CNBC's Aditi Roy talks about meat shortages in the U.S. and the growing demand for products like Impossible Foods with the company's CEO Pat Brown.

CNBC's Tyler Mathisen talks about the historic job losses in April with Labor Secretary Eugene Scalia.

Across America, dairy farmers have dumped countless gallons of fresh, entirely usable milk, because there is no one to buy it. The shelter-in-place orders given by governments around the country in response to the coronavirus pandemic have shuttered big customers such as restaurants and schools and kept people at home. About 50 percent of the milk produced in the United States goes to restaurants and other food service operations, according to the National Milk Producers Federation.

From Rashford to Tielemans, we check in on how our initial Next Generation players have got on before the 2019 ones are announced this week

• Harley Willard: what happened next to one 2014 selection?

In 2014 we decided that it would be interesting to pick the best young players from each Premier League club – as well as 40 from around the world – and follow them for five years to see how they progressed.

The idea was to try to get a sense of how difficult it is to become a professional footballer despite being one of the best in that country at the age of 16 or 17.

This week’s roundup also features Monica Seles, the Windies and a bust-up between Souness and Dunphy

1) Gianfranco Zola at Chelsea. Zola at Napoli. And more of Zola in Serie A.

Gianfranco Zola making life difficult.

Our #OldSkoolSkillSkool feature on Chelsea TV is not to be missed... https://t.co/LSJmrcH0j2 pic.twitter.com/YbUgB1olE4

As the Premier League weighs up a possible return in June, many questions remain unanswered. From testing regimes to where games will be played, Paul MacInnes takes a look at the key hurdles

• Project Restart: the hurdles Premier League football must clear to resume

Max Rushden and Barry Glendenning talk to Jacqui Oatley about the ups and downs of being the first woman to commentate on Match of the Day and her love of Wolves. Also, Archie Rhind-Tutt on the impending return of the Bundesliga

Join the conversation on Facebook, Twitter and email.

Max and Barry talk with Jacqui Oatley about her love of football, how her career came about and how she learned to deal with the enormous level of scrutiny which came with becoming the first woman to commentate on Match of the Day.

The England and Manchester City goalkeeper on career highs and lows, including Covid-19 delaying her comeback from injury

Karen Bardsley has had a lot of time to reflect on her career. The goalkeeper left England’s World Cup quarter-final victory over Norway in 2019 with a hamstring injury, knowing she would not make the semi-final, and has not played since. With cruel irony, her clearance to return to training at Manchester City came as the Lionesses returned from the SheBelieves Cup and went straight into isolation in March.

“I was like: ‘Wow, OK, I just got cleared to train with the whole squad and now I’m gonna have to wait for ever to do it,’ or at least that’s what it felt like,” Bardsley says with a laugh. “I’m just taking this as an opportunity to get as strong and as physically resilient as possible.”

Club’s charity has adjusted swiftly amid Covid-19 and faces challenges with youngsters previously involved in crime

Like most workers in the charity sector, George Henry knew he had a problem when the UK entered lockdown on 23 March. As the targeted interventions manager at the Palace for Life Foundation – Crystal Palace’s charity – Henry uses football to help disadvantaged young people in south London and organises a team of mentors who try to keep them on the straight and narrow.

“Most of them have been arrested or been in gangs and we try to get them into positive outcomes,” he says. “We’re based in schools and a custody suite for our Divert programme, which aims to get them back into employment and training. Around this time of year we usually help with the transition from year six to year seven but because of the lockdown that couldn’t happen.”

The celebrated actor had a turbulent upbringing before becoming world-famous for playing two perfect nannies. Now she’s bonding with a new generation of children through her storytelling podcast

“I’ll tell you what, shall I go outside?” Julie Andrews asks. We are talking by phone, but, alas, the reception inside her home on Long Island is, she says, “always terrible”. Torturous minutes pass in which I can hear only fragments of her conversation, and if anyone knows of a sweeter agony than being barely able to hear Andrews’ still lovely, melodious voice, I don’t want to know what it is. Eventually, I have to tell her this phone conversation isn’t working.

“I can stand out in my garden, although it is a bit nippy …” Andrews suggests.

Her incendiary collages of vintage black pinups made her one of the most influential artists of her time. Now she’s battling the ‘insanity’ of Trump’s America

Lorna Simpson is holed up in Los Angeles with her actor daughter right now. She’s been spending lockdown doing one of her favourite things: reflecting on how people present themselves when out in public. All this people-watching has put her in mind of the 1990s, when she would go wig-hunting in Fulton Mall, a blue-collar shopping centre near her home in New York.

“Shop after shop sold all sorts of wigs,” says the 59-year-old. “Human hair, yak hair, synthetic hair.” Simpson bought as many as she could, in every style she saw: from platinum-blonde “Lana Turner” wigs to fake afros and braids. She transferred photographs of each one on to panels of felt before hanging them alongside such seemingly disconnected phrases as: “First impressions are the most lasting.” The wigs were a “surrogate”, she says, a way to explore “the person we see ourselves to be”.

Just as the Caucasian figure in contemporary art is seen as universal, the black figure of African descent should be too

Any society, or self, constructed to always separate itself from the other is doomed

Lorna Simpson: Give Me Some Moments is at Hauser & Wirth’s website

A teenager bonds awkwardly with her cousin as they take the bus from a rural community to New York so that she can have a termination

The four words in this title are the four possible replies to bureaucratic tick-box questions about the frequency of your various sexual experiences. A young woman here must answer them, before she is allowed to have an abortion. However rigid and blandly routine it seems, the four-part answer grid is cleverly designed to get information about vulnerability: it is so easy instinctively and evasively to deny a difficult question structured as a yes/no, but much harder to check the “never” box, when “rarely”, “sometimes” and “always” are coolly offered as equivalently non-judgmental options.

The lead character in Eliza Hittman’s tough, realist drama is confronted with this central, four-part inquisition about her life in one brilliantly controlled, enigmatic scene. Theoretically, it is just a bit of form-filling that doesn’t appear to promise any real revelation to the audience. Yet it does just that, delivering a penny-drop moment of realisation. Or perhaps it’s more of an ambiguous hint and all the more disquieting for that.

Related: Sleazy bosses, exploited barmaids: US cinema finally discovers the left behinds

People who love boozers always said it was the atmosphere, not the alcohol, that attracted them. The lockdown has proved us right

Some forgotten heroes – or mistreated victims, if you prefer – of the coronavirus outbreak are pubs. People who love pubs always said it was the atmosphere, not the alcohol, and people who didn’t love them thought we were just spinning them a line. Now we have proof, because we are drinking as much as we ever did and yet we complain almost constantly.

That debate has ended, anyway, because the people who miss pubs now talk only to each other. We start off complaining about the pub, then segue, almost shyly, into: “Are you managing to drink quite a lot?” “Jesus Christ, you should see the state of my recycling bin. It only got collected two days ago. Today I had to climb into it to compress the cans with my body weight.” “I actually can’t carry as much beer as I want to drink,” said one friend. “One night, I ended up buying a bottle of gin.”

Zoe Williams is a Guardian columnist