
Kate Hudson shows off her incredible figure in a series of stylish bikinis as she shares snaps from lavish 'girl's trip' to Europe
The actress, 46, has spent the first part of her summer galivanting on star-studded yachts in Ibiza, Greece and Italy alongside the like of Dakota Johnson, Tom Brady and Sofia Vergara.
She was also joined by her daughter Rani Rose, six, as well as son Bingham, 13, from her previous relationship with Muse frontman Matt Bellamy on the vacation.
In one snap on board the yacht she flaunted her toned abs in a brown bikini and gingham sarong as she posed with her daughter and her stylist pal Sophie Lopez.
Another snap saw her enjoying a sunny lunch in a white bikini and crochet cover up while accessorising with a bandana in her hair.
She was also seen relaxing on a sunbed with Sophie as they both topped up their tans.
Kate also shares son Ryder, 21, with her ex-husband Chris Robinson, who she was married to from 2000 until 2006, before their divorce was finalised in 2007.
Kate and her partner Danny Fujikawa have been engaged for three years after he proposed to her just ahead of their five-year dating anniversary.
The pair had been close friends for many years before meeting through Fujikawa's stepsisters.
Kate previously revealed she finds the 'feeling of failure' the hardest part about walking away from a relationship as she opened up about her past romances.
Appearing on Elizabeth Day's podcast How To Fail, the American actress spoke candidly about how hard she has found it in the past to let go of a relationship as she admitted her therapist told her she had to stop dating men.
The star admitted: 'The hardest part about walking away from relationships is the feeling of failure. One hundred percent.
'So for me, that was the hardest thing, it's letting go of the fact that it feels like a failure, or I couldn't make something work, or I couldn't fix something.
'I think sometimes it's like you're trying to fit a square peg in the round hole and it's just never going to happen.'
Explaining how she has grown to realise that sometimes people are just not meant to be she added: 'Then you realise as it heals, "Oh, this isn't the failure, this was exactly what needed to happen."
'Because if you look back and you're like, "uh oh, what did I do? Why couldn't I do that? Why couldn't I give that person what they needed?" Then you have to do some real reflecting and really go figure out what that is.'
Revealing her therapist advised her to stop dating men for a year prior to meeting Danny, she admitted by the end she 'couldn't care less about who was texting me.'
Kate went a year without men as she explained: 'I took boys out of the equation and had to just go through this process of feeling very uncomfortable with not having any connection to anything that could ignite my dopamine, my flirtatious.'
Using the time she was single to work on herself, she admitted: 'Then it was like I hit something, I hit this core of an issue for myself.
'I had [an] almost like childhood cry and it was like a weight had been lifted off of me and honestly, from that point on, I couldn't care less about who was texting me.
'My life became so happy alone. I felt very connected to what I wanted to do, my daily routine with my kids, my cozy time.
'I didn't care about putting anything on and so when then I went back into the dating world, my relationship to dating completely changed.'
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The Independent
24 minutes ago
- The Independent
I live in the Cotswolds – here's why Americans are obsessed
This summer, American Vice President JD Vance has opted for a rather un-Trumpian vacation. No golden elevators or Mar-a-Lago this time: he'll be heading with his family to the Cotswolds in August, reportedly renting a romcom-worthy cottage. The Cotswolds really is as beautiful as the postcards – and Instagram posts – would have you believe. The region that spans parts of six counties (Gloucestershire, Oxfordshire, Warwickshire, Wiltshire, Worcestershire and Somerset) has always had a touch of glamour to it: it's been a hub for the wealthy since the heyday of the wool trade in the late Middle Ages. And more recently, the region I call home has been drawing the great and the glamorous from both sides of the pond. Taylor Swift based herself here for her London Era tour dates, Shonda Rhimes filmed Bridgerton on the streets of Bath and Jeremy Clarkson continues to cause traffic jams by selling pork scratchings to queues of Clarkson's Farm fans. Ellen DeGeneres briefly moved here with her wife Portia De Rossi (although she's just put her property up for sale). We've even had the ultimate seal of American approval – a visit from a Kardashian. Kourtney was recently spotted at Soho Farmhouse in Chipping Norton. So what exactly is the appeal for transatlantic tastemakers? For one, the Cotswolds is, simply, breathtaking, in a seen-it-on-the-telly sort of way. Gorgeous, untouched villages such as Bibury, Bourton-on-the-Water and Castle Combe seem tailor-made for Instagram posts, sitting among golden hills, babbling brooks and gastropubs serving £18 sticky toffee puddings. For Americans raised on fantastical versions of British life (think Downton Abbey, The Holiday and Harry Potter, all filmed here), it's a concentrated dose of British fantasy: the accents, the bunting, the Range Rovers. And this isn't just an American fascination. The British elite are still rushing to join the 'Chipping Norton set', so-called as they tend to land among covetable postcodes in the north of the Cotswolds. Everyone from Kate Winslet to Kate Moss – and former prime minister David Cameron – have called it home. But the influx of celebrities, Veeps and, increasingly, busloads of TikTok-fuelled day-trippers have taken their toll on the Cotswolds, straining local infrastructure and disrupting community life. In 2023, the region welcomed over 23 million visitors, a sharp rise from 16 million in 2018. The area is usually home to 140,000 people. Some of the Cotswolds' prettiest, most untouched villages now face daily congestion, their narrow lanes overwhelmed by tour buses as well as increased litter and noise. The tourism economy, one of the area's largest incomes, supports jobs but inflates property prices, creating a housing shortage in which thousands of covetable cottages have been converted into holiday lets. I live in a wonderfully un-touristy corner of the Cotswolds (visitors often don't realise it's big enough to have plenty of 'normal' towns and communities). Last month, I stayed in Castle Combe, often dubbed 'the prettiest village in England'. Around 350 people live here, but I didn't see a single local – the narrow streets were thronged with international influencers busily filming videos. Charming cottages, with roses around their doorframes, were plastered with signs begging visitors not to fly drones. It felt closer to a visiting a theme park than a tucked-away treasure. And yet it's still possible to find magic in the Cotswolds, and I think to write off the region William Morris called 'heaven on earth' as a playground for the posh is a disservice. Stunning villages such as Snowshill and Guiting Power offer tranquil walks and pint-sized pubs. The market town of Cirencester will please photographers but is still a proper community with a great foodie scene, while Tetbury groans with antiques. Stroud sits jewel-like in the heart of the Five Valleys, its rolling green hills perfect for escaping the madding crowds. Or visit spots that are actually equipped to welcome tourists. Stroll among autumn colour at Westonbirt Arboretum, explore National Trust sites such as Chedworth Roman Villa or spot wildlife at Cotswold Water Park. Avoid Airbnbs and stay instead in a boutique hotel. The Painswick sits in a chocolate box village while Wild Thyme and Honey has a relaxed, pubby vibe. Cowley Manor offers heated indoor and outdoor pools, plus an award-winning restaurant. Or simply head right out of this corner of the country completely. The Shropshire Hills are far quieter than the Cotswolds. The Suffolk coast and many corners of Somerset offer chocolate-box charm without the Instagram hoards. The Cotswolds will no doubt remain catnip for celebrities and clout-chasers, but for those in search of real countryside calm – and a Britain less filtered – it's worth taking the road less travelled. After all, who wants exactly the same holiday snaps as JD Vance?


The Guardian
an hour ago
- The Guardian
The Assassin review – Keeley Hawes's menopausal hitwoman drama is perfectly crafted TV
A menopausal assassin has been a long time coming, even though there is literally no more perfect pairing in the world than a woman rapidly emptying of oestrogen and a gun. I blame the patriarchy, but I understand its unwillingness to confront the truth that if women were free to express themselves instead of raised in mental straitjackets, then armed at 40, the world would look very different indeed. Keeley Hawes, who just gets better and more impressive with every outing, is that menopausal assassin, in the aptly named six-part series The Assassin. Julie is her name and trying to live quietly in Greece and spurning every overture of friendship in the village is her game. Alas, she is called by her handler Damian, after 10 years of quietude, to perform one more time. This happens just as her son Edward (Freddie Highmore, absolutely shining in what is essentially a light comic part in a bloody, murderous caper) comes to visit for the first time in four years too! Even hitwomen have to juggle home and work demands. Oh, and Edward's gone vegan since they last spoke and she got wagyu steaks in for tea. Handlers and kids, eh? Anyway, Edward's here to ask her about the fortune that landed in his account when he turned 30 and if it's anything to do with the father she has always refused to tell him about. She, more or less, tells him to shut up and eat his goddamn tofu. The Assassin is perfectly crafted preposterousness. It is stylish, witty, tightly written, even more tightly paced and takes the job of massively entertaining us at every turn with the proper amount of seriousness. It establishes its various plotlines swiftly and has us looking forward to their intersection whenever we have enough attention to spare, given that excellent things – from barbed exchanges between unmaternal mother and exasperated son to endless action sequences – are always happening in front of us. Obviously the main plot revolves round Julie. She soon realises the man calling is not her real handler (just in time to stop her killing the woman he has given as the target, which turns out to be doubly lucky for her, in a twist which adds much to the preposterousness and, I hope, the gaiety of the viewing nation). Then, after a massacre of almost the entire village by a very bad sniper trying to kill her, she sets herself the task of finding out what's happened to the real Damian and hopefully finding out why she is now a marked woman and more and more people are trying to kill her. This first involves pretty much commandeering the yacht belonging to her former target, Kayla (Shalom Brune-Franklin) and her berk of a brother Ezra (Devon Terrell), scions of a mega-rich mining family owned by a man called Aaron Cross (Alan Dale. One day 'Him from Neighbours! My God, he's doing well!' will not be my first thought when I see him, but that day is not yet here), and trying to get to Albania. An old colleague, Sean (Jack Davenport), arrives on a jet ski. Is he here to help or hinder? We, and a variety of weapons, soon find out. Meanwhile! Another plot strand is unfurling in a Libyan prison. Its newest inmate is a Dutch man called Jasper (David Dencik), who possibly has dirt on Cross that will get him out of said Libyan prison but not before he has added – with the help of the terrifying Russians who 'adopt' him in jail – his quotient of gory set pieces to the series. He, or most of him at least, eventually escapes and disappears into the desert to find Plot A. Meanwhile again! Plot C begins in London, with the astonishingly unexpected but always welcome advent of Gina Gershon as a mysterious woman called Marie who attends an art class in order to draw a picture of someone we recognise as Edward and a speech bubble coming from his gobsmacked gob the narratively fertile phrase 'You're my father?' Aaaaand scene! It's so much fun. Hawes is so good, so funny, Highmore so nimble and perfectly pitched and everyone else – including Gerald Kyd as villager Luka, who survives the massacre and follows the woman who is clearly his best hope of safety to the yacht, where they bond over middle-aged medication – turning in brilliant performances. Do not come looking for realism or social commentary or anything else that clearly has no place here – or I will smash your head in with a rock, like Julie does to her adversaries, especially if I've not replaced my HRT patch on time. Consider yourselves warned. The Assassin is on Prime Video now.


The Independent
an hour ago
- The Independent
Why the Cotswolds are the perfect place for JD Vance to spend his holidays
JD! You're spending part of your vacation in the Cotswolds, and you couldn't be more welcome. In order to squeeze every drop while visiting this little-known area of England, I've compiled a few tips. Firstly, where to stay? If it's an authentic working smallholding you want, you could do worse than the Soho Farmhouse, set in 100 acres with horse stables, a cinema and barns with underfloor heating. Your room will be a converted pigsty with cast-ion tubs and curated ducks. You will have a chance to discuss rural life with friendly and knowledgeable countrymen. If it's kids' entertainment you're after, try nearby Estelle Manor, where your offspring can race around in mini–Land Rovers. It's where all the local kids learn to drive. Premium cabins are a very reasonable $1,500 a night. From there, it is a short hope to another working farm, the quaintly-named Diddly Squat, owned by a real local 'character', Jeremy Clarkson. He is your kinda guy: a petrolhead, anti-woke, no-nonsense salt of the earth multi-millionaire. You will undoubtedly bond. You use your outrage to galvanise voters. Clarkson uses it to sell books, TV rights and chilli-flavoured mayonnaise. You will love his fart jokes and his encyclopaedic knowledge of 14th-century sheep taxation. Understand that Clarkson's agricultural odyssey is genuinely rooted in the absurd realities of British farming — but it's also brilliantly edited television. Think the Apprentice meets James Herriot. The show is a love letter to rural life, a middle finger to government overreach, and a sitcom disguised as a documentary. You will doubtless meet another delightful local, Kaleb Cooper, who works alongside Clarkson. You'll instantly recognise him as the archetype of the forgotten working man, except that he has 2.9 million Instagram followers, which is about a million more than you. See this as a meeting of populist icons. Don't try to win him over with libertarian homilies or war stories from Senate hearings: he'll just challenge you to reverse a trailer into a tight gate without taking out a water pump. Next, you must drop in on Daylesford Organic, where all the locals shop. It is technically a farm in the same sense that the nearby Blenheim estate is a garden. Don't be put off by the prices, which might be considered a hate crime in Appalachia (organic active manuka honey for only £36 a jar!). Only this is not Appalachia: it's Aspen with sheep. You'll love the owner, Lady Bamford, who will acknowledge the trauma in your memoir Hillbilly Elegy, but also wonder if the aesthetic has potential. You can discuss diggers with her old man, the Tory-donor Lord Bamford of JCB. Just don't mention the £500m tax inquiry that was reportedly launched in 2020 – the outcome of which remains unknown. You may be feeling peckish by now, so where better for a pint and some grub than a local hostelry? May we recommend the Bull Inn in Burford, a 16th-century grade II coaching inn lovingly restored by another real Cotswold 'character', Matthew Freud? Know that Matthew doesn't do small talk: he does narrative control. Once married to Elisabeth Murdoch, he will admire your origin story and suggest that he could help you with some strategic rebranding. Next, it will be time to meet the other members of the Chipping Norton set: think the Hamptons, only older, colder and with mud-speckled Defenders and labradors named Beckham. It is now a slightly marginal but still potent clique of political-media aristocracy that peaked during the Cameron years. These days their power is subtler, more slippery. Do not try to bond over populism. They'll nod politely, then have you edited out of the group photo. If you meet Rebekah Brooks remember Trump is suing her boss Rupert Murdoch for a cool $10bn. When in doubt, change the subject to the weather. Do not, on any account, travel south to Oxford; it will simply annoy you. If you think Harvard is bad, just wait until you encounter the real thing, with their obsession with pronouns, unisex toilets and trigger warnings; and woke professors who don't believe in American exceptionalism. They also have a tiresome obsession with facts. They still speak Latin at dinners and graduations, and when you learn about the ructions over a tiny statue of Cecil Rhodes you'll just get mad. He was just trying to Make Africa Great Again. Head north instead to the RSC at Stratford, where you may just catch the Winter's Tale, a character study in paranoia and power. Or too much of a busman's holiday? Is there something about Leontes that might resonate – an uncanny capacity for self-destruction, reinvention and spectacular ideological whiplash? Back in Shakespeare's day, every female character would have been played by a teenage boy in drag. But thankfully, there is no gender-bending cross-dressing in modern performances. You can relax. Over at Garsington Opera, things are more fluid, so you should probably give their current production of Fidelio a miss. The vibe includes quite a lot of cross-dressing, tyranny and liberation – though the disguise theme arguably aligns with your own trajectory of self-reinvention from Middletown, Ohio, to Yale Law School to MAGA Trumpworld. If you were hoping for a bit of shooting, you're out of luck since partridge and pheasant shooting on estates such as Coombe End or Salperton Park doesn't start until October. It's probably just as well. Semi-auto shotguns are frowned on: everyone shoots vintage hand-engraved Purdeys that cost more than a Cadillac. Even the ammo is woke: lead-free and bio-degradable. Do not mention AR-15s. No one knows about the Second Amendment. A note on clothing. A MAGA hat in the Cotswolds would be like turning up at Garsington Opera wearing camo. Barbour, yes. Patagonia, never. Cotswolds outerwear must say: 'I could survive a blizzard, but I'm really just popping to the farm shop for some heirloom fennel.' The trick is to look poor, but in a rich way. In the Cotswolds, wealth is whispered, not shouted. Leave behind anything from Under Armour, North Face, LL Bean, or anything that says 'Outlaw and Hillbilly' in League Gothic script. Forget your loafers: wear boots. Mud is a class signifier, but maybe not in the way you imagine. The locals in the Cotswolds do not know what 'pill mills' (that illegally dispense drugs) are, and they'd very much like to keep it that way. If you strike up a conversation in the Bull Inn about intergenerational trauma and opioid dependency, you may be asked to leave. Or, worse still, taken for a Guardian columnist. In summary: keep your opinions zipped and your nostalgia for Appalachia hidden. When in doubt talk about Europe: the locals share your loathing for it. Remember you're not in Yoo-S-A! any more. You're in Clarkson Country, which — odd as it may seem — may be even more confusing.