Footage of a car ploughing into pedestrians crossing a street in Buffalo, New York has been released by police.

Out damn Scot! Alan Cumming makes a mad Macbeth

Global warming fear over Arctic gas find

The murder trial of eight men accused of deliberately driving at and killing three men trying to protect their community from looters during last summer's riots began yesterday, amid dramatic scenes that led to the public gallery being cleared.

Lord Bracadale offered the age of sensationalism a masterclass in the careful selection of words and their dignified yet powerful delivery yesterday. So diminished is the modern currency of language that it took a moment to see beyond the bewigged solemnity of the Scottish High Court and to appreciate the austere drama unfolding.

The multi-million pound headquarters of China's state broadcaster CCTV is finally ready to go live after its opening was delayed by a fire three years ago.

A father of five who accidentally shone a laser pen at a police helicopter, forcing the pilot to make an emergency landing, was told by a judge he had avoided jail by a "whisker" today.

QPR yesterday appealed to fans to help them identify the spectator who threw a coin at the assistant referee Stuart Burt during their Premier League win over Arsenal last Saturday. Burt was struck on the back of the neck by a missile which appeared to come from Loftus Road's Ellerslie Road Stand after he awarded an injury-time free-kick to the Gunners in Saturday's match at Loftus Road.

A knifeman who stabbed a pensioner six times in a "frenzied" attack and was caught because he spat on the pavement was jailed today.

One of the biggest manhunts in French history was under way last night after a gunman attacked a Jewish school in Toulouse and coldly murdered a teacher and three small children at point-blank range.

A teenage woman faces prison for killing a 15-year-old boy who was stabbed at a Tube station.

On a brass-monkey night in January, the South Lodge Hotel looks good: grey-beige stone, triangular pediments, lots of ivy and lots of windows through which firelight and lamplight gleam appealingly. The lobby is wide enough to accommodate a Victorian coach-and-four passing through and sparsely furnished with plush sofas. Though the place dates from 1883, it has an ersatz feel to it, a sprayed-on faux-luxury. As a manager comes to greet you, your eye falls on a doorway through which you glimpse a horribly overlit green space – a gym? A swimming pool? – and you try to ignore it. On the way to the bar, you pass a cosy-looking restaurant, all wood panels and floral wallpaper and you think, ah yes, just the job. The bar is a mocked-up gentlemen's club with more panelling and chandeliers made of twisted shards of leather-coloured glass. You greet your friends, floor a dry martini and head for dinner...

The voice is calm, American and insistent: "Stop, this is a restricted area and your photograph is being taken. It will be sent for processing if you don't leave the area now."