Athletes such as William Ellard and Bly Twomey starred this summer but much needs doing to boost disabled sport between Games

There was a lot riding on the Paris Paralympics, but they delivered. A Games that had the challenge not only of exciting the people of Paris but of reviving the movement behind disability sport served up world-class entertainment to full stadiums and left a legacy of a more accessible French capital on top. Paris was a triumph, if not quite a perfect one, but the question that is already being asked is: what next?

For ParalympicsGB the answers are relatively clear. After another second place in the medal table , ahead of the US and the host nation and behind only China, funding has been locked in for the next four-year cycle that ends in Los Angeles 2028. A £330m package across Olympic and Paralympic programmes saw every one of the 18 world-class Paralympic programmes receive a cash increase. William Ellard in the pool , Archie Atkinson in the velodrome and the table tennis semi-finalist Bly Twomey are new faces who emerged in Paris with prospects for glory in Los Angeles. The 2028 Games, even with the political complications of a Trump presidency, are something athletes and officials are excited by.

Guardian writers recall their memorable occasions over the past year, from fraternity in the F1 paddock to an indiscreet moment in the darts

You hear all sorts of whispers at the Olympics; my favourite this year was about the 61-year-old grandmother Ni Xialian, who had an outside shot in the women’s table tennis. She won world titles for China in the early 1980s, then fell in love with another player, Tommy Danielsson, and moved to Luxembourg to run a hotel. She still plays and at this year’s Games she won her first match but lost to the world champion in the second . Afterwards, she spent a happy hour offering life advice to the assembled press. “I was worried if I was good enough, but if you never play, you’ll never know,” she said, “and as I always say: ‘I’m always younger today than I will be tomorrow.’” Andy Bull

Dance till you drop, then home by 10pm – daytime events offer a glorious escape for those of us bogged down by responsibility

Last Saturday night, I went clubbing with friends. Once upon a time, this wouldn’t have been a remotely odd sentence to type, because it was what I did pretty much every weekend. But a lot has changed since then – let’s just say that in my peak raving years there was a Labour government in power, only it was actually popular – and like most people whose happy place was once on the dancefloor, inevitably with time comes the feeling that you no longer belong. Deep down, you still come to life when the bassline kicks in. But you morph from hardened raver to the kind of person who’s always up for dancing at parties and weddings, and then finally into the kind of person whose friends aren’t getting married any more and who spends their Saturday nights giving their children lifts to parties. So eventually you tell yourself sadly that those days are over now, and that clinging on would be a bit mutton-behaving-as-lamb.

Well, not any more. Enter what was almost certainly the cheeriest thing about an otherwise lousy 2024: the rise of what is now regrettably known in my house as Old Lady Clubbing, AKA daytime events specially laid on by music promoters for the over-30s. It’s like going back in time, but better: partly because this time round you have learned to wear the big coat, instead of going without and shivering glamorously to death in the queue, but mostly because it starts in the afternoon. The secret of middle-aged socialising, it transpires, is to do roughly what you always did – but earlier: hitting the club at 3pm means being home in time for the 10 o’clock news, and blissfully asleep by last orders. (Though the truly multitasking could do as one of the DJs at Day Fever, the over-35s night set up by the actor Vicky McClure and her promoter husband, Jonny Owen, reportedly sometimes does and cram in a big supermarket shop on the way back.) Even the bar staff love it, one told me, because unlike most nights there’s no hassle: everyone’s just too thrilled to be out of the house.

Gaby Hinsliff is a Guardian columnist

The will simply to stay afloat has drowned most urges to do something meaningful with costly aubergines

Another year gone, and I edge closer to the afterlife I deserve, namely in hospitality hell. The service will be slow, the butter will come in naff wrapped portions, and chipper staff will squat at my table between courses and ask: “Any favourites so far?”

Before then, however, I’ll digest 2024 and regurgitate my findings. My year began recovering from a mini-break in Murwillumbah with Nigel Farage and Fred Sirieix. Food terrible. Tripadvisor: 1 star. Do not recommend. On my return, my first stop was my beloved King Cookdaily , a vegan kiosk with seats in Shoreditch that serves heavenly Lao bowls, udon and jerk. By the end of 2024, however, restaurant-land’s enthusiasm for “the vegan craze” has sunk like a chickpea-juice meringue. The will of most restaurants simply to stay afloat this year, serving whatever valve or offcut they can, has drowned any urge to do something meaningful with costly aubergines. Instead, we had Bébé Bob , which serves only chicken, and Eggslut , with its £15 egg sandwiches.

Sibling rivalry, a massive shark, anti-Nazi resistance in Norway, a brilliant romcom, and a tale of power and betrayal

All Aboard the Bedtime Bus by Karl Newson and Tim Budgen , Little Tiger , £7.99
Ding! Ding! The Bedtime Bus is on its way in this friendly, cuddly, pastel picture book, with gentle repeating verses to help toddlers wind down to sleep.

How We Share Cake by Kim Hyo-eun , translated by Deborah Smith , Scribble , £12.99
Sharing can be challenging as one of five children, and this funny, acutely observed picture book for 4+ brilliantly distils the struggle for sibling justice over everything from fried chicken to chores, bathroom time to birthday cake.

Peter Dinklage’s resonant turn as Hercule Poirot gives the beloved writer’s debut a charismatic reboot

When an army captain, on leave during the first world war, visits a family friend for the weekend at their country pile in Essex, he is hoping for some sunny respite from the frontline. Captain Hastings and John Cavendish are childhood friends, so Hastings is well acquainted with his family, who also include John’s brother Lawrence and their stepmother Emily.

The widowed Emily, we learn, has recently married Alfred Inglethorp, an American 20 years her junior, much to the ire of her children who believe him to be a gold digger. One night, Emily is taken ill and cries out from her bed. By the time Hastings and Lawrence arrive on the scene – they are forced to break down the door, as it is locked from the inside – she is dead. The next morning Hastings announces he has called a friend to investigate: a moustached Belgian named Hercule Poirot.

Recalling Kate Bush and Perfume Genius, the Copenhagen-via-Scotland artist blends the ancient and avant garde – and finds revelation in loss and death

From Fife/Copenhagen
Recommended if you like Kate Bush, Astrid Sonne, Julia Holter
Up next Performing at the ICA, London, 19 February; album three in the works

Every Christmas, Clarissa Connelly rewatches Ingmar Bergman’s Fanny and Alexander , waiting for the scene in which Ismael shows Alexander a mummy and their faces turn in unison. “It gives me an experience like there is magic in the world, that there’s something bigger,” says the Scotland-born, Denmark-raised musician, 31. “It opens up the top of my head. Then my small, messy world becomes smaller and easier to comprehend and be a bit more careless about.”

Italians are taking to the court with factors including the pandemic and broadcasting also said to be fuelling enthusiasm

At the age of 47, diehard AC Milan fan Ninni Licata has hung up his football boots in exchange for a tennis racket.

Like thousands of Italians in recent years, Licata has been unable to resist the lure of a game that for years had been relegated to the sidelines of the country’s national sports, overshadowed by football and Formula One.

Producer says ‘courage has gone out of broadcasting’ and audiences want to see grittier issues

The creator of some of Britain’s best-loved soaps has said the “courage has gone out of broadcasting” and suggested that television bosses should not be afraid to flout Ofcom rules.

Phil Redmond – the brains behind Hollyoaks, Grange Hill and Brookside – said there was “too much risk aversion” in television, with producers afraid to upset regulators even if it meant pleasing audiences.