Penny Lancaster, the spouse of Rod Stewart, has been subjected to a barrage of criticism following her discovery aboard a yacht off the coast of Sardinia, Italy, sporting an incredibly little bikini.
The stunning blonde appears to be “sagging” and “drooping” in the swimsuit, according to some fans, while others argue that the 53-year-old model isn’t particularly amazing and that there’s “no need for name calling.”
Discover why fans are enamored with Lancaster’s beachy appearance by reading on!
Rod Stewart took some of his huge clan to Sardinia, Italy, to spend much-needed family time with his wife Penny Lancaster, despite his hectic tour schedule.
Lancaster, who wed the celebrity in 2007, posts on Instagram, “Another amazing family holiday together (a few were sadly missed) in the [Mediterranean] bonding, healing, love and laughter.” A picture of the 79-year-old “Maggie May” singer with her daughters, Kimberly, 44, and Ruby, 37, and sons, Aiden, 13, and Alastair, 18, is attached to the post.
There were also his two sons-in-law, Adam Sumner and Jake Alick, and his grandson, Otis, who is little over a year old.
In a July 2024 interview, Lancaster says to Hello!, “We like to take every opportunity to bring the family, children, and grandchildren together.” “The whole clan gets together at least twice or three times a year, but it takes a lot of planning because part of the family lives in America and part in England.”
“Incorrect bikini top”
The patriarch and his spouse were seen enjoying the sun on a $65 million super yacht in Porto Cervo, an Italian seaside town in northern Sardinia, Italy, prior to taking off again for his residency at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas.
Stewart, the singer of “Tonight’s the Night,” is seen wearing a lemon-colored button-down short-sleeved shirt and shielded his face from the blazing sun with a towel.
When the singer “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy” first met Lancaster in 1999, the model Rachel Hunter was still his wife, and Lancaster wasn’t afraid to flaunt her stunning 53-year-old figure.
The devoted wife was spotted lounging on the deck of the opulent yacht or playing in the pristine blue waters while sporting a little black bikini with a ponytail.
Some followers commented on Lancaster’s appearance on social media, saying the mother of two should reconsider her clothing selections.
“After noticing the drooping, sagging, and wrinkled mammary sack barley that was being restrained by being stretched to its highest limit…It would be more along the lines of Ewwwwww,” a critic tweets.
“Incorrect bikini top,” says a second. A third observes, “For a woman who was famous for wearing clothes for a living, she is sorely letting the side down,” in reference to Lancaster’s modeling career. She should understand that “just because you can, doesn’t mean you should” in addition to the fact that she needs a stylist before stepping out in public.
One person defends her while acknowledging the critiques, writing, “The swimsuit is not flattering.” Put an end to the criticism; she is in her 50s. She is not amazing, but there’s no need to call her names.
Another person snipes, “Leave her alone, they are on vacation on their yacht not a public beach.”
Style icon
The musician, who was born in London, teased his return to Caesars Palace on July 12 by posting a picture of himself seated on the yacht and dressed in a short suit with black and white stripes.
In his letter, he states, “I’m all decked up for the holidays and excited to visit Caesars Palace in Las Vegas from July 24 to August 7.”
The ensemble is a modern take on the one he donned in 1973, one of many “anything but subtle” ensembles that made him a “fashion icon” according to Vogue.
How do you feel about Lancaster’s swimsuit selection? Please let us know what you think!
During my grandfather’s funeral, a stranger gave me a note — I couldn’t help but laugh after reading it because Grandpa had played a trick on us
At Grandpa’s funeral, 18-year-old Dahlia feels isolated as her family fumes over the pitiful $1 inheritance. But when a stranger slips her a secret note, Dahlia is pulled into a mystery only she can solve.
I stood by the graveside, hands clenched in the pockets of my too-small black dress, listening to the priest’s droning voice blend with the rustle of the wind.
This was the saddest day of my life, but everyone else in the family seemed more concerned with glaring at each other than mourning Grandpa.
I could feel their bitterness lingering in the chilly October air, thick like syrup. One dollar each. That’s all Grandpa left us in his will, and they were furious. But me? I wasn’t angry. Just… hollow.
Grandpa wasn’t supposed to be gone. He was the only person who ever saw me, not the mess-up or the spare kid nobody paid attention to, but me. He let me in when no one else cared.
I stared down at the flowers resting on his coffin. I’d brought him a red rose, and it stood out among the white daisies everyone else had placed on the casket.
“One dollar,” Aunt Nancy hissed from behind me. “One damn dollar! That man was loaded, and this is what we get?”
Uncle Vic let out a bitter laugh. “Right? I swear he did it on purpose, the spiteful old man.”
“Typical Dad,” Mom muttered, crossing her arms tight across her chest. “He always played favorites, and Dahlia here was his little pet. Bet she got something we don’t know about.”
Aunt Nancy’s eyes cut toward me, sharp as glass. “What did he leave you, Dahlia? Anything? Don’t act like you didn’t get something.”
I stiffened. “I got the same as all of you.”
Mom’s fingers tightened over my shoulder. “Are you sure?” she asked in a low voice. “You were always with him. Maybe he told you something… think hard, Dahlia. You owe it to your family to share whatever he gave you.”
Memories came rushing back of Grandpa’s goofy stories about long-lost treasure and the butterscotch candies he always kept in his coat pocket.
Sometimes, he’d wink at me and say, “One day, kiddo, I’m leaving you a treasure. Real treasure!” But it was just a game, a joke between us.
I shook my head and turned my gaze back to the coffin. “What Grandpa gave me was his love, his stories, and a place that felt more like home than my actual home. Those things were worth more than money, and there’s no way I can—”
“Nobody cares about any of that!” Mom snapped. “Think, girl! What happened to all of his money?”
I shrugged. I truly didn’t know the answer to her question and didn’t care. Grandpa was gone. He was my confidant, my safe place, my friend. I’d lost the most important person in the world, but all they cared about was slapping a price tag on his death.
“She knows something,” Vic muttered, loud enough for me to hear.
Their voices twisted together, accusing, scheming — like they could squeeze secrets out of me if they tried hard enough. But I had no secrets that could earn them more money.
The second they realized there’d be no fortune, they turned away from the grave and stormed off. I could still hear them bickering as they walked away, lashing out at each other like vultures. It made me sick.
“You must be Dahlia.”
I looked up to see a woman, maybe in her 60s, with kind eyes and a worn leather bag slung over her shoulder. Her smile was soft and secretive, like she knew something the rest of us didn’t.
“I was a friend of your grandpa’s,” she said, leaning in as if we were co-conspirators. “He asked me to give you this.”
Before I could respond, she slipped a folded piece of paper into my hand and whispered, “Don’t let anyone see it, especially your family.”
Her presence felt surreal, almost dreamlike, and before I could say anything, she was gone, swallowed by the crowd of mourners. My heart pounded in my chest as I unfolded the note.
111 locker — Southern Railway Station.
For a second, I stood frozen, the words blurring in front of me. Then it hit me: Grandpa’s “treasure.” A laugh bubbled up from my throat, inappropriate and wild, but I couldn’t help it. He wasn’t joking after all.
That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. The note was tucked under my pillow like a secret. Grandpa’s voice echoed in my mind, playful yet certain: “Locker number 111… There’s treasure in there, kiddo!”
A weight settled on my chest, something between grief and hope. What if this wasn’t just some wild goose chase? What if Grandpa had really left something for me, hidden away where no one else could reach?
The thought twisted around in my mind until I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to know what was in that locker.
I called a cab the next morning. It was the first thing I did after I woke up. As I tiptoed past the kitchen, I could hear Mom muttering on the phone about Grandpa’s will, probably trying to squeeze sympathy or cash out of anyone who would listen.
I clenched my jaw and slipped out the door, the chilly morning air hitting my skin like a slap.
The ride to Southern Railway Station felt like the longest 20 minutes of my life.
My knee bounced with nervous energy as the cab wound through narrow streets, past graffiti-covered walls, and empty coffee shops just starting to open. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror but didn’t say a word.
When we finally pulled up at the station, I stepped out and asked him to wait for me. I clutched the note tightly as I entered the train station.
The station smelled like diesel and stale popcorn. People rushed past me in every direction — commuters, travelers, strangers with places to go.
I hesitated at the entrance, suddenly feeling small and out of place. But then Grandpa’s voice floated back into my mind, steady and reassuring: “Real treasure, kiddo.”
I took a deep breath and headed toward the lockers and I could hear my heart pounding. Rows of metal boxes lined the wall, each one looking identical: gray, dented, and slightly rusty.
My eyes scanned the numbers until I found number 111.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the folded note. The key was taped to the back. With trembling fingers, I peeled it off and slid it into the lock.
For a second, it jammed, and I panicked. But then — click! The lock turned, and the door swung open.
Inside was a duffel bag. It was old, faded, and heavy. My hands shook as I pulled it out and unzipped it.
The bag was full of cash. Bundles upon bundles of it!
I gasped, my mind reeling. It couldn’t be real, could it? I reached in and pulled out a stack, flipping through crisp hundred-dollar bills. There had to be at least $150,000 in there.
And tucked inside the bag was another note, written in Grandpa’s messy scrawl:
For my beloved granddaughter, everything I saved is now yours. Take it and live free, kiddo. The rest of the family may not see your worth, but I’ve always believed in you.
Tears blurred my vision, and I hugged the note to my chest, a knot forming in my throat. This wasn’t just money. It was freedom — a way out.
Grandpa always knew how badly I needed to escape this family. And now, he’d given me exactly what I needed and tricked everyone else in the process!
I zipped the bag shut, slung it over my shoulder, and walked out of the station, my heart pounding in tune with my footsteps.
The early morning sun was just starting to peek through the clouds, casting everything in a soft, golden light. For the first time in years, I felt… light.
During the cab ride back, I stared out the window, watching the city come to life. I had options now. No more suffocating family dinners, no more being ignored or treated like an afterthought, no more being the family scapegoat.
I could leave. I could build something new.
The thought scared me as much as it excited me, but Grandpa’s voice echoed in the back of my mind: “Live free, kiddo.”
As the cab pulled up to my house, I made my decision. I wasn’t staying. Not another minute!
I didn’t even bother going inside. I pulled out my phone, booked a ticket to anywhere, and told the driver to head straight to the airport.
With the duffel bag in my lap and Grandpa’s note tucked safely in my pocket, I smiled for the first time in days.
I was free. And for the first time in my life, I knew exactly what that meant.
Leave a Reply