Scrolling through social media, it feels as though “indie sleaze” never went away. Grainy flash photography, smudged eyeliner and a soundtrack of early 2000s indie music are once again dominating feeds.

This revival is more of a reworking than a straightforward comeback. Today’s indie sleaze – exemplified in the music video for Charli XCX’s new track, Rock Music – is an algorithmically curated version of a once messy, participatory subculture. Its renewed appeal seems to lie partly in this aesthetic of imperfection, partly in its connection to earlier digital platforms and partly in what it evokes – a specific cultural moment associated with pre-social media digital life.

The original “indie sleaze” moment emerged in the early-mid 2000s, connecting with music, fashion, nightlife and online culture. It coalesced around a wide mix of genres, including electro and “indie” rock, particularly bands from New York such as The Strokes and Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and in the UK The Libertines, Long Blondes, Arctic Monkeys and Franz Ferdinand. However, it was it more than just the music – the visuals and lifestyle played a core part.

Equally important were the digital platforms that enabled new forms of fan participation and visibility. Sites like MySpace, LiveJournal and later Tumblr, allowed fans, bloggers and photographers to document and curate the scene in real time.

These platforms operated differently from today’s social media environment. They were less centralised or driven by algorithm recommendation, allowing different music scenes to emerge more gradually and at times unevenly across networks of different users.

As media researcher Henry Jenkins has argued, spaces like these foster forms of participatory culture, in which audiences actively shape and circulate media, often connecting with their own personal pleasures. Indie sleaze deeply connects with this, being a scene produced as much through fan practices such as blogging, photographing and sharing, as through the music itself.

What’s changed

The current revival can be traced back to a viral TikTok trend forecast in 2021, which predicted that the scene would be returning and gave it its specific name and coherence. Nobody was describing the scene as “indie sleaze” during its original heyday.

Since then, TikTok “indie sleaze” content has circulated through recognisable formats such as “get ready with me” videos styled for nights out or themed parties, slideshows of grainy flash photography, makeup tutorials and nostalgic edits imagining early 2000s club culture.

This is supplemented by accounts such as the curated @indiesleaze on Instagram, which highlights the importance of earlier platforms such as Flickr in documenting the scene. It allows followers to contrast the media we had then and its dynamics, with what we have now.

What stands out about this revival is its relationship to nostalgia. Many of the TikTok users producing indie sleaze content now were too young to have experienced the original scene. Instead, they engage with it through fragments such as archived images, music playlists and viral videos that reconstruct the past as a particular aesthetic and feeling. As a result, what circulates is not the lived reality of mid 2000s nightlife, but a stylised and selective memory of it.

For some music fans, this nostalgia is about a different experience of digital culture – one that feels less dominated by platforms, filters, AI and algorithms. For those who lived through indie sleaze, this revival may also produce a different kind of nostalgia that rests on memory.

On platforms like TikTok, “indie sleaze” has become a template that others can engage in through a set of visual cues and references that can be easily reproduced and widely circulated. This suggests that it is precisely indie sleaze’s messiness that makes it appealing and draws some people in. Its grain, blur and imperfection offer such a stark contrast to the polished, filter heavy and increasingly AI-mediated environments that characterise much of our contemporary social media.

There is also a sense of irony here. While indie sleaze is often appealing because of its rawness and imperfection, some of these visuals are now recreated through the very technologies they seem to resist. Filters and editing apps can add effects to smartphone images, digitally reproducing the look of older cameras and online photography. In this sense, the messiness associated with indie sleaze is no longer entirely spontaneous, but increasingly stylised for social media platforms.

Similar dynamics were at play in the reception of Charli XCX’s Brat album in 2025, which also resonated with audiences through its deliberately bold, messy, self aware aesthetic.

Music is often used by fans to connect to another time, whether through memory, or imagined pasts, bringing a sense of these moments into the present. In this sense, the return of indie sleaze is not simply a revival of a past musical movement, but a nostalgic reworking of it in the present.

As I have explored in previous research with Rafal Zaborowski on the resurgence of Kate Bush on TikTok, such revivals are often shaped by the logics of the platforms through which they circulate, connecting with forms of affect or nostalgia. What emerges then is not a faithful reconstruction or revival, but instead a version of the past that is made visible, shareable and open to reinterpretation in new ways and to new generations.

Ultimately this revival tells us as much about the present as it does about the past, raising broader insights about how digital platforms are reshaping not just what music fans remember, but the ways in which those memories are formed and shared.

Lucy Bennett, Lecturer in Popular Music, Digital Culture and Fandom, Cardiff University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

I’m a proud Yorta Yorta and Barapa Barapa man, an Indigenous astronomer and a trainee ecologist.

When I look at the night sky, I don’t just see stars. Instead, I see an ancient knowledge system that has guided people, culture and Country for tens of thousands of years.

But that knowledge is now at risk. In many of our towns and cities, the stars are increasingly hidden behind a haze of artificial light. And that light pollution is threatening a unique way of understanding the world.

A ‘living classroom’

The night sky is a living classroom, at once a calendar, map, lore book and weather forecast.

Indigenous Elders share this knowledge with younger people – often outdoors, on Country, beneath the stars.

They may start by talking about constellations, which have helped guide Indigenous Australians for millenia.

One example is the Wangel or “long-necked turtle” constellation. Various Indigenous communities looked to this constellation, based on the bright orange star Pollux, to know when it was time to travel and gather for different ceremonies. This may be because the bright orange star reflects the turtle’s orange colouring.

Another is the Djurt or “red-rumped parrot” constellation. This constellation is based on the Antares star which appears bright red with a blue halo, resembling the parrot’s red and blue feathers. This constellation guided communities to spots where food was abundant, such as grasslands that were full of seeds.

Constellations also hold lore, or rules, that guide sustainable practices. For example, when the Otchocut or “Murray cod” constellation appears in the night sky, we do not hunt Murray Cod. This is because it becomes visible when the rivers are warm and the fish are breeding, typically between October to November. Similarly, when the red-rumped parrot constellation appears, that means the parrot is breeding and therefore cannot be hunted.

The stars may also provide weather forecasts, but only if you have the knowledge and observation skills to understand them. For example, a star that twinkles and appears bright blue suggests a storm is coming. And if a cluster of stars twinkle quickly, it may mean the wind will become stronger.

Stars and songlines

The routes laid out by the stars are often connected to songlines. Songlines, sometimes known as dreaming tracks, are cultural pathways that connect traditional sites. Songlines also act as “drop pins” that indicate where important resources, such as waterholes and food, may be.

A well-known example is the Seven Sisters dreamtime story, which recounts the journey of seven sisters that ultimately become part of the Taurus constellation. For some Indigenous communities in central Australia, the Seven Sisters serve as a kind of celestial map. This is because the seven stars roughly mirror the location of seven waterholes.

The threat of light

As our cities grow, light pollution from streetlights, floodlights and buildings is spreading. As a result, it’s increasingly rare to see dark nights and starry skies near urban areas.

For Indigenous communities, this has a direct cultural impact.

Light pollution makes it near impossible to connect with the stars, and therefore share Indigenous sky knowledge with younger generations.

Light pollution also affects culturally important species. In Barapa Barapa culture, the microbat is a men’s totem and the nightjar is a women’s totem. Both are nocturnal animals that rely on darkness, so artificial light makes it harder for them to survive.

Beyond culture, light pollution has widespread ecological impacts, affecting how animals grow, behave and breed. Research suggests light pollution can stop clownfish eggs from hatching, shrink the brains of spiders and disorient threatened seabirds such as petrels and shearwaters.

It can also negatively affect human health. Research shows artificial light – particularly from LED lights and electronic devices – may trigger sleep and mood disorders and certain cardiovascular problems.

So, what can we do?

The good news is, we can each help reduce light pollution by making simple lifestyle changes. Here are some ideas:

• turn off outdoor lights whenever you’re not using them
• use lightbulbs with a lower brightness and warmer colouring
• choose light designs that direct light only where its needed
• close curtains and blinds at night to stop indoor light from spilling out
• during festive times such as Christmas, opt for daytime decorations instead of outdoor lights.

We can also better regulate the use of artificial light outdoors. Currently, Australia does not have any regulations around light pollution. But countries such as France have substantially reduced their light pollution levels by regulating what kind of lighting people can use and install.

Together, stronger regulation and simple lifestyle tweaks could help us tackle light pollution. And that’s key to keeping Indigenous sky knowledge alive.

Kai Lane, Traditional Owner Representative and Trainee Ecologist, Indigenous Knowledge

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Australia’s community radio sector contributes an estimated A$153.1 million to the country’s struggling music industries each year.

Our new research findings show community radio airs an estimated 390,960 hours of Australian music each year. This is more than double commercial radio’s 160,000 hours.

And for every $1 invested in the community radio sector, up to $5.55 is returned to the music industries – a direct financial benefit to musicians, record companies, live venues, agents, songwriters and other industry stakeholders.

The community radio sector as a whole boasts 450 not-for-profit stations across the country that hold “community radio” licences, and we assessed stations that were identified as music intensive. These included well-known stations such as 3RRR in Melbourne, FBi in Sydney, and the popular youth station 6RTR-FM in Perth.

These findings come as one of the nation’s oldest community stations, Sydney’s 2SER, faces closure. One of its university partners, Macquarie University, has indicated it will withdraw funding over the next few months.

Supporting artists

Our research was based on financial and interview data from ten case study stations, coupled with a net value analysis of the 292 community radio stations identified as being “music-intensive”.

We also added some questions into the Community Broadcasting Association of Australia’s National Listener Survey, to survey about 9,900 Australians over the age of 15. This sample, which was representative of the general population, suggests every year about five million Australians tune in to community radio each week (about 25% of the population over 15).

In recent years, the music industry has experienced fundamental changes around music consumption. Consumers are moving away from purchasing music to streaming it through apps such as Spotify. These platforms return relatively little to artists and recording companies.

And while more Australians than ever are attending live music, they are increasingly spending their money on expensive international touring acts, rather than local venues and artists.

Previous research by Creative Australia has honed in on this problem and the complex dynamics that underpin it. According to the agency’s report on music discovery and engagement, two-thirds of survey participants indicated they would seek out more Australian music if they could. At the same time, North American and British artists dominated participants’ favourite artists and songs.

But our research found community radio stations offer a gateway to Australian music. Based on listener data, we found about 1.6 million Australians (or about 30% of weekly community radio listeners) said they had discovered a local or emerging artist by listening to community radio.

One million Australians (19% of weekly listeners) said they had recommended a local Australian musician to a friend or shared their music online after discovering them on community radio. And a further one million (19%) said community radio was the only broadcaster that played the Australian music they wanted to listen to.

In addition, airplay on community radio produces direct consumer action. Every year, about 1.3 million (24%) Australians either purchase a ticket to a gig or buy artist music or merchandise after hearing it on community radio.

And 1.5 (28%) million said they looked up an artist on Spotify or another digital music platform after hearing them on community radio.

‘Lifeblood of the scene’

Indigenous community radio is also punching above its weight in its contributions to local music, comprising one-third of the top 39 “most intensive” Australian music stations.

These community radio stations are licensed to predominantly serve Indigenous audiences. However they often attract a wider audience to their specialist music programming.

They are run by Indigenous organisations and/or boards, and usually play more First Nations music than other stations. Some examples include Triple A Murri Country in Brisbane, 3KND in Melbourne, Koori Radio in Sydney, CAAMA in Alice Springs and Noongar Radio in Perth.

Community radio music stations play an important role in unearthing, encouraging and promoting Australian artists. And this means it can be part of the solution in ensuring local artists are heard, valued and supported in an era of digital streaming and global live touring acts.

Hip hop artist L-Fresh the Lion (Sukhdeep Singh Bhogal) was one of eight artists we interviewed for the project. Bhogal said community radio was

the lifeblood of the scene in the sense that for many artists, it’s a stepping stone, but not just a stepping stone, it’s consistent, it’s there. And it’s always accessible and full of people so passionate about music that I’d struggle to see a music scene without a strong community radio ecosystem, because it does hold the rest of the industry up.

Investing in passion

Community radio stations do a lot more than simply play music. For listeners, they provide informed, curated music content connected to their local communities.

For artists, they create space for new talent and music, by providing airplay, on-air interviews, promotions, and helping coordinating gigs at partner venues.

Australia’s music industries have lost some ground in recent years. But our research suggests more investment in community radio, along with enhanced digital listening options, could help recover some of this.

Shane Homan, Associate Professor, English, Communications and Performance Studies, Monash University; Heather Margot Anderson, Emeritus Professor of Economics and Econometrics, Monash University, and Susan Forde, Professor, Media and Journalism, Griffith University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

The sight of a saltwater crocodile basking on a mudbank is one of the most iconic and intimidating images of northern Australia. Yet the crocodiles that inhabit the region today are just the survivors of a much richer and stranger lost world.

Until recently, Australasia was home not just to the familiar crocodiles found in tropical waterways, but also to a unique cast of crocs unlike any living species.

Our recent review of evidence from the past 129,000 years reveals a dramatic story of extinctions, human encounters, and survival against the odds.

Mekosuchines – the lost rulers of Australasia

Modern crocodiles are members of the genus Crocodyls, but an entirely different group of crocodylians known as mekosuchines once dominated the region.

For more than 50 million years, mekosuchines were the apex predators of Australasia. Some even survived to meet humans.

These remarkable animals came in an astonishing variety of shapes and sizes, inhabiting many different environments.

Some were giant semi-aquatic ambush predators, much like the saltwater crocodiles that still patrol northern rivers today. Others were much smaller “dwarf” species that inhabited islands such as New Caledonia. Most terrifyingly, some species possessed blade-like serrated teeth and probably hunted their prey on land.

A fragmentary puzzle

We pieced together a record of crocodylians over the past 129,000 years from scattered and highly fragmentary remains recovered from more than 20 archaeological and palaeontological sites.

Most are located in Australia, though some are found in New Guinea, and a handful more across the southwest Pacific. At archaeological sites on the Australian mainland, as well as in the Torres Strait and New Guinea, researchers have uncovered the broken bones and teeth of modern crocodile species, showing that these formidable reptiles have shared landscapes with people for thousands of years.

Ancient rock art, some dating back around 20,000 years, reveals that Indigenous Australians were closely observing and depicting these animals for millennia. The distribution of archaeological remains and rock art closely mirrors the modern ranges of crocodiles today. This points to a long and relatively stable coexistence between humans and these powerful predators.

Archaeological evidence shows that humans did occasionally eat crocodiles, and sometimes even crafted pendants from their teeth. Yet such discoveries are quite rare. When ancient archaeological sites do yield crocodile bones, there are usually only a handful of them.

The evidence suggests crocodiles were hunted only rarely. This is not surprising.

Adult saltwater crocodiles are enormous, immensely powerful, and highly lethal to humans. For ancient communities, engaging with these apex predators would have been a hazardous undertaking, and something mostly avoided.

But modern crocodiles weren’t alone in these ancient landscapes. Fossils show they shared them with the mekosuchines.

On mainland Australia, mekosuchines are currently only known from fossils. Most remains date from more than 40,000 years ago. We currently have no evidence of these extinct crocs from archaeological sites or in ancient rock art.

We don’t know if humans and mekosuchines ever directly interacted in Australia. Their disappearance occurred around the same time as the extinction of other Australian megafauna, potentially after a long period of coexistence with humans. The exact cause of their demise in Australia remains a mystery.

Island extinctions

However, the story is different on the islands of New Caledonia, Vanuatu and Fiji. There, some mekosuchine species managed to survive into much more recent times. And humans almost certainly encountered them directly.

The extinct crocs of New Caledonia and Vanuatu were small, reaching less than two metres in length as adults. They also likely lived more on land than today’s semi-aquatic crocodiles. Their small statures and terrestrial lives would have made them far more accessible for human hunters.

Tragically, the known record of these island mekosuchines ends within a few centuries of human settlement. In several cases, their remains were found in association with human artefacts and middens.

In one example from Vanuatu, a mekosuchine limb bone appears to bear the gnaw marks of a rat, an invasive species introduced to the island by humans. While definitive proof is elusive, it seems likely that direct or indirect human involvement may be the reason for the disappearance of these “dwarf” island crocodylians.

Lessons for the Anthropocene

We are now living through the Anthropocene, an age when humans are profoundly influencing the planet and extinctions are accelerating, as is particularly evident in Australia.

The prehistoric past is not just a record of vanished worlds, but a warning for the future. Understanding how apex predators like crocodiles responded to past climatic changes, environmental upheaval, and human impacts provides important clues for their conservation in the future.

To truly unravel these questions will take the combined work of palaeontologists, archaeologists, ecologists and conservationists. Just as crucial will be deep engagement with Indigenous knowledges and land managers, whose long histories of observing and living alongside these animals offer clues for protecting the world’s remaining crocodiles, and the threatened ecosystems they inhabit.

Jorgo Ristevski, Researcher, Palaeontology, The University of Queensland; Julien Louys, Professor, Palaeontology, Griffith University, and Nicole Boivin, Honorary Professor, Archaeology, The University of Queensland

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

In recent months, celebrities such as Taylor Swift, Matthew McConaughey and Jeremy Clarkson have turned to trademark law to protect aspects of their identity associated with their brands.

It’s a relatively new legal tactic and not yet tested in court. But celebrities are using it in an attempt to fill a gap copyright law wasn’t designed to fill.

In late April 2026, Swift registered two sensory trademarks of her saying “Hey, it’s Taylor”, “Hey it’s Taylor Swift”, as well as a specific image from the Eras Tour.

McConaughey has been granted registration for eight trademarks depicting his face, voice and known catchphrases. These included a three-second motion mark of him sitting in front of a Christmas tree and a sound mark of his famous “All right, all right, all right” from the movie Dazed and Confused.

British TV presenter Clarkson trademarked an image of his face. This was in response to a series of fake AI social media posts in 2024 which depicted him endorsing cryptocurrency.

So why are celebrities suddenly registering trademarks in a bid to protect their identity? The answer, unsurprisingly, lies with generative artificial intelligence (AI).

The era of deepfakes

Generative AI poses a growing threat to everyone’s identity: anyone can be the victim of a deepfake or voice clone.

For celebrities, the stakes are even higher, as AI makes it easier than ever to impersonate their image, voice or likeness. Serious reputational harm or fake commercial endorsement can happen because for many celebrities, their face and voice are their brand.

In the United States there are publicity rights which help to protect against unauthorised commercial use of identity. However, these are state-based, so they vary in scope and application. Australia does not have equivalent laws.

For celebrities, registering trademarks provides another avenue of legal protection. And trademarks are federal, rather than state based.

McConaughey said his trademarks would serve two purposes – protect his brand from unauthorised AI cloning, and provide him with future agency over the use of his voice or likeness.

To understand this better, let’s unpack what trademarks are and how they differ to copyright law.

What’s the difference between trademark and copyright?

A trademark is a distinctive logo, word, slogan, shape, letter, number or colour which distinguishes the identity of a brand. Who doesn’t recognise the golden arches that mark the “M” for McDonald’s?

There are also non-traditional trademarks – known as “sensory marks”. These can be sounds, scents, texture or taste. All marks require registration and focus on consumer recognition of a brand and the avoidance of brand confusion.

Contrast this to copyright, which applies to creative works such as books, songs, sound recordings and videos. If particular criteria are met, protection arises automatically.

Traditionally, creators have relied upon copyright to protect their music, photos and videos. But the way AI works can make that tricky.

Why copyright isn’t enough

Although AI-generated material might be trained on pre-existing recordings, images and videos, the output usually synthesises the training material. For copyright infringement of creative works to be found, it first must be proven the defendant had access to the original work.

Then, it must be determined how “substantially similar” the alleged infringement is to the original work. This involves a series of tests in court, and may involve witness testimony. There must also be a sufficient and recognisable resemblance between the work and the alleged infringement.

AI can produce a deepfake or voice clone of a celebrity that may not be found to be “substantially similar” to the original work because it was synthesised from many bits and pieces. This is where copyright law struggles – the original and the AI generated work might not be similar enough to say the AI material infringed on copyright.

And that’s why celebrities are turning to trademarks instead.

How does trademark infringement work?

Importantly, celebrities are not trademarking their voice, face or performance generally. Rather, they’re tying particular aspects of their identity to the trademark – such as key phrases, images or performance elements – because it’s integral to their brand.

Trademark infringement works on a concept known as “likelihood of confusion”. This means the court will examine whether the alleged infringement is likely to cause confusion through a multi-factor test.

Unlike copyright, the alleged infringement only needs to be close enough to the trademark that people might think it’s connected or endorsed by the celebrity’s brand.

Now that Swift has trademarked a clip of herself saying her name, she may argue an AI-generated deepfake or voice clone that looks and sounds similar to that could confuse consumers into thinking it’s associated with her brand.

As these trademarks have not yet been tested in court, it’s uncertain whether they would be upheld. We don’t yet know the extent to which phrases and performance elements can denote brand. And how much AI replication would be sufficient to infringe? Trademark owners are also required to have made use of their marks, but how do you continuously use a catchphrase?

Although this is a novel tactic, trademarks are likely not a panacea to celebrity AI deepfakes or cloning. Nor will they help most people if their face or voice is cloned – after all, most of us don’t have a brand associated with our identity.

This is yet another example where AI is challenging people to be creative in adapting existing laws.

Wellett Potter, Senior Lecturer in Law, University of New England

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Australians are feeling the pressure of rising grocery prices. At the same time, we throw away huge amounts of perfectly edible food every year.

Some food spoils before we can use it. But we waste plenty of food by throwing away parts of ingredients we simply don’t think to use.

Many of these leftovers are nutritious, tasty and surprisingly versatile. So using more of what you already buy can help stretch your grocery budget further while reducing waste.

Here are some everyday ingredients people often throw away, along with tips for how to use them.

Broccoli stems and leek tops

Many people trim off broccoli stems and only eat the florets, but you can eat the stems and leaves too.

To use the stems, peel away the tougher outer layer and slice the tender part inside.

The leaves can contain even higher levels of beneficial plant compounds than the florets, making them a nutritious addition to meals. You can use them in salads or sauté them like other leafy greens.

Try a broccoli stem and red pepper slaw, a broccoli leaf salad, crispy parmesan broccoli stem fries, or broccoli stem pesto.

When a recipe calls for leeks, it usually directs you to use only the white and light green parts, often suggesting you discard the tough, dark green tops. But these dark green tops are nutritious, containing natural plant compounds that support health. This includes compounds linked to reducing inflammation, protecting cells and fighting bacteria.

There are many simple ways to use leek tops. You can add them to leek and potato soup, or include them in dishes such as caramelised leek pasta. Adding them to vegetable or chicken stock adds depth of flavour.

Herb stems

Herb stems are often overlooked and thrown away, yet can be just as flavourful as the leaves. You can finely chop soft stems from herbs such as coriander, parsley and dill to add to curries, soups, sauces, marinades and dressings. Choose stems that are fresh and tender for the best flavour.

Woody stems from herbs such as rosemary, thyme and basil may be too tough or bitter to eat, but you can still use them. Soak in water to soften them, then add to smoked meat or fish to infuse flavour. You can use woody stems as skewers for grilling.

Even after herb leaves have wilted, you can still often use the stems. Rinse, dry and seal them in a bag before storing them in the freezer. You can chop them straight from frozen and add them to soups, stews and curries.

Chicken carcasses and crispy skins

A roast chicken, whether store-bought or home-cooked, can stretch far beyond a single meal.

Simmer the leftover carcass with vegetables and herbs to make a rich stock for soups, risottos and casseroles. You can also use chicken bones to make broth, forming the base of dishes such as pho, ramen or a simple noodle soup.

Chicken skin is another often-discarded ingredient. Cook it until crisp to use as a savoury garnish for soups, salads or grain bowls. Because it is high in saturated fat it’s best enjoyed in moderation.

Fish skin can also be transformed into a crispy topping when baked or pan-fried, adding texture to dishes such as rice bowls or salads.

The liquid in bean cans has a name – aquafaba

The liquid inside canned chickpeas or beans is called aquafaba. It contains starches and proteins that allow it to function like egg whites in cooking.

Aquafaba is often used in vegan baking to replace eggs. While it’s not particularly high in protein, it can be whipped into meringues, fluffy pancakes, chocolate mousse and mayonnaise.

You can also use it to help thicken soups and stews.

Stale bread and crusts still have plenty of life

Bread is one of the most commonly wasted foods in Australian households, but it doesn’t have to be.

You can use stale bread in meals such as strata (a baked egg dish) or other savoury egg bakes.

Fry or bake torn pieces of stale bread to make croutons for soups and salads. You can also use torn pieces in dishes such as panzanella – an Italian bread salad including tomatoes and fresh herbs.

Make breadcrumbs from stale bread and crusts to coat schnitzels and eggplant parmigiana, or to sprinkle on pasta for extra texture.

You can also use stale bread in sweet dishes, such as chocolate and banana French toast or bread and butter pudding.

One important caveat

If food smells off, is mouldy beyond a small removable spot, or has been left at unsafe temperatures, it’s safest to throw it away.

The aim is not to encourage risky eating. It’s about recognising that many parts of foods we routinely discard are still nutritious, safe and useful.

Lauren Ball, Professor of Community Health and Wellbeing, The University of Queensland and Emily Burch, Accredited Practising Dietitian and Lecturer, Southern Cross University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Nasa is developing ways to use nuclear power to send spacecraft to their destinations. Nuclear propulsion could greatly reduce the journey time to Mars, perhaps cutting a voyage of more than six months to three or four months.

The idea of nuclear propulsion in space goes back to the cold war. But Nasa has been pursuing it more aggressively since billionaire and commercial astronaut Jared Isaacman took over as the agency’s chief in December 2025. Isaacman is a well-known advocate of the technology and says it can “truly unlock humankind’s ability to explore among the stars”.

In March 2026, the agency even announced an uncrewed, nuclear-powered mission to the red planet, targeted for late 2028.

Every spacecraft begins its journey fighting Earth’s gravity by burning chemical fuel. Rockets mix fuel with an oxidiser, ignite them, and force the expanding gas through a nozzle. According to Isaac Newton’s third law, when gas pushes downward, the rocket gets an equal push upward.

Chemical propulsion is powerful, reliable, and quite simply the only practical way to leave Earth’s gravity. But it comes with a severe limitation. Rockets must carry both their fuel and, in most cases, the oxidiser needed to burn it.

That means much of a rocket’s mass at launch is propellant, not payload. The longer and more ambitious the journey, the more propellant is needed, and the heavier the rocket becomes.

Mars is far enough away that a long journey time, the threat to astronauts from cosmic radiation, the mass required to carry life-support systems and constraints on the return journey all pose serious problems for planning a mission.

This is why engineers keep looking for more sustainable alternatives to chemical rockets.

Two technologies

Nasa’s space nuclear propulsion programme distinguishes between two main approaches: thermal propulsion and electric propulsion.

Nuclear thermal propulsion follows a three-step process. First, the nuclear reactor inside the engine splits uranium atoms to generate massive amounts of heat. Second, liquid hydrogen is pumped through the reactor core, where it flash boils and expands into a high-pressure gas. Third, this super-heated gas is blasted out of a nozzle at high velocities to push the spacecraft forward.

According to the US Department of Energy, nuclear thermal propulsion can reduce travel times to Mars by up to 25% and, more importantly, limit a crew’s exposure to cosmic radiation. It would also widen the launch windows in which spacecraft can feasibly fly to Mars.

These depend on alignments of Earth and Mars that come along every couple of years. Greater flexibility with launch windows would allow astronauts to abort missions and return to Earth if necessary.

Nuclear electric propulsion, on the other hand, uses a nuclear reactor to generate electricity. This powers a type of engine called an ion thruster that accelerates charged atoms (like xenon) out of a nozzle. If nuclear thermal propulsion is the sprint approach, nuclear electric propulsion is the marathon option. Nuclear electric propulsion produces very low thrust, but it can run continuously for years.

This fuel efficient technology is perfect for sending robot explorers or heavy cargo (like habitats and food supplies) to Mars months before the humans arrive. In deep space, a small thrust applied for a long time can matter enormously.

A chemical rocket is like a powerful kick. Nuclear electric propulsion is more like a persistent hand on the shoulder.

It could make it easier to move heavy cargo through deep space, provide abundant onboard power, and remain effective far from the Sun, where the energy available to solar arrays is weaker.

This is the main idea behind Nasa’s Space Reactor-1 Freedom mission. SR-1 Freedom is a nuclear electric propulsion mission, which Nasa is currently targeting for launch in December 2028.

It would be the first nuclear-powered interplanetary spacecraft. It will journey to Mars to prove that nuclear energy can provide the sustained, high-efficiency power needed for deep space travel.

On arrival at Mars, roughly one year after its launch, SR-1 Freedom is expected to deploy the Skyfall payload. This is a set of small helicopter drones that will scout the Martian surface.

Nasa says the mission will establish nuclear hardware that can be used on other flights. It could also create a regulatory precedent and activate an industrial base for future systems based on nuclear fission.

For human exploration, the combination of both nuclear electric propulsion and nuclear thermal propulsion is very attractive. Because nuclear electric propulsion is incredibly fuel-efficient, it can move massive amounts of weight (habitats, years of food, rovers, and life-support machinery) using very little propellant.

It might not matter so much if cargo takes more than nine months to arrive on Mars. But our fragile human bodies mean that longer stays in space increase the risk of cancer from cosmic radiation and cause bone and muscle loss.

The second of these issues is because bones and muscles are not being exercised in microgravity. Nuclear thermal propulsion provides the high thrust needed to reach Mars in three to four months, drastically reducing these health risks.

Steep path

Despite the clear benefits, the path to the launch pad is steep, and the 2028 launch of SR-1 Freedom appears incredibly ambitious. A nuclear electric spacecraft needs a reactor, shielding, heat management, power conversion, radiators, electric thrusters, control systems and fault tolerance. Each of these components of the mission requires testing and careful integration for them to work together.

Reactor heat must be controlled without damaging other components. Thrusters must operate reliably for months. Other factors can interact in ways that only emerge when spacecraft subsystems are put together. If SR-1 Freedom is to make its December 2028 window, Nasa has very little time to assemble a mission that would normally require years of design, integration and review.

Nuclear propulsion has spent more than 60 years somewhere between engineering reality and technological myth – even though the physics has always been sound.

What has proved harder is making the technology safe, affordable, licensable (able to meet regulatory safety standards) and ready to fly on a real mission schedule. So far, the US has launched only one fission reactor into orbit, SNAP-10A, in 1965.

SR-1 Freedom could create the pathway for more capable systems to follow. Nuclear electric propulsion will not make Mars easy. But it might start to break down barriers to travelling to Mars, and that is a prospect we should be excited about.

Domenico Vicinanza, Associate Professor of Intelligent Systems and Data Science, Anglia Ruskin University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.