The Weekly News Review. A Weekly Look at the Headlines over the Last Week.A Week In News So Bizarre It Felt Like Civilisation Was Being Run By A Committee Of Malfunctioning Sat‑Navs.

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Ladies and gentlemen, the last seven days of news have been so spectacularly unhinged that even by modern standards  where “normal” now includes billionaires launching cars into space and people arguing online about whether pigeons have regional accents this week still managed to stand out!

We begin in Britain, where several fish and chip shops were caught selling catfish as “traditional fish supper.” This is the culinary equivalent of turning up to a wedding in a white dress and claiming you’re “just helping.” Catfish, for those unfamiliar, is a fish that tastes perfectly fine but has the unfortunate branding problem of sharing its name with people who pretend to be Swedish models on the internet. Somewhere, a confused tourist is now telling friends, “British fish tastes… suspiciously American.” Meanwhile, the nation’s chippies are insisting it was all a misunderstanding, which is British for “we hoped you wouldn’t notice.”

Down in Plymouth, residents heard a huge explosion as bomb disposal experts made safe a 250kg World War II device, because apparently Britain is still discovering leftover German explosives like they’re Easter eggs. Every few months, someone digs up another bomb and the army has to turn up and say, “Yes, this is definitely not supposed to be here.” The explosion was controlled, but loud enough to make half the city briefly reconsider their life choices. Somewhere, a seagull is still traumatised.

Across the Atlantic, Buckingham Palace announced that the King’s speech during his US visit was a “high stakes” moment, which is royal‑speak for “please, for the love of God, don’t let anything weird happen.” A royal speech in America is always risky because Americans love two things: cheering loudly and misinterpreting British politeness as a sign of imminent collapse. The Palace probably spent the week rehearsing every possible scenario, including the King being asked to try a corn dog.

Meanwhile in the world of business  or whatever we’re calling this now GameStop made a $55.5bn takeover offer for eBay, proving once again that the global economy is being run by people who treat mergers like Pokémon cards. GameStop, a company famous for being saved by internet memes, is now apparently rich enough to buy a website where people sell haunted dolls and used lawnmowers. Economists everywhere are staring at their spreadsheets whispering, “This cannot be real.”

Over in Amsterdam, the city has banned public adverts for meat and fossil fuels, which means residents will now be exposed only to wholesome, morally uplifting advertisements for things like bicycles, oat milk, and yoga retreats where you learn to apologise to trees. This is part of Amsterdam’s plan to save the planet, one passive‑aggressive billboard at a time. Expect future ads to read: “If you eat beef, at least don’t brag about it.”

Back home, Britain received the grim news that pubs are closing at a rate of almost two per day, which is the most alarming statistic since someone discovered how many people think “irregardless” is a real word. British pubs are national institutions  places where you can enjoy a pint, complain about the weather, and pretend you understand the offside rule. Losing two a day is like losing two grandparents a day, except the grandparents serve cough drops.

And finally, in the greatest legal victory of the decade! If not ever!  a German tourist won a payout after losing a sun‑lounger race. This is not satire. This is Europe. Apparently the man was injured while sprinting to claim a poolside chair at dawn, which is the most competitive sport on the continent. The court agreed he deserved compensation, presumably because anyone willing to wake up at 6am on holiday has already suffered enough.

So there you have it: counterfeit cod, exploding history, royal diplomacy, meme‑based megacorporations, ethical advertising, dying pubs, and a man who turned sun‑lounger warfare into a financial win.

Frankly, I need a lie‑down — preferably on a Sun lounger I didn’t have to sprint for.

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