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Real Madrid coach Alvaro Arbeloa has come out in defense of Spain, insisting that the country is not racist despite a recent incident of Islamophobic chanting during a national team match. The incident occurred during Spain's friendly against Egypt on Tuesday, where sections of the crowd at Espanyol's RCDE Stadium in Cornella sang, “Whoever doesn’t jump is Muslim.”Arbeloa emphasized that Spain is a tolerant country and that racist attitudes should be eliminated. “I think Spain is not a racist country. If it was, we would have a problem every weekend at all of the stadiums,” he told reporters. He stressed the importance of eradicating any racist attitude at stadiums and in society, while also highlighting Spain's tolerant nature.The incident drew criticism from Spain and Barcelona forward Lamine Yamal, who is Muslim, and criticised those chanting as “ignorant and racist.” Barcelona coach Hansi Flick praised Yamal for making a “great statement” by condemning those responsible for the abuse, emphasizing the importance of inclusion and respect.The issue of racism in Spanish football has been a recurring problem, with Real Madrid striker Vinicius Jr having been racially abused at several stadiums across the country in high-profile incidents in recent years. In 2025, five Real Valladolid fans who racially abused Vinicius in a 2022 match were found guilty of committing a hate crime – the first such ruling in Spain regarding insults at a football stadium.Catalonia’s regional police are investigating the chants, and Spanish Prime Minister Pedro Sanchez called the incident “unacceptable”, emphasizing that Spain is a diverse and tolerant country that cannot allow an uncivil minority to tarnish its reality.

Winsome Pinnock’s latest play, The Authenticator, opens at the Dorfman Theatre, National Theatre, London, and immediately subverts expectations by pairing a serious examination of erased Black histories with a lively, comedic tone.The story follows Fen (Sylvestra Le Touzel), a direct descendant of the 18th‑century enslaver Henry Harford, who discovers a cache of his Jamaican farm diaries. She entrusts the documents to two Black academics – Abi (Rakie Ayola), an Oxford‑educated scholar of Nigerian descent, and her mentee Marva (Cherrelle Skeete), a bright working‑class woman whose grandfather’s mysterious disappearance ties back to the Harford estate.Their investigative partnership feels like a modern Holmes‑Watson dynamic, allowing Pinnock to explore the tangled intersections of class, race, and inherited privilege. Abi’s privileged background and Marva’s grassroots perspective highlight how historical complicity can span generations.While the plot leans on some convenient coincidences reminiscent of an Agatha Christie puzzle, the play’s strength lies in its razor‑sharp dialogue and satirical wit, which keep the narrative brisk and entertaining.Visually, the production leans into a haunted‑house aesthetic: designer Jon Bausor’s set features gilt‑edged frames, trapdoors leading to a cellar of “dirty secrets,” and atmospheric lighting that flickers like candle‑lit torches, underscored by a nervous string quartet.Much of the humour centres on Fen, portrayed as a “tweedy do‑gooder” eager to atone for her family’s sins yet quick to deflect blame. Her self‑portrait as a former Oxford punk adds a layer of absurdity, drawing parallels to the post‑colonial satire of films like Knives Out.Pinnock also skewers the modern aristocracy that monetises heritage properties, illustrated by a grime‑artist filming by the estate’s fountain and a fabricated ghost tour designed to attract tourists.The play does not shy away from genuine hauntings. A Blackamoor statue is hidden away after the 2020 debates over colonial monuments, and missing diary pages hint at violence against an enslaved woman named “Black Sarah.”Director Miranda Cromwell navigates the tonal shifts deftly, ensuring that the humour never eclipses the underlying guilt and pain embedded in the characters’ histories.Ultimately, The Authenticator succeeds by delivering a “lightness of touch” that makes confronting toxic colonial legacies both accessible and thought‑provoking, offering audiences a disarming yet incisive look at how societies reckon with their past.

The usual visual language of hospital dramas relies on sterile whites and bright fluorescents. ‘What I’m Here For’ discards that palette entirely, immersing the audience in a world of black costumes and shadow‑filled set pieces.This daring aesthetic is the result of a collaboration between Vanishing Point of Glasgow and Teater Katapult from Aarhus, Denmark. Designer Mai Katsume outfits nurses, doctors and patients in deep black, arranging them in stark rows that dominate an ominously dark stage.At the centre stands Lærke Schjærff Engelbrecht as Flora, a nurse forced onto an extra weekend shift because of chronic short‑staffing. Even the flickering strip lights beneath her feet are cloaked in darkness, a visual choice amplified by Simon Wilkinson’s austere lighting design that drains the scene of any residual warmth, turning a hectic night ward into a gothic horror tableau.Written by Josephine Eusebius and performed in a blend of Danish and English, the script follows a familiar premise—too many patients, too few staff—but pushes it to a psychological extreme. Flora cheerfully repeats the hospital‑as‑hotel mantra while confronting impossible choices, such as whether to prioritize a pleasant woman with a brain tumour in room 22 or a demanding lady with a heart condition in room 33.The tension is heightened by Mark Melville’s pulse‑driven soundtrack, a low‑frequency thrum that underscores Flora’s isolation. As in many of director Matthew Lenton’s productions, the protagonist is both integral to and alienated from the medical team, a duality made palpable by her physical separation from the other actors and their disembodied commentary.Throughout the performance, Flora remains downstage, engaging in dream‑like exchanges with colleagues whose looming presence becomes as oppressive as the life‑and‑death decisions she must make. The staging forces the audience to feel the weight of each moral dilemma, turning routine triage into an almost tactile nightmare.‘What I’m Here For’ runs at the Tron in Glasgow until 4 April and will tour to other venues until 18 April.

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.