Knowsley extends free school holiday swimming sessions offer
"It is clear that over the last year the scheme has had a huge impact on the number of children and young people accessing health and wellbeing sessions and taking up swimming in the borough," said Morgan."By removing the financial barrier to these swim sessions, not only are we providing young people with a free fun activity to take part in during the school holidays, but we are also ensuring that they enjoy active and healthy lifestyles."The sessions are provided in partnership with Volair, which runs the borough's leisure centres.Between August 2024 and February 2025 a total of 8,719 free sessions for under-16s were taken up across Volair's four sites.Knowsley's public health director Dr Sarah McNulty welcomed news of the scheme's extension.She said being physically active "is a really important way of combating obesity".
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The Independent
7 minutes ago
- The Independent
‘A failed surgery on my ribs has left me unable to eat solid food for years'
A man who has spent years unable to eat solid food following an unsuccessful operation on his ribs more than a decade ago hopes a new surgery will help him regain a 'sense of normality'. Rob Lindsell, 37, went under the knife in July 2010 for a condition called pectus excavatum, which causes the breastbone to press inwards and create a dip between the ribs. Mr Lindsell, a coffee shop owner from Bournemouth, said the condition restricted his everyday life, affecting his heart and lungs, causing breathlessness and chest pain. But the operation that was meant to help him live more comfortably, instead left him unable to eat big meals and eventually struggle to keep any solid food down. 'I am having a lot of issues whereby food just isn't staying down; I have insane acid reflux. I wake up in the night and literally choke on my stomach acid,' he told the Independent. However, Mr Lindsell claims the NHS is unable to offer him the surgery he needs, leaving him with no other option but to launch a fundraiser to help pay the private medical costs. 'Every day is a struggle, both physically and emotionally. I just want a chance to live with some sense of normality again,' he said. 'It's exhausting. I can't go out for meals with friends or family. I can't gain weight. I can't date or build the kind of life I thought I would have by now.' About one in 1,000 children will have pectus excavatum, according to charity Asthma and Lung UK. Like Mr Lindsell, about one in 10 people with the condition also have scoliosis – curvature of the spine. Although some people will not experience any symptoms, it can cause chest pain, breathlessness, extreme tiredness, dizziness and a fast heart rate. In Mr Lindsell's case, he required surgery, and when he was aged 22, he was given the Nuss Procedure. It involves placing one or more stainless steel bars into the chest to alter the position of the breastbone. These bars are left on for two or three years before being permanently removed. Mr Lindsell said that because he has scoliosis, he faced complications and now believes the surgery was not suitable for his condition. 'It's an 'S shaped' scoliosis, so it causes my body to twist tightly, and with that, the procedure on the left-hand side stayed exactly where it should. But on the right, my chest falls backwards and to the side, so it actually fits underneath my armpit and then presents itself as a bit of a hunch on my back,' he explained. Since the surgery 15 years ago, Mr Lindsell said he has struggled to eat big meals, and over the last couple of years, it's got progressively worse, forcing him to survive on a liquid diet. 'I can no longer eat properly. I silently aspirate liquids and choke easily. I've lost nearly two stone in 6 months,' he said. 'I survive off six of Huel meal replacements a day, and then when I'm not having to move about a lot at home, I will try and eat something soft or something that melts like a soup or puree,' he added. To find the cause, Mr Lindsell went to hospital for an endoscopy, a medical procedure where a camera is inserted down the throat, and medics discovered his stomach was pushed out of place by a 10cm hernia - when part of an organ protrudes through the muscle wall and causes a lump or swelling. He said that where one side of his rib cage has collapsed following the surgery, the deformity has caused pressure inside his body that led to the hernia, which has then caused chronic acid reflux and constant regurgitation of food. However, he claims doctors have told him the hernia is 'liveable' and said he does not need surgery, despite the fact that he is struggling to eat and losing weight. 'I've been refused surgical help and told to see a dietitian as though this is something I can manage through willpower and a meal plan,' he said. 'I told the doctor that since I last saw him in April, I've lost another half a stone, and he sat there and said, 'you actually look a lot better than the last time I saw you'. But I'm visibly much skinnier.' Mr Lindsell plans to make a formal complaint against the NHS, but in the meantime, has launched a GoFundMe campaign to help raise money for private medical costs. He set out to get a second opinion and for surgery to remove the hernia. So far, the money raised has helped him get another X-ray, which revealed his spine has become more curved and his oesophagus is being crushed in multiple places, exacerbating the symptoms of the hernia. 'The hernia is causing a lot of issues, but it seems the majority of my issues lie with the new shape of my spine. It is the worst-case scenario for me because it is not an easy fix,' Mr Lindsell explained. A spokesperson for University Hospitals Dorset said: 'For confidentiality reasons, we are unable to comment on individual patients, however, we would always encourage those who would like to discuss their care or treatment options to get in touch with our Patient Advice and Liaison Team.'
Telegraph
8 minutes ago
- Telegraph
I hit the menopause, posted a naked photo of myself and stopped caring about other people's opinions
Podcaster and motivational speaker Lu Featherstone, 54, lives in South London with her partner. Her son, Oska, is 21. I've always been told I am too much. 'Tone it down, Louisa,' they say. For decades I tried to be the nice girl, seen and not heard. Yet at the age of 47, in a moment of impulsive madness, I took a picture of my naked, middle-aged backside at the top of a volcano. And it changed everything. I didn't realise it then, but I was just on the brink of menopause. That photograph was me screaming with frustration at the world and at my husband: 'Look at me – I'm here'. Often, all we hear about the menopause is that it's an anxiety-ridden time when your libido drops off a cliff. Mine wasn't all fun, either – it was often confusing and rageful. But what it also did was herald a really rather wonderful new chapter; one in which I found my voice, and stopped giving a damn – making me feel sexier, bolder, freer, or more able to be 'me' than at any other stage of my life. Being the good girl My dad was a vicar, so I grew up moving around the country. From Worcester to London, wherever God called, we went. My mother was a probation officer, so good behaviour was expected at home. And we welcomed everyone from the bishop to the bereaved and the homeless through our doors. As much as my parents tried to reign in my rebellious streak, my earliest school memories are of being on the naughty table. As a teen I'd snogged most of the church choir, then had a wild old time in my 20s, including a stint working as a Ministry of Defence youth worker in Berlin, before returning to London to work in PR and advertising. I loved my job and was good at it, and that's when I met my husband Guy, in 1998. I knew he was a keeper when he refused to sleep with me on date one. Five years later, when I was 33, my dad officiated the fabulous wedding we held in Sussex, helping us serve up fish and chips on the beach afterwards. Five months later, Guy and I happily welcomed our son Oska. So far, so normal. Saying goodbye to my sense of self Somewhere between marriage and motherhood (where I hid, even from Guy, my godawful postnatal depression for two lonely years) my own identity shrivelled. So, too, did my ability to actually say what I needed. While Guy worked in London, I stayed in Brighton being mummy. I invented a particularly pass-agg game called 'How long will it take my husband to ask me how my day was?' Sometimes, it was five minutes, others it would be an hour and a half before he'd finished telling me about his day. If only I'd said: 'I really need you to ask me about my day'. Instead, I sat in martyred silence, doing what I thought a good wife should: causing little fuss. I threw myself into the PTA, became a school governor, and went back to social work, helping families in need. All very helpful for the community, yet admittedly none of this nurtured my marriage. The start of separate lives Guy was offered a great advertising job in Portland, Oregon, when Oska was 10. We flew out first class excited by our US adventure. Yet almost immediately after we moved there, uprooting our whole lives together, Guy won a pitch requiring a five-hour commute to New York most weeks, so we ended up spending even less time as a family. With Oska at school I got on with building my own life. Hiking is a 'thing' in Oregon, so I took myself off for one. Then another mum asked to join me, and another, and we soon we became a real gang. Taking a picnic (including a can of 'hiking wine') off we'd climb, while merrily bitching about what all midlife mums do – our kids and husbands – before returning for the school pick-up in much better moods. I love the Americans' go-getting attitude to life, which is so different to us Brits. These hikes were a lifeline, and my self-confidence soared along with my fitness and strength. So much so that one day, in 2019, I reached the top of the South Sisters volcano and felt such a sense of triumph I whipped my clothes off. Naked, bar my boots, I asked a friend to capture the moment on my phone. When I overheard a couple of blokes remark 'she's bold', I just thought: 'Yes! I am!' I wanted to forever remember that fearless, badass rush of feeling 'me' for once. Then, in a further 'f--- it' moment, I posted it on social media. The photo that changed everything Normally my pictures were of salads, mountains or my beloved vintage clothes, so this one raised more than just eyebrows. A 26-year-old guy from the gym even sent me what I shall coyly describe here as an 'intimate photograph' – the first I'd ever received. Call me a terrible feminist (and I don't suggest men sending unsolicited shots of this nature is ever cool), but to my surprise I found it a huge turn on. 'Still got it, baby,' I thought. For the first time in years, I realised I felt desired. In marriage, my sex life had plummeted to the bottom of the to-do list. We'd neglected each other and the most basic of needs – and we can't be the only couple guilty of this. For a while, I blamed Guy for never wanting me, but I've since had to accept my own part in our dwindling intimacy. Me going to bed in a tracksuit for eight years probably didn't help. Of course, having a fling with the 26-year-old crossed my mind, but that didn't happen. Instead, it was more like a sharp wake-up call, where I began thinking, what I had lost in my desperation to be the perfect wife and sacrificial mum? My sex life, my self-esteem, my sense of fun and adventure, and grabbing life by the throat. All the things that had defined me in my 20s I'd just let fade away over the years. Moving into the spare room By 2020, against the backdrop of Covid and me isolating in order to visit my then dying mother, I'd moved into the spare room. For two months I lay on a thin floor mattress, because even buying a proper bed felt too heartbreakingly final that my marriage was over. I remember sitting crying outside Ikea until Guy, so worried, asked my friends to march me in and help buy the bloody bed. Sometimes, Facebook memories pop up on my phone, making me cringe about the angry jokes I'd posted about wanting to kill my husband; how annoying I'd found even his blinking eyelashes back then. Pure menopause rage. We had therapy, we tried to patch things up, but the sad reality of our 20-year marriage was that we'd drifted too far apart to find our way back. I lived in that spare room for 18 months. It turned out to be the space I needed, getting on with my hot sweats in peace. For the first time in 25 years, I bought a vibrator – and, yes, I bloody loved it (sorry, Dad). With socialising banned, I started being honest about all the highs and lows of menopause with other women on social media, too. Because amongst the divorce and anger, I realised I was looking at life through a different lens and I saw how brilliant it felt to stop giving a f--- about so many little things that take up precious head space. So what if hair now brutally sprung from my chin and nipples (one minute they're not there, the next they're 4cm long)? Who cares if I wear mismatching underwear and that my favourite bra hasn't been washed for three weeks? If I want to wear hot pants, leopard-print and bikinis, I will thank you. The words 'age appropriate' are loathsome and insignificant. After a lifetime of pleasing people, these mini epiphanies felt joyful. The next chapter Guy and I couldn't afford two separate homes, but neither could I remain forever in the spare room. Oska graduating from high school seemed the right time to make the change that had been brewing. Buoyed up by the positive responses from women that were flooding in on social media, I dreamed up an ambitious plan: buy a bus and tour the States throwing events to connect women locally, get them talking about menopause, masturbation, life after divorce, body confidence, all of it. I was turning 50 and clearly saw that I was more than half way through my life. I didn't want to keep sleepwalking my way through it. I felt like I'd woken up to the world, accepted my marriage had come to an end along with my fertile years, and that this was a time to try to help other women. I'd seen the light and how liberating it was to understand so much more about myself. Finally, I was able to differentiate between what really mattered and what really didn't. I found a 1983 Bluebird Wanderlodge bus, who I called Susie after my beloved mum, and I painted her pink. I was revved up for my adventure but, still, the most agonising thing I've ever done was driving off that day in 2022, leaving distraught Guy and Oska on the street, along with half of Portland who'd come along to wave me off. That was a s----, regrettable way of leaving, and I've since apologised to Guy. I cried all the way to Idaho, questioning my decision each of the 19 times Susie broke down. View this post on Instagram A post shared by Luinluland (@luinluland) But I carried on going, attracting honks from truck drivers and flashes from women out of sunroofs along the way. Everyone I met wondered what the hell I was doing and my crazy answer was always this: 'I've just left my husband. I'm touring America preaching self-love and confidence, trying to empower women to seize their power, particularly in middle age'. The wives high-fived me, while the husbands dragged them away as quickly as possible. There were so many important moments helping women in need. At a campsite in Arkansas, I met three women all dying of cancer alone – they now cook and support each other. In Austin, a woman beaten by her husband came to my doorstep bleeding; she moved into the bus until we could get her into a shelter. I met women on the run – from domestic violence, fundamental religion, divorce and homelessness. And, as a bonus, I'd convinced hundreds more that their middle-aged sex life isn't doomed: their best years are ahead. Arriving in New York, some 6,000 miles and 28 states later, I knew I hadn't changed the world. But, in my own small revolution, I'd spread the word from one middle-aged woman to another: 'This is our time – don't fear it.' How life looks now Today, I'm happy to report that Oska is a gorgeous well-adjusted adult and Guy has a new love. I'm now 54 and living in London with a partner who was my first love when I was 18 and, by chance, we reconnected three years ago. There was always chemistry, but in our earlier years we couldn't seem to understand each other. Now we've both grown up. He lets me be me. Reaching this time in life you really start living it, not caring if you're well-liked or seeking approval. Menopause is the gift that's made me sexier, more confident. I finally feel like 'me'. As told to Susanna Galton Five other things Lu no longer cares about in midlife… A neat bikini line I'm aiming for a glorious 1970s-style bush, though it's a bit tufty thanks to years of waxing. Whether my partner is chilly at night I will be sleeping with the window open every night, whatever the weather. Because I am boiling. All. Making a proper dinner I will not apologise for eating crisps as a meal, and I reserve the right to picky bits on Tuesdays if I feel bougie. Also: gin is part of a balanced lifestyle and alcohol is a useful crutch to get through. Leaving the party early – if I make it at all My mood changes recklessly and what I think is a good idea on Tuesday will not be the same by Friday night. Hurting someone's feelings by using a vibrator It gets the job done quickly and doesn't answer back. My partner can get involved or not. You snooze, you lose.
Daily Mail
an hour ago
- Daily Mail
'They drive us insane': why Cotswolds locals are NOT happy at the 'invasion' of Americans in their quaint town... especially at their pubs
The chocolate box cottages and picturesque fields of the Cotswolds have been attracting A-listers looking for their own slice of rural idyll for decades. Kate Moss, The Beckhams, Elizabeth Hurley and of course Jeremy Clarkson have all become known for their country estates away from the hustle, bustle and prying eyes of London. But this summer, Britain's rich and famous have been joined by celebs from across the pond in search of a holiday home or permanent residence in 'The English Hamptons'. Kourtney Kardashian, Ellen DeGeneres, and JD Vance have shared gushing social media posts about a certain charm that can - according to them - only be found in the English countryside. Kourney dedicated an entire Instagram post to what she described as a 'dreamy storybook fairytale enchantment' stay at Estelle Manor, a super-exclusive hotel in Witney. Encouraging fans to visit by sharing carefully curated and oh so English snaps of a dainty teacup, sunflowers and swans. However, this love affair appears to be one-sided and the locals, it seems, are not thrilled by their new neighbours. Residents from Witney told the Daily Mail that the 'invasion' of 'obnoxious' Americans, who disregard British culture has driven them 'insane' - even forcing them to avoid the pub. This summer, the charming town has attracted celebrities from much further afield with a string of high-profile US figures descending upon the Cotswolds Resident Laura, who has lived in Witney for 36 years, said she makes sure to avoid visiting any restaurants or pubs that could appeal to American tourists. She fumed: 'Places that were local restaurants have now inflated their prices and they've all been tarted up. They're only catering for tourists and neglecting its residents. We're avoiding where they go to'. Unfortunately for residents like Laura, avoiding American's keen to immerse themselves in British culture could prove increasingly difficult as celebrities continuously romanticise British village life. Just last week Eve Jobs, the daughter of late genius Steve tied the knot with her British Olympic equestrian champ Harry Charles at Estelle Manor, a super-exclusive hotel in Witney. Edward Walker, 80, has certainly noticed the influx of American's visiting and residing in the Cotswolds. He said: 'They're slowly swarming in but there's a massive culture clash. 'We had an American buy a property near us but she left because it flooded, they just can't take the reality of living in Britain, it's alright in the sun but not in the winter.' Keith Masters, 73, added that he would rather steer clear of the Americans 'invading' his home. 'It would drive me insane to talk to these people because they never admit when they're wrong.' But even though locals would rather American's stick to their side of the pond, the area has undoubtedly catered to their needs. Multiple luxury resorts and private members' clubs have opened, including Soho Farmhouse, The Lakes by Yoo, The Club by Bramford and Estelle Manor. Lexie McConnell, 21, who works at The Hollybush gastropub in Witney explained that Americans treat service staff very differently compared to British customers. 'They're often the most difficult customers,' she explained. 'They'll go and seat themselves even if there's a sign asking them to wait, they interrupt me while I'm serving other people, but they are always thankful and tip even when service is included.' Ms McConnell does see the benefit of the influx of Americans who have caused businesses to boom, but also acknowledged that locals have been 'fuming' over the high-profile visitors near their homes. She said: 'People want the Cotswolds to be the Cotswolds. American culture does not work with Cotswold culture.' Diane Smith, 59, who works at a local newsagent added: 'The locals are not happy with it but they're never happy with anything'. But it seems locals are going to have to learn to coexist with their American counterparts as an increasing number of yanks choose to settle in the region. The most high-profile move was by Ellen DeGeneres and her wife Portia de Rossi, who moved to the Cotswolds last year to avoid living under the Trump administration. The couple currently live in a modern hilltop home, which they moved to following a series of disasters including flooding at their previous abode, a $20 million (£15 million) Cotswolds farmhouse, which DeGeneres said is now on the market. The former talk show host has not exactly been inconspicuous and Andrea Shepherd, 75, thinks this 'American' personality trait is one of the reasons they should reconsider residing near her home. Ms Shepherd told the Daily Mail: 'I don't think it works, they are too brash and I don't think they understand the reserve that English people have especially in a place like Witney. They shouldn't come to the pubs.' Yet others welcome the influx of celebrities buying multi-million mansions. Sue Bowsher, 60, said: 'A lot of celebrities buy properties here. We have to move with the times. 'It's nice to be out on the map and it's good for businesses it brings more money in and if they're buying, it's great for the local economy.' JD Vance is renting a sprawling Cotswolds manor house a mile away from Jeremy Clarkson 's Diddly Squat farm - just months after they exchanged an angry war of words over Britian's military capability. The sprawling historic manor where Vance is staying was built in the 18th century and cost £8,000 a week. Located in a tiny hamlet and set behind a 15 feet high stone wall with six acres of sprawling gardens, the home is perfect for a private getaway. So whether your itching for a relaxing countryside getaway or have considered fleeing the city for a quainter life, just expect to hear the often loud drawl of an American accent.
