2026 Answers

Issue 01 2026: Page 15 Picture Pointer = Hexagonal

Issue 02 2026: Page 15 Picture Pointer = Fragrant

Issue 03 2026: Page 15 Picture Pointer = Perilous

Issue 04 2026: Page 15 Picture Pointer = Astrology

Issue 05 2026: Page 15 Picture Pointer = Delighted

Issue 06 2026: Page 15 Picture Pointer = Nectarine

Issue 07 2026: Page 15 Picture Pointer = Idealistic

2025 Answers

Issue 01 2025: Page 15 Picture Pointer = Fantasy

Issue 02 2025: Page 15 Picture Pointer = Appendix

Issue 03 2025: Page 15 Picture Pointer = Flattery

Issue 04 2025: Page 15 Picture Pointer = Mixture

Issue 05 2025: Page 15 Picture Pointer = Express

Issue 06 2025: Page 15 Picture Pointer = Crystal

Issue 07 2025: Page 15 Picture Pointer = Anecdote

Issue 08 2025: Page 15 Picture Pointer = Mythology

Issue 09 2025: Page 15 Picture Pointer = Ceremony

Issue 10 2025: Page 15 Picture Pointer = Motivating

Issue 11 2025: Page 15 Picture Pointer = Perfume

Issue 12 2025: Page 15 Picture Pointer = Bejewel

I’d befriended a lonely pooch, but had I bitten off 
more than I could chew? By Amy Porter, 40

Sitting cross-legged, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath in.

But as I finished my daily yoga routine, I was interrupted by something licking my leg.
‘Hello, you!’ I said, knowing it would be my neighbour’s puppy, Aliyah.
I’d moved over to the Dominican Republic to work for a charity, and while I was loving it, I’d quickly realised attitudes towards pets were very different there.
Aliyah wasn’t allowed in their home, so she lived outside in a cardboard box and her diet consisted of pizza and leftovers.
I worried about her alone in the cold at night, and in the end, I caved in and bought her a dog bed and some proper food.
Only now, she’d become attached, and I’d hear her whimpering for me outside my flat.
Months later, I flew back to the UK for my sister’s wedding.
While I was there, I got a call from my landlady in the Dominican Republic.
‘You can’t go to England and leave your dog!’ she screeched.
‘I don’t have a dog!’ I replied.
But I discovered that while I’d been away, my neighbour had moved out and left Aliyah, telling the landlady she was mine. The cheek!
I messaged my neighbour, but she had no intention of coming back for her pooch.
You’re so good with her, I left her for you, she replied.
I did have a soft spot for Aliyah, so I called my landlady back and she agreed to take care of her until I returned.
When I arrived back at my flat 
soon after, Aliyah bounded straight over to greet me.
‘It’s your lucky day, you’re moving inside!’ I told her.
Aliyah had never lived in an apartment before, but soon made herself at home.
I bought her a new dog bed and a crate full of toys and she quickly became my furry best friend.
At weekends, we’d travel across the coast and stay in doggy friendly hotels. She loved splashing 
about in the 
water and sprinting across the sand.
I didn’t know many people in this part of the world but with Aliyah by my side it didn’t matter.
It was us against the world.
When Aliyah was nearly three, I unexpectedly fell pregnant – with twins.
I panicked, wondering how on earth I’d balance working full-time with twins and a dog.
After turning it over and over, I had to accept that I couldn’t look after Aliyah 
any more.
But I wasn’t about to leave her with just anyone.
‘What do you think? I asked my dad over the phone. ‘Will you take her?’
‘I think you’re bonkers!’ he replied. ‘But of course I’ll take her.’
Dad lived back home in Oxfordshire. He had two dogs already and had fostered others in the past, 
so I knew Aliyah would be 
in great hands.
I got everything sorted, 
and soon she was on her 
way to the UK.
At six months pregnant 
I flew home to have my babies too.
Although Aliyah soon had my dad wrapped around her little finger, she wasn’t keen on his other dogs Harley and Nula. Despite being a tiny thing, she insisted on ruling the household, challenging them over toys and food.
But we brushed it off as sibling rivalry.

Before I knew it, my maternity leave was over and it was time to go back to the Dominican Republic.
Saying goodbye to Aliyah was heartbreaking.
‘I’m going to miss you so much,’ I said, ruffling her fur.
Dad sent over regular pup-dates, which helped.
But one day, he called with distressing news. One his dogs had finally had enough of Aliyah’s bossiness and had bitten her.
‘She was just trying to put her in her place,’ Dad said.
Thankfully Aliyah wasn’t too badly hurt. But it was clear she couldn’t stay with Dad.
So I called my sister Rosie, who’d just moved into a new home with her husband Joe, and begged her to take my beloved pooch.
They hadn’t been planning on getting a dog, but still, 
she agreed.
‘You’re my sister, I’d 
do anything for you,’ Rosie said.
I felt guilty to begin with, but as I got her updates and photos, 
I realised that they weren’t just doing 
me a favour. They’d fallen head over paws in love with her.
They spoilt her 
rotten with posh dog food and an Advent calendar at Christmas.
When my job contract ended and I moved back home, I could tell Rosie 
was nervous that I’d want 
to take Aliyah back.
But I made her a special adoption certificate.
‘She’s officially yours now,’ I told her, handing it over.
I also made Rosie and Joe 
a scrapbook, documenting Aliyah’s story from cardboard box pooch to pampered princess.
It’s funny to think how this little dog who came out of nowhere has completely stolen all of our hearts.

When an unlikely customer needed new shoes, Stuart stepped up to help…

Holding the phone to my ear, I rolled my eyes.

Clearly this is a hoax, I thought.
But as the well-spoken voice carried on talking, I realised she was serious.
‘You’re looking for someone to make shoes… for a camel?’ I repeated.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘He has stretched tendons in his front legs.’
She added, ‘He doesn’t want to go for walks any more. He’s in such a state that the vet is suggesting we might need to have him put down.’
It turned out that, as well as camels, she also owned alpacas, llamas, pigs, chickens and horses.

An animal lover, I’d have done anything if my dog, Harvey, was struggling.
Plus, like my dad, I was a shoe repairer, and he’d always taught me to never say no to a customer.
‘I’ll come and take a look,’ I offered.
Soon I found myself at Little Durnford Manor, a Grade I-listed country house in Wiltshire.
‘Camels are pretty big, aren’t they?’ I gasped, as four of them towered over me.
Lady Chichester, who’d called with the request, showed me Timujin.
He was clearly in pain when 
he tried to walk and it was heartbreaking.
‘Leave this with me,’ I told her.
But I felt less confident than I sounded.
Although I’d been a cobbler for 35 years, I’d never made shoes for a camel!
A call to Dad proved unhelpful too.
‘You what?’ he spluttered. ‘How on earth are you going to do that?’
‘A foot is a foot,’ I replied.
I’d worked on countless orthopaedic shoes for humans.
How different can this be? I thought.
First, I needed a mould of Timujin’s foot, but there was no way he’d wait while plaster of Paris set.
What about that kinetic 
sand kids play with? I wondered.
After ordering 10kg of the stuff, I headed back with a couple of washing-up bowls.
Timujin was surprisingly helpful as I took imprints of his two front feet.
He lifted them up into the bowl and waited patiently.
Back at my shop, I set to work.
I soon fashioned a rubber sole for grip, plus three layers of leather for the boot, stitching in high-quality memory foam for comfort.
Laces would be too fiddly for him, so I plumped for Velcro straps.
By my third visit, Timujin recognised my van and made his way towards me.
‘Hello, buddy,’ I said, as we got to work.
After a few adjustments, Timujin’s new shoes were ready.

We strapped him into his new kicks and he strutted his stuff around the grounds.
‘He looks like he’s smiling!’ I beamed.
The shoes were a hit.
With his feet protected and the wobble in his knees gone, Lady Chichester reckoned Timujin could join his pals for their daily walk.
‘You’re welcome to visit Timujin any time,’ she added.
So I did. And when I popped by, it was beautiful to watch him happily kneeling down to have his shoes strapped on.
The story soon spread over social media and I had a call from a wildlife park in Liverpool.
‘Could you make a moccasin for one of our rhinos?’ a keeper asked. ‘He has blisters and ulcers.’
This time, I knew it wasn’t a wind-up.
‘I’ll do my best,’ I replied.
Although most of my customers remain two-legged, I’m happy to help all creatures great and small.
It’s no wonder Timujin had the hump.
I’m just glad he can put his best foot forward again.

Stuart Moss, 53, Salisbury, Wiltshire

Chloe and her family were heading off to swim with dolphins when disaster struck…

Scrolling down the screen, my eyes were drawn to something.

‘Come and look at this,’ I said to my eldest boy, Conner, 15.
He leant in to see a photo of dolphins zipping through the sea with the sun glinting off the waves.
‘I’ve always wanted to 
swim with dolphins,’ 
I said, wistfully.
The idyllic summer scene was in Antalya, Turkey. Later, I showed it to my mum, Jess.
‘How about we go there for our holiday this year?’ 
I suggested.
Mum, me, Conner and my youngest, Theo, nine, went on holiday together every year.
She nodded enthusiastically and said, ‘I’m sold!’
‘I’ll be able to see turtles,’ 
Theo piped up, his eyes shining.
So we booked and began to count down the days.
In the past, we’d been to Greece, and the previous year we’d had a blast at Fuerteventura in the Canary Islands.
But this was our first trip to Turkey.
‘This is fantastic,’ I said as we soaked up the sun on the beach on the first day.
Another day we went to Land of Legends theme and water park, whooping loudly as we rode on the rollercoasters.
We booked up to swim with the dolphins on the day before we were due to fly home.
‘It’ll be a lovely last memory for us,’ I said.
We were up early the next morning, excited at the thought of skimming through the water alongside the majestic mammals.

But we arrived far too early at the venue, and were told to come back in an hour’s time.
We spotted a steakhouse, so decided to go there in the meantime.
Taking hold of Theo’s hand, 
I crossed over one road and then waited for the traffic to stop to cross 
the next one.
Cars came to a halt when the traffic lights turned red.
We began to walk over the road.
But the ear-splitting sound of a motorbike suddenly filled my ears.
The noise came closer and closer and closer…
Suddenly, I was catapulted up into the air, landing with a thump on the ground, with my legs splayed like a pair 
of scissors.
An agonising pain shot through my right leg.
Dimly, I realised I’d been struck by a motorbike which had jumped the red light.
Frantically, I tried to manoeuvre myself to see if anybody else had been hit.
But the pain in my leg prevented me 
from standing up.
Craning my neck, I looked in the road.
In horror, I saw Theo lying on the ground, face down.

My stomach lurched. He wasn’t moving.
Desperately, I began to haul myself towards him, inch by inch.
Dragging my body over the Tarmac, I reached him.
Had I lost my precious boy?

After a little while, though, his arm moved.
I heaved a sigh of relief.
But as I folded him in my arms, blood trickled down his face.
His lips parted.
‘Is this a dream?’ he mumbled.
I hugged him.
‘I wish it was,’ I replied.
People surrounded us. Someone had called an ambulance.
Conner and my mum 
tried to comfort us while 
we waited. They hadn’t 
been hit because they’d been behind us.
As I lay stricken on the ground, I glimpsed a man with a beard.
Others were crowding around him, not letting him get away.
I worked out he was the motorcyclist who’d rammed into us.
Police arrived and spoke to him.
I still couldn’t stand up by the time the ambulance arrived.
We were all bundled in the vehicle together.
I lay down, while Mum held Theo on her knee and Conner 
sat up front with the driver.
An hour later, we arrived at a hospital.
Theo was taken 
to one room with Mum, while Conner stayed with me.
Still in agony, I was wheeled away to have an X-ray.
It showed I’d badly broken 
the two bones in my lower leg and damaged the joint behind my knee.
Theo was treated for cuts to his face.
Thankfully, it was me who’d borne the brunt of the collision.
‘You will need an operation,’ said the doctor, explaining that 
I would need a plate and screws inserted because the injuries were so bad.
But then came the bombshell.

They refused to do any surgery until I gave them my health insurance details.
My heart sank.

A phone call confirmed that we didn’t have any health insurance.
I’d switched banks a while earlier and had mistakenly assumed that the package which included health cover would automatically transfer to my new one. But it didn’t.
‘What are we going to do?’ 
I asked Mum, tearfully.
I needed surgery urgently because the pain was excruciating.

‘I’ll make some calls,’ she said worriedly.
We needed £1,200 for the operation to go ahead.
I continued to lie in agony, unable to move.
Eventually, Mum returned.
She explained she’d rung round relatives and my workplace, and she’d managed to raise the money.
The operation went ahead and the plate and screws were inserted to stabilise my leg.
But when I woke, I was still wincing in pain.
I had a drainage line, and my leg was covered in plaster.

All four of us stayed at the hospital.
‘I’ll help you, Mum,’ said Conner, as I leant on 
him for support when 
I needed to go to the toilet.
It was too painful for me to put my foot down and I couldn’t bend my leg at all.
Tears poured down 
my cheeks.
Our holiday had been ruined.

Meanwhile, the police confirmed the motorbike rider had gone through 
a red light.
I gulped when they showed me CCTV footage of him hitting me and Theo and me flying through the air.
‘At least they caught him,’ I said to Mum.
We tried to make arrangements to fly home, but then the doctors told me I wouldn’t be allowed on the plane unless they issued me with a ‘fit to fly’ document – and the bill for that was a whopping £9000.
Stunned and shocked, I felt helpless.
‘Where are we going to 
get that from?’ I asked in a small voice.
After frantic ringing round, my gran offered to pay for it from what would be my future inheritance.
Two weeks later, I was still 
in a leg brace as I hoisted it across three seats on the plane.
Weeks later, I still couldn’t bend my knee.
Doctors then told me the surgery carried out had not been done properly.
I had another op to replace the screws.
And to make matters worse, 
I learnt that the police weren’t going to prosecute the motorbike rider – despite him clearly being in the wrong.
Eighteen months on, I still limp and my leg swells up.

I will need another operation to try to regain more movement.
I’ll never be able to do the things I love, like horse-riding, and I’ve had to give up my job as a youth engagement worker.
I’ll never be able to swim with dolphins either.
Both Theo and I have been diagnosed with PTSD. Whenever we go out and need to cross a busy road, I sense him tense up beside me.
Our holiday should have been a memorable, happy time. But we’ve been left traumatised.

Chloe Mackie, 37, 
Heywood, Gtr Manchester

Melissa’s mum bod made her life miserable. Then a big split gave her an even bigger idea…

Sitting in the garden and basking in the sun, my little girl piped up.

‘Mummy,’ Annabel, five, said. ‘Can we go to the park?’
Looking down at my rolls of flab, I sighed.
I dreaded summer coming round each year.
After my eldest, Lucca, was born when I was 
20, my belly and boobs had changed for the worse.
Then I’d had Annabel, and after splitting from their dad, I’d met a new man.
We’d married and had two more little ones.
While I loved that my body had kept my babies safe, I hated how it looked.
It felt unrecognisable to me.
Over the years, I’d tried all sorts to try to lose the flab, from shakes to working out 
constantly.
Still, at 29, I was a size 16.
But it was my loose skin that really bothered me.
I tucked my saggy tum into big Bridget Jones-style pants while my 34E spaniel ears would be hoicked up in a bra.
I’d cover up as much as possible, but in the heat, it was impossible.
Sweltering, I could only wear a bikini top and little shorts.
‘Just play in the garden,’ I told her.
There was no way anyone was seeing me with my belly hanging out.
When I went for drinks with friends, they’d be in teeny co-ords and body-con dresses.
I wish I could wear that, I thought.
Instead, I donned a frumpy shirt dress to cover up my baggy tum.
Shopping was out of the question too.
I couldn’t cope with changing room mirrors.
So, I’d live in oversized tees and big jumpers, two sizes too large.
‘I feel like I’m 50,’ I moaned to my husband.
My self-confidence had vanished.
I only became more depressed about it.
Then my grandad passed 
away suddenly.
We’d always been close and I missed him dearly.
It made me think.
‘Life’s too short to feel the 
way I do,’ I told my best mate Steph.
‘You’re right,’ she replied.
I wasn’t happy in our marriage, so I moved out and we got divorced.

We stayed civil and took turns to look after our kids.
But the way my body looked was still taking its toll on me, mentally.
I’d always put my kids first.
If they needed something, of course I’d go without.
That’s just what mums do.
But I realised, I have to do something for myself.
I started to look into surgery to remove my excess skin.
It was pricey, but I was investing in me.
Luckily, I had a pot of money left over from the divorce settlement.
I researched online for a clinic with great reviews.
Then a friend of mine went for surgery at Pall Mall, a clinic in Manchester.
She looked fabulous once it’d healed.
It was time to take the bull by the horns.
After a consultation with Dr Prabad at Pall Mall, I booked in for a breast enlargement with uplift, tummy tuck, liposuction, and muscle repair on my stomach.
It cost a whopping £15,000.
But I wanted to make sure I was in safe hands.
I only told a few people close to me what I had planned because I didn’t need unwanted opinions.
‘I’ll help out with the kids,’ Steph said. ‘And change your dressings.’
‘You’re an angel,’ I replied.
Luckily, she was a nurse, and so was my mum.
They’d take care of me while I rested up after the operation.
We were in Steph’s car when suddenly, she got an idea.
‘You’re single…’ she said, ‘and so’s my brother!’
‘What?’ I laughed.
‘I can’t believe I haven’t thought of this before,’ she gasped.
I shook my head, still giggling.
‘I’ve got my surgery in two weeks,’ I fretted.
‘So?’ she replied.
That was her all over.
I’d met her brother Will a few times, and he seemed a good sort.
But we didn’t know each other well.
Still, we went on a date and had a few drinks.

He was easy to chat to.
‘I’m having some bits done,’ I said about my surgery. ‘My belly and my boobs mainly.’
He looked me up and down.
‘Why?’ he said. ‘You really don’t need to.’
I laughed.
It was sweet but I wasn’t doing this for any man.
This was all for me.
We started dating and I felt self-conscious getting undressed in front of Will.
But he made it clear he fancied me rotten anyway.

Even with my boobs hanging down round my middle!
Soon, my big day rolled around.
‘I’m having an operation,’ I told the kids. ‘I’ll look a bit different, but Mummy will be fine.’
My two eldest stayed with my mum for the weekend while the two youngest were at their dad’s, so I’d be able to recover in peace.
Will came with me to Pall Mall.
My stomach was full of butterflies as I was wheeled into the operating theatre.
But I pictured my brand-new body as everything turned black.
When I woke up, I looked down.
There, under bandages, were my new perky 34G boobs.
‘Blimey,’ I said.
They were mountains compared to what I was used to!
And while I couldn’t see my flat tum, I could certainly feel it.
Thrilled but battered and bruised, I was still on morphine.
Will was by my side as I recovered.
‘Thank you for being here,’ I said.
‘Of course, I want to be here,’ he replied.
After a couple of days, I was sent home.
Mum and Steph helped to change my dressings.
But even with my bandages on, I couldn’t stop looking in the mirror.
My new tum was my pride and joy.
‘You look incredible,’ Steph said.
A week later, my drains were removed from my chest.
Thankfully with lots of help from Steph and Mum, after another week I was on the mend.

My bandages were off and, like magic, I was a whole new woman!
And my confidence was through the roof.
‘Over my dead body am I wearing a shirt dress,’ I muttered.
I scrolled online and bought brand-new outfits to accentuate my size 14 curves.
When I pulled on a body-con dress with a huge cut-out over the midriff, I gasped.
‘This looks amazing,’ I said.
Will took me out to a bar to celebrate, six weeks after my surgery.
I felt spectacular.
And when I nipped to the ladies, even people I didn’t know were full of lovely comments.
‘I’d kill for your figure,’ one girl said.
‘I love that dress on you,’ another smiled.
I didn’t care what blokes thought.
But all those gorgeous girls fawning over my figure was the cherry on top of the cake!
Even Lucca, 11, ever the joker, accidentally complimented me.
‘You look like a sand timer,’ he smirked.
‘Oh, like an hourglass you mean?’ I smiled. ‘I’ll take it!’
‘Er, no,’ he replied, confused.
Seven months on from surgery, the kids are reaping the rewards of my new positive outlook.
I’m full of beans, taking them on day trips and even swimming.
We’d never gone to the pool together before!
And on the school run, I’ll be in little co-ords, proudly showing my shape.
With my new-found confidence, it’s Christmas every day for Will in the bedroom now too.
This summer, I’ll be proudly wearing bikinis by the pool.
We need to ditch the stigma around ‘mummy makeovers’.
It’s OK to want to get your groove back after having children.
I feel sexy and empowered – you can’t put a price on that!

Melissa Jolly, 32, Manchester

Scroll to the bottom for video...

We've twice visited Camp Bestival. So if you have booked or are thinking of booking tickets for this annual event at Lulworth Castle in Dorset next year, here's what to expect and how to make the most of the experience...

Clicking two drumsticks together, my 11-year-old son Odhran channelled rockstar energy as he counted in 'one, two, three, four' and the band launched into a rendition of the Imagine Dragons' song Believer.

My younger son Reuben, 8, nodded his head and kept a steady beat on keyboard. The ensemble of youngsters had only rehearsed together for an hour but their performance was meet with rapturous applause by parents who'd gathered to see what their child had learnt in this hands-on music workshop with professional musicians from Rock School.

It's the opportunity to take part in an abundance of new experiences that makes Camp Bestival in Dorset more rewarding than any holiday club you'll sign your child up to over the summer. Paint a tote bag, upcycle jewellery, try out circus skills, throw moves in a dance class, take to the stage for a workshop with Shakespeare's Globe, knead bread, skate round a roller rink, hit the trampoline park, or make a mud pie - whatever your child's interests or inclinations, Camp Bestival has thought of everything. We've been twice, but many families return year after year, and if your child is under 12 that's the golden age to really make the most of everything this festival has to offer young families.

The festi-holiday experience runs over four days, starting on a Thursday and culminating in the main headline performance on the Sunday night, followed by a fantastic fireworks display. The first year we visited, it was for the full duration of the festival. But this year, due to other commitments, we didn't arrive until late on the Friday. This meant we had loads that we wanted to do and had to try squeeze as much as possible into two days.

But we still managed an action-packed weekend. Alongside their Rock School workshop and performance, Reuben scaled the climbing wall and both boys enjoyed the skate park, where they rode skateboards and scooters on ramps and round a skate bowl. Reuben crafted a cardboard guitar in the art tent, and in Tinkertown (a hands-on construction zone) they loved using hammers, nails and saws to help build a play structure from scrap wood.

They chased smoke bubbles, caught a Silly Science Show that ended with a countdown to a huge cola explosion, browsed the stalls of fancy dress accessories, and enjoyed the smaller music and acrobatic performances taking place around every turn.

Booking the activities

The key to making the most of your time at Camp Bestival is to download the app days before your visit and take a good look at all the activities on offer. There are a few wellness and craft events that cost extra, and the fairground rides are an additional cost, but the majority of the activities are included in your ticket price. You can't book activities in advance but it helps to pre-plan and have a hit list of what your kids most want to partake in and what performances you don't want to miss, so you can draw up your own itinerary and avoid disappointment.

Many of the activities are walk up and available on a first come, first serve basis. This was the case with Tinkertown, so we made sure to be there first thing Sunday morning to get in before a long queue quickly formed. Other activities must be booked daily, in person at the activity location. On the Thursday, you can book from 5pm for that evening and the Friday morning. Every other day, booking starts at noon for that afternoon or the following morning. But beware, queues start to form from 30 minutes to an hour before the noon booking time. My husband took the boys to explore while I joined a queue waiting for Rock School bookings to open. I had boxed wine in a cooler bag in my trolley. So, as I stood in the sunshine sipping on a Pinot Grigio the queuing didn't bother me at all. The lady behind me chilled in a camping chair.

The performances

Alongside the plethora of activities on offer, there are performances throughout the day and night. There are three main stages - Castle Stage, the Big Top, and the Bollywood stage. But the festival incorporates smaller stages and performance spaces throughout. This year, tot favourites Mr Tumble and Blippi took to the Castle Stage on the Saturday to keep little ones entertained with high energy shows. The queue to meet Bluey in the CBeebies tent was the longest I saw all weekend.

In the Big Top little girls with colourful hair braids bopped on their dads' shoulders to K-pop tribute act K-Pop Forever! On the Sunday, old and young crooned away to power ballads and pop anthems from the 70s onwards at crowd-favourite Guilty Pleasures in the Big Top.

The Cuban Brothers merged genres with their funk, Latin soul and hip-hop sound, and kept the audience entertained with not just their music but slightly risqué comedy and breakdance moves. There were performances by Self Esteem, Billy Ocean, Example, Leftfield and De La Soul among others.

Kids character Bluey delighted festival-goers by making a surprise appearance on stage with Bastille during their headline performance on the Saturday night. But the main draw of Camp Bestival 2026 was Fatboy Slim's Sunday night stage takeover. The DJ took to the stage dressed as a cone of fish and chips, in keeping with this year's 'At The Seaside' fancy dress theme. Every year, Camp Bestival has a fancy dress theme and the effort people make is incredible. We spotted mermaids, lifeguards, glittery fish heads and two little kids dressed as ice creams with sprinkles on top.

Fatboy Slim proved to have cross generational appeal - from the 90s raver generation to younger electronic dance fans and little kids who bounced along to the rhythmic tempo and delighted in recognising lyrics in Cook's mashups. Odhran was singing along when 'Praise You' blended into Queen's 'Don't Stop Me Now.' It was as much a visual performance as a musical one, with the trippy effect of famous faces such as Robert De Niro, Salvador Dalí and Andy Warhol popping up on giant screens.

How much will I spend at Camp Bestival?

This depends on whether you decide to cook at your tent or eat at one of the many food outlets on site. Due to extreme hot weather and dry ground conditions this year, the festival restricted open flame cooking at tents to avoid any risk of fire. Instead, they set up communal cooking areas and hot water stations within the campsites. This made it a bit trickier for people who'd intended to save money by cooking at their tent. We'd already decided that we didn't want the hassle of bringing a load of supplies with us and chose to enjoy the variety of food stalls as part of the experience.

We ate poke bowls, pizza, dumplings and sushi wraps. An adult meal cost on average around £14 but you could get kids meals for around £6.50. These child-sized portions are fine for little kids but maybe not enough for older kids. We found that if Odhran and Reuben ate an adult-sized meal for lunch then a child-sized meal sufficed for dinner. Overall, I'd say we spent around £100 a day on lunch and dinner. But then you need to factor in snacks. The boys had crepés one night, a tub of pick and mix and we paid £24 for a mega bucket of 36 churros to share.

We made savings by bringing milk, tea bags, cereal and pastries for breakfast. I'd advise bringing plenty of snacks (I brought apples and popcorn for those moments when you're enjoying a performance and the kids tell you they're feeling peckish). Another great thing about Camp Bestival is that you can bring your own drinks on site. Stock up a cooler box with soft drinks, cans of beer and boxed wine (no glass allowed so also bring plastic wine glasses). I then popped drinks and a couple of freezer blocks into an insulated picnic bag to carry around the festival grounds in my trolley. But it was still nice to have a draught beer and I wanted the Camp Bestival souvenir reusable cup. But we only purchased a couple of pints, at a cost of £7.50 each. There was also a choice of cocktails starting from £12 (but there was a 10% off participating food and drink concessions if you used a PayPal debit card).

What about the camping options?

The first year we attended, we stayed in general camping. As we arrived on the Thursday, we managed to get a good spot. But this year, we weren't arriving until late on Friday evening. So, Camping Plus made more sense, as we didn't want to have to scramble about trying to find a pitch and get our tent up before dark. With Camping Plus you choose and reserve your pitch in advance to guarantee your camping space - a 5m x 7m pitch that's marked out with white lines and is large enough for a family tent and all the kit you'll need. Camping Plus also has its own dedicated car park and entrance. While we still had to haul our gear up a steep slope, we were parked closer to our pitch than when we did general camping.

Another major thing with Camping Plus is that it's all on level ground, unlike general camping, where you might have to pitch on the slope of the hill. We found the showers and toilets (compost) in general camping to be surprising well kept. But in Camping Plus we had flushable toilets that were regularly cleaned and really well maintained. Also, it seemed to be all families with young kids in Camping Plus so at night it was peaceful. When we stayed in general camping, there was a mix of families, couples and groups of young adults. So, there was loud music, while the kids were trying to sleep and people who'd had one too many drinks kept tripping over our guy ropes. A couple of times, I thought someone was going to fall in on top of us. Camping Plus costs an extra £240 on top of your general weekend ticket, but if you can stretch the budget, I'd recommend it. And if you really want to push the boat out, there are glamping and backstage camping options.

Tickets for Camp Bestival 2027

Early bird tickets for Camp Bestival 2027 are on sale now. Standard General Weekend Camping tickets cost £225 per adult, £157.50 for teens aged 13-17, £130.50 for children aged 10-12, £110 for kids aged 5-9. Kids under 5 go free. You'll need to pay a 10 per cent deposit and then you can take advantage of an interest-free instalment plan of 10 monthly payments from 1st September. It's a good way to spread the cost. Find out more about Camp Bestival 2027 here

Want to hear about the latest competitions before anyone else? Click here to keep us at the top of your Google feed.

Closing date for issue 31 is midnight 24th August 2026. Only one entry per person, per issue for our competitions.

Stuck in a rut in my marriage, I gave in to temptation. And now it was time to confess all. By Jane Carter, 65

As I looked up, my eyes widened and my jaw practically hit the floor. Standing in front of me was a strapping man in uniform, with the 
most beautiful green eyes 
I’d ever seen.

I thought, Ooh, he’s nice!
Quickly followed by, Oh heck, I’m in trouble now!
I was at a training camp 
for Army Cadet instructors, and I was very distracted by the handsome stranger.
But there was a problem, and it was a big one.
I was married.
At 38, I’d already had 
a roller coaster of a love life.
My first husband left me after 17 years for my best friend.
I had married hubby number two on the rebound. But a year in, we were already on the rocks, and I’d joined the Cadets to escape the tension back home.
Starting a new relationship was the last thing on my mind but, as we hiked across rugged terrain and swapped life stories, a flirtatious friendship blossomed between me and the rugged stranger.
His name 
was Don, and 
we discovered we shared a passion for rock’n’roll, and we both lived in Essex – me in Colchester and him in Chelmsford.
‘I’m unhappy in my marriage,’ I said, and he 
told me he was separated.
Then one day, I got stuck under barbed wire on the assault course.

'I've fallen for someone else'

At 19st, I’d battled with 
my weight for years, and as 
I strained to move, my cheeks flamed with embarrassment.
But Don was my knight in shining armour and raced to my rescue.
The truth was, I fancied him like crazy, but it was his kindness that impressed 
me the most.
I’m falling for him, 
I thought, terrified and thrilled all at once.
My marriage was all but over but I was torn, wanting to do the right thing while, 
at the same time, yearning 
to be in Don’s arms.
By the end of the two-week training camp, emotions were running high, and one day Don reached for my hand and pulled me towards him.
The air around us seemed to crackle with electricity and suddenly, we were kissing.
‘I’m sorry, 
I shouldn’t have done that,’ he said.
‘No, it’s about time!’ I laughed, giving in to 
my feelings.
Back home, 
I ended things with my husband, and Don and 
I started seeing each other.
I had four teenagers from my first marriage, and he 
was wonderful with them.

The first time we were intimate, I was nervous about undressing because of my size, but Don said it didn’t matter. He made me feel special and it was as if we fitted together.
But when it came to tying the knot, Don was adamant.
‘I’m not getting married again,’ he said.
So, a couple of years later, 
I asked Don and his parents for their permission to change my surname to his 
by deed poll, as a sign of 
my commitment.

A year later, we were out and, after a few drinks, Don suddenly said, ‘Why don’t 
we get married?’
I was delighted but 
I wanted to be sure it wasn’t the drink talking, so I said, ‘Ask me tomorrow when you’re sober.’
He did, and we had a small register office do in front of our loved ones. Don looked dashing in a red tartan kilt, and I wore a gold lace top and satin skirt.
It was the perfect day, 
and then we settled happily into married life.

However, five years later, something happened that changed everything.
Don was made redundant, and it hit him hard.
From being so dynamic, he became someone who sat at home all day in his joggers.

I desperately tried to help him, but he refused to talk about things. We’d never been able to keep our hands off each other before, but our love life virtually disappeared.
One evening, we were supposed to be going out, but Don was still on the sofa in his scruffy clothes.
Feeling fed up, I said, ‘I’m going by myself, then.’

After that, I went out alone most weeks.
Sometimes, men would come over to talk to me and, while I wasn’t interested, 
I couldn’t deny that the attention was flattering.
One day, I did something rash. I found myself logging onto an online dating site. Before I knew it, I’d matched with someone and we’d arranged to meet.
I was wracked with guilt but, feeling lonely, 
I went along.
Max was tall 
and tanned, and exuded charm.

'Why didn't you fight for me?'

‘I like curvy women,’ he said, undressing me with his sexy blue eyes.
He was more than 10 years younger than me, and it was 
a boost to my flagging ego. Despite trying to resist it, the attraction was too strong and I ended up sleeping with him.
‘Come and live with me,’ Max said. ‘We’ll have a brilliant life together.’
He promised me the world, and I told him, ‘I’ll leave 
my husband.’
A few days later, I plucked up the courage to talk to Don.
‘I’ve fallen for someone else,’ I said. ‘He’s offering me a new life.’
I waited for Don to say something, but he didn’t.
I’d never stopped loving him, but I was so fed up 
with my life.
Tell me not to leave, I wanted to scream, knowing that I’d stay if he just said 
the word.
But, although he looked heartbroken, there was 
only silence.
As I packed my bags, tears rolled down my face.
I moved in with Max, but 
it didn’t take long for me to realise that I’d made a huge mistake. He was so controlling.
But I felt too ashamed to leave, so I stuck it out, and my pride wouldn’t allow 
me to tell Don that I still 
had feelings for him.
After a couple of miserable years, though, I’d had enough, and I confided in my daughter Emma on the phone.
‘You have to 
get away, Mum,’ 
she said.

So, a few days later, and taking just one bag, I fled the house and went to stay with my mum.
A week later, there was 
a knock on the door.
I opened it and gasped.
‘Don!’ I said. ‘What are 
you doing here?’
‘Emma told me you were back,’ he replied. ‘Would you like to go for a drink?’
‘I’d love that,’ I said.
Don explained that he’d kept in touch with my children and knew what I’d been through. He’d never stopped loving me.
And I realised I’d never stopped loving him.

‘I regretted leaving you every single day,’ I said. ‘Why didn’t you fight for me?’
Don took my hands in his.
‘I loved you too much 
to hold you back,’ he said. ‘But now I wished I’d said something to stop you.’
After that, we went home together, and it was as if 
we’d never been apart.

‘I’m so sorry I betrayed you,’ I said, as we snuggled up in bed. ‘It will never happen again.’
And a couple of years later, I took the next step.
‘Don,’ I said to him, 
‘will you remarry me?’
His eyes brimmed and 
he said, ‘Absolutely.’
Some friends hadn’t forgiven me for what I’d 
done to Don, but most people were happy for us.
‘You’re back where you belong,’ Emma said.
Thirteen years after our first wedding, we tied the knot at a farmhouse in front of just 20 guests.
Don’s son-in-law serenaded us with Foster & Allen’s After All These Years. It couldn’t have reflected our love story more aptly.
After the wedding, I joined Slimming World and I’m 
now 10st lighter than when we first met.
I feel sad when I think of all the years that we were apart, and the silver anniversary we would have marked this year.
I was a fool to let my soulmate go, but I’m so grateful we found our way back to each other again.

Don, 67, told Take a Break, 
‘Being apart from Jane was the darkest time of my life. 
I kept in touch with her side of the family and couldn’t resist trying to see her again once I heard she was back home. Luckily, we hit it off again and remarried.’

• Max's name has been changed

When Sophie's epilepsy took control of her life, she was willing to try anything

I was on a cross-country school run when, all of a sudden, something odd happened. My body stopped dead and I was frozen to the spot like a statue.

My head and eyes were twisted to the right and I couldn’t move or speak.
Just as quickly as it had come on it wore off and my teacher sat down with me until I felt OK again.
Aged 11, I put it down to a strange one-off. But it wasn’t.
After that, it happened again and I started falling to the ground too.
My mum filmed one of my episodes and I was referred to a neurologist.
After scans and tests, 
I was diagnosed with epilepsy. It had a huge impact on my life.
‘You won’t be able to go swimming or ride a bike,’ the specialist said. ‘It’s 
too risky.’
When I took a shower, I had to leave the door open so my family could hear if 
I collapsed.
Even with medication, I was having between four and eight seizures a day and, if I missed a pill, that shot up to 20.
School was a nightmare. Some kids accused me of attention-seeking and, frightened of my seizures, 
I couldn’t concentrate and my grades slipped.
I had something called focal cortical dysplasia, similar to a birthmark on the brain. In rare cases it caused epilepsy.
By now, I was on double the adult dose of medication and had tried everything from special diets to electrical head patches.
Then, at last, I was eligible for brain surgery. The surgeon told us there was only a 55% chance of success. Because of where the affected part of my brain was located, there was also a 30% chance I would lose the use of my right arm.
My parents sought other opinions and a neurosurgeon called Mr Richard Selway at King’s College Hospital in London was willing to operate.
But there was a catch. 
I’d have to be awake so doctors could keep checking that I could still move that arm while the surgery was in progress.
We decided to go ahead and, at the age of 15, I was operated on.
I was one of the first people in the world to have the procedure, only made possible because of pioneering research funded by the charity Action Medical Research.
It worked.

'You won't be able to swim or ride a bike'

Since then, I haven’t had a single seizure and, 10 years on, I have a master’s degree, I’ve gone skydiving, and even mountain biked down Bolivia’s notorious Death Road.
Not bad for a kid who wasn’t even allowed to go swimming!
I owe everything to Action Medical Research. There’s still so much misinformation around epilepsy and the condition badly needs more research.
I just want everyone to get the chance I did.

When Isaac didn’t come down for dinner, his mum Lisa suddenly had the feeling something was very wrong…

Bounding into my room early one morning, my son Isaac, six, jumped onto mine and his dad Mark’s bed to tell us what we’d christened his ‘random fact of the day’.

‘Did you know the hottest chilli in the world is called the Caroline Reaper?’ he said, excitedly.

‘How do you know that?’ I laughed.

From an early age Isaac was curious about the world. He was also sweet and affectionate.

Getting ready for work, he’d stand behind me and say, ‘I love you, Mummy’.

‘Love you too, Squirrel,’ I’d reply.

That was his nickname as he loved saving and would squirrel his pocket money away!

When Isaac started secondary school at 11, we agreed to give him a mobile phone.

He’d been asking for months and, as we’d done with his older sister Emily, we made sure he knew the rules.

‘No phone before school, after 8pm or at dinner,’ I said.

‘And if you’re approached by a stranger online, please tell us,’ Mark added.

At the time, TikTok was mainly videos of silly dance routines and the ice bucket challenge, so we weren’t too concerned about him having an account.

Plus, Isaac rarely used the social media platform, preferring to play online games with pals.

A couple of years passed and one afternoon, I’d gone to pick Isaac, 13, and Emily up from school.

As I arrived, I saw them both running to the car, laughing.

They had a little game where the first one to reach the car would get to sit in the front.

‘I won!’ Emily said, jumping into the passenger seat.

For the rest of the journey, there was a bit of good-natured teasing between them.

Isaac was always hungry, so when we got home, he made a beeline for the kitchen snack cupboard and grabbed a handful of Doritos.

‘No more, as dinner will be ready in half an hour,’ I said.

At around 5.30pm, I called for him, but there was no answer.

It wasn’t too strange as he’d sometimes be distracted by a game and also liked to play pranks.

'Isaac, stop messing around'

But when I called him a third time and expected to hear him sprinting downstairs, there was no sign of him.

Something’s not right, I thought.

Going upstairs, I checked his room, but he wasn’t there.

Heading for the bathroom, the door was locked.

I knocked on it, but there was no response.

‘Isaac, top messing about,’ I said. ‘Dinner’s ready.’

When there was no answer then, I grew really concerned.

Running downstairs to the garage, I grabbed a hammer, ran back up and banged on the lock.

As the door opened, my stomach lurched.

My boy had a ligature round his neck.

‘Isaac!’ I cried.

For a split-second, I thought he might have taken his life.

But I dismissed it instantly.

He was happy, had close friends, a loving family and was making plans.

‘He’s not breathing,’ I said to Emily.

She called emergency services and relayed their instructions so I could do CPR.

It felt like I was floating out of my body and looking down on a nightmare.

Within minutes, two ambulances and the air ambulance arrived.

‘We need to get him to hospital,’ the paramedics said, as they worked on him.

Mark was away looking after his mum, so a friend took Emily to her place, while the police drove me to hospital.

I was numb and in shock.

At the hospital, doctors told me Isaac had suffered three cardiac arrests and a CT scan showed he had brain damage due a lack of oxygen to the brain.

‘Will he be OK?’ I asked.

‘We’re doing everything we can,’ the doctor said.

When Mark arrived, he looked shaken and we collapsed in each other’s arms.

After three hours and no improvement, Isaac was transferred to a specialist children’s hospital.

We arrived at 1.30am and Isaac was taken to a paediatric intensive care, where the team worked on him continuously.

Eventually, doctors came to talk to us.

‘It’s not looking good,’ the consultant said, explaining that his organs were shutting down.

They’d tried everything, including giving him several shots of adrenaline to try to restart his heart.

We called our close family and gathered around Isaac, knowing the end was near.

Less than two hours later, Isaac suffered organ failure.

‘He can’t fight any more,’ a doctor said.

We were allowed to stay with him to say our goodbyes.

Emily, Mark and I lay with Isaac on the bed.

What on earth happened? I thought, devastated.

I couldn’t sleep or eat, and could just about manage to breathe.

'We've found something on his phone'

The hospital had a charity, Cosmic, which were fantastic and provided us with ongoing support. We were so grateful.

Next day, I went to visit Isaac in the chapel of rest.

I bounced between feelings of despair and anger, wondering what Isaac had been doing that had resulted in his death.

‘I promise I’ll look after Emily, fight for answers and you’ll always be with me,’ I said, stroking his hair.

Leaving the hospital without him was awful and surreal.

Not hearing his giggle or the sound of him running downstairs was just heartbreaking.

While still deep in shock, we held his funeral.

His friends gave a touching speech and a song sung by his grandad was played.

Meanwhile, the police had seized my son’s phone and other devices.

A couple of months later, an officer contacted us.

‘We’ve found something on Isaac’s phone,’ they said.

What they told us sent shockwaves through us.

Isaac had videoed himself completing a “blackout challenge” in which a person intentionally deprived themselves of oxygen.

Had someone online done the challenge, told Isaac about it and he’d given it a go? I wondered.

Researching, I discovered young people often filmed themselves doing the “challenge” for TikTok.

Determined to do something, I started researching content on the platform.

And what I found appalled me.

But when I reported the shocking videos, just minutes later, I received a message to say there’d been no violation of their rules.

‘It’s clearly not human beings looking at reported content, it’s bots,’ I said to Mark.

I joined a support group for parents who believed social media had played a part in their child’s death and started talking to Hollie, whose son Archie had died aged 12 after a long hospital battle, and Hollie believed his death was linked to him taking part in a viral challenge on TikTok.

We bonded over what had happened to our sons and knew we had to do something to protect other children and families.

At a meeting in London, I sat next to the the head of Internet Matters, a non-profit group working to keep children safe online.

She’d heard about Isaac and helped Hollie and I get a powerful film we’d made about our children into schools to talk to parents about the dangers of online dares as part of our campaign, Be Challenge Aware.

In time, Isaac’s inquest returned a verdict of misadventure.

Since then, we’ve attended parliament and campaigned to get the Online Safety Act passed.

We also had the honour of meeting the Duke and Duchess of Sussex in New York, who were visibly moved by Isaac’s story and wanted change.

Recently, we filed an unlawful death lawsuit against TikTok along with the parents of three teenagers who believe they lost their lives taking part in viral challenges.

It’ll be a long road, but we’ll keep going until we get accountability.

I’d encourage parents to take an interest in what their child is watching online and make the ground rules together, so they feel like they’re in control, too.

Also, hold off giving your child a phone loaded with social media for as long as possible.

Isaac was a loving, beautiful boy and we miss him terribly.

But when I go into schools, I can feel him with me, spurring me on.

I’ll keep fighting for him.

Lisa Kenevan, 52, Basildon, Essex

A spokesperson for TikTok said: ‘TikTok strictly prohibits dangerous challenge content. We proactively detect and remove 99% of such content before it's reported, block harmful search terms and direct users to our Online Challenges Safety Centre for expert-backed guidance.’

For more information on staying safe online, visit: internetmatters.org

Emily was all set to walk down the aisle, but first, she had to cross the finish line…

As I stumbled out of my room, my head pounded.

‘Are you ready?’ my friend and bridesmaid, Jazz cheered.

In her hands was a bright yellow tutu and matching chicken hat.

I burst out laughing.

‘Pass it here then,’ I said, pulling the tutu on over my running gear.

I was on my hen-do and, after telling my bridesmaids I’d wanted to do something memorable, I was running the Brighton marathon.

Only problem was, I was horrifically hungover.

The night before, we’d ventured out on ‘Emily’s Ale Trail’.

We’d visited pubs and bars all across Brighton, downing pint after pint.

The last thing I remembered before crashing into bed at 3am was dancing to Rhianna as bright lights spun around me.

Now, donned in my hen costume, I tried to get some porridge down me.

As bad as the hangover was, there was no way I was chickening out!

An hour later, I stood at the start line, taking deep breaths.

You can do this, just take it easy, lots of walking, it’ll be fun, I told myself as another wave of nausea washed over me.

As the start gun sounded, I started running.

The girls had promised to line the route at different mile markers.

On a hot day, I started to sweat.

I don’t think I can do this, I thought.

But then I heard the crowds cheer.

‘Look, a chicken!’ someone shouted.

I’d run 17 marathons, so knew what to expect to a degree,

But I’d never done it in fancy dress.

For the first few miles, it was the clapping and whoops that kept me going.

Then out the corner of my eye, I spotted a gaggle of my girls.

‘Emily, you’re amazing… put this on!’ my bridesmaid Kat said, handing me a blue garter.

I laughed, slipping the garter on over my running shorts before carrying on – beaming.

And as I reached the midway point and others around me starting to struggle, my hangover begun to ease.

To my surprise, I felt amazing.

Reaching mile 18, I spotted more of my pals.

‘Go on Em!’ they hollered, handing me a pair of white heart-shaped sunnies.

‘Thank you!’ I giggled, keeping my pace as I slipped them on.

A few miles on, I spotted a sign.

‘A hungover bride might win, she got in at 3am!’ it read, my chuckling chums holding it high.

It gave me another boost and soon I was making good time.

At mile 20 I stopped for a pep talk with my girls and was handed a white veil.

‘You’re in sixth place! Keep going,’ they encouraged.

My competitive streak kicked in and I stepped things up a gear.

I can hen-do this! I thought.

As I rounded the last bend, everyone was clapping and shouting.

Then I spotted a familiar face in the crowd.

It was my fiancée Charlotte.

But it wasn’t the real Charlotte, my bridesmaids has stuck her face to an inflatable doll and were handing it to me.

Grabbing blow-up Charlotte, together, we ran the last 100m.

Up ahead, I could see three people.

I ran as fast as I could – overtaking the girl in 3rd to bag the 3rd place for myself!

And I crossed the line at the 2 hour 58 minutes.

‘Congratulations!’ my hens clucked, circling me.

‘I’m exhausted!’ I said.

We celebrated with a hair-of-the-dog beer and fish and chips on the beach.

While I’m so proud of my achievement, I certainly wouldn’t recommend running a marathon on a hangover to others – and I’m sure doctors wouldn’t either!

It can be unsafe, and I wouldn’t have gone ahead with the race if I’d really not felt up to it.

Now, I can’t wait to walk down the aisle with Charlotte.

This time though, it’ll definitely be a walk and not a sprint!

Emily Marchant, 34, Swansea, Wales

Want to hear about the latest competitions before anyone else? Click here to keep us at the top of your Google feed.

Closing date for issue 30 is midnight 17th August 2026. Only one entry per person, per issue for our competitions.

Scroll down to watch the video...

I visited Alton Towers with my two young sons, Odhran, 11, and Reuben, 8, for this summer's Minecraft Meet the Mobs event.

Head down to The Towers area, where the attraction Hex is located and Fountain Square has been taken over by the mobs.

Grab a trail card from one of the members of staff (identifiable in their green Minecraft uniform) and track down six game-inspired set scenes across the park to collect stamps. Then, hand the trail card back to a member of staff, who will give you a digital code to claim an exclusive in-game reward, which is a never-seen-before Baby Axolotl Hat. This is only available at the Minecraft Meet the Mobs event at Alton Towers.

Odhran and Reuben loved running around and finding and interacting with the different Minecraft stations, which thankfully weren't too spread out across the park. Watch out thought, as one of them squirts water!

There are character meet-and-greets at Fountain Square, so you can get your photo taken with iconic figures from the game, including a creeper, iron golem, chicken jockey, axolotl, baby panda, chick, and baby wolf.

As Odhran and Reuben posed with a mob, I was surprised when an older woman came up to me and asked, 'Excuse me, is that an Iron Golem?' She explained that she'd been trying to play Minecraft with her grandkids but 'couldn't get the hang of it.' Still, diamond helmet off to her, at least she'd sought to engage in her grandkids' passion.

In the hub at Fountain Square, stalls sell all kinds of Minecraft merch from themed cups and water bottles, to plushies and clothing. And there are snack stalls - purchase a Wall's Minecraft ice-cream stick, or visit the TNT popcorn stand, where you can get a small salted (ours tasted sweet and salted) popcorn for £5 or £7 for a large, or opt for one of the more exciting themed popcorn buckets: Piglin Gold Crunch (topped with toffee sauce, toffee pieces, cinnamon sugar); Baby Mob Mega Munch (topped with milk chocolate M&Ms, bubble gum popping candy, 100's & 1000's); Creeper Kaboom (topped with green white chocolate, apple popping candy, white chocolate chips). These are priced £6.25 for a small or £9 for a large. Odhran chose a large Baby Mob Mega Munch bucket (the popcorn comes in a paper TNT box) and he was munching on it for about two hours, as the 'toppings' were layered throughout.

Entry to the Minecraft event and the trail card is covered in your Alton Towers theme park ticket. Online day passes cost from £34.13 with current summer VAT savings.

Minecraft Meet the Mobs runs until Friday 28th August. Find out more here

Watch the video here...

Here's a sneak peek at issue 30's cover stories

The new Spider-Man movie swings into cinemas today, and there will be little fans all around the country pointing at posters and adverts on the side of buses and asking their parents if they can go see it.

So, how suitable is it for a younger audience? Spider-Man: Brand New Day has a UK age rating of 12A. This means it is suitable for people aged 12 and over, but children under 12 can watch it in cinema if accompanied by an adult. So, it's up to the parent to decide if the movie's content is right for their child.

Brand New Day follows on from the events of No Way Home, where Peter Parker's secret identity is revealed to the world, pulling in villains from across the multiverse. To stop the multiverse from breaking completely, Peter asks Doctor Strange to cast a spell making the entire world forget Peter Parker ever existed. But this means his girlfriend MJ and his best friend Ned also forget about him completely.

In Brand New Day, Peter Parker is fighting crime full-time as Spider-Man in a world that doesn't remember him. But through social media and a chance encounter, Peter sees his old friends moving on without him. It sparks a change in Peter he may not have the power to control. But that transformation might also be the only thing that can stop a terrifying new threat to New York City and the people he loves - a powerful villain no one can even see.

I took my excited 11-year-old son Odhran, to an early screening. As a huge Marvel fan, he'd been counting down to this for months and it lived up to his high expectations.

As fans of Stranger Things, we were delighted when it was announced that Sadie Sink would also be starring in Brand New Day. Luckily, we'd avoided any online spoilers. So, her character in the movie was a complete surprise to us, but made perfect sense once revealed.

Odhran said, 'I don't think it was as good as No Way Home, but Brand New Day is surprising, funny and kind of sad. Tom Holland's performance was spectacular and I really felt for Sadie Sink's character. Younger kids can't watch the TV show of The Punisher as it's 18+. But he appears in this movie in a way that's great for a younger audience to get to know his story better. I can't wait to see how the ending of Brand New Day ties in with Avengers Doomsday in December.'

For a younger audience, this next stage in the Spider-Man adventure isn't as lighthearted and funny as its predecessors. Peter Parker's relationship with Ned and MJ has changed, and they've all moved on to a more adult stage in life. I pined a little for the trios high school days. But where the comedy moments aren't frequent, there is plenty of heartfelt drama. Peter Park is grappling with the loneliness that comes from being different. There is one scene between Peter and MJ where Tom Holland gives such a great performance, my heart ached at his sense of loss. These are mature themes that a little kid looking for little more than laughs and web-slinging action might find too heavy. It's quite a long movie at 2hrs 25mins. So, you'll want to be sure your child is old enough to last the duration and not be asking 'when does this film end?' as soon as they've finished their bucket of popcorn!

As I attended a press screening with Odhran, tickets were limited, otherwise I would have also taken his eight-year-old brother Reuben. He's also a big Spider-Man fan so I will be returning to the cinema over the next couple of days to watch Brand New Day as a family. Odhran is keen to see it again. Reuben has been exposed to 12A Avengers and Spider-Man movies since the age of around six, so I know he'll enjoy it. But if your child has only watched Spidey cartoons and the shorter, PG -rated Spider-Man Into the Spider-Verse, then thematically, Brand New Day will likely be a leap too far.

Spider-Man: Brand New Day is in cinemas from Wednesday 29th July.

When I got my hands on an old double-decker, I set about making
my childhood dream
come true. By Lindzi Hargrave, 38

As I opened my front door, I came face-to-face with a giant cardboard box, a pair of legs sticking out underneath it.

‘These are for the book bus!’ the box said.
‘Well, you’d better come in then,’ I laughed.
For years, I’d been saying that it was my dream to buy a double-decker bus and convert it into a library, and since then, friends had been calling round and dropping off boxes of books to help me make that come true.
In my mid-30s, I knew I didn’t want the traditional life of marriage and children. I wanted to do something different and, as an avid reader, I could think of nothing better than running a library in a bus.
And my plans were going full speed ahead.
I’d bought an old police recruitment bus on eBay and I was all set to move in.
‘But Lindzi,’ my friend with the box of books said now, ‘it’ll be freezing!’
It was the middle of January and the bus would have no electrics or heating.
‘I know,’ I said, ‘but if I can get through winter, I can get through anything.’
The following week as I lay in bed in my new bus home in a thick coat, blanket, hat and gloves, I looked up at the ice on the inside and thought, I need to get some renovations done.
I got to work the next day, starting by installing some solar panels and getting electricians in to wire everything up.
As the electrics took a while, I split my time between living in the bus and camping out at a friend’s house.
In time, I got myself a fridge and a fire with a chimney that went from the ground floor of the bus all the way up and out the top.
I painted the inside a deep purple colour and added patterned material and fairy lights to make it more inviting.

'But Lindzi, it'll be freezing!'

I started posting about my renovations on TikTok and it wasn’t long before I caught the attention of the organisers of a festival called Van Life.
‘We’d love to have you come and show your bus and do a talk at our festival in summer,’ they said.
‘I’ll be there!’ I replied.
But, despite months of renovations, by summer there was a snag.
I still needed to get my bus an MOT to get it on the road and there was a lot of paperwork.
‘I’m not going to have the bus sorted on time,’ I told my friend.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘We’ll just do the talk and camp there.’
At the festival, we were the only tent on the whole site!
But as I took to the stage for my talk, everyone was so lovely and supportive. They made me feel part of the van life community, despite not having my bus with me.
With Van Life inviting me back the next year, it gave me a strict deadline to get the bus on the road.
I finished my renovations and then it was time to install the bookshelves to build my library.
It was hard work but as I put in the last shelf and stood back to survey my work, I felt thrilled.
With the black bookshelves, the bright purple library ladder and some mini seats and sofas where people could sit and read, it was perfect.
I couldn’t wait for the day that people would use it for real.
I got my HGV driving licence and, finally, we 
hit the road, heading from 
my hometown 
of Anstey, Leicestershire, 
to the Van Life Festival.
The bus was a hit.
People flocked to board and, as I listened to their oohs and ahhs, I couldn’t help but smile.

It was named as one of the best conversions and I won a trophy!
A few weeks later, I went to another festival, Carry on Crafting, where the book bus officially opened to the public.
As I slung open the middle doors, customers walked in and scanned the shelves, picking up handfuls of things to read.
‘How much for these?’ a little girl asked.
‘They’re free!’ I said.
Her face was a picture.
It had always been my plan to give books away for free because I hated the thought of anyone being unable to afford the joy of reading.
And, since I opened the book bus to the public, I’ve given away over 300 books to happy customers.
Seeing people smile as they select their books fills me with joy and I hope to keep doing it for years to come.

● Follow Lindzi on Instagram @busdifferent

I’d never been able to watch a cha-cha-cha or a rumba, 
but I was determined I was going to perform them. 
By Wendy Thomason, 58

Chatting to my daughter Laura, 
I made a confession.

‘I really want to learn to dance,’ I said.
‘Then go for it. There’s nothing you can’t do, 
Mum,’ she insisted.
I’d recently been through treatment for breast cancer, which had thankfully 
been successful, but it had made me re-evaluate my life and think about doing some of the things I’d always wanted to try.
But there was another 
thing that was going to make dancing more of a challenge. I was completely blind.
I’d been born with a condition called a coloboma, which meant parts of my eyes hadn’t formed properly.
As a child, I’d been 
partially sighted, but over 
the years my condition had deteriorated and I’d lost my sight completely in my 30s.
The condition also meant I’d had to have my eyes removed and wear prostheses.
It had been a difficult time, particularly as I was a single mum to my daughter Laura, who was just a teenager 
at the time.
But together, we’d got through it, and Laura was always my biggest supporter.
So, with her encouragement, 
I began ringing around to find a dance teacher.
As one after the other 
made their excuses, I began to lose hope.
But then I phoned a lady called Diane, and she told 
me, ‘Absolutely no problem. 
I’ve worked with people 
with other disabilities, and 
we always find a way.’
Walking tentatively into 
the dance hall, my tummy fluttered with nerves.
‘Hi, Wendy!’ Diane called.
I recognised her welcoming voice immediately and, sensing my fear, she put me at ease.
‘What would you like to get out of this?’ she asked.
‘I want to win medals!’ I replied.
‘Then that’s 
what we’ll do,’ she said, laughing.
From the start, Diane only saw what I could do, not what I couldn’t, and that 
felt so empowering.
After entering me for the International Dance Teachers’ Association (IDTA) Bronze award, she explained, ‘We need to master two ballroom and two Latin dances.’
She chose the waltz and 
the quickstep in the ballroom category, and the cha-cha-cha and rumba for 
the Latin.
I’d never even seen a rumba before, let alone danced one!
‘It’s all about the hip action,’ Diane said. ‘You need to do a figure of eight action.’
Seeing the look of confusion on my face, she took my finger and traced an eight shape on the table.
‘That’s the shape you need to make with your hips,’ 
she explained.
‘Now I get it!’ I said.
Each week, I’d meet Diane for an hour’s dance session, and it soon became clear that 
I had a knack for it.
‘You’re amazing!’ she said.
As the weeks went on, 
I grew in confidence as 
I learnt the steps for each of the dances.
But I still found some of the techniques tricky.
Unable to watch any videos of professionals performing, 
I would instead try to visualise the dance in 
my mind’s eye from Diane’s description.
‘You’re getting there, keep going,’ Diane encouraged me 
at each session.

'I don't just want to pass'

Soon after, in 2024, 
Strictly Come Dancing was broadcast, and the blind comedian Chris McCausland went on to win the glitter 
ball with his professional partner, Dianne Buswell.
It was such a boost to know viewers were starting to see what blind people were capable of.
But as exam day loomed, 
I worried I wasn’t ready.
‘I don’t want to just pass 
– I want to do really well,’ 
I told Diane.
‘Wendy, I know you can 
do it,’ she replied.
On the morning of my exam, Laura came to my house in Derby to curl my hair and do my make-up. Then I put on my high-heeled dance shoes and a flowing floral dress.
‘You look beautiful, Mum,’ she told me. ‘Now go and smash it!’
Walking into the dance studio, I felt more nervous than ever as the examiner greeted us and told us to start.
We started out with the 
cha-cha-cha to Sexbomb by Tom Jones, but I was shaking 
so much we stumbled.
Taking a deep breath, we started again and nailed it.
It felt like an hour, but in reality each dance was only 
a couple of minutes.
At the end, Diane and 
I decided to head outside for a well-earned coffee.
‘How do you think it went?’ I asked her.
‘You were great!’ she said.
When the examiner finally appeared and handed Diane a sheet of paper, I was shaking in my dance shoes.
‘Oh, Wendy,’ she said, her voice cracking with emotion. ‘You got 92%!’
‘What? No!’ I screamed.
‘You passed with honours!’ Diane exclaimed.
I was over the moon and immediately called Laura.
‘I knew you could do it, Mum,’ she yelled down the phone, delighted.
I’m now aiming for my IDTA Silver award, which means I need to add a tango and a jive into the mix.
Diane believed in me and helped me achieve my dream. With her help, I know I can achieve anything.
I feel that I was born to dance – and nothing’s going to stop me now.

‘I don’t just want to pass’

A moment of madness changed the course of my life. But I was determined to fight back. 
By Chelsea-Leanne Flynn, 22

I heard my name being called but, as I swung around to see who wanted me, I wasn’t prepared for the sight that met my eyes.

Bearing down on me was a girl I knew – and she looked absolutely furious.
‘You!’ she shouted at me. ‘You’ve been flirting with my boyfriend!’
‘No I haven’t,’ I replied, shocked.
I had no idea where she’d got that notion from. It simply wasn’t true.
She wasn’t prepared to let it drop, though.
As I turned away, suddenly I felt hands grip my head and in the next moment I was being pushed down. There was a sickening crack as the side of my jaw hit the ground.
Pain flooded through me.
It was so bad, it took my breath away and I couldn’t move.
By the time I staggered to my feet, the girl had run off. But there was blood dripping down my front and I realised I’d been badly hurt.
I’d been out walking my dog Ruby and somehow we managed to get home.
When my dad opened the front door, he gasped.
‘My God what happened?’ he said.
I burst into tears.
Dad put his arms around me and, through my sobs, I told him about the girl and the attack.
‘I’m calling the police,’ he said.
An officer arrived and listened as I explained but because the girl was so young, all he could do was give her a warning.
I felt it wasn’t enough.
I thought, She’s got away with it.

'Doctor, I can't feel my legs'

But I had more to worry about when Mum and Dad persuaded me to see the doctor and I was diagnosed with a dislocated jaw.
It explained the pain but, in hospital, eight agonising attempts to move my jaw back into its socket failed and in the end the doctor told me, ‘You’ll need surgery.’
Fortunately, that went well and afterwards, I tried to put the whole thing behind me.
However, a year on, I 
was play-fighting with a friend when her knee accidentally hit my face 
and I heard a pop.
Oh no, I thought.
She came with me to hospital where my worst fears were confirmed.
My jaw had been dislocated again.
And this time, the doctor said, ‘You’ll need surgery to wire it shut.’
The thought terrified me, but I had no choice.
After the operation, I couldn’t eat solid food for a few months. And a further examination found my jaw had been so badly damaged that I needed more surgery.
Over the next three years, I had six operations with screws and bands fitted in my jaw and then a further procedure was schedule to have them removed.

Because of the Covid pandemic, my parents couldn’t come with me and being in hospital on my own was terrifying.
The surgeon told me the operation would only take an hour but when I came round three hours had gone by. And that wasn’t all.

As I drifted in and out of consciousness, I thought, Why can’t I feel my legs?
I told myself it was probably a result of the anaesthetic but, as minutes turned into hours, I started to panic.
‘Doctor, I can’t feel my legs,’ I said.
I had tests and MRI and CT scans. And while I waited for the results, I nodded off. When I woke up again, I got a horrible shock.
The numbness I’d felt in my legs was still there but it had spread upwards to my hips and then to my waist.
I couldn’t feel anything from there downwards.
‘I want to see my mum and dad,’ I said, panicking.
But Covid restrictions meant I was on my own when the doctor broke devastating news.
‘You’ve had an extremely rare reaction to the anaesthetic,’ he said.
He told me it was called functional neurological disorder – or FND for short. It meant there was a problem with my nervous system and how my brain and body sent signals to each other.

‘It’s caused paralysis from the waist down,’ he said.
My mind whirled with questions and, when Mum was allowed to see me, she was the one to voice them.
‘Will she ever walk again?’ she asked the doctor.
‘It’s very unlikely,’ he said.
Aged 18, it felt as if my life was over.
No one could explain how it had happened. The anaesthetic was the same one used in all my other operations without any issue, and an investigation concluded the surgeon wasn’t at fault.
But that didn’t help me. I was stuck in bed and, when I began physio, three nurses had to support my body weight as I struggled to stand.

'Will she ever walk again?'

I grasped the bars and tried to stay upright but, after just a few seconds, I felt so dizzy the nurses had to lie me back down.
Is it going to be like this forever? I thought.
Stuck in hospital, I could feel that my thoughts were spiralling so, to help me cope, I started documenting my recovery with funny videos on TikTok.
Having fun and a laugh helped to lift my mood.
In time, I was given a wheelchair but I knew I wanted to get back on my feet again, and working with an occupational therapist really helped.
She told me, ‘You’ll need a lot of determination and positivity if you’re to have any chance of walking again.’
That spurred me on.
At home in Thanet, Kent, Mum and Dad became my full-time carers.
I hated feeling like a burden but I was put on a waiting list for a rehabilitation centre which specialised in FND and brain injuries and I made it my goal to get on my feet before I got there.
It was hard though.
I had physiotherapy every week but I couldn’t sit up for more than five minutes let alone get out of bed.

On my bad days, I’d say to Mum, ‘I want to give up.’
But she told me, ‘Keep going, love, we’re so proud of you.’
So I did.
With her words and those of the occupational therapist ringing in my ears, I kept at it and, a few months later, I was able to stand up for more than a few seconds.

I still needed a lot of support but everyone was so proud.
‘Well done, love,’ Mum said, tears in her eyes.
I kept going and, a year on, my doctor called to say there was a place for me at the rehab centre.
As it was live-in and two and a half hours away, it meant leaving my family and friends. I hated the thought of that but I also knew it was my best chance of improving.
Meeting other people with FND helped me feel less alone and I kept posting my videos to TikTok where I attracted 22,000 followers.
People sent me lovely messages and that helped me to stay positive.
With a lot of perseverance, I managed to stand up unaided and even walk short distances and I was thrilled but, unfortunately, a car accident which broke my jaw set me back again and caused my FND to get worse.
So I’ve been using my wheelchair more recently which is frustrating.
But after another operation, I’m determined to get back to walking unaided again.
At 22, my life is only just beginning and I’m determined to live it to the max.
I’ve proved the doctors wrong once. I can do it again.

• Follow Chelsea-Leanne on TikTok at @chelseaflynn_x

After Mum revealed something that left us feeling sad, we hatched a cheeky plan…
By Debbie James, 66

As everyone sipped bubbly and my daughter Molly danced around in a Bride to Be sash, my mum looked on misty-eyed.

‘I’d have loved something like this before I got married – all the girls together, seeing me off into married life. It’s lovely,’ she said.
‘Why couldn’t you have a hen do, Nan?’ Molly asked.
Mum explained that it wasn’t really a thing when she and my dad, Geoff, got married in 1955.
Growing up, they’d often told me and my brother and sisters about their romance.
They’d met through mutual friends when Dad was in the Navy and Mum was training to be a teacher.
They recited, like a fairy tale, how they’d walked shyly along the promenade, before Dad had plucked up the courage to ask Mum to a party on board his ship.
‘The rest of the night was magical,’ Mum said.
‘I remember going home and telling my dad, “I’ve met the girl I’m going to marry”,’ Dad continued.
They’d got engaged on Mum’s 21st birthday, and married the following year.
Mum was so full of fun, and Molly and I felt sad she’d missed out on a hen do.
So, with her and Dad’s platinum wedding anniversary approaching, we hatched a plan.
Months later, I was out for dinner with my parents, when I told Mum that I was planning a party for my sister, and convinced her to come and check out a venue with me.
It was the night before her and Dad’s 70th wedding anniversary, when Mum and I stepped inside a music venue called The Riff Corner, near our home in Clevedon, Bristol.
I had to stifle a laugh as I walked behind Mum.

'Look at the balloons'

‘I think the room is just upstairs,’ I said.
‘Oh, I’m 92, Debbie, I’m not going up there!’ Mum replied, looking at the steep flight of stairs.
‘I really want you to see it, Mum,’ I said. ‘It’ll only take a second.’
Mum, who was also named Molly, sighed but started to make her way up the stairs. As she reached the top, there was a gasp, followed by a burst of girlie laughter.
‘Happy hen do, Molly!’ everyone cheered.
‘Oh my goodness!’ Mum said, turning to me with a look of complete surprise on her face.
‘You little fibber!’ she said.
In the room, Mum embraced the large group of family and friends who’d gathered, as arranged, for her long overdue hen do.
Everyone wore heart-shaped glasses and naval themed sashes that read, Great Catch, Drinking Captain or Sexy Skipper.
My sisters and I slipped 
a Bride to Be sash on Mum and fixed a white veil to 
her hair.
She laughed.
‘How long have you been planning this?’ she asked.
Seeing her beaming smile brought tears of happiness 
to my eyes.

‘Look at the balloons!’ she said, pointing to the hanging wall decoration that spelled out Hen Party.
We had a table full with all her favourite foods, and a playlist littered 
with her favourite songs, including Lizbeth Webb’s This Is My Lovely Day – the first dance song at her wedding.
Soon the evening got a bit more raucous.

‘Right, it’s time for 
penis hoopla,’ one of the younger women called out.
Mum howled with laughter as an inflatable willy was strapped to someone’s head and the other women began tossing small hoops at it.
‘Come on, Nan,’ Molly said. ‘Your turn.’
As Molly approached with the inflatable, Mum protested.
‘No, no, love, I can’t do that… I’m 92!’ she said.
But moments later, she conceded.
As everyone stood in front of her, hoops in hand, Mum squealed with laughter.
‘Careful!’ she said, cackling. ‘That almost hit my eye.’
As the night progressed, talk turned to Mum and Dad’s long-lasting marriage.
‘What’s your secret?’ I asked.
‘The secret is compromise,’ Mum said. ‘Life never runs smoothly, but we’ve weathered the storms and stuck together.’
I smiled.
‘And your dad can make me laugh, so he gets away with murder!’ Mum said.
Not many daughters get to celebrate their mum’s hen do.
But it was one of the happiest days, and we’ll remember it for a long time to come.
It just goes to show, that even at 92, you’re never too old for a hen do!

Closing date for issue 8 is midnight 10th September 2026. Only one entry per person, per issue for our competitions.

Scroll to the bottom to watch the video

Last year, my family visited The O2 in North Greenwich, London, for fun at Hollywood Bowl, followed by a spot of shopping and a bite to eat. Catching sight of figures scaling the venue's dome-shaped roof, my son Reuben was intrigued. 'Can we do that?' he asked. But the minimum age to climb Up at The O2 is 8 years old. So, he spent a year waiting to tick this activity off the bucket list.

I arrived at base camp with my husband, Reuben, and his older brother Odhran, 11, about 15 minutes before our scheduled slot (as advised). After filling in our waivers, we were led into a room, where you can grab a quick drink from a water cooler.

We swapped our footwear for deep tread walking boots and you can borrow a gilet with pockets if you want to take your phone up. Anything that couldn't fit in the secure pocket of the gilet had to go into a box with our shoes and other belongings. This was safely stored away to be retrieved at the end of the climb.

Then, it was into our harnesses (there were optional gloves, as there's a central line you hold to pull yourself along). All the gear is provided but sandal-wearers must remember to bring socks. After a short safety briefing, our group was on its way, with Reuben delighted to take the lead.

Our visit coincided with a heatwave. So, we were pleased we hadn't signed up to take part in the experience during the midday sun. Our late evening climb was perfect, as temperates had cooled and there was a gentle breeze blowing.

A 380-metre fabric walkway stretches over the middle of the dome-shaped roof, with a steep 30-degree incline leading to the summit, which is 52 metres above ground. There's a bouncy feeling underfoot as you climb, but you're fully secured to a central cable by a harness. The whole experience lasts 90 minutes, as you get to spend about 15-20 minutes on the central viewing platform at the summit. The climb requires an average fitness level - Odhran and Reuben were charging ahead.

But as he'd powered his way up the incline, Reuben reached the viewing platform feeling parched, and while there's a fridge storing cool drinks, these can't be purchased once you reach the top. Drinks must be pre-ordered at reception when you arrive a base camp. I clearly hadn't been listening properly. When I'd been asked at reception if I wanted to purchase drinks, I'd thought it was to have there and then. I stupidly didn't realise it was a pre-order for when you reach the top.

I had a stainless steel water bottle I'd planned to take up but I had to leave that behind at the last moment as it wouldn't fit in the pocket of the gilet. So, if you want to bring a bottle of water make sure it's a small plastic bottle.

On the circular viewing platform, you don't have to stay attached to the central safety line. You're free to walk around and take in the stunning 360 degree view. Gaze out at the skyscrapers of Canary Wharf on one side, and watch the boats along the winding River Thames on the other. Our knowledgeable guide pointed out notable landmarks, such as the Old Naval College and Royal Observatory. Last year, we took in a different view of London from the ArcelorMittal Orbit at Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park and the boys enjoyed spotting this attraction from the roof of The O2.

On the way down the other side, Odhran, a huge Marvel fan, and I talked about how it would be great to see The O2 feature in a Spider-Man movie, as there are steel masts and strong cables for our favourite superhero to swing between. But it turns out James Bond beat him to it, as the Greenwich landmark features in The World Is Not Enough.

Professional photographers take pictures of you during your Up at The O2 roof climb, which you can view and buy as digital or printed souvenir photos after the climb. But you're also welcome to use your phone to take your own pictures on the viewing platform.

After our climb, we finished out evening with an gelato and a drink inside The O2, where you'll find plenty of dining options.

We love an opportunity to view London from above, and Up at The O2 is a unique experience that adds a bit of adventure to taking in the sights.

Choose from daytime, sunset and twilight climbs, and check out seasonal events - such as the Christmas event, where the summit is transformed into a giant snow globe adventure with falling snow, cookies and festive drinks.

Tickets for Up at The O2 cost from £37 per person or from £133.20 for a family of four. Prices vary based on the time of day and whether you visit on a weekday or weekend. But remember, O2 customers get a 20% discount, which you can claim through the Priority from O2 app. Find out more here

Watch the video...

Choirmaster Jack became a rock for Elina. But some things didn’t quite add up…

Gathering up the singers’ empty 
bowls, I spotted 
the choirmaster hovering by the counter.

‘Can I help at all?’ he asked.
‘That’s OK, Jack,’ I said, smiling tightly.
I ran the town’s ice-cream parlour, and though I loved my business, I’d been having a difficult couple of months.
‘Are you sure you’re OK, Elina?’ Jack asked. ‘You look like you need a break.’
‘Actually, my dad has cancer,’ 
I admitted. ‘We’re really close, and I’m struggling.’
‘I’m here if you ever need a shoulder to cry on,’ he reassured.
The local choir regularly visited my parlour, and Jack would often lend a hand.
He was charming, charismatic and a talented musician. The choristers adored him.
So, when he asked me out on a date to a local restaurant, I was delighted.
Just a few weeks later, my father passed away.
‘Don’t worry about a thing,’ Jack said. ‘I’ll help with the parlour while you’re arranging the funeral.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what 
I’d do without you at the minute.’
On the day of the funeral, Jack turned up uninvited.
I thought it was a bit much, but he said he just wanted to support me, and my family were happy to welcome him into the fold.
Over the next months, our relationship blossomed.
Jack was caring and attentive, and I came to rely on him.
The evening before Valentine’s Day, I was serving 
ice cream to the choir, when he cleared his throat.
‘Can I have everyone’s attention please!’ he said.
Then he got 
down on one knee and asked me to marry him.
The parlour 
was crammed 
with customers 
from wall to wall and I didn’t feel I had much option but to say yes.
Everyone erupted into cheers.
I knew it was very soon – we’d only be together three months – but Jack treated me so well and I was grateful for all his support while I was grieving.

'But the business is my income'

We arranged our wedding 
for the summer, six months 
after we first got together.
Only, as we 
made preparations, Jack’s lack of 
family and friends began to bother me.
He had two daughters, but he said his ex-wife had poisoned them against him.
And when we visited the registrar a few days before 
the wedding, I found out something else…
‘Why does your name say Steven Jack Kelsey?’ I asked, looking at the paperwork.
‘Jack Taverner is my stage name, I just go by it full time nowadays,’ he replied. ‘I’ve told you this before.’
I was pretty sure he hadn’t, 
but I let it go.
We married in the local town hall, with a few members of the choir in attendance and all my friends and family.

Afterwards, Jack moved into my townhouse.
It turned out he’d only been renting his home, and was entirely financially dependent 
on me.
I’d been left some money by my first husband and then my father, and made a good living from the parlour.
‘I’m just a musician, I’ve never earned very much,’ Jack confessed.
I started to think I’d rushed 
into things.
Still, I was desperate to make things work, and forked out to 
do things like renew his insurance or pay his repair bills 
if his car broke down.
That was on top of all the expensive gifts I bought him, from a new keyboard to a camera.

A few months after we 
married, he made an unexpected suggestion.
‘You should sell the parlour,’ he told me. ‘Come help me run the choir instead.’
‘But Jack, the business is my income,’ I replied.
‘Don’t be silly, you’ve got loads of money,’ he said.
Eventually, he persuaded me.
From then on, I went with him to his sessions.
I’d prepare teas and coffees and take the choristers’ money 
at the door.
Only, Jack became snappy with me.
‘Not there, you stupid girl!’ he barked if I put his tea down in the wrong place.
Then he’d add, ‘Just joking,’ and the choir would laugh.
Sometimes, a member of the choir would check with me afterwards if I was all right.
‘Oh, it’s just 
Jack being Jack,’ 
I would reply.
Two years after we married, I barely recognised my husband. He spent all his time lazing about the house.
And he kept trying to 
pressure me into putting the deeds in his name, so that he’d be protected when I died.
But I refused.
Jack was sexually very demanding too.
If I ever said no to anything, he’d fly into a rage.
‘You can be a bit of a narcissist, you know,’ I told 
him once.
‘I love you!’ he roared. ‘Isn’t that enough?’
While my life was spiralling 
out of control, I was too ashamed to tell my friends and family what was actually going on.
Then, five years into our marriage, Jack had an affair.
When I discovered explicit texts, I confronted him and he walked out on me 
to be with her.
It was my 63rd birthday.
I was completely devastated he could treat me like that.

'Jack is a vile man for doing this'

Mutual friends and members of the choir found out what had happened, and a few got in touch.
Jack is a vile man for doing this, emailed one older lady named Dinah, who we both 
knew from the village.
We met up for coffee and she consoled me.
But it didn’t take long for 
Jack to start begging me to 
take him back.
He’d split with his other woman and was stuck living in 
a bedsit.
‘I love you, Elina,’ he said. 
‘I promise I’ll never do anything like this again.’
Eventually, I felt so sorry for him that I agreed to give him one more chance.
And for a little while, things seemed fine.
We went on a cruise together, funded by me.
But when 
we returned, 
Jack started acting aloof.
‘Are you 
having another affair?’ I asked. 
‘If you are, 
you can get 
out now.’
‘Don’t be 
so dramatic,’ 
he said. ‘Of course I’m not.’
He told me I was crazy, and stormed off to sleep in the 
spare room.
But just a week later, he told me he was moving out.
‘I’m not having an affair, I just can’t be around you when you’re acting so insane,’ he said.

After he left, I was cleaning the spare room when I felt a lump in the pillowcase.
Reaching inside, I found the camera
I’d bought him.
My heart galloped 
 in my chest as I switched it on and looked at the saved videos.
Disgust and humiliation flooded 
over me.
The first clip featured an explicit video of my husband with 72-year-old Dinah.
I felt physically sick.
Hands shaking, I rang Jack five or six times, but he didn’t pick up.
Leave me alone, he texted.
And at that moment, I saw red.
Right, I’m going to drive to her house and confront them, I thought, grabbing my keys.
And lo and behold, Jack’s car was pulling out of the driveway when I arrived.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he asked.

‘I’ve come to talk to Dinah, because I can’t talk to you,’ I said. ‘I have evidence of your affair.’
He saw the camera in my hand and his face went white.
I stormed up to the front door and started knocking.
A moment later, Dinah answered.
‘I’m disgusted with you,’ 
I told her. ‘I thought you were a friend!’

‘What do you mean?’ she replied.
‘I’ve got you on video!’ I told her, holding up the camera.
‘Give me that back!’ bellowed Jack, making a 
grab for it.
Then he gripped me by my shoulders and shoved me into the house, down 
the hallway and 
into the living room.
Pushing me down 
on to the sofa, he pinned my arms 
with his legs.
And then he started pummelling me.
His eyes were jet black, like a man possessed.
‘Jack, stop!’ I screamed, but instead, he kicked me in the stomach with his heavy boots.
He’s going to kill me, I thought.
‘I’m going to call the police!’ I shouted.
That’s when he came to his senses and drew back.
Scrambling to my feet, I made a run for the door.
As I stumbled out on to the street, two police cars pulled up at the kerb.
It turned out a neighbour had phoned them, concerned at the commotion.
‘Arrest that man!’ I sobbed, my nose pouring with blood. ‘He’s just violently assaulted me!’
I insisted on making my statement before heading to hospital, determined to tell the police everything while it was 
still fresh in my mind.
Jack was led out of Dinah’s house in handcuffs and put into the back of a squad car.
When I did finally make it to hospital, doctors told me that Jack had broken my nose.
There was a chance I had a fractured skull too.

The kick to the stomach caused an infection, and I was kept in for two days.
Physically, I was in a lot of pain. But that was nothing compared to the mental anguish.
Nightmares plagued me whenever I slept, and during the day, I suffered from panic attacks.
I’d always been confident, 
but now I was a shadow of my former self.
I was terrified that Jack would come back to kill me.
Meanwhile, he’d told the choir that I had given myself the 
injuries by banging my head on the steering wheel.
I even had a few messages through asking me how I could lie about Jack.
Help from my family and from victim support were the only things that kept 
me going.
I began divorce proceedings, and clung on to the hope that one day Jack would pay for 
what he’d done.
The trial was held two years after his attack.
As we stepped into 
the court waiting room, 
I spotted him sitting at 
the far end.
He didn’t look at me, but I could see the smug smile on his lips.

A few minutes later, 
the prosecutor called me into his office.
‘Elina, I’m so sorry, 
but Jack isn’t going 
to prison,’ he said. ‘They’re going to let 
him off with a suspended sentence, because of 
his age.’
And in the end, the 
man who had ruined my life only received an 18-month suspended sentence, along with 
a 10-year restraining 
order and 120 hours of community service.
I felt humiliated all over again.
Thanks to Jack, I lost my business and my faith in men. My mental health was in tatters.
The punishment didn’t seem anywhere near sufficient.
‘I’m going to go to the press,’ 
I told my sister afterwards. ‘Jack’s a narcissist. I know his biggest nightmare is being exposed for what he is – so that’s what I’m going to do!’
Ultimately, I try 
to remember that even if Jack is still free, he can’t be 
very happy.
He’s 68 with nothing at all to show for it – no money, no home, no friends, no family.
The choir was dissolved when his attack on me became public.
Jack destroyed me, but I still have so much more love in my life than he ever will.

Elina Fragola, 65, Sandbach, Cheshire

• Dinah's name has been changed

I thought my future was over but losing my leg was just the start of an incredible journey.
By Annabel Kiki, 16

As I sprinted 
across the pitch, something made me gasp.

‘Are you all right, Annabel?’ my football coach asked.
‘It’s my leg,’ I groaned. ‘It’s been sore for ages. I’m worried I’ve done something to it.’
At 13, I was mad about sport – everything from football to skiing to swimming.
So, when I first felt a pain in my leg, I thought 
I must have strained it but, instead of getting better, it just seemed to get worse.
One afternoon it was so bad, the school called my mum Sally and she took me to hospital near our home in Cannock, Staffordshire.
I had an X-ray and I could see from the nurse’s expression that the news wasn’t good.
‘It doesn’t look normal,’ she told me.
Over the next few days I had no end of tests, including MRIs, CT scans and a biopsy.
‘The results are in,’ the doctor told me. ‘I’m so 
sorry, but you have an osteosarcoma in your leg. 
It’s a type of bone cancer.’
I went into a state of shock.
‘It’s very rare,’ the doctor told me. ‘Only about 30 people get it a year. It’s not due to lifestyle or genetics, it’s just random.’
Doctors told me I’d be starting the world’s strongest chemotherapy as soon as possible.
‘In terms of further treatment, you have a choice,’ the doctor explained. ‘You can have the leg amputated, or you can have what’s known as limb salvage surgery.’

'It's been sore for ages'

The salvage surgery would save my leg but the metal prosthesis they’d fit in place of a bone would mean that I’d never run, jump or play football again.
‘Absolutely not,’ I said. ‘I’d rather have the amputation.’
Doctors warned me that there was still no guarantee that I’d be able to play sports again, but I knew I had to try.
A month after my diagnosis, I started chemotherapy.
The side effects were brutal. I suffered from horrific mouth sores, hair loss, fatigue and sickness, as well as developing sepsis.
One afternoon, as 
I was lying in my hospital bed, I hit rock bottom.
I was watching football on TV and, seeing the players running around the pitch, I was utterly desolate.
‘What if I can’t ever play sports again?’ I asked Mum.
‘There’s nothing to gain from letting your heart shatter,’ she told me.
She’d been my rock through my treatment, always at my side, sleeping on the hospital chair overnight so she didn’t have to leave me, even for a minute.
And hearing her words really marked a turning point.
Three months after my diagnosis, my left leg was amputated.

But I was determined to make the most of my new life and to throw myself headfirst into everything.
Within days of my surgery, I was up walking on my crutches, and within months 
I was fitted with my new prosthetic leg.
It felt incredible to be up on my feet again even though, at first, it was a real struggle to keep my balance.
Mum would take me down to the freezer aisle in Asda, where I’d hold on to the handrail and practise walking up and down.
Almost a year after my diagnosis, I jetted off to Bulgaria on a skiing trip with my mum.
‘I don’t see myself as disabled,’ I told Mum. ‘I want to do everything people think I can’t.’
Not long after, I was on social media when I spotted 
a tweet about an amputee women’s football camp in Poland and sent a reply.

I wish we had something like this in the UK.
When they asked me to join them, I was ecstatic.
I flew to Poland and met an entire team of other young footballers all with amputations.
Because of our shared struggles, there was an automatic camaraderie between us and I made friends for life.
Another player and I set about getting a UK team together for the first ever women’s amputee football championship in Colombia and raised £50,000 for the trip.
Aged 16, I helped the team to fifth place and won the Golden Boot award as top scorer in the tournament.
It was an incredible achievement. But my determination to live life to the fullest didn’t stop there.
I’d always been a fashion lover and interested in modelling and now I decided it was time to try to make it happen.
I reached out to Zebedee Talent, the world’s leading inclusive modelling agency, and they signed me up. After I met the CEO of fashion magazine Fab UK, I was entered into their model competition and beat 155 others to win.
My title meant I had automatic entry into the Miss England competition.
It’ll be held later this year and I’ll be the first ever amputee contestant!
I love the contest’s beauty with a purpose approach because I’m not defined by the bad thing that happened to me.
I have a greater sense of purpose than I’ve ever had in my life.

I was hiding my problems behind a pair of stretchy trousers and something had to give. By Kelly Young, 40

Picking up the pastel pink maternity trousers from the rail, 
I pulled at the waist and admired the stretch.

Perfect, I thought, adding them to my basket.
But I wasn’t pregnant. I was in denial.
I’d taken to buying clothes from the maternity section so I could kid myself I was a size 14.
In reality, I was 15 stone and a size 18.
I didn’t have to look far for a reason why.
That evening, as usual, I succumbed to the munchies and before I knew it, I had scoffed a pack of shortbread and then started on the chocolate chip cookies.
My sweet craving was followed by a desire for something salty and I said to my hubby Jason, ‘Pass me those peanuts, please.’
However, as I looked down at my tummy that night before bed, I barely recognised myself.
‘I think I need to lose some weight,’ I said.
‘Whatever you think, love,’ Jason replied, being as supportive as ever.
So I went on a diet.
First, I tried weight-loss shakes, then I did calorie counting and I joined a slimming group.
It worked, at first.
I would lose a stone to begin with but I always ended up putting it back 
on – and more.
As the years went by, my sweet cravings were my downfall. Then I fell pregnant.
After our little boy Brody was born, my hectic life as 
a new mum meant I lost some weight.

But I was still overweight and, one day, as I chased after Brody in the garden I realised I couldn’t keep up.
It was then, I realised I needed to make a bigger change.
So, at 12 stone, I joined a Slimming World group near my home in Southampton.
‘You can do this,’ Jason 
told me.
And he wasn’t the only one showing me support – the whole group was lovely and 
I started looking forward to going.
I was encouraged to write down what I ate and drank every day.
Seeing how many treats I was having made it easier to stop. And the weight dropped off.
I found my own tips and tricks, too.
Getting ready to take Brody out, I packed my own snack bag that I could dip into during the day. That way, I knew I had a little treat on hand 
that wouldn’t ruin my longer term goals.
In time, I reached my goal weight of 10st 7lb, and I took up swimming, losing another stone in the process.
Now I weigh 9st 7lb and I’m so happy.
I love shopping for clothes and there isn’t one item of maternity wear in my wardrobe!
Most importantly I can finally keep up with Brody.
I’ve even become a Slimming World consultant myself and all my members walk around with their little snack bags.
I love helping people to reach their goals, just like 
I reached mine.

If, like many of us, you find your good intentions coming undone when you go out to eat, try this: decide in advance what you will order and stick to it. When we affirm, intend and embody how we’re going to eat at the start of the day, it helps us to make the right choices.

BEFORE
12 stone,
size 14

AFTER
9st 7lb, 
size 
10-12

DIET BEFORE

Breakfast: toast with butter
Lunch: chicken and bacon sandwich, NikNak crisps, regular Coke
Dinner: spag Bol from a jar
Snacks: chocolate, shortbread, cookies, peanuts

DIET AFTER

Breakfast: natural yogurt with fruit, overnight oats
Lunch: scrambled eggs, spinach and cheese on protein bread
Dinner: homemade spag Bol, stir-fry
Snacks: Hi-fi bars, fruit

We thought we’d uncovered Dad’s biggest secret, but as he lay dying another one was waiting for us. By Terri Stromeyer, 62

Walking into the glamorous venue, I felt proud to be on my dad Terry’s arm.

‘We’re a team,’ he said with a grin, as we began mingling with the guests.
Dad, a steel broker, was 
at a work event and, as my mum Nancy preferred to stay at home, I was his plus-one for the evening.
My charming and vivacious dad had always been my hero.
When my sister Penny and I were little, no matter how busy he was with work, he’d found time for fun too.
He’d play cowboys with us, creating a magical make-believe world.
Now I was older, I loved going to events with him and admired his easy charm as he chatted to clients.
But over the next years, something changed in him. He grew distant from Mum, sometimes not even returning home at night.
Someone kept calling the house too and putting the phone down if Mum answered.
Then one day, Penny called and said, ‘I saw Dad kissing Sue after she got into his car.’
I gasped. Sue Whitehead had been Dad’s solicitor for years, but now there seemed 
to be more to their relationship than work.
Furious, Penny had marched over to the car.
‘I told her to get out of Mum’s seat,’ she said.
Fresh from the upsetting incident, she’d called me.
‘How could Dad do that to Mum – and us!’ I fumed.
Suddenly my hero dad felt like someone I barely knew.
‘You’re having an affair,’ I said to him, a few days later. ‘You’re breaking up our family.’
‘It’s not what you think,’ Dad insisted. ‘Sue just works for me.’
He didn’t have the decency to own up to it.

'I told her to get out of Mum's seat'

By now, Mum knew too. But while the betrayal crushed her, scared to lose our family home she chose to turn a blind eye.
I was too furious to even speak to Dad.
‘I feel like I’ve lost him,’ 
I told Penny, heartbroken.
Years passed 
and their affair continued. They would spend every Friday night together in a hotel. We thought it was odd that Sue never demanded more.
But when Mum suffered a stroke and ended up in a care home, I worried what would happen when she passed away. Would Dad marry Sue?
Scared that would mean we’d lose Dad to her completely, I tried to build some bridges.
So I arranged to go for dinner with him and Sue.
‘Hopefully we can put our differences behind us,’ I told Dad.
But it was a disaster. Sue was frosty from the start, refusing to talk about her relationship with Dad.
Penny and I were devastated when Mum died months later.
And with her gone, Sue seemed to have an even tighter grip on Dad.
Once strong and decisive, now he couldn’t make a decision without checking with Sue first.
Yet they never married. She didn’t even move in, always keeping him at arm’s length somehow, which left Dad lonely and frustrated as his own health declined.

‘If you truly loved someone, you’d want to spend time with them, especially in their twilight years,’ 
I said to Penny.
After suffering a stroke, Dad was diagnosed with dementia. Tests showed he had cognitive impairment, which meant he struggled with memory, reasoning and decision-making.

Yet he refused to accept – and was unable to due to his dementia – how poorly he was. He remained at home and wouldn’t allow carers in, relying on family instead.
Dad was outraged too when his driving licence was withdrawn on the advice of his GP and we discovered Sue was trying to help him get it back.
She got a second opinion from a consultant, but hadn’t provided Dad’s full medical history, telling the doctor Dad’s stroke had been mild and that he’d made a full recovery.
Thankfully his GP intervened when we told her.
Soon after, I stumbled across Dad’s will. Not only had Sue helped him draw it up and been made executor, she also stood to benefit from a third of his estate.
‘I don’t think he knew what he was signing,’ I told Penny.
And then I discovered something even more shocking. For the 40-odd years Sue and Dad had been seeing each other, she’d been in a long-term relationship.

I had to tell Dad, so after taking him for a haircut, we went to a cafe and over a cuppa, I said, ‘There’s no easy way to say this, but Sue’s living with another man.’
He broke down in tears.
‘She’s made a fool out of me,’ he wept, as I hugged him.
He looked 
so frail and vulnerable, but later his old determination came back as he told me he wanted Sue out of his life – and his will.
On Dad’s instruction, I emailed Sue telling her to stop all contact.
Dad then drafted a new will, but the following day, he fell ill and was admitted to hospital.
When staff told us Sue had been calling, we set up a password callers had to give to get information about Dad, which only a handful of people had.
Sue pretended to be a close family friend to get around that, but we later found out after a nurse became suspicious, took down the number and reported it to us.
And when Dad discharged himself, I suspected Sue was still contacting him.

'There's no easy way to say this'

Months later, he was back in hospital again and this time, we knew the end was near.
After a couple of days at his bedside, Penny and I popped back to Dad’s to get him some warm socks. But reaching into his drawer, I came across a sheaf of papers.
Opening it, I gasped. It was another will, written by another firm of lawyers, where Sue had been awarded the lion’s share of his estate – almost £1million – while Penny and I were left virtually nothing.
On the first page, there was a note that read, I declare that at the date of my will I am expecting to be married to Sue Whitehead.
‘She’s let him believe she’s going to marry him, so she gets his money,’ I raged.
Fuming, we headed back to the hospital, but as we walked into Dad’s room, I looked at him and knew.
‘He’s dead, Penny,’ I said, as anger gave way to tears.
We had to challenge the will we’d found in court and as we sifted through papers, texts and emails for the case, we made more discoveries.
When Sue learnt about the will that cut her out, she’d backdated a document giving her Lasting Power of Attorney, so that it appeared to have been signed before that new will.

Then she helped him make the will we’d found in his sock drawer, directing him to use a firm of solicitors she knew wouldn’t carry out mental capacity checks.
Alongside our court action, we took our case to the Solicitors’ Regulation Authority (SRA).
And after a gruelling three-year legal fight which cost us both financially and emotionally, we got justice for Dad and our family.
First, the SRA struck Sue off for dishonesty. After that, she didn’t challenge our claim and the case was settled in our favour out of court.
Recently, when clearing Dad’s house, my nephew Johnny and I found a card Sue had given Dad that read, Terry, you’re not getting older, just increasing in value.
‘That sums up everything about her,’ I said.
Now we’re sharing our story to warn families that solicitors can take advantage of the trust placed in them, particularly by the elderly.

We’re also calling on the SRA to ban their members from drafting wills for clients they’re in a relationship with.
Sue took advantage of an ailing man and denied me a proper relationship with my father. And it’s the time I’ll never get back with him that hurts the most.

A multi-million-pound investment has brought major upgrades to Parkdean Resorts Vauxhall Holiday Park in Great Yarmouth, Norfolk, including a larger high and low ropes course, Off Road Rangers track, Bear Grylls escape rooms, indoor fairground mini-golf, a bounce park, revamped play areas and a new Hat-Tricks sports bar with interactive shuffleboard, digital darts, pool tables and large screens showing live sports.

I checked in for an action-packed weekend stay with my husband and our two sons, Odhran, 11, and Reuben, 8. First up was Aqua Jets for the boys in the resorts swimming pool. They had fun zipping around with handheld, battery-powered devices pulling them through the water and allowing them to glide along and dive beneath the surface. The friendly instructors Jack and Harrison set challenges for the group of kids, getting them to collect diving sticks from the bottom of the pool and play an Aqua Jet version of British Bulldog. Odhran and Reuben loved it, setting a great tone to the start of the holiday.

We played a noon game of interactive shuffleboard in the new Hat-Tricks sports bar. The classic game of siding weighted pucks across the wooden table is upgraded with smart technology to track scores and add a video game element to the fun. Hat-Tricks is a modern sports bar with a nice outdoor terrace. You can use QR codes on the tables, a handy self-order kiosk, or Parkdean's Order & Pay app to order food and drink direct to your table. There are lots of large TV screens, showing live sport, which was great as our visit coincided with the World Cup. For an idea or pricing, I spent £6.70 on a pint of Madri and £4.40 on a large Diet Coke.

The boys had spotted Scoops, a brightly-coloured dessert parlour, and insisted we go for a treat. Odhran went for the Nutella crêpe with whipped cream, while Reuben and I chose to build our own delicious waffles with strawberries, Nutella and a scoop of ice-cream. Helping to keep costs down, there were money-saving special offers, such as two Nutella Crêpes for £6.99 and two bubbles waffles for £12.

After refuelling, we headed back to Hat-Tricks for a game of indoor golf. This 12-hole course was one of our favourite activities at Parkdean Vauxhall. It's themed around a fairground and features carnival-style obstacles and interactive elements, including a Ferris wheel. But our favourite obstacle was the ghost train, which is darkened to resemble a tunnel and has glowing spooky props and fun sounds. At £8 per adult and just £5 per child, we thought this was a great value activity.

Later in the afternoon, we buckled up for the high ropes, and had fun balancing across rope bridges and wobbling planks, before whizzing along a zip line. This was the activity the boys had been most looking forward to and it was as thrilling as we'd hoped. There are lower ropes for kids who might want to build up to the higher adventure.

The following morning the boys scaled the climbing wall, which looked to be about six metres tall. The minimum age for this is six-years-old. There are three different climbing routes and the boys found them both fun and suitably challenging. One of the routes included ropes to help pull yourself up, which offered something a bit different to other climbing walls they've tackled.

Later in the evening, we all hopped along to the Bounce Park - a large bouncy caste that adults can also enjoy. It was a hot day and we were parched and sweating by the time we climbing off the bouncy castle but we had great fun racing each other around th obstacles. Then, the boys got behind the wheel on the Off Road Rangers. I thought Odhran might be a bit too old to enjoy these, but it seemed to capture his imagination as he steered around the course. Reuben diligently followed the rules in always keeping the correct distance apart and kept asking if this was what it was like to drive a real car.

If your child is more into arts and crafts there are lots of activities they can enjoy from pottery painting and sand art to tie dye T-shirt designs and slime workshops.

Alongside the paid-for activities, there are great FREE-OF-CHARGE facilities to keep the kids entertained, including a new soft-play area for younger kids, and a completely redesigned and upgraded adventure playground that centres around a fort-like wooden structure, with climbing ropes, a twisty slide and a zip line. Reuben brought a football and there was an outdoor multi-sports court, which was free to use at any time apart from when the court was being used for a paid activity such as Bumper Zorbs. The boys enjoyed having a kick about and making new friends.

And there was plenty of FREE daytime entertainment for the kids, such as Milkshake! Mornings, where tots can sing, dance, and craft. Little ones can also meet Parkdean's mascots, the Starland Krew - Sparky, Sparkle, Sid, Lizzie and Naarky.

How do you book activities?

Activities at Parkdean can be booked online 10 weeks prior to your arrival. Log into your account on the Parkdean Resorts Manage My Booking page and select 'Book on park activities' or you can book in person at the park's Activity Booking Hub. If there's an activity you really don't want to miss out on, I'd advise booking in advance, and definitely book a swimming slot as soon as possible. The pool is free to use but only a certain number of slots are available to pre-book. If no pre-booked slots are available, don't worry - it just means you'll have to queue, but this could be anywhere from 15 minutes to 45 minutes during peak times.

While the pool doesn't have as much to offer as the pool at Butlin's Bognor Regis or Haven Devon Cliffs, it is a fun part of your stay at Parkdean Vauxhall that you won't want to miss out on. Odhran and Reuben had a great time whizzing down the slide in the deeper pool, and for younger kids there's a smaller slide and separate shallow area with water fountains. There's seating around the pool and large family changing rooms. There's also an outdoor paddling pool for hot summer months. Remember to bring a £1 coin for the lockers.

How can I save money on activities at Parkdean Vauxhall?

We found the activities at Parkdean Vauxhall to be really reasonably priced. For example Off Road Rangers cost £10 per person for 30 minutes, Make a Break cost £17 per person, and the Bounce Park cost £7 per person for 30 minutes. But they also offer activity bundles to save you money. These can be added during your booking or at the park. On arrival, you head to the Activity Booking Hub and speak to a member of the team to book on to your sessions. You pick up an activity pass and collect a stamp when you complete each activity.

An example of the bundles on offer is 5 Activities for £40 Per Person. There are exclusions, such as the Bear Grylls Escape Rooms, digital darts, shuffleboard and lots of the craft activities. But the bundle includes loads of other activities such as the high ropes, climbing wall, Off Road Rangers, and many more. Or you can pay £100 for an Ultimate Pass that covers 16 paid activities and can be shared among your holiday booking party. It's worth considering what you plan to do during your visit to Parkdean and which activities your family want to take part in to work out if an activity bundle will offer best value for money.

What about the accommodation?

We stayed in the Gold Premium 3 Bedroom Caravan and found it handy being able to park round outside our accommodation. This caravan can sleep eight, as it also has a sofa bed - making it ideal if you have a larger family or want to bring the grandparents along. Parkdean pricing works in a similar way to Eurocamp, where you pay per accommodation rather than per person. So, sharing with friends or family and splitting the cost can be a great way to make savings.

The caravan consisted of a room with a double bed and two rooms with two single beds in each. There was a spacious kitchen/living room area, a toilet and shower room, and an en-suite off the main bedroom.

We visited during a heatwave. So, the caravan was really hot when we stepped inside and we went around flinging open all the windows and the door and wished we'd remembered to bring a fan. Our caravan didn't have its own decking and our neighbours had pulled out their camping chairs to sit and cool down outside.

The kitchen is well-equipped, towels are provided and the beds were made on arrival. There was free wifi but speeds were pretty slow so if you want to connect your smart TV to your Disney or Netflix account you'll need to upgrade the wifi package. We found the caravan to be spacious but its interior looked a little tired. While the bedding and towels were spotless, we felt greater care could have been given to certain areas like around the windows and inside the bins.

Toilet roll and a bowl with teabags and coffee were provided, and (maybe in consideration of the heat) several small bottles of water were placed in our fridge. But you will need to bring washing up liquid, a dish sponge, a tea towel, hand wash, and if you wish - anti-bac spray and a cloth to clean down surfaces. I'd also recommend bringing an extra bin bag.

How can I save money on food at Parkdean?

When it comes to dining options, the Boathouse serves traditional British classics, or you can enjoy wings and burgers at Thunderbird Fried Chicken. There's a little strip of takeaway food kiosks including Scoops dessert parlour, Pizza Box, Joe's American Grill, and a fish and chip shop (though we were disappointed to find the chips were frozen rather than hand-cut potatoes). There's a Nisa Local convenience store on-site, where you can pick up essentials, or there's a huge Asda supermarket, a three-minute drive or a 15-minute walk from the holiday park. We had a large fridge and freezer in our caravan. So, there was space to stock up on drinks and groceries. There was also a microwave, a gas oven and hob, and plenty of cooking utensils .

But if you don't want to be cooking and washing dishes on your holiday, Parkdean now offers ALL-INCLUSIVE BREAKS. This option is currently available on four-night breaks. Monday arrivals only - excluding school holidays. It's available at 45 of Parkdean's 65 parks, including Vauxhall, and costs from £100 per adult and £40 per child (under 12) per break. It's valid only in the main restaurant the Boathouse and includes three meals a day - breakfast, lunch, and dinner, alongside unlimited soft drinks and Costa Coffee. Alcohol is not included in the package.

Take a Break's verdict

As I was walking past the High Ropes, I heard a little boy shout down to his mum, 'this is the funnest caravan holiday ever!' Reuben was equally impressed. We'd been discussing where to go over the school summer holidays, and he said, 'Now I know what we can do, we can come back here for a week!' The £5 million makeover has transformed Parkdean Vauxhall into a top family-holiday destination. Set against the shiny new activity and social hub, the accommodation looks in need of sprucing up, but if you're like us, you probably won't spend much time in your caravan anyway. Alongside all the on-site activities, Great Yarmouth Pleasure Beach is a five-minute drive away.

Parkdean Vauxhall has evening entertained with tot-friendly shows, discos, quizzes, bingo and karaoke. But we decided to spend our evenings on the beach, after the temperature had cooled down. The boys paddled in the water, played in the sand and had fun in the many arcades at Great Yarmouth Pleasure Beach. We also took a drive to Horsey Beach, a sandy beach with a grey seal colony. In winter the seals come on to the sand for pupping season, but we spotted several of them bopping along in the water.

With holidays from £199 in early summer and from £259 during the summer holidays, we think Parkdean Vauxhall is fantastic value for money. So much is included in the cost - day time entertainment for little kids and evening entertainment for all the family, access to soft play, a great playground, a multi-sports court, and a fun swimming pool. Also, the park is located only about a mile from Great Yarmouth's sandy beach. There's a huge choice of paid activities on site - all reasonably priced, and the All-Inclusive food package and activity bundles offer a further helping hand in keeping costs down. It's best to book early to secure the best price. You only need to pay a £25 deposit and the remaining balance can be paid in monthly instalments. Find out more here

Our book club special is a gripping keep-you-up-all-night psychological thriller from the bestselling author of The Daughter and The Dream Home. You can get a MONEY OFF voucher for The Weekend by T.M. Logan in this week's Take a Break, ON SALE NOW!

The Weekend by T.M. Logan

Six friends. Five secrets. One holiday to die for...

When a group of friends rent a converted farmhouse in the Yorkshire Dales, they have little idea that this one weekend may change the course of their lives forever.

While out on a walk, a storm descends and the friends take shelter in the mouth of an old lead mine. Inside, they discover a backpack filled with more money than they've ever seen.

Of course, they agree, they will hand the money to the police at the first opportunity. But as the storm continues and time passes, some of the party begin to think again. Because there are secrets festering at the heart of this group. Debt. Obsession. A career on the brink. Problems that could be solved instantly with an unexpected windfall.

And perhaps they don't know each other as well as they thought they did.

Before long, six good friends find themselves sliding headlong into a world of deceit, treachery, betrayal and murder...

The Weekend by T.M. Logan (RRP £9.99) is available now in paperback in Morrisons priced £6, but you can pick it up for £5 with the £1 off voucher in this week's Take a Break, ON SALE NOW!

My boyfriend and I were 
enjoying an action-packed 
holiday until we hit the 
waterpark and slid right into 
trouble. By Courtney Gunn, 30

As a bright yellow parachute billowed above us, the stunning Cypriot coastline sprawled out below.

‘This is amazing!’ I bellowed to my boyfriend Andy, shouting above the wind as we soared hundreds of feet up in the air.
This was our second break as a couple after four years together.
Normally, our idea of holiday fun was sprawling on a sun lounger, but something had 
us feeling adventurous.
After paragliding and snorkelling, we headed to a waterpark near our hotel and made a beeline for all the biggest, craziest slides.
After a few hours of thrills and spills, we were queuing for another huge slide when 
I overheard a group of lads talking.
‘You go round and get shot out like a cannonball,’ one was saying, describing the Cannon Drop.
‘Let’s do that one, then head back to the hotel,’ I said to Andy.
So, after barrelling down the huge slide, we went in search of the Cannon Drop.
When we found it, we were underwhelmed. It was just two drab blue slides.
No wonder there was no one queuing to go on and no attendants in sight. But we went for it anyway.
‘I’ll race you to the bottom,’ I called to Andy, pushing myself off the lip.
I slid down fast, twisting in mid-air before being fired out of the end.
The side of my body hit the water hard and even over the deafening splash, I distinctly heard a pop.
Swallowed by the water, I thrashed until I surfaced and found Andy waiting.

'I'll race you to the bottom'

‘My leg’s gone,’ I panicked.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
‘I can’t really feel my right leg,’ I explained.
As I tried to swim to the side, my right leg wouldn’t move properly, so I doggy-paddled instead.
‘You need to try and stand up,’ Andy said when the water grew shallow.
‘I can’t,’ I insisted.
I wasn’t in pain, but my right knee was locked at a 90-degree angle!
Andy dashed off and returned with some first-aiders.
Hauled out of the water, on to a stretcher and paraded through the park, I was mortified.
‘Mum, what happened to that girl’s leg?’ a child asked, pointing at me.
After a trip to the medical bay, an ambulance arrived to take me to a local hospital.
‘Our stuff,’ Andy remembered, rushing back to the slides for our abandoned flip flops and bags.
I imagined we’d be back at the hotel laughing about all of this that night.
Instead, I was taken from one local hospital to another, given an MRI scan and an X-ray, then brought right back to the first hospital – all while still soaking wet and in my little yellow polka dot bikini!
Finally given a thin hospital robe, my bent knee jutted out underneath.
And now the shock had worn off, it throbbed agonisingly.
‘You’ve broken the bone under your kneecap,’ an orthopaedic surgeon said.
In broken English, he managed to explain that the force of hitting the water had caused a small break, but the biggest problem was something called a bucket handle tear.

‘Footballers get that,’ Andy chipped in helpfully.
I’d never heard of it but grasped from the doctor that it was a tear in the cartilage of the knee called the meniscus.
I could either fly home to Bristol and have surgery, risking the injury getting worse, or I could have the operation in Cyprus.
Luckily, we had travel insurance.

‘I’ll do it here,’ I agreed, scared at the prospect of navigating a plane with 
a bent leg.
The next day, I was wheeled straight into the operating theatre.
‘I’m Dr George and this is also Dr George,’ one of the team said, pointing over at someone else.
My eyes slid from one man to the other and everything went dark.
Coming round, I was back in my hospital room and my leg was bandaged, bruised and straight!
‘It was too badly damaged to repair, so we had to remove your meniscus,’ the surgeon told me.
It seemed a small price to pay to have both feet back on solid ground.
‘Feels so good to finally get that chlorine off me,’ I sighed to Andy as he helped me shower.
He was amazing, never grumbling despite me ruining his holiday.
‘You just might be the one,’ I realised.
Three days on, I was discharged back to the hotel.
We’d missed our flight home, I was on crutches, couldn’t swim and the holiday had completely lost its shine, so I whiled away the hours reading on the balcony.
Eventually, four days after we had been due to leave, 
I was signed off and shuffled to the airport.
I spent the flight with my bandaged leg resting on Andy’s lap.
‘You might not like it but imagine how I feel,’ I sighed.
Back home, after another few weeks on crutches, 
I could finally walk normally again.
In fact, four years on, I walked right down the aisle to become Andy’s wife.
I still have occasional knee pain and have been advised 
I may need a knee replacement by the time I’m 40. But, looking back, I laugh.
‘You would have thought it was the paragliding that would do it,’ I chuckle to friends, now the self-styled poster-woman for travel insurance.
Thanks to our coverage, every penny of the 25,000 euro bill was paid for.
My waterpark mishap could easily have cost an arm and a leg as well as a bit of my knee!

When little Alana came into my life I was overjoyed. But I had no idea the danger she was in.
 By Sierra Kellogg, 32

I answered the phone 
and a familiar voice 
said, ‘I’ve got some exciting news…’

My big brother Josh 
wasn’t usually one to call, 
so I guessed that it was something important.
And when he told me what it was, my mouth fell open.
‘Married?’ I gasped. ‘What? Who to?’
‘Kassie,’ he said.
Her name rang a bell, but not much more than that.
‘I know we’ve only been dating a month,’ he said. ‘But it felt right.’

To find out Josh had got married in secret was a shock to say the least.
But when I got over that, and realised how 
happy he was, I said, ‘Good for you. I can’t wait to meet her.’

Josh was 10 years older than me, and had been ready to settle down and start a family for a while.
And when I met Kassie, it all made sense.
She was lovely.
She worked as a nurse and had her own place.
‘Wow,’ I joked, ‘no wonder my brother married you!’
But the truth was, she 
was sweet and beautiful and, judging by the way Josh looked at her from across 
the room, I could tell he 
was besotted.
Kassie had two children from a previous relationship and we all loved them.
But still, I was over the moon when a couple of years later, Josh and Kassie sat us down for a big announcement.
‘We’re having a baby,’ Josh said, beaming.
‘It’s a girl,’ Kassie added.
In time, she gave birth and I went to the hospital to see baby Alana.
‘She’s gorgeous,’ 
I cooed, as I cradled her.
It wasn’t long before I had a daughter of my own, and Kassie and I became even closer as we bonded over being mums.

'I can't wait to meet her'

She was my friend as well as my sister-in-law.
So, three years on, I was saddened to hear that things between her and Josh 
weren’t going so well.
They were arguing a lot, and then Josh sent me the news I’d been dreading.
We’re over, 
he texted.
My heart broke for them both.
But Josh got to see Alana every other weekend, and Kassie and I remained friends.
We kept up to date with each other on Facebook and, a year on, I was scrolling when I noticed she’d uploaded photos of 
her looking cosy with 
a new fella, a man 
called Joshua.
I couldn’t blame her for moving on, but I felt something wasn’t quite right about him.
As I zoomed in on the picture, his arm around her, there was a look in his eyes that gave me 
the creeps.
I hope he’s a good stepdad to Alana, I thought.
I found out they’d met through the hospital where they both worked. Joshua was a nurse too.
That he was in a caring profession like her should have been a good sign.
But, one night, I noticed Kassie had changed her profile picture.
There was no sign of Joshua. Instead it was 
an adorable snap of her and Alana.
I wondered what had happened and three weeks later, I got my answer.
I was having a nap when my phone rang.
It was my dad.
From the echo on the 
line, I could tell he was in 
his car, driving.

He sounded in a terrible state, and what he told me left me reeling.
‘Kassie’s been killed!’ he shrieked. ‘She was stabbed 
to death.’
‘Oh my god!’ I gasped.
‘Alana’s in intensive care,’ he went on. ‘She might not make it.’
I started to cry.
But Dad hadn’t finished.
‘It was Joshua,’ he said. ‘Kassie’s fella.’
I was stunned.
I got to the hospital as quickly as I could and, as I ran into the waiting room, I saw my brother.
Josh was usually the strong one, but he was in bits. All my family were gathered around and they filled me in on what had happened to Alana.

'How could he do that?'

She’d been stabbed eight times, including in her neck, chest, stomach and kidney.
The stab wound in her throat had split her oesophagus.
‘How could Joshua harm a little girl?’ I cried. ‘How could he do that?’
While we waited for news, a doctor came to see us.
‘Joshua is in the other ward over there,’ he said. ‘He’s being treated for carbon monoxide poisoning.’
We looked at each other in horror. While Alana fought for her life on an operating table, the man who’d put her there was in a hospital bed just 
feet away. It beggared belief.

Alana’s surgery went well, but she was kept under sedation.
In the meantime, Joshua was released from hospital, charged with second-degree murder and taken straight into custody.
Two weeks later, Alana woke and started to respond to treatment.
It was a relief, but she had a long road ahead of her as she’d have to learn to walk and eat properly again.
And then there was the fact she’d lost her mum – and the circumstances were horrific.
We found out that two days before Kassie died, she’d broken up with Joshua and thrown him out of the house.
He’d bombarded her with more than 100 texts. Then he went over to the house and locked himself in the garage with Kassie and Alana.
When Kassie’s older children returned home, they couldn’t get in. They used a ladder to climb through a window and found their home trashed and the door to the garage locked.
Then they heard an engine running.
Panicking, they called the police who broke in and found the devastating scene.
Kassie was already dead from multiple stab wounds, and five-year-old Alana was bleeding on the floor.
There was blood everywhere, and small bloody hand and footprints on the floor.
Police found Joshua conscious but suffering the effects of breathing in the exhaust fumes.
He’d turned on the engines of the two cars in the garage and left them running.
There was still blood on his hands and police suspected he was trying to kill himself.
A bloodied knife was also found in the garage.
On the way to hospital, Alana was able to tell paramedics what had happened to her.
‘The man stabbed me,’ 
she said.

As she began her slow recovery, the case took months to reach court.
It was nearly two years later when Joshua Phillips, 43, finally admitted Kassie’s murder and the attempted murder of Alana.

Court documents revealed Kassie, 35, had been stabbed 26 times. The fatal wound was the one that pierced her heart.
The documents also revealed she and Joshua had been arguing, and it was likely he’d been violent towards her for a while – 
as we discovered he had a history of assaulting partners.
Although a few of us suspected there was something strange about Joshua, none of us realised just how dangerous he was.
And if Kassie had known about his violent past, there’s no way she would have brought him into their lives.
Joshua was brought into court in a wheelchair after a previous suicide attempt left him with health issues. But we had no sympathy for him.
He was jailed for 36 years, but no sentence could ever be enough for what he’d done.
As a nurse, he was supposed to save lives, not take them.

And it’s chilling to think that someone in whose role was to care for people could be so dangerous.
Our only comfort is that Alana is now recovering. Slowly, she’s started eating and walking again.
She lives with family members and is having therapy to help her deal with the immense trauma.
After everything she’s been through, she’s still a happy child. But my heart breaks 
for her that she’ll grow up without her mum.
Our beautiful little girl does not deserve that.

• Alana’s name has been changed

Pictures: The Spokesman-Review

Philippa Zamora, 41, was injured in Nepal’s deadliest earthquake. But that was 
just the start of her 10-year battle…

Standing in my hotel lobby in Kathmandu, Nepal, the ground suddenly lifted, 
and before I knew it, I was being thrown to the marble floor.

All around me, people were falling like dominos, and the air was filled with screams and shattering glass. ‘I’m going to die,’ I thought as I was hurled to the floor. I lived in Mexico and was used to earthquakes, which is what I realised this was. But I’d never experienced anything as bad as this. Desperately, I crawled out of the exit, with a stampede of people behind me, and looked for my colleagues. It was April 2015, I was 32 years old and my team and I had travelled to Nepal for a major conference on farming in developing countries. We were due to leave for India tomorrow for the final part of our trip. None of us could have imagined that we would be caught up in something so devastating.

As the ground finally stopped moving, I reached for my phone with shaking fingers. ‘Please God, can there be signal?’ I prayed. To my relief, the screen lit up and I made two emergency calls to my mum and husband. ‘Don’t talk, just listen,’ I blurted down 
the phone. ‘There’s been an earthquake but I’ve made it outside and I’m OK.’ I then hung up and let my colleagues make their own calls. The next 24 hours were a blur. While countless buildings across the city collapsed, our hotel was fortunately earthquake proof. We still weren’t allowed inside though, due to the risk of aftershocks, so everyone huddled outside in the freezing cold, as doctors tended to the injured.

'I'm going to die!'

I had a stabbing pain in the 
left side of my chest where I had landed on the ground, but it was only in the following days, when I was able to fly out to India, that I eventually sought medical help. ‘You have a cracked rib, it should heal with rest,’ the doctor told me. It was then time to go back home to Mexico where my husband, Paco, met me at the airport. For a while afterwards I didn’t leave the house and rested as the doctor advised. But, although my rib healed, the trauma lasted a long time and I didn’t like leaving the house.

Then, around five months after the earthquake, we were invited to a friend’s house party. ‘It might 
be good to get out,’ Paco said. ‘OK,’ I nodded. ‘I’ll go.’ But I was distracted. The night before, I was getting ready for bed, when I’d felt a flat, oval disc on my left breast. It was in the same place as I had been struck in the earthquake. ‘It’ll just be damaged scar tissue’ I told myself. But at the party, I got talking to my friend’s dad, who was a radiologist, and he offered to check me there and then. ‘I can’t say for sure, but based on the fact it’s round with defined edges, it looks to me like a fibroadenoma,’ he said. ‘Is it serious?’ I asked, my heart pounding. ‘Fibroadenomas are non-cancerous breast tumours. You shouldn’t need treatment, unless it gets painful,’ he said.
Over the next few weeks, I got another opinion from a doctor who confirmed it was a fibroadenoma. I didn’t give it much more thought after that, even when it grew bigger. Then, after Christmas, I received the devastating news that my brother Michael, 47, had bowel cancer. It was extremely aggressive and within a month, he had passed away. We were all heartbroken. At his funeral, I couldn’t ignore my lump anymore. It had gone from a few cm to 13x8cm, and it was now protruding out of my cleavage. ‘Pip, you need to get that out of your breast,’ Mum pleaded with me after the service. ‘I’ve already lost your brother. I can’t lose you as well.’ ‘It’s just a fibroadenoma, but I will,’ I promised her.

When I got back home to Mexico I contacted an oncological breast plastic surgeon, who agreed 
to see me after a preliminary mammogram. ‘I have the results,’ he told Paco and I. For a moment, he stared intently at the computer screen. Then he put both of his hands on the table and said, ‘Why have you taken so long to see me?’ I felt sick. 
‘I was told it was a fibroadenoma and not to worry,’ I stammered. The surgeon looked grave. ‘This isn’t a fibroadenoma,’ he replied. ‘It’s a Phyllodes – a very rare type 
of breast tumour that is often mistaken for fibroadenoma, because they look similar. The difference is Phyllodes grow much faster and bigger.’ Holding Paco’s hand, I took a deep breath. ‘How serious is it?’ I said. ‘Most cases are benign,’ the surgeon said. ‘But if this is malignant, it’s really serious. This is 
an emergency. I will see you on the operating table on Friday at 6am.’

‘I let out a sigh of relief’

The following two days I felt sick and was thinking about all the worst case scenarios. But when I woke up after the surgery, I saw the surgeon smile at me. ‘It’s benign,’ he said. I let out a sigh of relief. ‘It should be fine, but we’ll do an ultrasound in six months to check it hasn’t come back,’ he said. I was so thrilled and felt like I had been given a second chance. Two months later I found out I was expecting our first child. I was concerned that I wouldn’t be 
able to do breast checks during pregnancy, but the doctor was reassuring. ‘As soon as you start lactating, the Phyllodes usually don’t come back,’ he said.
When our little boy, Alessio, arrived, I began breastfeeding him, and soon after I had our second child, Zoe. What followed was a four-year period of continuous breastfeeding, during which time we moved to England. Then, six months after I stopped breastfeeding, the lump returned and my nightmare resumed. I had surgery to take out the benign Phyllodes, but within a year it was back, except this time a tiny part was malignant. I had to have a complete double mastectomy as a result of genetic testing, plus radiotherapy for six weeks.

Now, a year on, I finally have the all clear. The last decade has been the toughest of my life. In April 2015, I survived a 7.8 magnitude earthquake that killed 9000 people in Nepal and since then I’ve had Phyllodes, a rare, fast growing tumour, three times. My brushes with death have taught me that life is precious. I am so grateful to be here and make every moment count.

• Philippa and her doctor have now set up a charity to support patients and educate healthcare professionals in better diagnosis and treatment of Phyllodes. For more info, visit phyllodesuk.com (launching soon)

Jasmin wanted to start a family, but there was a snag...

Beckoning my little brother over, I whispered, ‘I’ve got 
a secret quest 
for you…’

Five-year-old James’s eyes lit up.
‘I need you to get me that bar of chocolate from the cupboard – without Mum and Dad seeing you,’ I said.
Aged eight, I had an insatiable appetite, and was forever pinching treats between meals.
And when my parents caught me secretly nabbing bags of crisps, sweets or chocolate to eat in the bathroom where nobody would think to look, I’d get my brother on the case for me.
As years went by, I got bigger and bigger. Aged 16, I would be 16 stone, at 18 I was 18 stone. My weight crept up with my age.
By 20, I was working as a chef.
Days were long and stressful, so the last thing I felt like doing when I got home was cook.
Instead, I’d survive on frozen stuff I could chuck in the airfryer, like onion rings, chips and chicken strips. Anything beige had my name on it!
My diet during the day was just as unhealthy. I’d get by on convenience food, like sausage rolls and crisps.
But I just didn’t think about it.
Any health kicks I did go on made no difference.
I seemed to put on weight anyway.
In time, I met my partner Jamie on Tinder.
He loved me for me and, happier than I’d been in 
years, any thoughts of dieting 
or exercise went out the window.
Two years later, we got married.
And talk turned to our future…
‘I’d love to be 
a mum one day,’ 
I told him.
Jamie wanted a family too.
But try as we might, it just wasn’t happening for us.
After a year, I went to see 
my GP.
Following tests, she had answers.
‘You have polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS),’ she said.
I learnt it was a hormonal disorder characterised by irregular periods, excess androgen levels, and often multiple cysts on the ovaries, which could affect fertility and overall health.
It could also cause unexplained weight gain, especially around the abdomen.
Suddenly all my symptoms made sense.

'I feel like less of a person'

While it was a relief to have 
a diagnosis, it meant we might never conceive naturally.
It was a lot to get our heads around.
‘We’ll find a way,’ Jamie reassured.

We looked into IVF.
But then there was another setback.
‘You’re too heavy to get it on the NHS,’ the doctor told me. ‘Your BMI is too high.’
Nearly 22 stone and a size 26, my BMI was 56.
I wasn’t viable for treatment until my BMI was 25 or below – about nine and a half stone.
Leaving the room in tears, I wept, ‘I feel like less of a person.’
Struggling, I slumped back into old habits of emotional eating.
Then one morning, I woke with a renewed determination.
You can’t keep moping, I thought. It’s time for action!
My mind then turned to my aunt.
She’d recently lost weight with Slimming World and looked fantastic.
Feeling inspired, I joined my local group before I could talk myself out of it.
From the moment I stepped through the door, I felt welcomed and supported.
The biggest change was planning our meals ahead and cooking everything from scratch.
For breakfast I’d make overnight oats or have eggs 
and spinach.
I’d take in salads for lunch at work, or have leftovers from the night before.
For dinner, we’d have fun making our own fakeaways, 
with lean meats and nutritious homemade sauces.
We never felt deprived of delicious food.
As the number on my scales went down, my energy levels went up.
Exercise became easier, and I loved going for long walks and to Zumba classes.
A year on, I reached my goal weight of 9 stone 5lb, and fitted into a size 8.
Today, I’ve lost almost 13 stone – more than half my body weight.
And most importantly, we can start IVF!
Though I still suffer with symptoms of PCOS, I’ve so much more energy and confidence, and am now a Slimming World coach myself.
I hope my journey inspires others who are struggling.
You’ve got this!

Jasmin Hartmann, 30, Lincoln

Introducing the Essential Holiday Puzzle Book: the perfect companion. Buy yours today for £7.99 including P&P.

While holidays are meant for relaxation, the journey there can be stressful! That’s where The Essential Holiday Puzzle Book could just become your must‑have travel companion.

Designed for summer getaways, this lightweight and easy‑to‑carry puzzle book offers the perfect balance of relaxation, brain engagement, and shared fun. Whether you're travelling solo, enjoying a romantic beach escape, or holidaying with family and friends, this helpful little book is designed to keep everyone entertained!

Inside The Essential Holiday Puzzle Book, you’ll find:

• Quick brain teasers

• Familiar puzzle favourites

• Themed summer puzzles

• Picture puzzles to keep the holiday spirit alive

If you’re looking for a stress relief activity while travelling, this collection helps you slow down, focus, and truly switch off. Puzzles are a proven way to calm the mind, reduce stress, and keep your brain gently engaged without feeling like work.

Connect through pen and paper games

Beyond solo puzzles, this book includes pen and paper activities and board games designed to bring out your competitive side – perfect for keeping everyone busy during those long car journeys and flights.

Plus, it’s a great activity to pull out for surprise rainy afternoons or even a relaxing night in!

Whether you’re travelling with kids, teens or adults, these collaborative games encourage laughter, teamwork and a little friendly competition, giving you an all‑in‑one solution to make connecting easy and screen‑free.

✅ Solo relaxation puzzles 
✅ Group board games 
✅ Stress‑relieving activities 
✅ Brain‑boosting teasers 
✅ Travel‑friendly design

Ready to make your holiday more fun?

Don’t let boredom interrupt your well‑earned break. Pack The Essential Holiday Puzzle Book and enjoy stress‑free entertainment wherever you go.

And the best part? It’s only £7.99**, including postage and packaging** - a brilliant little gift, or a well-deserved treat before your next trip.

Click here to buy yours today