 NoI Love My Age — I Just Don’t Want to Look It
It's my birthday next week and I'll be 54. When I was a kid, that seemed positively ancient. I remember thinking anyone over 40 had basically seen the dinosaurs. Fifty-four? That was retirement, wearing smock dresses and flat shoes and bingo halls. And yet… here I am on the cusp of 54. Still clubbing, still partying.And I love it. There’s something freeing about being this age. I’ve lived enough to know who I am, and I’ve stopped apologizing for it. I’ve seen my share of wins, losses, heartbreaks, and hilarious mistakes that now make for excellent stories over wine. There’s a confidence that only time can teach, a quiet voice that says, “You’ve got this. You’ve been through worse." But loving my age doesn’t mean I want to look it or feel it. And I don't. I am stronger than I was in my 30s. My energy is on top form. My joints don’t ache. My face? Well, let’s just say it’s aging gracefully. Sure, I have a few wrinkles, but they’re part of the story, and I embrace modern aesthetics to enhance what’s already there. I’m not hiding my age; I’m celebrating it, on my own terms. Loving my age doesn’t mean I want to look old. I want to look vibrant, alive, confident and polished in all the ways I choose. There’s joy in taking care of yourself, in combining experience with style, strength, and a little bit of playful vanity I’m not chasing twenty anymore, no thank you. I don’t want to erase the years; I just want to wear them well. I want to glow because I feel alive and comfortable in my skin. There’s power in that, in refusing to let the world tell you that beauty has an expiration date. Fifty-four isn’t ancient. It’s seasoned. It’s textured. It’s rich with stories and lessons and laughter lines that prove I’ve been living. So book the Botox, have the facials, lift the weights, and throw on an inappropriate outfit because age is an asset, not an excuse. And I plan to live it loudly, beautifully, and unapologetically.
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 Why Going Clubbing with My Kids Keeps Me Feeling Forever Young People often tell me I look ten years younger than my actual age. And I’ll be honest, I love hearing it. I get the gawks, the double takes, and plenty of confused faces from 30-something men when I tell them my age while they’re trying to chat me up. But here’s the truth: even if I didn’t look the way I do, I genuinely wouldn’t care.Because the real secret to feeling young has nothing to do with wrinkle creams or waistlines. It’s about living fully, laughing loudly, and dancing like nobody’s watching, no matter how many candles are on your birthday cake. This summer, as my kids joined me in Cyprus for the holidays, my eldest ones begged me to go clubbing with them. I didn’t need telling twice. I threw on something fabulous, a touch of lipgloss and off we went into the famous Ayia Napa strip. As we danced under laser lights, I kept checking in with them “Am I embarrassing you?” while shimmying and shaking my way across the dance floor. But instead of rolled eyes or groans, I got something far more touching. My son proudly told me he had messaged all his mates to say he was out with me and that he was proud about it. My daughter leaned over and shouted above the music, “Mum, you’re my favourite clubbing partner!” That meant everything.This summer has been the best time I’ve had in years. Not only did I feel alive, but I also proved to myself (and hopefully to others) that dancing doesn’t have a sell-by date. Society loves to put people in neat little boxes, especially once we cross the big 5-0. The over-50 label used to come with all kinds of dull assumptions: slower, quieter, less adventurous. But guess what? There’s a new breed of women out there; bold, rebellious, unapologetically loud and we’re not shrinking for anyone. Dancing is the perfect rebellion. It’s vibrant. It’s joyful. It’s high-energy. And most importantly, it’s inclusive. When I’m on the dance floor, I’m ageless and free. This summer, while my daughter was twerking on the bar I found myself chatting away with a group of twenty-somethings at the bar. We laughed, exchanged stories, and for a moment, age wasn’t even part of the conversation. They even asked for my instagram tag.I didn’t feel out of place or awkward. I felt alive. There’s something incredibly special about going out dancing with your grown-up children. For me, it’s not just about the moves or the music, it’s about connection. We laugh, cheer each other on, sing along at the top of our lungs, bang our fists in the air, and make memories that we’ll be talking about for years. They don’t just see me as mum anymore. They see me as vibrant, fun, and fully present. And I get to witness their joy and energy up close. It’s a kind of closeness that’s hard to describe and even harder to beat. Yes, people say I look younger than my age and I appreciate it. But I’m not chasing youth like it’s a prize. I love my age. I love the confidence and freedom it brings. I’m not in competition with my younger self, god I hated myself decades ago. Now, I’m living my best chapter now. I do take care of my body by being active but what really keeps me glowing is how I feed my spirit. I prioritise joy, connection, and those unforgettable moments. And if looking younger is a side effect of all that happiness? Well, I’ll happily take it. And just in case you need scientific backup, dancing is incredibly good for you, especially as we age. It improves balance, coordination, and heart health. It helps reduce stress, lifts your mood, and keeps your brain sharp. And dancing with others? It fosters deep emotional connections and floods your body with those lovely feel-good hormones. It’s not just fun, it’s powerful Think you’ll feel out of place in a club? Stop overthinking and maybe start at home. Crank up the volume in your kitchen and dance like no one’s watching. And truly no one is. Even in a club, no one’s paying that much attention. They’re all in their own world, just like you.Music brings people together. The dance floor is a judgement-free zone. It’s not about getting it perfect, it’s about letting go. Dancing doesn’t check your ID. It doesn’t care about your age, your laugh lines, or what decade you were born in. It just wants you to show up, move, and enjoy the ride.So whether you’re swaying barefoot in your living room or losing yourself under the strobe lights with your kids remember this: Dancing is a celebration of life itself and it’s always in style.
 WHY BEING CALLED A WITCH IS A COMPLIMENT
Every October, witches creep back into our cultural spotlight. They grin from greeting cards, cackle on TV screens, and wink from coffee mugs and Instagram captions. In October, the witch is everywhere: charming, mischievous, and maybe a little spooky. But beneath the glitter and broomsticks lies a complicated history, one that reveals a lot about how women’s independence and strength have been feared, punished, and, finally, celebrated. For centuries, a witch was a word used to wound. During the European and American witch hunts from the 15th to 18th centuries, thousands of women, especially healers, widows, and anyone living outside society’s expectations, were accused of practicing dark magic. The charge wasn’t about potions or pacts with the devil; it was about power. A woman who owned land without a husband, questioned religious leaders, or held knowledge of herbal medicine could easily be branded a witch. The accusation justified silencing her voice and stripping her autonomy. To call a woman a witch was to paint her independence as dangerous. Even today, the echoes of that word can sting. A witch is still used as a dig for women who are outspoken or refuse to conform. But in recent years women and feminists have turned the term on its head. What was once an insult is now a banner of strength, resilience, and sisterhood. Reclaiming the witch isn’t just about Halloween aesthetics,it’s about recognizing the archetype’s deeper significance. Witches have always been symbols of knowledge and self-reliance. Midwives who understood the rhythms of the body, women who preserved folklore and herbal wisdom, and those who dared to lead outside patriarchal structures were all painted as dangerous. Modern witchcraft communities, feminist thinkers, and pop culture icons like Practical Magic’s Owens sisters or American Horror Story’s Coven have reclaimed this heritage, presenting witches as empowered, resourceful, and unapologetically bold. The act of reclamation is powerful in itself. By embracing the witch archetype, women can transform a label once used to destroy them into a source of identity and solidarity. Think of the phrase, “We are the granddaughters of the witches you couldn’t burn,” which has become a rallying cry at feminist marches and on social media. It’s a reminder that women’s power that was once feared as something unnatural, has always been part of the fabric of our communities. Halloween offers the perfect stage for this reclamation. When you don a pointed hat or draw a smoky winged liner for a witchy costume, you’re not just channeling a pop culture trope. You’re tapping into a lineage of women who refused to be quieted. You’re celebrating the idea that women can be powerful, unconventional, and even a little intimidating and that this is something to be proud of. The witch archetype also invites us to embrace a sense of magic in our everyday lives. You don’t have to cast spells or practice Wicca to appreciate the metaphor. Magic can be found in setting intentions for your future, building supportive friendships, or carving out time for self-care in a world that tells women their needs come last. Lighting a candle on a chilly autumn evening or stirring a pot of homemade soup can feel a little like conjuring. It reminds us that creation, care, and transformation are powerful acts. This reframing also has a social dimension. Witches, real or imagined, have always gathered in circles supporting, teaching, and protecting one another. Feminist communities today echo that spirit, whether it’s through activism, mentorship, or simply sharing wisdom and encouragement. The witch is no longer a solitary figure in the woods; she’s a collective force, proving that women are strongest when they lift each other up. Pop culture has played a huge role in shifting perceptions, too. From Sabrina Spellman’s wit to Hermione Granger’s intelligence, witches on screen now embody courage, curiosity, and compassion rather than villainy. Their popularity suggests that audiences are hungry for stories where female power isn’t something to be feared but celebrated. Even witchy fashion trends such as flowing black dresses, moon-shaped jewelry, or celestial prints carry a quiet defiance, signaling that femininity and strength can be the same thing. So this Halloween, when someone calls you a witch, take it as a compliment. Lean into it. Let the pointed hat or crystal necklace be more than a costume or accessory. Let it be a small act of rebellion and a celebration of resilience. Use the season’s playful spirit to remind yourself and everyone watching that the word once meant to diminish women now belongs to those who embody their own power. Being called a witch is no longer an accusation. It’s an acknowledgment of wisdom, independence, creativity, and community. It’s a reminder that women’s magic, whether in the form of leadership, love, or laughter, has always been real. The world may have once been afraid of that magic, but now it can’t look away. So go ahead and light your candles, stir your cauldron or your pumpkin spice latte, and claim your space. Be the witch, the wonder-worker, the woman who refuses to be small. Because this Halloween and every day after, there’s nothing scarier and more inspiring than a woman who knows her own power and refuses to be burned.  SILENCE IS A BETRAYAL OF OUR FREEDOM
It is utterly disgraceful that in 2025, some councils are choosing to cancel Remembrance Sunday, the one day a year when we stop, remember, and honour those who gave their lives for our freedom. Why? Because someone might be offended. Let’s call this what it is: cowardice. We are pandering far too much to a growing vocal minority who seem determined to turn every British tradition into a minefield of potential outrage. Remembrance Sunday is not about politics or ideology, it is about respect. Respect for the men and women, our grandparents, who stood against tyranny, fought in unimaginable conditions, and gave the ultimate sacrifice so we could live in peace. To cancel these ceremonies in the name of sensitivity is not sensitivity at all. It is a betrayal of history, a slap in the face to veterans, and a dangerous sign of how easily society bends to performative outrage. If we let fear dictate our commemorations, what’s next? Will we stop singing the national anthem? Cover over war memorials? Remembrance is solemn, inclusive, and above all, necessary. Those who served included people from every background, faith, and nation. Honouring them is not optional, and it is certainly not up for debate. Councils should stop hiding behind the excuse of offending people and start doing the one thing that matters: remembering. If we can’t openly show respect and pride for our country without fear of criticism, or more recently, tainted with ridiculous "far right" slurs, what kind of message are we sending about freedom itself? Silence is a betrayal of everything, of our history, our freedom, and the sacrifices of those who gave their lives to protect both. By staying quiet in the face of cowardice, we dishonour the fallen and embolden those who would erase history rather than face it.  BEING CALLED EXPENSIVE IS A COMPLIMENT
At first, it might sting. That small, self-doubting voice whispers — Am I charging too much? Am I worth it? Should I lower my prices? But here’s the truth: being told you’re expensive isn’t an insult. It’s feedback and often it’s proof that you’re doing something right. Expensive is a relative term. People say something is expensive when they can’t immediately see its value or when they’re comparing you to someone who offers less for less.In every market, there’s a range. There’s the budget option, the mid-tier, and the premium. If you’re positioned as a professional who delivers quality, reliability, strategy, and results, then yes, you will cost more than someone who just does the bare minimum. And he question isn’t whether you’re expensive.It’s whether you’re worth it. Because in business, people don’t actually buy hours, they buy certainty, confidence, and results. Seventeen years ago, I started a local magazine with a simple goal to connect our community, tell real stories, and give local businesses a voice. I have outlived every other publication; the rise of social media, the shift to digital marketing, a global recession, and now a cost-of-living crisis that’s reshaping how everyone spends.Yet here I am still publishing every month, still thriving, still believing in the power of local storytelling. Five years ago I replicated my business model in Cyprus and it’s working there too. When you have survived this long, you learn exactly what it takes to keep a small business alive. You know what sustainability really costs, not just in money, but in resilience, creativity, and sheer persistence. I have created a business that can be run from my phone anywhere in the world and I live abroad, yet when I return to Liverpool and network face to face, I always get the response, “I’ve heard of Lifestyle magazine” or, “I’ve seen this”. That’s reputation, that’s good PR, that’s priceless. There’s always a cheaper option for sure. a quick ad on social media, a flyer, a budget publication lacking in real journalism. But what they can’t replicate is connection. I am the bridge between brands and people, between stories and readers and my social media has an engagement of 170k per month. That’s something you can’t discount. After this long in business, I’ve learned that price isn’t just a number, it’s a filter that separates the clients who understand value from those who only chase bargains. I have business partnerships with people that have lasted more than most marriages. Every time someone accuses me of being expensive I don’t get defensive or question my prices I smile because what they’re really saying is, “You’re not ordinary.” Being affordable might win you quick sales. Being valuable wins you longevity and 17 years of business proves that. You don’t survive in publishing this long by luck. You survive because you deliver value for local businesses who understand what you bring to the table. We live in a world that wants everything for nothing, everything that is quick, free, disposable. But real, memorable quality still costs something. So no, I don’t do free editorial and I don’t do free posts. I do meaningful storytelling, community connection, and proven results and that comes at a highly competitive price |
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