When 17-year-0ld Danny Donelly got a bank loan to open a record shop and sell dancefloor-filling electronic music, he little knew how he would help revolutionise his town and dance music at large

In the early 1990s, the suburban town of Romford was known for three things. It was the home of the world’s best snooker player, Steve Davis. It was where people placed bets at Romford dog track, over a dinner of chicken in a basket. And for those in the know, it was where the UK’s best underground dance music was bought and sold.

That pedigree was immortalised by Romford’s most famous musical act, Underworld, with frontman Karl Hyde shouting the words “mega mega mega, going back to Romford” at the climax of 1995’s Born Slippy. Those words now form the title of a new exhibition in the town, Mega Mega: Romford’s Suburban Sound Revolution, which charts how this unglamorous but party-spirited backwater became an upstart rival to great dance music cities such as Manchester or Detroit.

Thetford has a welcoming history. So why have there been so many demonstrations this summer over plans to house asylum seekers at a nearby military base – as well as nights of violent disorder?

‘I don’t talk to mainstream media,” says a young man in an Arsenal shirt. I’ve just asked what brought him to the latest protest against the housing of asylum seekers in Thetford, Norfolk, and his disdain is clear as he goes to warn other protesters of the Guardian’s presence. This isn’t exactly the unity promised by the flyer advertising today’s march: “Everyone welcome: families, friends, dogs. Including the media.”

The protest is planned as a two-mile march from Thetford’s market square to RAF Barnham, a site just over the border in Suffolk, which is due to house asylum seekers while they progress through the system. It is the latest part of a campaign that has lasted the whole summer. Banners line the square, the largest succinctly describing why people are gathering here today: “Thetford and Barnham says no to asylum seekers.”

Nigel Farage’s constituency takes in genteel resorts and one of England’s poorest villages. With a snap byelection approaching, what do the residents want from the Reform UK leader – or the bin who’s challenging him?

‘If it’s the Tin Man, then I suppose I’ll vote for Nigel,” says a Clacton resident, a retiree on a slow stroll towards the seafront, when I ask whom she will vote for in the forthcoming byelection. “I would sooner have Farage than the Tin Man!” As political slogans go, it is as good as any.

The sun is beating down, but the sky is hazy, which accurately describes the mood of this constituency since the Reform UK leader quit as MP for Clacton on 7 July, forcing a byelection that sent shock waves through Westminster and confusion through Clacton. I am spending a couple of days here with the photographer Andy Hall, traversing the coast between Jaywick to the west and Walton-on-the-Naze to the east. An incessant wind is blowing from the North Sea, sending waves crashing on to Clacton beach. Nicky Friday, who at 11am is already handing out 99s from her aptly named kiosk, Seabreeze, isn’t exactly exercised by the Reform UK leader’s latest gambit. “This is going to sound terrible, but I’m so busy running this business and working here,” she says. “I don’t really do politics.”

Nicky Friday, who owns and runs the Seabreeze kiosk in Clacton

Last summer, a 14-year-old girl was sexually assaulted by an asylum seeker in Epping and this small community was engulfed in protest. Can it recover?

When Sherzod* moved to Epping in 2025, he was dreaming of a little garden, long dog walks in the forest and more space to breathe. At 20, he had moved from Uzbekistan to the UK to study law, then lived in north London for decades. In his mid-40s, after establishing himself in a media job, he began visiting the forest – 5,900 acres of green lung saved by the Epping Forest Act 1878. The pretty shops of the old south-west Essex town delighted him. “I just liked the high street, I liked the people,” he says. “The people were really friendly.”

Epping was created by the canons of Waltham Abbey in the 13th century as a market town on the road from London to Cambridge. Its high street is still thriving. There is a Gail’s bakery and an M&S Food shop; the four-bed semis in the estate agents’ windows are listed at just shy of £1m.

While women continue to toil with the coil, fewer men are prepared to get snipped. The answer why may lie in the rumours and fear that spread online

There I was, lying on the operating table in just my socks and a Steely Dan T-shirt. I had taken the train back to my seaside home town in Essex to have a vasectomy after being on the NHS waiting list for almost two years, since our third child, Sylvia, was born. Three was our magic number. Any more and the car would become a wagon and dinner would turn into feeding time. And now, finally, the contraceptive burden would fall on me. After Hayley’s years of toil with a coil, and the pain of childbirth, I was due a little discomfort.

A vasectomy, as the pre-op letter explained, “is designed to make you sterile”. (You’d hope so.) It would involve “removing a segment of a tube called the vas deferens from each side so that sperm cannot pass through”. There would be an “injection of local anaesthetic to the skin of the scrotum” before “a tiny incision through the painless area of the scrotum, first on one side and then the other”.

Tim Burrows is an author and journalist

Driver reportedly checked with base and was told to continue when GPS directed van on to Essex mudflats

People thought they were looking at an AI image: an Amazon delivery van half-submerged at the mouth of the Thames estuary where it meets the North Sea. “I thought someone had just knocked up a photograph,” says local guide Kevin Brown about first seeing it online.

It turned out the image was genuine, and it proliferated. There was something delightfully primordial about it – such a dominant sight of modern street life, just out there on the mud, vulnerable and surrounded by nothingness. Banter followed, images of an Amazon package floating in sea water: Amazon has made your delivery.