Latest news with #Johanna
Hindustan Times
01-05-2025
- Health
- Hindustan Times
Woman who shed 22 kg at home shares 5 things she wished people knew about weight loss: 'You can do it the quick way...'
Johanna Sophia from Canada is an online weight loss coach and mother who lost over 50 pounds (22.6 kg) with home workouts. In a February 26 Instagram post titled '5 things I wish people knew about losing weight,' Johanna highlighted that when it comes to weight loss, the approach you take can significantly impact your overall well-being and long-term success. Also read | Doctor recommends avoiding these 5 foods that make you age faster According to her, these are the five things people need to know about weight loss to achieve sustainable weight loss and improve their overall well-being: A post shared by growwithjo | Johanna Sophia (@growwithjo) 1. You can either do it the quick way: under-eat, over-exercise, get lost in the numbers, and get caught up in a toxic mindset. Or do it the right way: stay disciplined, get consistent with your nutrition and workouts, be intentional with your nutrition, and lead a balanced lifestyle. Both ways will make you lose weight, but the question you have to ask yourself is, how do you want to feel once the weight is lost? 2. Consistency (even if it's only 5-10 minutes to start out or fill in days when you can't do any longer) is more important than intensity. Through consistency, your body is transformed (through repetition), and your mindset is transformed (through confidence in showing up for yourself). Showing up for an hour of exercise once a week will do less for you than 5 minutes daily. 3. Calories in vs calories out is essential, but it's not the only factor that will determine weight loss. If your routine is out of whack and you're not taking care of your stress levels or consuming nutrients your body needs to thrive, your body won't efficiently or sustainably lose weight — meaning it will be super easy for you to gain it all back once you've reached your goal. 4. The scale can be tricky because of how your body holds weight. You can see no physical difference and yet see the number move on the scale. Similarly, you can see a drastic difference in your physique and see no change on the scale. The scale cannot measure the difference between muscle and fat, how much water weight you're holding, how fat is distributed throughout your body, your confidence levels, your mindset, or anything that matters aside from the change in how gravity affects you. If you struggle with numbers, throw that scale out 5. The sooner you take a look at how much refined sugar you are eating throughout the day, the sooner you will be able to realize why you are fluctuating in your mood, cravings, energy levels, and all the things you need to put towards your weight loss journey. Understanding the role of glucose and insulin in your weight loss journey will transform the way you approach it and make it a million times simpler. Note to readers: This article is for informational purposes only and not a substitute for professional medical advice. Always seek the advice of your doctor with any questions about a medical condition.
Yahoo
02-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Tony Bennett's daughters file lawsuit against brother over inheritance
Tony Bennett's daughters, Johanna and Antonia Bennett, have filed a new lawsuit against their older brother, Danny Bennett. The suit, reported by Rolling Stone, alleges mismanagement of family finances following their father's death in 2023. "Tony maintained a loving and devoted relationship with all of his children and his estate plan expressly provides that all four children be treated equally," they claim in the suit. "Since Tony's death, Johanna and Antonia have discovered that Danny exercised complete and unchecked control over Tony and his financial affairs prior to and following his death through multiple fiduciary and other roles of authority that Danny has abused, and continues to abuse, for his own significant financial gain." Danny Bennett began managing the I Left My Heart in San Francisco singer's career 45 years ago, and played a key role in his '90s comeback and the many lucrative years that followed. The 38-page lawsuit, states that at the time of Tony's death in 2022, his assets were valued at $12 million (£9.3 million), but the sisters claim his lifetime earnings exceeded $100 million (£77 million). "Johanna and Antonia have not received any credible explanation about what happened to Tony's substantial lifetime earnings prior to his death," the suit reads. They further allege that Danny took two loans from the family trust totalling $1.2 million (£930,000) in 2020, and later sold Tony's name and likeness rights and the royalty stream to his music without consultation.
BBC News
31-03-2025
- Health
- BBC News
Bristol university student to cycle miles for mum who had cancer
A student is planning to cycle across nine countries for a breast cancer charity after his mother was diagnosed with the Hartikainen, 22, was in his second year at the University of Bristol when he received a call from his mother, Johanna, to tell him she had breast underwent multiple surgeries and radiotherapy and has since made a full said he was planning to cycle 1,553 miles (2,500km) across nine countries for Prevent Breast Cancer. "I remember it really vividly," Jesper said. "I was in the living room when I saw she was ringing." He said he felt helpless when he found out his mother had breast cancer. After finishing his degree in economics at the University of Bristol, he will set off on his bike in plans to cycle through France, Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany, Denmark, Norway and finish line will be in Helsinki, Finland, where most of his family mother, a risk manager in a bank, said she was "incredibly proud" of her son."I am hoping that his challenge will help raise awareness of the importance of check-ups which can result in early diagnosis and easier treatment of breast cancer," she said.
Telegraph
20-03-2025
- Telegraph
The Soviet spy who even duped the woman who thought she was his mother
She could feel the 12 jurors watching her intently as she entered the witness box of Court No. 1 at the Old Bailey. A man in the public gallery was coughing relentlessly but otherwise there was total silence. All the attention was on her, a late middle-aged woman foolish enough to believe there could be a happy ending when everything she had seen in her life pointed to the very opposite. She glanced up at the only eyes she was interested in, but he was looking away. Erwin van Haarlem sat in the dock as if he was in a Parisian café, with a healthy disdain for his surroundings and especially for her. It was March 1989. A year earlier, when she heard he had been arrested in west London, she flew in from Holland hoping to help, but now she was there to bury him even if that meant being judged herself. She had been judged before and judged harshly. Nothing could ever be as bad. Prosecutor Roy Amlot, his rosy cheeks at odds with the dirty grey of his wig, tried to catch her attention as she settled her mind back into the past. 'Mrs van Haarlem, can you please tell the court your full name?' 'Johanna Hendrik van Haarlem.' 'And Mrs van Haarlem, do you see the accused in this court?' She nodded. 'Would you point him out, please?' She pointed to the small, dapper man with a Beatles haircut and a sharp face sitting across the room in the vast wooden dock, a room within a room where the defendant sits on an equal footing with the judge. He showed no sign of recognition. 'Mrs van Haarlem,' said Amlot, leading her eyes back to his, 'can you tell the court, in your own words, about your relationship with the defendant and how that came about?' She wanted to run, to escape, to be anywhere else but she stayed, just as she did at home as a young girl in The Hague in 1940 when the Germans rolled in with their tanks and their certainty. Whatever happened there would be a price to be paid. There always was. Johanna looked across the court and, this time, he met her eyes. There was no love there. It wasn't that he hadn't heard her story before – they had pored over it together countless times – but she thought she detected the slightest sign of guilt. She began her account. How she had been overpowered as a young, naïve teen by a German soldier and how her assailant had died at the front in Caen in 1944 just days after she'd discovered she was pregnant. How her Nazi collaborator father had refused to allow her 'war product' baby into the house. How she had been forced to leave the baby son she'd called Erwin at an orphanage in Czechoslovakia. And how, miraculously, more than 32 years later, the Red Cross had got in touch with her in Holland to say they had found Erwin living in London and asked if she wanted to meet him. Johanna had spent a joyous decade thinking she had found the child she'd lost. He was invited to the Netherlands for a reunion with her family, his 'relatives', and Erwin, in turn, took Johanna and his 'brother' Hans on holiday. He also took them to shows and restaurants on their visits to see him in London. As the years went by, their love for Erwin grew. But the relationship was strictly one-sided. In truth, Erwin was, in fact, Vaclav Jelinek, codename Gragert, a highly trained Soviet bloc agent who had been assigned Erwin's identity and who had agreed to the reunion with Johanna because it strengthened his 'legend'; the backstory that a spy creates for himself. During his decade of deceit with Johanna, he had penetrated meetings at the House of Commons and a conference in Washington DC where the star guest had been the then US president, Ronald Reagan. He had also gathered intelligence on the UK's Polaris nuclear submarine programme and Reagan's Star Wars missile defence system, receiving accolades from Moscow and being promoted to Colonel. After all Johanna had been through, all they had been through, she still couldn't believe that it had come to this. The coughing had stopped in the public gallery and a woman in the jury with a kind face smiled at her. It was the first time she realised her own face was wet with tears. 'Would you like a break, Mrs van Haarlem?' Judge Simon Brown spoke quietly, as if they were alone in his chambers, and she shook her head. She knew that if she left the court she would never return. Johanna became lost in her thoughts again, this time at the happy memories, the happiest in her life. He was looking down and studying his hands, hiding his expression. She knew there would be no shame but hoped at least for a little understanding. There had been a shift in the courtroom that couldn't be described in a stenographer's notebook. As hard as Amlot had tried to portray the defendant to the jury in a bad light, he had charmed them into having a reasonable doubt over the espionage charges against him. Could such an ordinary, pleasant man really be a spy? The film noir subterfuge of dead letter drops, one-time pads, ciphers and codes the prosecutor described him as using in his work spying for the STB, the Czech secret service, seemed as unlikely as a James Bond plot. What kind of secrets would a waiter at a Hilton hotel (Jelinek's cover occupation) really have to send over on a ham radio from his kitchen in Friern Barnet? The suggestion that he would try and plant bugs in the furniture at Buckingham Palace was laughable. He even smiled when the idea was raised in court. The Jewish community he was accused of betraying to the Soviets had also been his friends. They appeared more hurt than harmed. But, Jelinek had harvested important intel for his spymasters about the methods and names of the Jewish people seeking freedom from the Soviet Union. His information was used by Russian negotiators in nuclear arms talks with the US, at a time when human rights were traded for arms concessions. All the time, the spy smirked from the dock as if he knew how ridiculous it was. But he had lost his bluster since Johanna took her oath and stood across from the dock to accuse him. Watching a mother's heart breaking in front of them had changed the mood in the jury. Nobody was smiling anymore. The prosecutor was hesitant to break the spell, but Johanna had once again become lost in the past. He coughed politely and she got the message and carried on. Her world fell apart again, she said, when Scotland Yard called her home in Holland in April 1988 to say that her son had been arrested. He'd been caught red-handed sending secret messages to his spymasters behind the Iron Curtain. Panicked, she tried to contact him, but it was too late, he was already locked up. Two Special Branch officers arrived at her home to take a statement, and she told them everything she knew. After all, nothing he had ever done had made her suspicious. He was the perfect son. She was asked to take a DNA test. The results were damning. There was an extremely high possibility that he was not her son. Confused and worried, Johanna decided to fly to London to see him for herself in Brixton Prison, where he was being held on bail having pleaded not guilty. She would be there for him the way her father never was for her. Unconditionally. She would help him prove his innocence. But the look on his face told her the truth. The smile was gone. 'Will you tell me the truth?' she asked him, pleading for his love. 'Are you really my son... or did you steal his identity from the orphanage?' He looked at her with those blank, cold eyes. Her baby's eyes were blue. His were brown. He didn't care if she knew. She was no good to him anymore. Johanna looked hard into the spy's lying eyes and her world collapsed again. 'There's no smoke without fire,' he said quietly. Then he turned away. A stranger.
Yahoo
20-03-2025
- Yahoo
The Soviet spy who even duped the woman who thought she was his mother
She could feel the 12 jurors watching her intently as she entered the witness box of Court No. 1 at the Old Bailey. A man in the public gallery was coughing relentlessly but otherwise there was total silence. All the attention was on her, a late middle-aged woman foolish enough to believe there could be a happy ending when everything she had seen in her life pointed to the very opposite. She glanced up at the only eyes she was interested in, but he was looking away. Erwin van Haarlem sat in the dock as if he was in a Parisian café, with a healthy disdain for his surroundings and especially for her. It was March 1989. A year earlier, when she heard he had been arrested in west London, she flew in from Holland hoping to help, but now she was there to bury him even if that meant being judged herself. She had been judged before and judged harshly. Nothing could ever be as bad. Prosecutor Roy Amlot, his rosy cheeks at odds with the dirty grey of his wig, tried to catch her attention as she settled her mind back into the past. 'Mrs van Haarlem, can you please tell the court your full name?''Johanna Hendrik van Haarlem.''And Mrs van Haarlem, do you see the accused in this court?'She nodded.'Would you point him out, please?' She pointed to the small, dapper man with a Beatles haircut and a sharp face sitting across the room in the vast wooden dock, a room within a room where the defendant sits on an equal footing with the judge. He showed no sign of recognition. 'Mrs van Haarlem,' said Amlot, leading her eyes back to his, 'can you tell the court, in your own words, about your relationship with the defendant and how that came about?' She wanted to run, to escape, to be anywhere else but she stayed, just as she did at home as a young girl in The Hague in 1940 when the Germans rolled in with their tanks and their certainty. Whatever happened there would be a price to be paid. There always was. Johanna looked across the court and, this time, he met her eyes. There was no love there. It wasn't that he hadn't heard her story before – they had pored over it together countless times – but she thought she detected the slightest sign of guilt. She began her account. How she had been overpowered as a young, naïve teen by a German soldier and how her assailant had died at the front in Caen in 1944 just days after she'd discovered she was pregnant. How her Nazi collaborator father had refused to allow her 'war product' baby into the house. How she had been forced to leave the baby son she'd called Erwin at an orphanage in Czechoslovakia. And how, miraculously, more than 32 years later, the Red Cross had got in touch with her in Holland to say they had found Erwin living in London and asked if she wanted to meet him. Johanna had spent a joyous decade thinking she had found the child she'd lost. He was invited to the Netherlands for a reunion with her family, his 'relatives', and Erwin, in turn, took Johanna and his 'brother' Hans on holiday. He also took them to shows and restaurants on their visits to see him in London. As the years went by, their love for Erwin grew. But the relationship was strictly one-sided. In truth, Erwin was, in fact, Vaclav Jelinek, codename Gragert, a highly trained Soviet bloc agent who had been assigned Erwin's identity and who had agreed to the reunion with Johanna because it strengthened his 'legend'; the backstory that a spy creates for himself. During his decade of deceit with Johanna, he had penetrated meetings at the House of Commons and a conference in Washington DC where the star guest had been the then US president, Ronald Reagan. He had also gathered intelligence on the UK's Polaris nuclear submarine programme and Reagan's Star Wars missile defence system, receiving accolades from Moscow and being promoted to Colonel. After all Johanna had been through, all they had been through, she still couldn't believe that it had come to this. The coughing had stopped in the public gallery and a woman in the jury with a kind face smiled at her. It was the first time she realised her own face was wet with tears.'Would you like a break, Mrs van Haarlem?' Judge Simon Brown spoke quietly, as if they were alone in his chambers, and she shook her head. She knew that if she left the court she would never return. Johanna became lost in her thoughts again, this time at the happy memories, the happiest in her life. He was looking down and studying his hands, hiding his expression. She knew there would be no shame but hoped at least for a little understanding. There had been a shift in the courtroom that couldn't be described in a stenographer's notebook. As hard as Amlot had tried to portray the defendant to the jury in a bad light, he had charmed them into having a reasonable doubt over the espionage charges against him. Could such an ordinary, pleasant man really be a spy? The film noir subterfuge of dead letter drops, one-time pads, ciphers and codes the prosecutor described him as using in his work spying for the STB, the Czech secret service, seemed as unlikely as a James Bond plot. What kind of secrets would a waiter at a Hilton hotel (Jelinek's cover occupation) really have to send over on a ham radio from his kitchen in Friern Barnet? The suggestion that he would try and plant bugs in the furniture at Buckingham Palace was laughable. He even smiled when the idea was raised in court. The Jewish community he was accused of betraying to the Soviets had also been his friends. They appeared more hurt than harmed. But, Jelinek had harvested important intel for his spymasters about the methods and names of the Jewish people seeking freedom from the Soviet Union. His information was used by Russian negotiators in nuclear arms talks with the US, at a time when human rights were traded for arms concessions. All the time, the spy smirked from the dock as if he knew how ridiculous it was. But he had lost his bluster since Johanna took her oath and stood across from the dock to accuse him. Watching a mother's heart breaking in front of them had changed the mood in the jury. Nobody was smiling anymore. The prosecutor was hesitant to break the spell, but Johanna had once again become lost in the past. He coughed politely and she got the message and carried on. Her world fell apart again, she said, when Scotland Yard called her home in Holland in April 1988 to say that her son had been arrested. He'd been caught red-handed sending secret messages to his spymasters behind the Iron Curtain. Panicked, she tried to contact him, but it was too late, he was already locked up. Two Special Branch officers arrived at her home to take a statement, and she told them everything she knew. After all, nothing he had ever done had made her suspicious. He was the perfect son. She was asked to take a DNA test. The results were damning. There was an extremely high possibility that he was not her son. Confused and worried, Johanna decided to fly to London to see him for herself in Brixton Prison, where he was being held on bail having pleaded not guilty. She would be there for him the way her father never was for her. Unconditionally. She would help him prove his innocence. But the look on his face told her the truth. The smile was gone. 'Will you tell me the truth?' she asked him, pleading for his love. 'Are you really my son... or did you steal his identity from the orphanage?' He looked at her with those blank, cold eyes. Her baby's eyes were blue. His were brown. He didn't care if she knew. She was no good to him anymore. Johanna looked hard into the spy's lying eyes and her world collapsed again. 'There's no smoke without fire,' he said quietly. Then he turned away. A stranger. A Spy In The Family by Paul Henderson and David Gardner (published by Mirror Books, £20) is on sale now. Broaden your horizons with award-winning British journalism. Try The Telegraph free for 1 month with unlimited access to our award-winning website, exclusive app, money-saving offers and more.
