed with SMA is very different compared to their peers who were diagnosed symptomatically. It basically gives children the life they deserve.”

The online gaming industry has become a cutthroat world where success is fleeting. Developers are under pressure to create games that generate immediate and significant returns, making it difficult for them to sustain player engagement. Consider the case of Highguard, a free-to-play game that launched with a peak of 100,000 concurrent players on Steam. However, 90% of players abandoned the game within a week, and the developer, Wildlight Entertainment, announced that it would end service on March 12, after fewer than 50 days online. The game's failure can be attributed to several strategic errors, including a refusal to conduct public play tests before release and a complex structure that was difficult for players to understand. However, the main reason for its failure is the increasingly demanding expectations for immediate returns in the live-service game market. Live-service games are investments that are meant to deliver endless revenue, and developers are under pressure to emulate the success of genre juggernauts like Fortnite. However, executives and developers have different priorities, and the online commentariat is often negative about these types of games. Sony, for example, has greenlit several live-service games, but most of them have been canceled before release. One of its few successes is Helldivers 2, which sold 20 million copies and still has a healthy player base. Bungie's new game, Marathon, has also received critical acclaim, but its fate is uncertain due to the high expectations for returns. The game's developers have spent years maintaining Destiny, a trailblazing online shooter, which gives Marathon a significant advantage. However, the pressure to generate profits is still a major challenge, and the game's success is not guaranteed. In conclusion, the online gaming industry is becoming increasingly challenging, and developers are under pressure to create games that generate immediate returns. While some games, like Marathon, show promise, the existential threat facing them is the same: profit margins.