Bell’s main strength when she first emerged in international cricket was her ability to swing the ball extravagantly into the right-handed batter, but she spent most of 2024 remodelling her action to add more strings to her bow.
Now swinging the ball both ways and with canny variations in pace, Bell is England’s strike powerplay bowler and her confidence when bowling in that phase – often seen as one of the most difficult – shows the belief and strength in her mental approach to the game.
“You’re obviously bowling at the best batters, but I look at it the other way in that I’m the new-ball bowler, I get to swing the ball, so you know it’s a huge chance for wickets,” said Bell.
“In my head, it’s the best time to bowl. My mindset is that this is an opportunity for me to set up a game.
“I love opening the bowling, I love that it presents me with an opportunity for wickets rather than fearing that they might see it as an easy time to score boundaries.”
Head coach Charlotte Edwards left experienced seamer Kate Cross out of England’s squad, meaning extra responsibility has shifted to Bell’s shoulders in the pace attack with Em Arlott and Lauren Filer as the other frontline seamers, and captain Nat Sciver-Brunt playing as an all-rounder.
The conditions in Guwahati, where England will play their opener against South Africa, have been extremely humid and will be challenging, as all teams experienced during last year’s T20 World Cup in the United Arab Emirates.
For Bell, who could be opening the bowling with spinners and therefore having little time for rest, this has been a consideration.
“We’ve done so much work on that behind the scenes that nobody would’ve seen,” she said.
“During The Hundred we did all these running sessions, top-up sessions after games and that’s the bit nobody will see.
“Especially for me as a seamer, I want to make sure that I’m bowling as fast as I can in the last over of the tournament as I am in the first.”
It may be Bell’s first World Cup, but she could be one of England’s most important players in it.
From the boredom in quarantine to the first ball in Guwahati, it has been a remarkable rise.
It was a normal Teams meeting at the end of a busy week. Colleagues were discussing the hospital weekend plans. I was there too, nodding, half-present. My mind was elsewhere – on a message I’d sent earlier that morning to a friend in Gaza.
I glanced at my phone.
One tick.
WhatsApp users know the signs: one tick means the message was sent. Two ticks mean it was received. Two blue ticks, it was read.
For most people, it’s a minor delay. But when you’re texting a Palestinian friend in Gaza during a war, one tick carries a sense of dread.
Maybe his phone’s out of charge – normal in a place where power was cut off 20 months ago. Maybe there’s no service – Israel often cuts communication during attacks. But there’s a third possibility I don’t allow myself to think about, even though it’s the most likely outcome if you are living through a genocide.
Still one tick.
Back in the meeting. We wrap up. Plans are made and people start to think about their own weekend plans.
I glance again. Still one tick.
This is the curse of being Palestinian. Carrying the weight of your homeland, its pain, its people – while being expected to function normally, politely, professionally.
Then, I was told my Teams background was “potentially anti-Semitic.”
It was a still-life image: figs, olives, grapes, oranges, watermelon, and a few glass bottles. A quiet nod to my culture and roots. But in today’s climate, even fruit is political. Any symbol of Palestinian identity can now be interpreted as a threat.
Suddenly, I was being questioned, accused, and possibly facing disciplinary action. For a background. For being Palestinian.
Still one tick.
I felt silenced, humiliated, and exposed. How was my love for my culture, for art, for my people being twisted into something hateful? Why is my choice of virtual background more controversial than the devastating violence unfolding in real time?
This is not isolated. Many of us – Palestinians, or anyone else who cares about Palestine – are being challenged on our humanity across organisations, all driven by external pressure.
And then it happened. Two blue ticks.
My friend was alive. He messaged: they fled their home in the early hours of the morning. He carried his children, walked for hours, left everything behind. No food, no shelter. But alive.
How could I explain to him what had happened to me that day? That while he ran for his life, I was threatened with disciplinary action about a painting of fruit? That I was accused of racism for an image, while he was witnessing the destruction of entire families?
This is what it means to be Palestinian today. To constantly navigate a world that erases your humanity, silences your voice, distorts your identity. To be told your pain is political. Your joy is provocation. Your symbols are offensive.
I’ve worked in the NHS for 25 years. It’s more than a job – it’s part of who I am. And now, along with two colleagues, I’m taking legal action. Not for ourselves, but to protect the NHS from external political lobbying. To say, firmly and clearly, that our National Health Service should belong to its patients and its staff – not to those who seek to silence, intimidate or twist it into serving a toxic agenda.
What happened to me is not just unjust – it is unlawful. Speaking up against genocide is not only my moral responsibility as a human being, but also my right as a British citizen in a democratic society.
I don’t write this to compare my experience with my friend’s suffering. I write it to expose the absurdity, the cruelty, of how Palestinians are treated across the world. Whether under bombs or under suspicion, we are made to justify our existence.
It shouldn’t be this way.
Being Palestinian is not a crime. But too often, it feels like the world treats it as one.
The author is currently pursuing legal action, alongside two NHS colleagues, challenging, among other things, allegations of antisemitism.
The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.
Icelandic boyband VÆB were the first act to perform on the Eurovision stage this year
Thirty-five seconds. That’s all the time you get to change the set at Eurovision.
Thirty-five seconds to get one set of performers off the stage and put the next ones in the right place.
Thirty-five seconds to make sure everyone has the right microphones and earpieces.
Thirty-five seconds to make sure the props are in place and tightly secured.
While you’re at home watching the introductory videos known as postcards, dozens of people swarm the stage, setting the scene for whatever comes next.
“We call it the Formula 1 tyre change,” says Richard van Rouwendaal, the affable Dutch stage manager who makes it all work.
“Each person in the crew can only do one thing. You run on stage with one light bulb or one prop. You always walk on the same line. If you go off course, you will hit somebody.
“It’s a bit like ice skating.”
Watch a 30-second set change at the 2023 Eurovision Song Contest in Liverpool
The stage crew start rehearsing their “F1 tyre change” weeks before the contestants even arrive.
Every country sends detailed plans of their staging, and Eurovision hires stand-ins to play the acts (in Liverpool 2023, it was pupils from the local performing arts school), while stagehands start shaving precious seconds off the changeovers.
“We have about two weeks,” says Van Rouwendaal, who’s normally based in Utrecht but is in Basel for this year’s contest.
“My company is around 13 Dutchies and 30 local guys and girls, who rock it in Switzerland.
“In those two weeks, I have to figure out who’s right for each job. Someone’s good at running, someone’s good at lifting, someone’s good at organising the backstage area. It is a bit like being good at Tetris because you have to line everything up in a small space, in the perfect way.”
As soon as a song finishes, the team are ready to roll.
As well as the stagehands, there are people responsible for positioning lights and setting pyrotechnics; and 10 cleaners who sweep the stage with mops and vacuum cleaners between every performance.
“My cleaners are just as important as the stage crew. You need a clean stage for the dancers – but also, if there’s an overhead shot of somebody lying down, you don’t want to see shoeprints on the floor.”
The attention to detail is clinical. Backstage, every performer has their own microphone stand, set to the correct height and angle, to make sure every performance is camera perfect.
“Sometimes the delegation will say the artist wants to wear a different shoe for the grand final,” says Van Rouwendaal. “But if that happens, the mic stand is at the wrong height, so we’ve got a problem!”
SRG / SSR
Construction of this year’s stage began in early April, three weeks before rehearsals kicked off
Spontaneously changing footwear isn’t the worst problem he’s faced, though. At the 2022 contest in Turin, the stage was 10m (33ft) higher than the backstage area.
As a result, they were pushing heavy stage props – including a mechanical bull – up a steep ramp between every act.
“We were exhausted every night,” he recalls. “This year is better. We’ve even got an extra backstage tent where we prepare the props.”
Getty Images
Spain’s giant staircase is one of several props that Richard (pictured, inlay) and his team have to build in the middle of a performance at this year’s show
Props are a huge part of Eurovision. The tradition started at the second ever contest in 1957, when Germany’s Margot Hielscher sang part of her song Telefon, Telefon into (you guessed it) a telephone.
Over the intervening decades, the staging has become ever more elaborate. In 2014, Ukraine’s Mariya Yaremchuk trapped one of her dancers in a giant hamster wheel, while Romania brought a literal cannon to their performance in 2017.
This year, we’ve got disco balls, space hoppers, a magical food blender, a Swedish sauna and, for the UK, a fallen chandelier.
“It’s a big logistics effort, actually, to get all the props organised,” says Damaris Reist, deputy head of production for this year’s contest.
“It’s all organised in a kind of a circle. The [props] come onto the stage from the left, and then get taken off to the right.
“Backstage, the props that have been used are pushed back to the back of the queue, and so on. It’s all in the planning.”
‘Smuggling routes’
During the show, there are several secret passageways and “smuggling routes” to get props in and out of vision, especially when a performance requires new elements half-way through.
Cast your mind back, if you will, to Sam Ryder’s performance for the UK at the 2022 contest in Italy.
There he was, alone on the stage, belting out falsetto notes in his spangly jumpsuit, when suddenly, an electric guitar appeared out of thin air and landed in his hands.
And guess who put it there? Richard van Rouwendaal.
“I’m a magician,” he laughs. “No, no, no… That was a collaboration between the camera director, the British delegation and the stage crew.”
In other words, Richard ducked onto the stage, guitar in hand, while the director cut to a wide shot, concealing his presence from viewers at home.
“It’s choreographed to the nearest millimetre,” he says. “We’re not invisible, but we have to be invisible.”
Reuters
Sam Ryder’s performance in 2022 included a stylised space rocket and a magically-appearing guitar
What if it all goes wrong?
There are certain tricks the audience will never notice, Van Rouwendaal reveals.
If he announces “stage not clear” into his headset, the director can buy time by showing an extended shot of the audience.
In the event of a bigger incident – “a camera can break, a prop can fall” – they cut to a presenter in the green room, who can fill for a couple of minutes.
Up in the control room, a tape of the dress rehearsal plays in sync with the live show, allowing directors to switch to pre-recorded footage in the event of something like a stage invasion or a malfunctioning microphone.
A visual glitch isn’t enough to trigger the back-up tape, however – as Switzerland’s Zoë Më discovered at Tuesday’s first semi-final.
Her performance was briefly interrupted when the feed from an on-stage camera froze, but producers simply cut to a wide shot until it was fixed. (If it had happened in the final, she’d have been offered the chance to perform again.)
“There’s actually lots of measures that are being taken to make sure that every act can be shown in the best way,” says Reist.
“There are people who know the regulations by heart, who have been playing through what could happen and what we would do in various different situations.
“I’ll be sitting next to our head of production, and if there’s [a situation] where somebody has to run, maybe that’s going to be me!”
Sarah Louise Beennett
British act Remember Monday perform on top of a giant fallen chandelier during their song at this year’s Eurovision
Sarah Louise Bennett
French star Louane poses a particular challenge this year, as her performance involves several kilograms of sand being poured onto the stage. To compensate, she performs on a large canvas that can be folded over and carried off stage.
It’s no surprise to learn that staging a live three-hour broadcast with thousands of moving parts is incredibly stressful.
This year, organisers have introduced measures to protect the welfare of contestants and crew, including closed-door rehearsals, longer breaks between shows, and the creation of a “disconnected zone” where cameras are banned.
Even so, Reist says she has worked every weekend for the past two months, while Van Rouwendaal and his team are regularly pulling 20-hour days.
The shifts are so long that, back in 2008, Eurovision production legend Ola Melzig built a bunker under the stage, complete with a sofa, a “sadly underused” PS3 and two (yes, two) espresso machines.
“I don’t have hidden luxuries like Ola. I’m not at that level yet!” laughs Van Rouwendaal
“But backstage, I’ve got a spot with my crew. We’ve got stroopwafels there and, last week, it was King’s Day in Holland, so I baked pancakes for everyone.
“I try to make it fun. Sometimes we go out and have a drink and cheer because we had a great day.
“Yes, we have to be on top, and we have to be sharp as a knife, but having fun together is also very important.”
And if all goes to plan, you won’t see them at all this weekend.
