Why is he not made of willow? Why is he plaited and not woven? World’s basket makers have plenty of questions

Hollywood heart-throbs are known for their good looks and charisma. But in a classic plot twist, the latest big-screen dreamboat causing viewers to get hot and bothered isn’t even human.

Alexander Skarsgård’s Wicker Husband character in the romcom Wicker has sent the internet into a frenzy.

MYB Textiles Ltd is the last mill in the world weaving patterned Nottingham lace on traditional looms. Once there were 20 lace mills in the Irvine Valley towns of Newmilns and Darvel alone. The lace industry became the largest employer in the area for a time and flourished until the late 1970s when competition emerged from other European countries and Asia. Now the majority of their trade comes from the film, theatre, TV and entertainment industry

They dressed – and partied with – the innermost in-crowd. As a swirling new show celebrates their fashion creations, Birtwell recalls her happy days with Clark and her sorrow at the loss of David Hockney

In the mythical age of bohemia, the psychedelic decade between Mary Quant’s cheerful miniskirts and the first snarls of punk, Celia Birtwell and Ossie Clark were London’s most fashionable couple. Birtwell created the fabrics: daydreamy, botanical doodles that captured the idealism and looseness of the times in wisps of chiffon. Clark magicked these into sensual bias-cut dresses with a freewheeling grandeur that was part Hollywood glamour, part rock’n’roll anarchy.

More than just designers, they were a whole vibe. They dressed – and partied with – the innermost of the in-crowd. Talitha Getty, Marianne Faithfull and Anita Pallenberg hung out at Quorum, their Chelsea boutique. At a catwalk show in 1970, there were two Beatles, Cecil Beaton and Brigitte Bardot in the audience – and, after Clark began making stage clothes for Mick Jagger, he accompanied the Rolling Stones on tour. David Hockney’s portrait of the couple in their pomp – Mr and Mrs Clark and Percy, painted two years into their marriage, when Birtwell was pregnant with their second child – sealed their place in the mythology of the period.

Turner prize nominee whose installations, sculptures and films returned repeatedly to the histories embedded within bodies

In 1994, Christine Borland, who has died aged 61 of cancer, opened her first solo exhibition at Tramway in Glasgow. Its starting point was a mail-order catalogue through which human skeletons could be legally purchased for medical teaching.

The discovery that a person’s remains could be bought anonymously through the post gave rise to one of the defining questions of her career. Working with forensic experts, police and medical professionals, Borland attempted to reconstruct the life behind one such skeleton, producing a bronze facial reconstruction alongside the original bones.

Sunburn, the latest exhibition by photographer and costume designer Gerwyn Davies, is a homage to the Tweed region of New South Wales and the borderlands. The exhibition showcases vibrant new textile and photographic works that reimagine the ephemera, icons and images of Australia’s glittering east coast

• Sunburn: Gerwyn Davies runs from 3 July–22 November 2026 at Tweed Regional Gallery, South Murwillumbah, NSW

Read more: Iridescent: Gerwyn Davies’ colourful, camp costume sculptures

Using handmade needles and thread, Lucie Kamusekera has recorded the decades of conflict she has lived through in the Congo

She could hear the sounds of artillery. “I have no idea how I am still alive,” says Lucie Kamusekera. When the city of Goma, in the eastern Democratic Republic of the Congo, fell to a rebel offensive in early 2025, the 82-year-old artist was hiding at home.

Kamusekera, 82, stitches scenes of contemporary Congolese history on to tobacco sacks

The 70-metre-long cloth about the Norman invasion has not been seen in England since it was created in 11th century

The Bayeux tapestry will be insured for an estimated £800m when it returns to the UK in 2026 for the first time in more than 900 years.

The Treasury will insure the 70-metre embroidered cloth, which depicts the 1066 Norman invasion and Battle of Hastings, for damage or loss during its transfer from France and while it is on display at the British Museum from September.

Most metros use plastic or metal, but the distinctive fabrics on London’s network are full of clues to its history

When I first came to London from Yorkshire in the late 1980s, I found the tube replete with bizarre novelties. Among them was the way most trains required me to sit sideways to the direction of travel, as on a fairground waltzer. Directly opposite me was another person or an empty seat, and while I knew not to stare at people, I did stare at the seats – at their woollen coverings, called moquette. I have since written two books about them, the first nonfiction, Seats of London, and now a crime novel, The Moquette Mystery.

I was attracted to moquette firstly because it, like me, came from Yorkshire (most of it back then was woven in Halifax), and whereas many foreign metros have seats of plastic or steel, moquette made the tube cosy. Yet it seemed underappreciated. The index of the standard history of the tube, for instance, proceeds blithely from Moorgate to Morden.

Irish fashion designer whose linen dresses were a staple of Princess Diana’s wardrobe

Paul Costelloe had a very Irish career. He learned and practised fashion internationally as a migrant in Paris, Milan and New York, and designed for such British institutions as Diana, Princess of Wales, and British Airways at its 1990s zenith.

But he was rooted in the island of Ireland’s terroir, appreciating its fibres, wool and, especially, linen, by fingertip feel as much as eye. Fashion only rediscovered linen after synthetics lost appeal with the oil price shock of the mid 70s. For Ireland, and Costelloe, linen was always an essential resource.