Empty academy site to be used for school expansion
A school that never opened due to lack of demand will be redeveloped into a special school.
The Waterside Primary Academy was initially due to open in the new Trent Basin estate in Nottingham in September, but the Department for Education (DfE) pulled funding for the centre in January.
Nottingham City Council said after discussions with the DfE about the future of the site, a plan to repurpose the building for the expansion of the existing Rosehill special school was approved.
The expanded special education needs and disability (SEND) school, run by the council, could be open by September 2026, the authority said.
Neghat Khan, leader of the city council, said the scrapping of the new primary school "presented a really interesting opportunity for the council".
A £10m plan to expand Rosehill was already under way and expected to be completed in 2027 but the council said it would now "reroute" £2m of that funding to redevelop the Waterside building and subsequently save £8m.
The expansion will create an additional 60 additional school places for children aged four to 19 with special educational needs and disabilities, an education health and care plan (EHCP) and a diagnosis of autism, the authority said.
Khan said the "huge demand" for SEND places was increasing.
She added: "Our priority is to ensure that all children and young people have access to the education and support they need to thrive.
"And while the original plans for Waterside Primary School have evolved, this initiative demonstrates our commitment to finding innovative solutions that address the evolving needs of our residents, particularly those requiring specialised support.
"We have been able to find a solution with minimal cost implications, that can be delivered relatively quickly and will make a significant difference in the lives of many families"
Parents and carers of Rosehill School pupils were told about the development in a letter earlier in March.
Rosehill School's head teacher Cheryl Steele said: "This is fabulous news for Nottingham's children and families.
"It clearly demonstrates that we are a city focussed on enabling every child and young person to achieve the best possible outcomes in learning, social and emotional wellbeing to fulfil their potential and participate fully in society."
Follow BBC Nottingham on Facebook, on X, or on Instagram. Send your story ideas to eastmidsnews@bbc.co.uk or via WhatsApp on 0808 100 2210.
New school will not open due to low demand
Primary school opening delayed due to low demand
The Rosehill School
Nottingham City Council
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Yahoo
an hour ago
- Yahoo
What's So Shocking About a Man Who Loves His Wife?
The Atlantic Daily, a newsletter that guides you through the biggest stories of the day, helps you discover new ideas, and recommends the best in culture. Sign up for it here. A few Sundays ago, I was in a car ride home with my wife when the light caught her face in a lovely way. I snapped a photo, and shortly afterward posted it to Instagram with several iterations of an emoji that felt appropriate: a man smiling, with hearts in place of his eyes. I did this because I love her. My love for my wife does not exist solely online; I often express it directly to her, or talk about her in glowing terms to friends and co-workers. It feels natural—as natural as sharing my feelings about anything to the internet, in the same way I'd post about how much I'm enjoying my Twin Peaks rewatch, or the particularly good sandwich I ate on vacation. So the first time that someone called me a 'wife guy,' I wasn't sure how to react. If you are encountering this phrase for the first time and think wife guy surely must mean 'a guy who loves his wife,' you would be dead wrong. The term, which rose to popularity sometime during the first Trump administration, describes someone whose spousal affection is so ostentatious that it becomes inherently untrustworthy. 'The wife guy defines himself,' the critic Amanda Hess has written, 'through a kind of overreaction to being married.' The wife guy posts a photo of his wife to Instagram along with several emojis of a man smiling with hearts in place of his eyes. He will repeat this sort of action so many times that even his closest friends may think, Enough already. He is so consistently and loudly psyched about being married that sirens are set off in the mind of family members and strangers alike, who wonder what shortcomings he aspires to compensate for through such enthusiastic declarations. In a world where identity is always being performed on social media, this particular identity is clearly one to avoid. But I, a guy who loves his wife, can't help but conclude that valuable terrain is being ceded when we think poorly of the wife guy. Many men, accustomed to bottling up their feelings, are already afraid to show what's in their heart and on their mind. If some of them are actually moved to express their love publicly and unabashedly—is this so wrong? The term wife guy is a by-product of several converging trends. On social media, millions of people have become accustomed to broadcasting what they are up to, a recurring action that eventually reduces most behaviors and traits to caricature. Do you drink a lot of Diet Coke? Watch out, lest you become a 'Diet Coke guy.' At the same time, the mechanics of social media are such that basically any identity can be created and monetized—and so thousands of people might desperately aspire to make a living by being a Diet Coke guy. Some already do. Once a clever person recognized that 'loving your wife' was an emotion that some people were performing in notable ways, the wife guy seemed to be everywhere. There was the 'curvy-wife guy,' an influencer who made lots of content about how much he adored his plus-size wife. There was the 'cliff-wife guy,' a different influencer who posted a dramatic video about the shock of watching his wife fall off a cliff. (It was more of a short drop, and she appeared to be basically fine.) Celebrities such as John Mulaney, Prince Harry, and Ryan Reynolds turned their marriages into content, so much content. These guys wanted to be wife guys and made 'Honor thy wife' into an informal commandment for modern living. This was around the time of the #MeToo movement, in which men's scummy behavior toward women was suddenly being reevaluated across society—and the wife guy, though perhaps over-the-top, seemed to be a welcome corrective. [Read: There's no way to repair marriage without repairing men] As more wife guys popped up, the phrase evolved. Before long, you did not have to be a public figure to be a wife guy—you just had to be a guy. And the establishment of this easily attainable personality opened it up for critique. Some wife guys didn't appear to love their wives all that much; their affection seemed a bit forced, or stage-directed, or perhaps even outright transactional. Some famous wife guys got divorced, or cheated on their wives, or began to look like they were going through the motions. The rapturous feelings they'd shown began to seem like a cover-up for some sort of unpleasant truth. 'Posting publicly on social media about your love for your spouse shouldn't be a sign of cheating,' the New York Post declared, 'but in 2022, it's an immediate red flag.' Wife guy, always a little mocking, curdled into the plainly pejorative. Thus did my friends' casual remarks that I was a wife guy begin to feel like digs, even if they weren't meant that way. That I, a 36-year-old heterosexual man, should love my wife does not seem like a grand surprise. I married her for love, not because of a secret desire to inherit her immense oil fortune (she does not have one) or because of an accidental pregnancy and subsequent familial pressure to tie the knot (no baby here). I met her through a mutual pal—her best friend was also my boss—and a few months later, I sat back and thought to myself, You know, I am having a tremendously good time getting to know this beautiful, intelligent, hilarious, kind, ambitious woman with great taste in movies and books and music and fashion whom all of my friends love. Within a few years, we were engaged, and wedded not long after that, a series of decisions that felt as instinctual and obvious as ordering more bread to go with my unused dip. Hence my surprise when my uncomplicated expressions of adoration started to be noticed—and judged. [Read: Today's masculinity is stifling] Still, I understand why other people might be suspicious. When my wife and I were first dating, and everything felt so good, I could not always avoid sounding smug. 'It feels like,' I told one friend, 'we're better than every other couple.' I do not think my friends were hoping our relationship would fail, but they were unfamiliar with the emotions I was broadcasting—it probably did seem like I was putting it on, when really I was just very happy. Obviously I know love is not about showing off how in love you are. Love contains something internal and unmeasurable that can be weighed only in private, not presented for others to observe. And in fact, when dating, I was accustomed to adopting a more defensive pose, in which I'd play it cool so that my future self wouldn't look back with regret at how I'd left myself exposed. Such is a subcurrent of the skepticism toward the wife guy: an anticipation of the moment when all this publicly performed love will collapse onto itself, and be revealed as shortsighted. I knew it, thinks the naysayer. But falling in love, and getting married, has changed a great many things about the way I see the world, and validated other ideas that I suspected were true but had not yet confirmed for myself. Namely, that love requires vulnerability—a willingness to be naive and silly, a willingness to lay down your defenses and welcome what comes next, whether good or bad. To me, this is the only state of being worth pursuing in this life. Of course, I'd prefer to keep multiple aspects of this alchemic process, and my marriage, to myself (for example, the level of mess that occasionally accumulates when two writers live together). But sometimes, I just want to share it with the world—even if it makes people roll their eyes. We are all performing some identity, in some way, and I can live with being a 'guy who loves his wife a lot,' no matter what nicknames it brings. Article originally published at The Atlantic
Atlantic
4 hours ago
- Atlantic
In Defense of the ‘Wife Guy'
A few Sundays ago, I was in a car ride home with my wife when the light caught her face in a lovely way. I snapped a photo, and shortly afterward posted it to Instagram with several iterations of an emoji that felt appropriate: a man smiling, with hearts in place of his eyes. I did this because I love her. My love for my wife does not exist solely online; I often express it directly to her, or talk about her in glowing terms to friends and co-workers. It feels natural—as natural as sharing my feelings about anything to the internet, in the same way I'd post about how much I'm enjoying my Twin Peaks rewatch, or the particularly good sandwich I ate on vacation. So the first time that someone called me a 'wife guy,' I wasn't sure how to react. If you are encountering this phrase for the first time and think wife guy surely must mean 'a guy who loves his wife,' you would be dead wrong. The term, which rose to popularity sometime during the first Trump administration, describes someone whose spousal affection is so ostentatious that it becomes inherently untrustworthy. 'The wife guy defines himself,' the critic Amanda Hess has written, 'through a kind of overreaction to being married.' The wife guy posts a photo of his wife to Instagram along with several emojis of a man smiling with hearts in place of his eyes. He will repeat this sort of action so many times that even his closest friends may think, Enough already. He is so consistently and loudly psyched about being married that sirens are set off in the mind of family members and strangers alike, who wonder what shortcomings he aspires to compensate for through such enthusiastic declarations. In a world where identity is always being performed on social media, this particular identity is clearly one to avoid. But I, a guy who loves his wife, can't help but conclude that valuable terrain is being ceded when we think poorly of the wife guy. Many men, accustomed to bottling up their feelings, are already afraid to show what's in their heart and on their mind. If some of them are actually moved to express their love publicly and unabashedly—is this so wrong? The term wife guy is a by-product of several converging trends. On social media, millions of people have become accustomed to broadcasting what they are up to, a recurring action that eventually reduces most behaviors and traits to caricature. Do you drink a lot of Diet Coke? Watch out, lest you become a 'Diet Coke guy.' At the same time, the mechanics of social media are such that basically any identity can be created and monetized—and so thousands of people might desperately aspire to make a living by being a Diet Coke guy. Some already do. Once a clever person recognized that 'loving your wife' was an emotion that some people were performing in notable ways, the wife guy seemed to be everywhere. There was the 'curvy-wife guy,' an influencer who made lots of content about how much he adored his plus-size wife. There was the 'cliff-wife guy,' a different influencer who posted a dramatic video about the shock of watching his wife fall off a cliff. (It was more of a short drop, and she appeared to be basically fine.) Celebrities such as John Mulaney, Prince Harry, and Ryan Reynolds turned their marriages into content, so much content. These guys wanted to be wife guys and made 'Honor thy wife' into an informal commandment for modern living. This was around the time of the #MeToo movement, in which men's scummy behavior toward women was suddenly being reevaluated across society—and the wife guy, though perhaps over-the-top, seemed to be a welcome corrective. As more wife guys popped up, the phrase evolved. Before long, you did not have to be a public figure to be a wife guy—you just had to be a guy. And the establishment of this easily attainable personality opened it up for critique. Some wife guys didn't appear to love their wives all that much; their affection seemed a bit forced, or stage-directed, or perhaps even outright transactional. Some famous wife guys got divorced, or cheated on their wives, or began to look like they were going through the motions. The rapturous feelings they'd shown began to seem like a cover-up for some sort of unpleasant truth. 'Posting publicly on social media about your love for your spouse shouldn't be a sign of cheating,' the New York Post declared, 'but in 2022, it's an immediate red flag.' Wife guy, always a little mocking, curdled into the plainly pejorative. Thus did my friends' casual remarks that I was a wife guy begin to feel like digs, even if they weren't meant that way. That I, a 36-year-old heterosexual man, should love my wife does not seem like a grand surprise. I married her for love, not because of a secret desire to inherit her immense oil fortune (she does not have one) or because of an accidental pregnancy and subsequent familial pressure to tie the knot (no baby here). I met her through a mutual pal—her best friend was also my boss—and a few months later, I sat back and thought to myself, You know, I am having a tremendously good time getting to know this beautiful, intelligent, hilarious, kind, ambitious woman with great taste in movies and books and music and fashion whom all of my friends love. Within a few years, we were engaged, and wedded not long after that, a series of decisions that felt as instinctual and obvious as ordering more bread to go with my unused dip. Hence my surprise when my uncomplicated expressions of adoration started to be noticed—and judged. Still, I understand why other people might be suspicious. When my wife and I were first dating, and everything felt so good, I could not always avoid sounding smug. 'It feels like,' I told one friend, 'we're better than every other couple.' I do not think my friends were hoping our relationship would fail, but they were unfamiliar with the emotions I was broadcasting—it probably did seem like I was putting it on, when really I was just very happy. Obviously I know love is not about showing off how in love you are. Love contains something internal and unmeasurable that can be weighed only in private, not presented for others to observe. And in fact, when dating, I was accustomed to adopting a more defensive pose, in which I'd play it cool so that my future self wouldn't look back with regret at how I'd left myself exposed. Such is a subcurrent of the skepticism toward the wife guy: an anticipation of the moment when all this publicly performed love will collapse onto itself, and be revealed as shortsighted. I knew it, thinks the naysayer. But falling in love, and getting married, has changed a great many things about the way I see the world, and validated other ideas that I suspected were true but had not yet confirmed for myself. Namely, that love requires vulnerability—a willingness to be naive and silly, a willingness to lay down your defenses and welcome what comes next, whether good or bad. To me, this is the only state of being worth pursuing in this life. Of course, I'd prefer to keep multiple aspects of this alchemic process, and my marriage, to myself (for example, the level of mess that occasionally accumulates when two writers live together). But sometimes, I just want to share it with the world—even if it makes people roll their eyes. We are all performing some identity, in some way, and I can live with being a 'guy who loves his wife a lot,' no matter what nicknames it brings.
Yahoo
11 hours ago
- Yahoo
Hoax 'Hajj plane crash' claims spread online
"Heartbreaking to hear the news of a plane carrying pilgrims from Mauritania crashing off the coast of the Red Sea while travelling to the holy site. Reports say more than 200 pilgrims died on board," reads a Thai-language Facebook post on May 28, 2025. It includes a minute-long shaky video of a dark plane cabin with audio of prayers from distressed passengers. "Mauritanian hajj pilgrims plane crash on the shores of the Red Sea, on the way to the holy city of Mecca, more than 210 Hajj pilgrims were martyred in the plane crash," reads another post on Instagram on the same day, written in Indonesian and sharing an image of a destroyed aircraft. Similar posts also appeared elsewhere on Facebook and spread in English and Hindi as more than 1.5 million pilgrims joined Islam's most important rite (archived link). But Mauritania Airlines rejected claims of an aviation disaster in a statement posted on Facebook on May 27, 2025 (archived link). "Some foreign social media pages circulated malicious rumours about the crash of a plane carrying Mauritanian pilgrims off the Red Sea, which is baseless news," it reads in part. It adds all Mauritanian pilgrims travelling to Saudi Arabia arrived safely. A reverse image search of keyframes from the circulating video found it earlier posted on Instagram on October 29, 2018. AFP previously debunked posts that have misused the clip. David Ditama -- the owner of the Instagram account -- wrote that he had uploaded the footage after the crash of Lion Air flight JT 610 on the day because he wanted to share his traumatic experience from a year earlier (archived link). He told AFP the video was taken on December 11, 2017 during Lion Air flight JT 353 from Padang, in West Sumatra province, to Jakarta. The flight experienced heavy turbulence and engine shutdowns, but landed safely. Sutopo Purwo Nugroho, a former spokesperson for Indonesia's disaster agency, said on X on the same day that the clip shows turbulence on flight JT 353 (archived link). "All passengers were safe," the post says. Meanwhile, the image of a destroyed aircraft also shows visual errors that indicate it has been created using AI. These include the uneven size of the passenger windows and people standing near the aircraft appear to be distorted, limbless and headless. Despite the rapid progress of generative AI, errors still appear in AI-generated content. These flaws are often the clearest signs of a fabricated image. AFP has previously debunked another post falsely claiming a Mauritanian plane carrying Muslim pilgrims had crashed.
