Dominique Cottrez, a nursing auxiliary who has admitted to killing her babies, appears in court

A mother-of-two who worked as a nursing auxiliary in the north-eastern French city of Douai has been charged with the murder of eight of her newborn babies, sources said, as police pushed forward with their investigations into France's apparently worst-ever infanticide.

Dominique Cottrez, a lifelong inhabitant of the nearby village of Villers-au-Tertre, appeared before a judge this morning along with her husband, Pierre-Marie Cottrez, a municipal councillor.

Eric Vaillant, the prosecutor of Douai, said he had requested Mr Cottrez be charged with the failure to report a crime and the concealment of a body.

Cottrez confessed to killing her babies before putting their corpses in plastic bags. She buried two of the newborns in the garden and hid the rest of them in the garage,Vaillant said.

"She explained that she didn't want any more children and that she didn't want to see a doctor to take contraceptives," Vaillant told a news conference.

"She was perfectly conscious of the fact that she was pregnant each time."

For the inhabitants of Villers-au-Tertre, the small village where the Cottrez couple have lived for decades, the discovery of the eight corpses has caused shock and disbelief. Ever since Tuesday, when the pair were arrested after police found the bodies of six babies in plastic bags in their house, neighbours have been struggling to understand how the family could have hidden such a secret.

"Pierre-Marie is a very nice guy. I am just overwhelmed and I'm finding it impossible to understand," said one villager, who did not want his name to be published.

"He's a mate of mine. We used to have a drink, talk about work … He is very generous. He wears his heart on his sleeve," he said, adding: "I see no reason why he would have known anything about this."

The alleged murders came to light on Saturday, when the owners of a house that had been the property of Dominique Cottrez's parents, now deceased, stumbled upon the bones of two newborns in the garden.

The investigation led quickly to the couple's current home, half a mile away, where police found six other bodies. Even today, teams of investigators and forensic experts from Douai, Paris and Lille are combing the sites for other bodies.

Village mayor Patrick Mercier said a third house in which the couple had briefly lived was also being explored.

Speaking to local media, he described Pierre-Marie Cottrez as a third-term municipal councillor who was "respectable and respected".

He added: "On the pregnancies, no one had any idea of anything. The mother would go out rarely; she has significant weight problems. She's a pleasant person even if she was withdrawn."

Other villagers portrayed Dominique Cottrez as a "devoted" daughter who cared for her father until his death. She was "deserving", said one, and "a very good mother" who spent a lot of time with her two grownup daughters, Emeline and Virginie, and their two sons.

On her Facebook page, Mrs Cottrez states her employers as the Douai branch of the SSIAD, an association which provides home care for the elderly or disabled. An SSIAD official refused to speak to the Guardian when asked to confirm this.

• Presidents's efforts to shoot down legislation succeed
• Several states wanted to adopt Arizona's draconian rules

A federal judge yesterday slapped down key elements of a controversial anti- immigration law in Arizona, handing a temporary victory to the Obama administration against a rising tide of anti-immigration feeling in the US.

Judge Susan Bolton granted a preliminary injunction which prevents implementation of two main elements of the legislation: the requirement that police determine the immigration status of people they arrest or question should they suspect them of being illegal, and the part of the new law that would make it a state crime for a foreigner to be in Arizona without registration papers.

The injunction will hold, Bolton said, until the courts have considered a lawsuit against Arizona by the federal government that seeks permanently to block the new law on the grounds that it is unconstitutional.

The temporary and partial reprieve marks success, in the short term at least, of attempts by the Obama administration to maintain federal control of immigration policy, against efforts by states, led by Arizona, to take the matter into their own hands. Several states have expressed support for Arizona's legislation that was due to come into effect today.

But the legal ruling risks a potential white backlash as opinion polls have shown consistently high support for the law across the United States. In the latest, by CNN and Opinion Research, 55% of those sampled said they were in favour of the SB 1070 law, although in response to a separate question 54% said they thought it would lead to greater discrimination against Hispanics.

Mark Krikorian, director of the Centre for Immigration Studies, a thinktank that supports tighter immigration controls, said a hardening of positions was likely in the wake of the ruling. "This will add fuel to the frustrations of states over the lack of federal government action in enforcing the immigration laws."

Police in Phoenix have added extra security around the central courthouse in expectation of large demonstrations, including crowds that supported the new law and are likely to be incensed by the partial block on it. Despite Bolton's ruling, thousands of Hispanic, trade unionists and religious activists are also expected to descend on Arizona to protest against the legislation.

More than 500 campaigners from California will be leading the charge, together with busloads of protesters from other states. Other demonstrations and pilgrimages to Arizona were being planned from New York, Chicago and Atlanta.

Under the terms of the original Senate bill (SB) 1070, Arizona police were obliged to investigate the immigration status of anyone they encounter – whether for a traffic violation, a neighbour dispute or any other minor matter – whom they suspected of not having proper documents.

The law threatened to wrestle immigration policy out of the hands of the federal government and fragment it across the US, with many other states already expressing interest in copying Arizona's example.

Paco Fabian, an immigration policy expert, stressed the temporary nature of the injunction. "Let's not forget that at any moment it could be lifted and the law will be back. That's why groups will continue to oppose it."

While some of the most draconian aspects of the law have been blocked, Hispanic groups are unhappy about sections including a provision to make it a crime for undocumented day labourers to get into an employer's vehicle and a vaguely-worded clause against the "transportation" and "harbouring" of illegal immigrants.

At the centre of the dispute stands Joe Arpaio, the sheriff of Maricopa county, which covers Phoenix, the state capital. He has pioneered many policies now extended statewide under SB 1070, including regular raids by state troopers on factories and housing developments in which undocumented Hispanic immigrants are rounded up to be deported.

Arpaio promised to go ahead with a planned raid, his 17th in three years, involving 200 officers and volunteers. Arpaio has said he has all the powers he needs under existing laws and has vowed to expand his notorious "tent city" – an adhoc prison under canvas –to make way for more detained illegal immigrants.

He also threatened to come down hard on any protesters who got in the way of his tough policies, responding to rumours that Phoenix jail would be picketed today by activists by telling ABC News: "If anyone wants to block my jails they can have a little trip into the jails. We are not going to put up with any civil disobedience."

Police chiefs around Arizona expressed relief following the ruling, fearing accusation of racial profiling of Hispanics. "I am pleased that the aspects which we put forward as problematic for enforcement are precisely the aspects that Judge Bolton ruled on today," Tucson police chief Roberto Villaseñor told the Washington Post.

Heavy rain complicates efforts to access crash site as rescue workers warn that identifying the 152 victims will take time

Heavy monsoon rains in Pakistan were hampering recovery efforts at the site of the Islamabad plane crash this morning, as workers scrambled to recover the bodies of the 152 passengers and crew killed yesterday.

The Airblue Airbus 321 crashed into Margalla Hills that circle Islamabad to the north and west at around 10am amid thick fog and heavy rain.

Everyone on board was killed, making the crash the worst aviation accident on Pakistani soil.

Bin Yameen, deputy inspector general with the Islamabad police, said the operation to recover the remains of victims could not be resumed due to heavy rain. Difficulty in accessing the site was also complicating salvage efforts.

"We are waiting for the rain to stop," he said. "In such weather, neither helicopters can fly nor rescue workers move up easily. We may give it a try but it seems very difficult to carry out such operation in difficult terrain."

Even when the search is completed, identification of the victims could take several days, rescue workers scouring the twisted wreckage warned.

"There is nothing left, just piles and bundles of flesh," a rescue worker, Murtaza Khan, told Associated Press.

"There are just some belongings, like two or three travelling bags, some chequebooks, and I saw a picture of a young boy. Otherwise everything is burned."

The aircraft, arriving from Karachi, had been diverted from landing by the control tower. Investigators were trying to piece together what happened before it crashed into the hills, but the plane's black box data recorder has yet to be recovered.

The Pakistan Airline Pilot Association told AP the plane may have strayed off course, possibly because of the poor weather. Several officials noted that it seemed to be an unusual distance from the airport, about nine and a half miles away. "It should not have gone so far," said Air Vice-Marshal Riazul Haq, deputy chief of the Civil Aviation Authority.

The US embassy said at least two American citizens were on the plane, as the Pakistani government declared today a day of mourning for those lost in the crash.

Relatives of the victims gathered outside Islamabad's main hospital this morning, hoping to receive the bodies. Last night some scuffles broke out among relatives, hospital officials and police, as emotion and frustration over the lack of news ran high.

"What can the hospital do? It can't save anyone," said Surzamin Khan, whose 25-year-old son, Ansar, a captain in the Pakistan army, had been on board. "Life is in God's hands. It is he who gives and it is he who has taken it away."

Barack Obama becomes the first sitting US president to appear on a daytime television chat show, The View

Preamble: If you've got an American history book, throw it away, it's useless. Future chronicles of American history will just say "Barack Obama appeared on The View" – everything else will be a footnote* to the first sitting US president on a daytime talk show, at 11am ET (4pm in the UK).

According to CNN: "Obama to make history with appearance on The View" – which is true, if you take a very generous interpretation of what "to make history" means. On this basis, there should have been headlines such as "Lincoln to make history with appearance in daguerreotype".

Depending on you who listen to, Obama's debut presidential appearance on daytime telly is either another step in the inevitable destruction of the American empire – akin to the Rome installing lead pipes for its drinking water – or a media masterstroke.

Anyway, for those of you not familiar with The View: it's a chat show with five women and various guests. It briefly became important in 2006 after former cast member Rosie O'Donnell called Donald Trump a "snake-oil salesman" and he called her a "fat pig". It was a highpoint in American civilization.

Then The View disappeared from view until 2008, when it again became briefly important because the show would discuss the presidential elections and would then be cited by US journalists of evidence that "real people" (who watch daytime TV) were interested in the contest.

My colleague Adam Gabbatt has wrapped up the leaked bits that have already appeared. Come back at the top of the hour for an account of the hour long show.

*Line stolen from The Day Today.

David gets steamed up about the state of the nation's trains, and wonders if we Brits feel that they're all we deserve

Sean Smith has been embedded for six weeks with a special forces helicopter rescue team who fly into combat to pick up wounded soldiers and with US Marines firefighting for every yard of ground in southern Helmand

MoD announces General Sir Peter Wall, straight-talking Iraq war veteran, as successor to General Sir David Richards

The new head of the army, who will take up the post at a crucial time for the service, is to be General Sir Peter Wall, an experienced, straight-talking, commander whose appointment is likely to be welcomed by British soldiers.

Wall, 55, a six-foot-plus bear of a man – known to enjoy a good debate – will take over from General Sir David Richards who becomes chief of the defence staff in October. In the shuffle among the army's top brass, Wall will be succeeded in his current post as commander in chief of UK land forces by Lt Gen Sir Nick Parker, currently deputy head of Nato-led forces in Afghanistan.

After overseeing British operations during the invasion of Iraq in March 2003, Wall commanded the 1st Armoured Division deployed to Basra two months later. Asked earlier this year by Chilcot inquiry member Sir Lawrence Freedman, referring to the army's role in Iraq: "Do you think that the government in Britain understood quite the task that they were asking you to take on and where it was going to lead?"

Wall replied: "If I'm frank, no."

"And did you get a chance to say that to ministers?"

"Very firmly."

Wall told the Chilcot inquiry that by 2007, British troops had become "the focus of the violence" in Basra.

A year later as the senior military officer responsible for operations, in what may now seem a prophetic warning, he told MPs on the House of Commons defence committee that there was no point in investing more money and men in Afghanistan unless security and economic and social projects were seen to be "inspired by the Afghans themselves". He added. "If we do it for them, it will just not count."

He said three months ago: "We need to ensure that there is the right balance of soldiers in different arms and services, ranks and trades, so that we are in the best possible shape for current operations."

Wall may have a chance to put this into practice as the forthcoming strategic defence and security review could lead to a significant cut, perhaps of 20,000, in the army's current strength of about 100,000.

However, army chiefs are expected to argue that with soldiers fighting and dying in Afghanistan, big cuts in the army would not be good for morale.

In what Richards has described as a "horse and tank" moment, referring to the debate which raged among military planners after the first world war, the army is expected to offer cuts in the number of large battle tanks and long-range artillery guns, and a better organisation of the Territorial Army (TA). In return, it is expected to demand continuing improvements in badly needed equipment including armoured vehicles.

Army chiefs also expect the navy to spend less on nuclear weapons and aircraft carriers, and the RAF to give up some fast jets – mainly Tornados – and bases.

The salary of the head of the army ranges from £165,000 to £170,000.

Liam Fox, the defence secretary, said referring to Wall and Parker: "I'm absolutely delighted with both of these appointments. We're very lucky to have men of such high calibre at this time."

It looks as though Rupert Murdoch has finally found a way to make the White House pay — literally.

The Wall Street Journal has raised the rate it charges the administration's news clipping service by a jaw-dropping $600,000 (£384,000) per year.

"Obviously, we're not paying", said an administration official. "We have no idea how we're going to handle this. We may have to drop [The Journal]."

It's unclear how News Corporation arrived at the figure. For the past decade, the White House has paid a small media company, Bulletin News, about $100,000 a year to prepare customised packages of excerpts from print, TV, radio and blog outlets. The WSJ has always been part of the package... until now.

Earlier this month, a Bulletin News executive informed the White House of the fee increase, which appears to have been motivated by Murdoch's business model, not his conservative politics.

Dow Jones, the News Corp subsidiary that publishes the WSJ, runs its own aggregation service, Factiva, and the administration has been told it could get a substantially better deal if it cut out the middleman — Bulletin News — and negotiated directly with Factiva.

There is one simple way around the problem. Individual administration officials could subscribe to the Journal personally, and pass stories along to fellow employees.

Source: Politico.com

From Goya to Picasso, artists have painted pictures that depend on the gore and passion of the bullfight for their greatness – so will the bloodsport's demise mean the end of tragic art?

Spanish bulls are breathing more easily after Catalonia became the first region to abolish bullfighting. Humanitarians are happy, too. Oh yes, it's all very well for you animal lovers. But what about artists, eh? Have you spared a thought for them?

Spanish art has been in love with the arena for centuries. Goya and Picasso painted and etched profound, tragic, and moving pictures that depend entirely on the gore and passion of the bullfight for their greatness. It may be arguable, at a pinch, that Goya's paintings are "critiques" of this bloodsport among bloodsports – after all, he did see the Spain of his age as a place of savage irrationality. Picasso, however, is on record as a sincere fan of bullfighting. He watched it regularly, not just in his Spanish youth, but in the south of France where he later lived.

The first Picasso exhibition I ever saw was, at it happens, in the French bullfighting city of Nimes. It was drawn from the Picasso family collection and, chancing on it during a family holiday as a teenager, I discovered an artist who is still one of my heroes. I also discovered bullfighting. The most savage and brilliant painting on show was a small intense image from the 1930s of a bull goring a horse. The grey, white and black picture was at first hard to understand, a cubistic tangle – then it hit you that you were seeing a horse's stomach being slashed open and the shock seemed to knot and tear at your own intestines.

My father and I attended what we honestly believed (our French was very bad) to be a faux, harmless bullfight in the town arena. It was not a fake fight. Pink blood spread on the silver sand under floodlights that August evening.

Animal cruelty and art have a shared history. In portraying the horrors of the bullfight, Picasso reached back to the hunting pictures of Rubens and Snyders. Yet he did not relish violence for the sake of it. In the tragic drama of the arena he found the visual language that enabled him to respond, with deep humanity, to the horrors of war in his masterpiece Guernica. If we exclude bloody events like the bullfight from the human imagination, will we lose the capacity to make tragic art?

A bitter legal row over royalties has stopped live performances by the Lebanese singer beloved all over the Arab world

Fans of Fairouz, the Arab world's most famous singer, are up in arms about a bitter legal row that has stopped her performing live. From Beirut to the Gulf – and as far away as Australia – the diva's supporters are making their voices heard to complain that she is being cruelly silenced.

Hundreds of self-styled "Fairouziyoun" led by prominent Arab artists and assorted beautiful people gathered on the steps of the museum in the Lebanese capital on Tuesday to play her greatest hits and express their solidarity and adoration. "The voice of the angels is confronting greed," read one placard.

A protest concert was also held by fans in Egypt. "Today is a day of silence," declared the star's director daughter Rima. "Let us hold our peace and hear only the voice of Fairouz." Al-Ittihad, a newspaper in the United Arab Emirates, headlined its story simply: "Shame!"

Fairouz's crystalline voice – her stage name means "turquoise" in Arabic – and her haunting lyrics about love, life, Lebanon and Jerusalem, have made her an icon second only to the legendary Egyptian singer Umm Kulthum, mourned by millions when she died. Like her, Fairouz, who is Lebanese by origin and is now 75, is loved and feted as a national treasure across the Arabic-speaking world – and known and admired far beyond it.

The problem arose last month when a Beirut court banned the star from performing one of her classic operettas, Ya'ish, Ya'ish (Long Live, Long Live) because of a wrangle over royalties.

Many of Fairouz's works were co-written and composed by her late husband Assi al-Rahbani and his brother Mansour. When Mansour died, his children filed a suit against Fairouz, triggering a court order stopping her performing material that involved his contribution.

But if the legal issues of the case are complex, the emotions it has aroused are simple and powerful. "Fairouz is not an ordinary singer," declared the Egyptian film star Ilham Shaheen, who flew to Beirut to join the museum sit-in. "She is a great artistic personality who has entertained millions for decades. We cannot keep silent over this humiliating attitude to her, and to art and artistes in general. Fairouz to me is above all laws. She is like the mother whom, even when she errs, we are eager to forgive."

Elias Harfoush, a commentator for the pan-Arab newspaper al-Hayat, lamented how a sordid financial dispute "leaves wounds in our hearts because of what this angelic voice is being subjected to". Julia Boutros, another Lebanese star, said: "Nothing can stop or silence Fairouz because she is a symbol of freedom."

Lebanese of all communities are fiercely proud of the woman they call "our ambassador to the stars" or "neighbour to the moon". Unusually, Fairouz faced criticism at home for performing in Damascus when it was the capital of Arab culture in 2008, when memories of the Syrian occupation were still fresh. Thousands of fans screaming her name greeted her as she drove across the border – and she still received a rapturous reception when she next sang, at an Orthodox mass in west Beirut.

Outrage over her silencing has been a reminder of the extraordinary loyalty she still inspires across the region. Wael al-Semary, an Egyptian journalist, announced the formation of a global fan club which would use its revenues to buy out or compensate the Rahbani heirs. Judging by the comments on Fairouz's official Facebook page – which has more than half a million members – it shouldn't be too hard to raise the cash. "There's no one like you on earth," wrote one fan, Christina. Fatima called her: "Queen of art and beauty." Mohammed Samy's message was a succinct model of blind adulation: "Fairouz is my life."

Despite many verbal attacks on Britain, David Smith explains how Robert Mugabe is heavily influenced by English culture

Modern generations are now realising that the immediacy and intimacy of live storytelling cannot be captured by technology

Are oral traditions still relevant? Are they slowly being replaced with technology? In 1992 my son Jesse, the anthropologist Robert Bruce and I drove 400 miles in Robert's beat-up VW van across the dry landscape of southern Mexico into the Chiapas. In the Lacandon jungle, where the first rain we'd seen in two days fell on the heavy vegetation, we came to our destination – the village of Naha. Darkness had fallen as we ducked our heads to enter the main building in the village. A sight that might have been from a 1,000 years ago greeted our eyes. Everyone in the village, all clad in white cotton xikuls (tunics), sat around a fire as the 100-year-old village elder Chan K'in told stories in the peninsular Mayan language.

Later that same year, my other son James and I were in Tireli, a village deep in northern Mali. There we listened raptly to Meninu and Asama, two venerated Dogon elders chosen by the village to share the epic tales of how their people came to be. Their job, they explained, was to teach anyone eager to learn.

Whenever I think of oral tradition, those moments come to mind. I also remember Maurice Dennis, an Abenaki elder who worked for decades at a tourist attraction in Old Forge, NY. Cars roared by on the highway as he carved the figure of a turtle into a basswood log while relating to me the meaning of the 13 plates on its back. I remember Dewasentah, the Onondaga's head clan mother, teaching me stories "to pass on to my grandchildren who are not listening to me right now" as we drank tea in her trading post on the reservation. Then there was Duncan Williamson, pulling me aside at the British Storytelling Festival in London to explain how similar his Scottish traveller clan animals were to those of my own Abenaki Indian people.

Questions about the relevance and persistence of oral traditions are not new. In the late 19th century, trained ethnologists – not just white men and women, but also educated members of indigenous communities – began writing down "vanishing" oral traditions. In the early 20th century, further native stories were captured by wire recorders, then movie cameras. Books and recordings, they assumed, were destined to take the place of storytellers.

But oral traditions have not disappeared. Their settings may change, but their power and use remain. The image of an oral telling may be caught on paper, film or in digital format, but recordings are not the word shared live. The presence of teller and audience, and the immediacy of the moment are not fully captured by any form of technology. Unlike the insect frozen in amber, a told story is alive. It always changes from one telling to the next depending on the voice and mood of the storyteller, the place of its telling, the response of the audience. The story breathes with the teller's breath.

There's a similarity of intent within oral traditions around the world. In American Indian traditions, a story has at least two purposes. The first is to entertain, ensuring it will be heard. This requires awareness and knowledge of the audience – an awareness lacking in any form of recording. Secondly, a story must convey a lesson, one directly appropriate to the needs of the listener. If an Abenaki child was behaving in a selfish manner, for example, one of our traditional tellers might decide to share with that child the story of the monster that tried to keep all of the waters for its own use, was defeated by Gluskonba and turned into a bullfrog.

This is not to say that technology and the oral tradition are separated by a deep divide. Technology is neither good nor bad. It just depends on who's using it and how it's used. Humans have employed technology to hold on to stories for as long as we've had speech. Early on we carved shapes into wood or stone to create mnemonic devices. Here in the north-eastern woodlands of the US we made wampum, shell beads strung in patterns to record events. Now we have books and digital recorders.

Today, many traditional storytellers around the world refer back to books where ancestral wisdom was recorded. They listen to recordings – often in indigenous languages no longer widely spoken. We've passed through a century during which many indigenous languages were wiped out or pushed to the brink of extinction. A new generation of storytellers is bridging the gap between the decades when their elders were forbidden to speak anything but a European tongue and the present by listening to those old recordings and restoring almost forgotten tongues to everyday use.

During the trips I previously mentioned, my sons and I carried a digital recorder with us. Sixty years ago, Maurice Dennis visited every Abenaki elder he could find and taped their stories. Dewasentah's wall was lined with books about Indians. Today, some in our new generation of storytellers are translating stories recorded in English back into native languages – as my son Jesse is doing in Abenaki.

As Chan K'in said that night in Naha, it is all related. The great trees are connected to the distant stars. We humans are part of a circle. If we imagine that we are more important than all other beings, we may be inviting disaster. If we imagine that technology can take the place of the living human presence experienced through oral tradition, then we diminish ourselves and forget the true power of stories.

• This article was commissioned after the author contacted us via the You tell us page. If you have a subject that you would like Cif to cover, please visit the latest thread

Place names, schools, eloquent oratories and, of course, cricket can make Zimbabwe seem the most English of African countries

High tea and cakes to the strains of a grand piano. Rooms with names such as Balmoral, Edinburgh, Windsor, Mirabelle and Edward & Connaught. An oak-panelled grill that recalls a gentlemen's club on Pall Mall.

Yes, it must be Zimbabwe again.

The Meikles in Harare claims to be the country's best hotel, and it certainly seems to have dodged the economic bullets of recent years. Its colonial aura, with regal tapestries and framed black and white photos of Harare a century ago, would probably console the establishment's founder, Thomas Meikle, a Scottish immigrant.

To me too it felt reassuringly, and alarmingly, like home. One night there I switched on Zimbabwe state television to discover, amid controversial jingles extolling President Robert Mugabe, a developing crisis for Siegfried and Tristan in a rerun of All Creatures Great and Small.

Only a few buildings from the era of empire survive in Harare, formerly Salisbury, but there are also parks and tree-lined avenues that feel somehow familiar. In the east of the country, near Mutare, the best place to stop to admire the scenery is Prince of Wales View.

It might be 30 years since independence, but Britain remains in the cultural DNA. O-levels and A-levels are still studied. St George's College and Prince Edward are the leading schools, with much that evokes Harry Potter's Hogwarts or Billy Bunter's Greyfriars. English, the official language, is not only widely spoken, but spoken very well.

I have attended public events where black Zimbabweans deliver speeches with an ornate eloquence, or sometimes grandiloquence, that seems more Victorian literary salon than oppressive African dictatorship. Theirs is a language no longer spoken by the British.

Mugabe, self-declared nemesis of the evil former empire, is no exception to this. His speeches are finely polished and buffed in the colonisers' tongue: "If yesterday I fought you as an enemy, today you have become a friend. If yesterday you hated me, today you cannot avoid the love that binds you to me, and me to you."

Heidi Holland, author of Dinner with Mugabe, recalls being handed tea in an exquisite English porcelain cup by a waiter in white gloves and tails while waiting at the State House to interview the president in 2007.

Last year in a speech entitled The Britishness of Mugabe, she spoke of how he has dressed all his life in austere suits of the stereotypical English gentleman, polished his vowels self-consciously and developed something of a British sense of humour.

Holland said: "What most revealed Mugabe's fragmented identity to me, though, were the tears glistening in his eyes when he talked about Britain's royals. The Queen and her four children, her sister and her mother had all stayed with him at State House, he told me. 'And now, to this day, we treasure those moments, and we have nothing against the royal family,' he continued – using the royal 'We'."

His love for Savile Row tailors is matched by a love for that most English of games: cricket. Mugabe, patron of Zimbabwe Cricket (ZC), once declared: "Cricket civilises people and creates good gentlemen. I want everyone to play cricket in Zimbabwe; I want ours to be a nation of gentlemen."

Now, after years in the doldrums, there are signs of the sport coming back to life here. A recent domestic Twenty20 tournament was televised and brought in multiracial crowds of more than 7,000 and corporate sponsors otherwise starved of entertainment. A Pop Idol-style contest toured the country inviting all comers to prove they could be Zimbabwe's fast bowling star of the future.

The national team is also on the up. Alan Butcher, a former England batsman, is now the coach of a side, no longer dominated by white players, that has claimed the one-day scalps of the West Indies, India and Sri Lanka. Zimbabwe is looking to return to Test cricket for the first time since 2006 with a home series against Bangladesh next year.

Some hope this could be the catalyst for wider social recovery. But there's no escaping politics. In 2003 two of Zimbabwe's finest players, Andy Flower and Henry Olonga, wore black armbands at the World Cup to mourn the death of democracy. The men in charge of the game have notoriously had ties with Mugabe.

Ozias Bvute, managing director of ZC, is on the EU's banned list owing to alleged associations with Mugabe's Zanu-PF party. Recently I found Bvute in a freshly painted office, complete with satellite TV and Wi-Fi internet access, that some may find suspiciously plush for a country in which many government buildings are shabby and threadbare. But he insisted he is no tool of Mugabe.

"I woke up one day and was told I was on the sanctions list," he said. "I read, 'These are the people responsible for the tragedy of Zimbabwe.' I read that cricket is a political instrument. This is a myth. I do not hold any card from any political party. It's like the ANC in South Africa: 70% of individuals here have had associations with Zanu-PF. It's a small society. We know each other."

Certainly David Coltart, the Movement for Democratic Change's sports minister, and a cricket fanatic, seemed untroubled. He told me: "There are people in the administration in influential places who are aligned with Zanu-PF, but I'm in a cabinet chaired by Robert Mugabe.

"In the first four or five years post-Nelson Mandela's release, there were many people in the South African government who I'm sure the ANC had difficulty in dealing with. But it was part of the process. It was the price you paid for a peaceful transition. The same applies to cricket."

The return of Test cricket would give the appearance, at least, that Zimbabwe is almost back to normal. Alistair Campbell, a former captain and now chairman of selectors, said: "I'd like to see England and Australia touring here again. I'd like to sip chardonnay on the opening day of a Test at Harare Sports Club."

At the sports club's Maiden or Red Lion pubs, a summer's day on the playing fields of England can seem eerily close at hand. Whereas South Africa, that big and brash power of the continent, often reminds me of America, it's Zimbabwe, the quieter, ironic and perhaps cripplingly introspective cousin, that makes me think of Britain.

I wonder if this is why, like many of my compatriots, I fall head over heels for this beautiful country, both strange and familiar, satisfying a lust for African adventure but leavened by a comforting, nostalgic scent of home. And I worry how healthy that is.

Congested capital might not welcome special Games Lanes set aside for athletes, officials and 'marketing partners'

The nation's collective, unquestioning enthusiasm for London 2012 could be dampened, with the announcement today of the key traffic lanes that will only be accessible to Olympic traffic.

The so-called "Games Lanes", which will run along more than 60 miles of London's roads, will only be accessible to vehicles from the Olympic family – which includes coaches carrying athletes and officials, but also "marketing partners" – and are designed to enable swift and safe transport between accommodation and venues.

The lanes form part of the Olympic Route Network, announced today by the Olympic Delivery Authority – the public body responsible for developing and building venues and infrastructure for the Games.

The ODA stresses that other recent games, including Beijing, Athens and Sydney have all used Games Lanes, but the news that some of London's traffic lanes will be off-limits to normal drivers for weeks is likely to provide further fuel for those already beginning to question the value of hosting the Olympics.

Tuesday marked two years until the start of the 2012 Games and several of the responses on guardian.co.uk suggested not all were overwhelmed.

"What a waste of time and money – invest in schools, instead of this pantomime," opined jobytug, in a comment that was recommended by 81 other readers.

He added: "This is a jingoistic playtime for kids who never grew up."

Now the revelation that 25,000 marketing partners –"whose funding and support is essential to the running of the Games," the ODA said in a statement – will be among those authorised to use the Games Lanes could leave another bitter taste.

(I should also state here that 28,000 journalists will also be among the users, along with 18,000 athletes and 11,000 officials).

The Games Lanes scythe across central London [pdf map] from east to west and vice versa. The transport minister, Theresa Villiers, admitted Londoners' daily journeys could be affected.

"Plans for the Olympic Route Network are an important part of ensuring the Games are a success," she said.

"Experience in other host cities clearly shows how vital this network is for enabling the world's greatest athletes to get where they need to be.

"There's no doubt that the Olympics will have an impact on many of the daily journeys made by Londoners, but the government, the mayor and London 2012 are working hard to ensure we keep the capital moving."

The ORN will cover more than 100 miles of London roads, and a further 171 miles outside the side road closures, banned turns, changes to traffic lights and pedestrian crossings, adjustments to bus and coach stops and the temporary suspension of bus stops (on the plus side, roads in the ORN will be free from roadworks).

You can view maps of the network on the official London 2012 website.

UN vies with Islamic Jihad and Hamas to keep hundreds of thousands entertained in summer

The boys sitting in the shade of an awning erected on a Gaza beach are only half listening to the man addressing them through a megaphone.

After all, school's out for the summer and there is football to be played and the sea to be swum in. Some of the 100 or so boys whisper among themselves, others are busy burying their own or a friend's legs in the hot sand.

But when the man asks, "What is our slogan?" they snap to attention, responding in unison: "Resistance!"

This is summer in Gaza, Islamic Jihad-style. These boys are among 10,000 or so children that the militant organisation estimates attends its 50 camps. Hamas, the Islamic party which runs Gaza, claims another 100,000 children are attending 500 camps it organises; both are dwarfed by the 250,000 taking part in the United Nations Relief and Works Agency's Summer Games across the Gaza Strip.

Gaza's summer camps are seen by militant organisations as an opportunity to influence a generation of children; to inculcate a duty to resist the Israeli occupation of Palestinian land. UNRWA says it just wants the kids to have fun.

This year, the rivalry has taken an ugly turn with middle-of-the-night arson attacks on two UNRWA camps, one involving a death threat to the organisation's head, John Ging. UNRWA says it doesn't know who was responsible and has asked Hamas to investigate.

Down on the beach, Hasan Abdu, the Islamic Jihad official in charge of the summer camps programme, is telling the boys: "Anyone who makes concessions on Palestine is making concessions on the Qur'an. Palestine is our right. You are the men of the future – one of you might make history."

When he asks who will join the resistance in the future, hands shoot up, showing the words are getting through despite the boys' apparent inattentiveness.

The camp is named in honour of "the martyrs of the freedom flotilla", in reference to the nine Turkish activists killed by Israeli forces while trying to break the blockade of Gaza. Many of the boys are wearing T-shirts adorned with a picture of the Mavi Marmara, the flotilla's lead boat.

Zidan Obied, who is running this camp, explains the programme and philosophy. "We are expressing our principles as Islamic Jihad. We believe in the right of resistance and we are against peace negotiations."

He runs through some of the daily activities: sessions on the history and geography of Palestine; readings from the Qur'an; arts and literature; drawing – "we teach them to draw maps of Palestine from the river to the sea"; lessons on the significance of Jerusalem and the al-Aqsa mosque; sports; volunteering activities such as tree-planting and clearing cemeteries; military-style marching and exercises.

This, of course, is for the boys. There are separate camps for girls, with "very limited" sporting activities. Instead they are taught crafts, such as embroidery.

"We are a conservative community, we try to avoid bad behaviour between boys and girls," says Obied. "Dealing with girls is different."

Many families are reluctant to allow their daughters to attend even segregated camps, whoever is running them, and across the board there is a disproportionate number of boys taking part in organised summer activities.

A few miles to the north of the Islamic Jihad beach awning, separate Hamas-run boys' and girls' camps are sharing the same seaside facility. The girls here are studying the Qur'an for five hours a day; the boys have a wide range of activities on offer, including football, computer skills, marching and a "sniper's corner" where they are taught shooting as a sport.

The children are also taught about the history of the Palestinian struggle. In a society where politics and conflict is part of daily life, the notion that children should be allowed to enjoy childhood free from such burdens is incomprehensible.

"Of course we have a political agenda," says Ahmed Nabil, a Hamas official helping to run the camp. "We believe the older generation has a duty to tell the younger generation about these issues. We are letting them play but also giving them a message. We must not let them forget that we are an occupied people."

Israel claims the Hamas and Islamic Jihad summer camps are breeding a new generation of extremists. UNRWA declines to comment on other camps, but emphasises its own, contrasting, philosophy.

"In the highly charged, pressurised environment of Gaza, it's important to have a space where children can just be children," says UNRWA spokesman Chris Gunness. "We want to give the children a sense of fun and normality."

UNRWA's camps are better organised and equipped, not surprisingly given the organisation's resources. Under brightly coloured streamers at camp number nine, there is a high-sided portable swimming pool, bouncy castle, trampoline and volleyball net.

The girls come in the morning, the boys in the afternoon – but both follow the same programme of activities, which sometimes involve a theme of teamwork and mutual respect.

Mohammed Zyara, running the boys' activities at the camp, says: "Our main goal is to give them a good time, keep them away from troubles and politics."

However, he says, UNRWA does not discourage children from attending rival camps. "I'm sure some of the boys go to one kind of camp in the morning, and another in the afternoon," he says philosophically.

Back at the Islamic Jihad camp, the political lesson is over and the boys are playing in the waves despite the 80m litres of raw or partially treated sewage discharged into the sea off Gaza every day. Under the watchful eye of camp organisers, they chorus their support for Islamic Jihad, although many have also attended UNRWA camps this summer.

Hasan Sidan, a 13-year-old whose hair and clothes are caked in sand, reassuringly reflects the priorities of most boys his age. He likes the high jump best, and "the worst thing is when they are lecturing us". Most of all, he says, he just wants to play on the beach and have a good time.

Gaza summer camps

Islamic Jihad

10,000 children

51 camps

Themes: resistance; freedom for Palestinian prisoners; loyalty to the land and Jerusalem

Hamas

100,000 children

500 camps

Themes: Jerusalem, prisoners, occupation, commitment to prayer

UNRWA

250,000 children

1,200 camps

Theme: fun