Three cardinal sins of the student kitchen

Recently, in an attempt to become even more of a skint-flint, perhaps even impress my peers, and maybe even seek out an alternative career path, I’ve attempted to spend more time in the kitchen. As a teenager who has grown up in the ‘microwave era’, I’ve been used to limiting my cuisine to several three-minute wonders, including those infamous Chicago Town pizzas, macaroni and cheese from Marks and Spencer, and some items from Iceland that I am still yet to identify, and can still feel clunking through my digestive system one year later. After getting sicker and sicker of the limited choices in the microwave aisles of several supermarkets, I decided to pluck up the courage, and pick up a frying pan. Of course, as many will say, practise makes perfect, and through my many attempts at dinner and lunch, though still being far from perfect, I have learnt quite a few kitchen clues and cues.

Sin one: Acting like you’re on the BBC

Come on, admit it- we’ve all done it at some point. Whether it’s in the style of Jamie Oliver, Gordon Ramsey, or even the legend himself, Ainsley Harriot; you cannot deny that, at least once in your life, you have pretended to be the host of a cookery show, dancing around your kitchen. I must admit that I, too, have been partial to attempting some sultry Nigella-esque looks-to-camera, but I realised my mistake when I recorded myself and realised that I only looked as sexy as her father.
All in all, talking to yourself or a pretend audience, when making your din-dins, is a recipe for disaster- not only do you look like you may have a couple of disorders, but you take the risk of allowing your creation to slowly burn to the point of cremation within your oven, as you deliver a heartfelt monologue about how the recipe was handed to you by a relative on their deathbed.

Sin two: Loving experimentation more than a fat kid loves cake
Don’t get me wrong- experimenting and goofing around in the kitchen is always welcome, and can often result in some spectacular combinations and concoctions. It can’t be denied, however, that there are some things that are best left on the separate sides of the kitchen. I would recommend, for instance, that you strongly avoid trying to mix marmite and ice cream, and fight off the urge to become Britain’s Ben’n’Jerry; combining several wacky flavours that could easily end up putting someone in the intensive care unit of the local hospital.
If the thought of severely endangering someone’s life is not enough to stop you from such mad culinary experiments, I’d like to remind you that success is not a guarantee of a great reputation. For example: milk is a great ‘invention’, and is something that we use all day, every day. We would most likely be unable to hold our lives together without it. But the question does still remain: what was the man who first milked a cow actually trying to do!? While your kitchen adventures may not carry the same disgusting undertone as a bestiality attempt gone-wrong, they could still leave a bitter taste in the mouths of the eaters.

Sin three: It’s all beans
Baked beans have long been the staple cuisine of the red-faced student, and can often be spotted in the lower-left cupboard that occupies a vast amount of their habitat. However, while they may seem to be the only item that may serve as prey for the ravenous higher-education attendee, this is a massive mistake.
This final sin consists of a plea, and that is a plea for you to diversify your cooking, even though you’re probably scared of setting off all of the fire alarms in your student accommodation block, engulfing the building in flames, and burning food to the point of it being a carcinogenic crisp. Just a new ingredient here, and a new cooking method there will allow you to create some fabulous recipes, and you could even take the opportunity to create some dishes that you never thought you could ever make. The main lesson here is to have fun. Cooking’s not all about enjoying a nice meal- it’s about enjoying the experience, and learning skills that will turn you into great house-owners in the years to come.

Take these lessons with you, and you’ll be cookin’ on gas.

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TechTalk: Exploring the social networking undergrowth

If you’re a keen follower of this blog (which I somehow doubt), you’ll know that it’s my (frankly, rather pathetic) attempt to cobble all of the things that I’m passionate about into one place, whilst earning a few pennies on the side (yup, those ads, unfortunately, aren’t decorative). Recently, though, you’ll have noticed that I’ve put several joules of energy into writing about social networks, be it Myspace, or Facebook. While one’s dead, and the other’s continuously adapting to make sure it survives against a challenge from Google+ or Twitter, it got me thinking: are there any more social networking sites out there?

Of course there are. To use a metaphor: just because Coca Cola and Pepsi are market leaders in the cola or (at the risk of sounding terribly unfashionable) “fizzy pop” it doesn’t mean that a person can’t choose to drink one of the smaller brands. Of course, there’s Tesco cola, Sainsbury’s Cola, and (if you truly want to slum it and risk several forms of infection) Lidl Cola. In the same light, there are some social networking minnows out there, some with some truly fantastic ideas, and others which, unfortunately, will probably cause the same effect as the Lidl Cola- but mentally, of course. Here, then, is my guide to three social networks that you might just’ve missed out on…

1. MyYearbook.com

We all remember Myspace, and we’re all familiar users of Facebook and Twitter. However, what would you think of if I asked you to picture a social network that looked to be the baby bastardisation of all of them?

MyYearbook looks pretty damn close to that image. It seems to have combined the “like”, “comments”, and overall blue-tinged colour scheme from Facebook, and the character limit from Twitter (which actually is rather infuriating on this site). This particular site, though, unfortunately, bears an overwhelming resemblance to Myspace. The “myspace whores” have returned, and they’ve struck this site with a vengeance. While I’m sure that most of the people on the site mean well, many of them struggle to type simple sentences correctly, and it’s jam-packed full of annoying guys asking lewd, rude, and downright nasty questions to girls who, it seems, can’t figure out how to put their ample cleavage away. Add to that the plethora of dating games, and an incredibly bad user experience and you’ve got yourself a truly shocking result.

If you’re into blurry pictures of girls in bikinis and can be bothered to learn a whole new version of chatspeak (where, it seems, users have attempted to type words with their foreheads and knees simultaneously), then this could just be a hit with you. I wouldn’t bet on it, though.

2. Yuwie.com

Unfortunately, at the time of writing, Yuwie has been put up for sale. Going to the site will only, unfortunately, show you the site’s logo, and tell you that the asking price is $15,000. So, then, it’s up to me to give you the premise of the site.

Yuwie seemed to be too good to be true, when I had first heard of it about four to five years ago. Basically it was a site that (and you can re-read this slowly, if it doesn’t click the first time) PAID people to social network. I, obviously, being a sucker for a quid or two (may I remind you again of the ads?), joined up.

The site itself was, unfortunately, miserable. While the user experience wasn’t that bad, the place was deserted. I had convinced a (now ex-) girlfriend to sign up so we could raise a bit of dough together, and other than each other, it seemed like the place was emptier than the inside of Jodie Marsh’s brain. Of course, while getting paid to talk to people was a very attractive proposition, the fact that it was based on ad-revenue probably caused several would-be users to return to the book o’ face. And I don’t blame them- I checked my earnings from the site last year, and I had made barely a penny.

I’d be lying if I said that I missed the site and its red colour scheme, but being paid to network is still a rather attractive proposition, not just to me- but also many others. So watch this space and see if Yuwie ever returns.

3. Dailystrength.org

I can’t help but feel that, at this stage, I’ve been overly negative in my reviews of these plutoed social networks. So here, then is my good deed and positive part of this post, and it comes in the form of dailystrength. I was debating about putting this in because I wasn’t sure about whether it was classed as a forum or a social network. It is, in essence, a site where people can receive crowdsourced help for their problems, whether they’re psychological or physiological, via online support groups. Think of it as a Yahoo!Answers site for almost every ailment you could think of.

The people seem to be incredibly supportive and keen to help, and if you’re in need of some support from experienced people, this is probably one of the best places to go on the internet.

Obviously, these sites will probably never threaten the dominance of the “big three” of social networking. But if you’re looking for a bit of a change, and don’t mind learning new interfaces and enjoying (or, indeed suffering) the company of new people, these could just provide some boredom killers for your time on the internet.

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TechTalk: Social not-working: Facebook’s numerous GUIses

Like a group of teenagers with their fads, or a woman with her clothes, social networking giant Facebook has suddenly changed again. If Mark Zuckerberg hadn’t asked his loyal and numerous users to master enough user interfaces already, another one has come along to baffle them and question why they use the site.

We were all used to the Facebook of yore. It had a nice and uncluttered interface, and only had one news feed on the homepage. Now, all [or, as I have found, most] of the users have an extra, mini “news ticker” on the side of their main feed that displays all of your friend’s actions as they do them. Several friends of mine have preferred to call this a “mini-feed”, but I just think it’s an item that can cause more privacy invasions in 10 minutes than a Murdoch journalist can pull off in an entire year. Give it a few days, and this fast-flowing friend feed will be able to publish your visits to the loo- and not only in quantity and length, but probably in consistency and quality, too. For me, this little news feed is a terrifying thing, and could just be a change too far.

Change, in general, though, is a much needed thing in social networking. Much like animals and humans, social networks must compete and adapt to survive and thrive. Both Facebook and Twitter have applied several tweaks to their sites recently, both to improve the user experience and also provide extra revenue, as (and let us not forget) social networks are businesses after all. When social networking sites don’t change, they quickly fade away into the pages of our mind. There was a time when Myspace was the social networking king, and had over 100 million accounts. However, it didn’t change much to the eye; and both the “myspace whores” and casual users posted their last bulletins and picture comments, and left quietly through the back door. Now its disgraced name rests in the same pit as the other casualties: Bebo and Hi5, and is now the realm of indie-kids and retro-geeks.

There is no doubt that Facebook’s constant changes seem to be more applicable to the song “Hot 'n’Cold” by Katy Perry than they are to any viable business strategy. These changes aren’t exactly being loved by users, either. A friend of mine, with a string of non-repeatable words, told me of her disgust for the new site, and the disapproval of the users was even covered by international news network CNN. This isn’t the first time that users have verbally rebelled over changes to the site, and you can count on the fact that it won’t be the last. While some of these changes are incredibly infuriating, Facebook is still the free and convenient way to get hold of all my friends- especially when I, a poor, struggling student, can hardly afford to top up my phone. So for now, Facebook has won this battle- but if they keep ringing these changes, I’m hoping that they’ll lose the war.

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TechTalk: "MySpace Tom" is now just "Tom".

Years ago, when you first logged onto the then social networking hotshot Myspace, you would have had one friend. It wouldn't have been a friend that you knew, a friend that you necessarily cared about, or a friend who impacted your life. It was just a caucasian guy, sitting by a scribbled-on whiteboard in an office somewhere, smiling at the camera in his dazzling white shirt.
That guy was Tom. Throughout the years, he's been known under several pseudonynms, including "Tom Anderson", "Myspace Tom", and "Tom from that old website... um... what's it called again?"
While you may think that he has stayed with the company, and slowly declined with them thanks to their Murdoch purchase and the rise of Zuckerberg and Facebook, it seems as though he, like everyone else, has deserted the struggling and sinking social network, saying that he doesn't "like using it anymore", and that he "is not a fan of what the new guys have done with MySpace". In fact, examining his post on Facebook, which can be seen by anyone thanks to the site's new 'Subscribe' feature, allowing users to see the posts of someone they're not friends with in a Twitter or Google+ type of way, it seems as though Tom Anderson left MySpace in 2009. Strangely, though, he still uses the same profile image wherever he goes... though I suppose that that picture seals [or rather 'is'] his brand identity, which has been posted on other sites, such as Google+ .
So now we know the truth: Myspace Tom is no longer Myspace Tom. He is, instead, "Plethora-of-Social-Networks" Tom. I'd include something speculative on whether we'd see a "Myspace Martin", or "Myspace Martha"- but frankly, there's no point in predicting a pirate for a sunken ship.

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Book Review: One Day [+ A film too far?]

The Book Bit
It's not often that one can read a book that perfectly condenses life, warts-and-all, into 464 pages of paperback perfection. Most authors tend to capture a wonderfully two-dimensional perspective of life. It's either usually too happy, too sad, or too damn boring.
David Nicholls, however, has managed to flesh out the emotions to a tee, making the characters of his lengthy and emotionally dense tail an become immaculately believable in the mind's eye of any reader.
The main characters themselves are perfect representations of the genres that pertain to their gender: Dexter is a lad-lit author's dream, being higher class, rather attractive, and the boy-about-campus who doesn't mind a party or seven. Emma, in a strange yet fitting contrast has popped straight out of a chick-lit novel, with her staunch feminism, 'unconventional-cute-looks' and her permanent and unfailing strength to protest for something or other.
Strangely enough, these two opposite characters find themselves together in a hotel bed on St Swithin's Day, just after they've both graduated from Edinburgh University. While Emma has crushed on 'Dex' throughout the years at university, he is trying to plot an inconspicuous escape from the bed- but both are starry eyed and rather perplexed as to what lies ahead, with their vice chancellor ensuring them that the doors of opportunity are 'flung wide'. To Dexter Mayhew, thinking ahead too far forward in the future is terrifying, being one of those fashionable 'in-the-now' males.
As always, though, the heart-to-heart can't last forever, and we sadly see the pair go their separate ways- thought they vow to keep in contact. Dexter jets off around the world visiting far flung lands across the globe, and Emma keeps her feet on the ground in Britain, starting off by working for a community theatre company along with a closet racist and a definitely-not-closet exhibitionist. Both Dexter and Emma write to eachother furiously; staining pages with messages that tug on the heart-strings and convey that they like eachother just that little bit more than they're letting on. Dexter, too, rather surprisingly offers several poignant letters, showing magnificent care for Emma- though, of course, it could have been the exotic alcohol talking.
Throughout the book, where we see the pair's communications and meetings every St. Swithin's day. Dexter's career runs about as high as the emotions in the book, as he becomes a British television star. Emma's, however, sinks. After the community theatre stint, she ends up working in a cheap Mexican restaurant in North West London, and every day, slowly but surely, becomes another painful chore; serving customers several varieties of tortilla, and having to socialise with Ian Whitehead, a colleague and part time stand-up comedian who just can't find the off button on his 'humour'. Through this time, jealousy floods from the tale like a river flooding from a broken dam, almost to the point where the reader can taste it in their mouth. It seems as though, despite the main characters' blatant hankerings for each other, their paths will never cross in the same way again, as Emma gets involved with Ian, and Dexter gets involved with anything that moves and may have drugs.
Slowly but surely, as in real life, the characters change and adapt, and the emotions they create suddenly create a huge dark hole within the reader, matched only by the voraciously addictive nature of the book. At times, David Nicholls' bracing wordcraft creates massive moments of hunger, with the reader praying for the mental and romantic torture to end as he plays with the lives of Dexter and Emma, bringing them within touching distance of each other, but always, somehow, leaving them miles apart.
The book itself is incredibly well written, and as emotions run as high as the Alps and as thick as treacle, the plot compliments it perfectly, offering several twists that always leave the reader wanting more.
Rating: 9/10

The 'Popcorn Post' Bit
Assuming that you don't live under a rock, you'll probably know that One Day has been adapted into a movie. Living in London, it's hard to escape that fact, with a theatrical poster being cheaply applied to almost every bus in the capital.
For a book that was wonderfully expressive, and left high expectations in the mind's eye, the movie [or the trailer, at least] seems to be desperate and disappointing. While I am an Anne Hathaway fan, and am in awe of her various talents, her casting has been a big problem for me, and her 'Yorkshire' accent sounds like she took cut-price diction lessons from Kate Middleton.
In my mind, I would have preferred a home-grown, English cast to play the major roles, something that worked beautifully in an adaptation of another of Nicholls' books, 'Starter for Ten'.
It's safe to say that the film is a massive let-down, especially when compared to the most graphically pleasing media player in the world: the mind. Whether it ruins the reputation of the fabulous book, however, remains to be seen.

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Clues of the World: Was the closure imminent?

After the intense rollercoaster ride of allegations into the News of the World's phone-hacking scandal, News Corporation and Rupert Murdoch have made the decision to pull the plug on one of Britain's best selling tabloids. A memo was only passed round to staff and press members today, but given the pasting that News of the World has received in the past week, one must wonder if the closure was imminent.
On several blogs and forums, word is buzzing that the domain name "www.thesunonsunday.co.uk" has been bought by News Corp, fuelling speculation that the News of the World will be replaced by a Sunday edition of its sister red-top, The Sun. Indulging in a quick examination of "thesunonsunday.co.uk"'s WHOIS file, being a helpless nerd, I found that the domain was registered two days ago, on the fifth of July. While it's feasible that this was merely purchased as a contingency plan by the ever-business-savy Rupert Murdoch, who must've been no stranger to the backlash towards his publication on social networking sites and the backlash of companies who buy advertising space in his paper, the whole plan seems to be almost directly comparable to that of a pilot who wishes to ditch his plane after the first signs of turbulence. In fact, it could even be likened to a criminal hurriedly fleeing the scene of a crime.
As this sorry affair drags on, with News Corp leaving the corpse and ghost of a popular publication behind, the phone-hacking scandal lives on within it, much like a set of worms devouring the body from the inside out. The closure of the News of the World will do nothing to muffle the scandal, and the disgusting conduct of the journalists and editors in question will continue to be scrutinised. All being well, this will also cause a shakeup to the profession, and will also push for some improvements to be made to the Press Complaints Commission, who are regarded by most papers and their editors as a toothless tiger in the wild world of journalism.
Of course, I feel sorry for everyone who has been hacked in these malicious events. When it was Hugh Grant and the Queen, it was bad enough. But to see that the News of the World hacked the telephones of abductees, bomb-victims, and even the relatives of people who died for our country, is simply sickening. However, a thought must also be spared for the workers at the red-topped rag who had absolutely nothing to do with this affair. Once again, Murdoch has managed to bite the hand that feeds him. The working class are the main target for the News of the World, but as the printing presses whirr to a stop on Sunday morning, several working class people will be stripped of their livelihoods; victim to a scandal that has been triggered by the big-wigs and the editors at News Corporation. Editors such as Rebekah Brooks [or Rebekah Wade as she was once known], who somehow have managed to escape from this incident scott-free, can continue to live lavish lifestyles, despite being at the centre of this scandal.
It'll be a sad day for journalism on Sunday. Although I've never had much of a fondness for the gutter press, red-tops, and tabloids, it's definitely a sad sight to see a publication draw to a sudden halt. But whichever way you look at it, it seems as though the News of the World's card was already sneakily marked.

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Inbox Nasties

Aaah, don’t you remember the good old days? Back when spam filters actually seemed to work, and the only weird emails you’d get were from your long lost Nigerian businessman friend who conveniently chose this time to waltz back into your life so you could transfer him some money, even though he’d obviously pay you back? Or from those pesky people who seemed hell-bent on telling you how to give your girlfriend that bit of extra pleasure, and explaining how you could gain an extra three inches in a week? Well, unfortunately, those rose-tinted and legendary days have now come to an end. Mr Okuma and The Cialis Corporation have since ceased to email me, and I suddenly feel like the ex-boyfriend figure, yelling “Baby, please, come back! I didn’t mean to ignore you!”

“Why,” you ask? Well, there’s a whole new set of meanies that may just be nestling in your inbox right now.

Around seven times a day, I get an email from Scott Brian. If the name wasn’t suspicious enough [my mum always told me that anyone who had two first-names was a greedy little git!], the subject headings are fishier than the tuna salad you ate last week. Apparently, I, an 18 year old university student, hailing from the North West of London, can earn at least 6,000 pounds a DAY just from working in the comfort of my own home! And apparently I’m not the only one, John Carter, a stay at home dad from somewhere in Missouri has done it too, and is now absolutely raking it in! Isn’t that fantastic!?

Not really. Although I’m absolutely ecstatic for Mr Carter [if, indeed, he exists at all], I don’t really want to make a million pounds just by sitting in my room and ‘following a magic strategy’.

But that’s not the only one. There seems to be a whole new generation of spammers out there. As far as I can see, they love absurdist language and abstract comedy. Not only do they send you emails packed so tightly with viruses that it seems that it’s inhumane, but they send you meaningless drivel like “of Them it is YOU I think of Mum said Teapot Happiness.” And if you’re thinking of doing a double-take to try and actually make sense of that sentence… just… don’t bother.

One spammer, though, did catch my eye and almost made me fall in love in an instant. There was creativity, geek appeal, and a certain amount of panache in the email, and it was only made better by the phrase “JESUS TO STAR IN NEW BATMAN MOVIE. CLICK HERE FOR MORE DETAILS.”

Obviously, the link was full of viruses. But the thought of Jesus playing Batman!? That, my friends, was completely worth it.

But the moral of this story is to always keep your antivirus fully updated and running, keep your computer patched and updated, and the number one rule of life: if it looks suspicious, it probably is.

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AV Explained

THE POLITICAL BIT

As most people know, the people United Kingdom went to the polls yesterday, both to vote on the parties that controlled their councils, and to choose a voting system to be used in future elections where MPs are selected to represent their constituencies in the House of Commons.

Being someone who has yearned for a true democratic voting system for a while now, AV is a change that I would welcome with open arms. Even though it's just a small step in the direction of true Proportional Representation voting system, it's still the right way to go.

However, it seems that the "No to AV"/ "I Can't Believe It's Not Tory" campaign's constant streams of fear-mongering, and blatant lying [something that was admitted by David Blunkett], seem to have resounded into the hearts and mind of the electorate, and it looks as though AV won't be implemented for a while. Many people, too, have chosen just to vote no in order to deal a scathing blow to Deputy Prime Minister Nick Clegg, who, I feel, has become a scapegoat, and is being blamed for items of legislation that are simply out of his control. In fact, many Labour supporters have come out to say that Nick Clegg's association with the YES campaign meant that they'd be a loser from the start. What an incredibly funny comment from the same people who promised that they'd install some form of proportional representation all those years ago. That, as we can see, never happened, and Britain didn't even have a referendum on voting systems- another Blair lie that was fed to the masses in this country, just to be a votewinner.

However, the status of the parties and how I feel about the public treatment of Nick Clegg is another matter for another blog post- so here's the bit I planned to come onto in the first place.

THE 'EVERYONE' BIT

As I said above, the "No to AV" campaign has spread dozens of lies and smears, using the same Tory tactics that allowed David Cameron to become Prime Minister in the first place. These lies seem to have got to several people, and I fear that these lies, as well as some other misconceptions, have damaged the YES campaign altogether. Although there are tonnes of videos on youtube, by the electoral commission, by several pressure groups, and one even involving "Reform Cat" [for those who are really into their memes], I thought I'd do my bit, both as a Lib Dem member and a supporter of fairer votes [even though it's a tad late] to clarify some of these thoughts about AV.

AV is the most complicated system that's ever been heard of in the world. Ever.

False. Quoting from my twitter, "AV is just the right amount of complicated- where normal people can understand it, but Tories can't." There isn't really any mind-bending statistics or procedures that anyone needs to get their head around, even though the "No to AV" campaign wants you to think so.

You, on polling day, would go to your polling station and pick up your ballot paper as normal. Instead of writing an "X" in the box of the one candidate that you want to represent you, you use numbers to mark the candidates in order of preference. So you mark a "1" for the candidate you want as first preference, a "2" for your second

preference, and so on until you get to your fifth preference.

Obviously, you can stop when YOU want to, and you don't need to mark all five choices. If you want, you can even just mark your first choice, and leave the polling station.

After this, your job is done.

When the votes are counted, counters will see if any candidate has at least 50% of the first preference vote in order to win. If no candidate has 50%, then counting continues, and the second preference votes are counted. If a candidate still hasn't got 50% of the vote, counting continues on the third preference votes, and so on and so forth until someone gets over 50%.

This means that the majority get fairly represented, and we don't get typical FPTP drawbacks, including tyranny of the minority.

AV will be extremely expensive to implement

False. Ballots will still be counted by hand, and will use the same method as First Past The Post. There is no expensive equipment needed, or specialist people who can somehow read numbers instead of Xs.

AV wouldn't be helpful to me because I haven't got more than one choice

False. If you haven't got more than one choice, or you don't want to mark more than one choice, you don't have to. You can feel free to mark a number "1" next to your chosen candidate, fold your paper, and place it in the ballot box, if you wish.

AV would result in a coalition government every time.

False. Despite that dim-witted quote from Tory MP and chick-lit author Louise Bagshawe on "Have I Got News For You" the other week, this simply isn't true. Although there may be a slightly higher chance of coalition governments, it certainly won't happen every time, and the chance isn't raised by much.

No-one cares about the voting system, anyway, duh.

False. While I'm a bit of a politics geek, and have adored looking into this sort of thing from the age of 10, it's not just me. Louise Bagshawe, who, again, must be some sort of spiritual guide for village idiots everywhere, seemed to show a notion of no-one caring on her TV appearance. 50% of Scottish people turned out for the referendum- I hardly think that shows apathy...

The AV system will allow the BNP, and several other right-wing, weirdo-parties to come into power.

False. AV does not automatically allow the BNP party to get into power and use their malicious ways to change the country. Don't forget that a candidate needs a MAJORITY to get elected. The BNP currently have no MPs, and has been losing council seats, judging by the figures from yesterday's vote. So it seems as though the BNP would lack the necessary support that it would need under the AV system.

AV is a fairer system that reflects the majority's interests

True. As I said above, a candidate needs over 50% of the vote to win.

So there we have it. I hope I've dispelled a few myths and taught a lesson. At the time of writing, it seems as though the YES campaign hasn't done the trick, and once again the Tories have managed to lie their way to victory, rendering this 1000+ word blog post useless. So once again Britain can kiss goodbye to rose-tinted dreams of steps towards Proportional Representation. If anyone knows how I'd be able to autopost this again when Britain has another referendum on AV in the year 3067, drop me a line.

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Popcorn Post: Scream 4

It's the occasion horror fans have been waiting for for years on end. The telephone is back, the mask is back, and so is the haunting question: "What's your favourite scary movie!?"
Despite being parodied several times in the Scary Movie franchise, and with Scream 3 becoming everything the series stood against, Scream 4 [or SCRE4M, as it's snazzily styled in the film] has come to our screens with guts and gore, and just a little bit more.
Those who have seen the first Scream films will remember that they gained cult-status from standing out from the crowd, and having more character development, and more of a plot line than several other co-existing films within the horror genre [a point that is again stressed in the first few minutes of this film, where a character launches a scathing attack on the recently-deceased Saw series. Admittedly she gets stabbed to death by the usually-angellic Kristen Bell a second after, but she makes a valid point nonetheless].
The film begins in its usual way, warming up [or should I say chilling?] the atmosphere and getting the blood flowing with a few gory murders; all of which seem to feature blonde, stereotypical horror-victims; another scathing attack on the horror genre and its little quirks.
From then on, the film gets into gear. For a franchise that was once famed for having thick, moving plotlines, this flick certainly does not disappoint. The cast doesn't exactly make for a downturn, either, with Neve Campbell, Courtney Cox, and David Arquette reprising their roles from the earlier movies. Campbell and Cox throw in sterling performances, both play feisty females on the run, and on the hunt, for the killer. David Arquette, however, seems to be quite disappointing. From an audience member's point of view, it seems as though a wooden plank could have played the part of Sheriff Dewey Riley with more confidence. Arquette was trying to play the part of the bumbling Sheriff, but could only manage to play the bumbling actor playing the bumbling Sheriff.
Newcomer and youngster Emma Roberts [who, according to several sources, auditioned for director Wes Craven via Skype] performed well for around 80% of the film; with her portrayal at the end becoming little more than weak, and fodder for laughter in the cinema. There was also solid supporting roles played by once-Heroes actress Hayden Panettiere, and a bit of hit-and-miss acting from Rory Culkin [yes, that is Macaulay's brother].
Although the film does have a strong plotline, most of it seems to be based around call-backs from the old Scream movies, with some killing and action scenes almost becoming exact replications of the ones that adorned the celluloid of the past flicks. However, one thing they forgot to replicate is the tension of the killing- old Scream movies used to have the audience on the edge of their seats, willing the victim on to try and find a way out. This film has lost that tense side to it, becoming a 60% mind-numbingly boring blood-fest. At the same time, drama-fans will probably only find around half an hour of the film watchable- where the middle-to-latter part of the film includes more plot-twists than you can shake a stick at, in an almost "Shutter Island" sort of way [though, this won't make you anywhere near as loopy]. Ghostface obviously makes a return in this sequel, however, most of the film is spent watching him mindlessly cut people open with the skill of a back-street surgeon, rather than provoking any thought as to who might be under his infamous mask.
Whilst Scream 4 has some very clever and snappy dialogue, and also some very intelligent callbacks that will no-doubt please fans of both the genre and the series, it seems to be hoist by its own petard- overthink this movie, and you'll suddenly find various plotholes and mistakes that will make you question how much Scream stands out from the rest of the genre in the first place.
Overall, what was a good series in films 1 and 2 (and pretty much ruined in 3), has started its resurgence, and with talk of this film being the first in another trilogy, one can only hope that they get quite a bit better than this. Oh, and that they find a way to fire Arquette. All in all, a medicore film- some good plot and action that is ruined by most of the footage being a gorefest.
6/10

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Afore Ye Go...- My Travels in Scotland- Part 2

After sitting on a train for around an hour, and crossing two giant bodies of water on what can only be considered marvels of engineering [in the form of the Forth Bridge and the Tay Bridge, the latter of which, I found out afterwards, collapsed while a train was on it in the middle of a storm, leading me to make a pact where I’d never cross it again], I had arrived in Dundee- a place I’d always heard of, but never actually bothered to regard. As I said in part one, Eddie Izzard, in an interview with Craig Ferguson, once likened the place to jail. This, I thought, could break my newfound romance for Scotland.



After lugging our… err… luggage up the stairs, where the station voice-over system decided to play an annoying, constant loop of “Passengers are reminded to use the handrails on the stairs, and to not run in the station”, in a stern, female voice, we took our first breath of the Dundee air. My girlfriend suddenly leapt into the air and swivelled round faster than a table football player. She has a massive fear of boats [even though her favourite film is, confusingly, the Poseidon Adventure], and she had just seen the nautical equivalent of hell: docked right across the road from the station was a giant, archaic ship, sails removed, but still standing proud. Upon closer inspection, it was named ‘Discovery’; rather ironically for something that didn’t need much discovering. On the way to the hotel, I began to notice something- Dundee seemed to be a city where they hadn’t managed to work the sunroof, and where everything seemed to be in black and white. As I looked into every nook and cranny that I could; spotting more and more buildings that seemed to be maliciously spat out by a concrete mixer as fully formed, gargantuan, grey bricks, I was determined that I, myself, was the most colourful thing that existed in Dundee.

The hotel itself seemed to be a large dollop of grey, with the Hilton logo attempting to be blue, but only becoming a dark sepia tone. The strange thing is that the Firth of Tay, one of those giant bodies of water, the skies that were above it, and the hills that were in the distance, also seemed to give off a distinct grey hue. It was at this point that I began to get worried about my eyes, and decided to wander into the centre of the city. The city itself reminded me of Stockton-On-Tees, with cobbled sections of street, where pedestrian zones cohabitated perfectly with vehicle zones. In contrast to what I had seen in Edinburgh, Dundee seemed to have nothing remaining of its history, but seemed to be attempting to be a modern utopia. Sadly, they hadn’t got very far.

According to a hotel worker, the restaurant quarter was located along a road named “Nethergate”, and upon arrival there, I found that the choices were a bit sparse to be able to call it a “quarter”. While there was a big selection of greasy-pizza joints, actual restaurants were thin on the ground, with choices being limited to Turkish, Indian, or Chinese food, with a burger bar thrown in for good measure.

Seeing as “Ketchup” [the burger bar], seemed to be the haunt for the trendy, I decided to go to the Turkish restaurant. My girlfriend loves that kind of cuisine, and it’s always a cuisine that I’ve always wanted to delve into. This restaurant, however, seemed to be weird- not only were there not many people inside, but for a Turkish restaurant, the owner/waitress seemed to be quite Chinese. While I have no problem with ethnic diversity in the workplace, it seemed to set a rather foreboding atmosphere for the rest of the night. After ordering two diet cokes [which tasted so rank upon arrival that I likened them to tasting more like ‘diet cock’ than ‘diet coke’], we looked through the menu, which consisted of a massive thirty-something dishes for the more carnivorous human, and an absolutely whopping SIX for the vegetarian customer. Yay for being the minority. After ordering a starter and a main course, my girlfriend decided that it would be wise for us to get some pitta bread, something that I agreed with. The waitress, however, seemed to have a problem with this, somehow deciding that she’d give us pitta bread with both our starter and our main, and saying “Oh… okay…” In a tone that made her sound as if she was saying “Well, brace yourselves, foolish mortals!”

The waitress, in fact, seemed keen to display her unconventional style of customer-handling. As I had got almost no sleep the night before, I closed my eyes to refresh them after I finished my started. “Awwww, stah-tah no come, so he faul tooo sah-leep,” the waitress chirped at me randomly. Hilarious. The main course, wouldn’t have been worth waking up for, anyway, it seemed. It vaguely reminded me of a pasta sauce that my dad had made a few years ago, and even he had made it much better than the chef had. At the end of the night, the dinner came to 30 pounds, and to be honest, I wouldn’t have said it was worth 30 pence.

So Dundee, it has to be said, seemed quite disappointing. But after going to sleep on a king size bed [which the Hilton management had hand-crafted by shoving two single beds together and putting a king size bed frame around it], I was excited to leave the monochrome city and head to the once-Royal university town of St Andrews.

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Afore Ye Go...- My Travels in Scotland- Part 1.

For years, I, like many, have heard that Scotland is a dreadful place. Wet, grey and cold, it seemed to have struck fear



into the hearts of many, and it was quite sad that I was slowly starting to believe these myths without actually visiting our Northern neighbours- so I was honoured when I finally got the chance to visit.

Departing from my cosy-warm bedroom at roughly 4.50 in the morning, I felt a tingle of excitement and a tinge of nerves- we [we being my girlfriend and I] would be flying to Scotland, and the fact that I hadn’t flown in quite a few years had rendered me slightly apprehensive, with my girlfriend not being the biggest fan of air travel either. After leaving ten minutes late, worrying that our cab driver had given up waiting and gone home [in reality, he just wasn’t able to get to my house without getting lost], and seeing that the owner of the Subway in Finchley Road would have a bit of a shock when he turned up for work [His shop door was smashed to pieces and the shop itself raided, before being boarded up with giant chunks of wood by the Met Police who left a helpful note to the effect of: “Hey, you’ve been broken into, but we’ve boarded your shop up. Call us!”], we boarded a coach to London Stansted.

Now, I try to not to be annoying- especially on journeys that require sharing several legs with another person. But I couldn’t resist, upon arrival at Stansted, trying to find locations where Matt Lucas and David Walliams filmed parts of their hit show “Come Fly With Me”, whilst doing impressions of ‘Peter and Judith’ and an attempted [and I use that word loosely] impression of ‘Precious Little’ [“Weh gat cah-fee, weh gat scallllldin’ hat wah-tah, but weh gat no coos-too-mas! So, I gaht no ahp-shan, boot to claws da shaap ear-leh! CLAWSED!” seemed to be a phrase that my girlfriend and several other passengers had to put up with for quite a while.]

After wandering around departures, going through security [where the security officer made me take off my hoodie and shoes as well as my jacket, and didn’t even give me a courtesy smile when I remarked: “Blimey, I’m gonna be freezing!”], and waiting at our gate, the time came. All the travellers stood, elbows sharpened, adrenaline levels rising. You could hear the pulses race as people rose from their seats. The appearance of a staff member at the doors of the departure gate was pretty much a metaphor for a race-starter, firing the pistol to start the 20m airport hurdles. Yes, you guessed it. We were flying with easyJet. I said earlier that I haven’t flown in years. But when I did fly frequently it was with this very airline, and the memories were suddenly flowing back to me. Aaah, yes- the “Jesus Christ, were you Tango’d, or did you just rub up too hard against Dale Winton?” orange-clad flight attendants; the rush to board quickly so you could get fresh air; the distinct smell of cheap-and-cheerful.

But something didn’t feel right. Although my girlfriend and I proved that we weren’t cut out for low-cost flying [we ended up pretty much at the back of the queue, and ended up with seats at the back], easyJet doesn’t seem to be the laughing-stock anymore. Before, you’d be thousands of feet up in the air, looking at other passengers with a look that said “Yup… I’m in the same boat as you”, and flicking through the inflight magazine and catalogue, where it became apparent that you could buy a shortbread biscuit on-board for roughly 300 pounds. Now, although the price of the on-board items is still extortionate, everything seems quite reasonable, and no-one’s laughing at easyJet like they used to. And that’s probably because of a certain Michael O’Leary, and his little ragtag team of aviation chums, also known as Ryanair; whose flights were also taking off from Stansted that morning, and were still painfully abysmal, I judged by the looks on the faces of passengers through the tiny windows on the side of their plane. Poor buggers.

After what was an incredibly fast flight [all in all, it took us around 50 minutes, which seemed to be just enough time to panic, but not enough time to get completely pteromechanophobic], we landed in a cloudy, yet still quite warm, Edinburgh.

Our first leg of the journey from the airport was by bus- the Caledonian Buses Airlink 100, which although very clean and swanky, seemed to have gone for a cheap and cheerful voiceover to announce its calling points, resulting in the words “Mariott Hotel” being chewed up and spat out as “Maria… Toh-tell”. Whilst the audio wasn’t great, the visuals were simply spectacular- both my and my girlfriend’s heads kept swivelling and tilting to look out of every window possible to examine the capital city of Scotland, which seemed to have a perfect blend of modern design and vibrancy, whilst also displaying several monuments of a very eventful history; buildings that had been erected centuries ago, nestled right in with something that could have been finished as soon as last week, with a great buzz and energy created by the people who gathered outside. Edinburgh, I decided at that moment, was a place that I would love to be in for long periods of time. Not only was it incredibly similar to London, but it seemed to be so charming. This slight
obsession [something that made my girlfriend laugh at me several times over the course of this trip] developed more and more, to the point where I now [at time of writing] am looking at transferring my University course to Edinburgh [though this looks unfeasible- it’s pretty damn expensive there]. After slowing to a halt on Waverley Bridge, a place that was overlooked by the magnificent and awe-inspiring Scott Monument, as well as the Jenners Department Store building, we entered Edinburgh Waverley Station, which, I believe, is the second largest train-station in terms of square feet in the United Kingdom [with the first being London Waterloo]. Scotland so far, it seemed, not only had a good eye for inventions [John Logie Baird invented the television], but for incredible and remarkable engineering [something that I’d also discover on the way to Dundee].



My girlfriend and I would have loved to go on one of those sightseeing tours around Edinburgh, where you sit on the top of a bus, plug headphones into your seat and get told almost every detail about a monument that you could ever want to know, but unfortunately we didn’t have time. However- I did manage to grab a free sandwich from Upper Crust [no, I didn’t steal it- but they didn’t give me a receipt with my change, which, as I found out 10 seconds before ordering, allowed me to get a refund on my sandwich], which brightened up my day to no end. Ravi’s stomach-1, Cultural awareness- 0.

After this, we walked for [what seemed like] an eternity in order to find a train that we had booked, to get to Dundee; a place that Eddie Izzard once likened to jail. Would this put me off Scotland? Would I finally find truth in those harsh stereotypes that I had once heard? Only time would tell…

My DeviantArt store, with several pictures from Scotland: http://www.deviantart.com/print/18341079/?

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Libyan Activists Protest in Middlesbrough

Activists hoping to raise awareness of the crisis and massacres in Libya gathered at Teesside University, Middlesbrough today in order to protest outside the Student Union.

Unprecedented protests in the Libya's capital, Tripoli, have been countered by extreme force used by the country's army, with gunfire being heard into the early hours of morning, and with several buildings being set ablaze by both opposers and supporters of Colonel Gaddafi's regime. The use of live amunition and tear gas has been condemned by several human rights organisations, with the death toll already above 233. Protests within the North East, however, have been peaceful- mounted police did attend the protest, but no there has been no report of violence. [EDIT- Reports have come in that there were incidents of bricks being thrown]

The protests in Libya echo the sentiment of those that were held in Egypt, as well as the protests that are ongoing in Bahrain, as part of a wave of action throughout the Middle-East. However, whilst protests in Egypt were covered meticulously by the BBC, and and protests in Bahrain gain publicity by the threat that they pose to next month's Grand Prix in the region, it is felt that the situation in Libya has been left to fester, despite the mortality rate, and the iron-fist strategy that has been used by the army and Colonel Gaddafi, who has been the de facto leader of the country after his military coup on the first of September 1969.

Some, however, ask the question of whether Britain is at all involved in this situation- not as a help, as many would like, but as a hindrance. Many of these questions carry the haunting reminder of former Prime Minister Tony Blair's alleged desert deal with Colonel Gaddafi in 2004, where a gas contract with Shell was [allegedly] signed on the spot, as a prerequisite for Britain giving training and equipment to Libyan troops. Training and equipment, it seems, that may have even been used against peaceful protesters in Green Square yesterday.

Many people who form the audience for these protests at Teesside Unversity do not seem to understand the cause for the protests, with one student stating: "No-one cares", and that "[the protesters] should go to Downing Street or go and tell the Libyan government". From those quotes alone, it is plain to see that the situation really hasn't been given enough air-time by the media in this country. It seems that Downing Street can't really listen- why would they? There might not be as much oil in Libya as there is in, say, Iraq or Afganistan, and this conflict comes at a time where resources are money are already scarce for the military. Any attempts by the Libyans to peacefully coax Gaddafi out of power have just been met with violent and malicious resistance by the Colonel and his followers. And while protests are slowly beginning to put pressure on Gaddafi, it truly speaks volumes about a leader who once said that "the people lead the country".

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Popcorn Post: 127 Hours

In this day and age, "true-to-life" movies have become the domain of the Channel Five afternoon line up. You know, the ones where you've not bothered with going into work, so you've feasted yourself on the several, low-budget, American, "made for TV", oestrogen filled dramas of babies with several mothers, and the like.
127 Hours, however, may just alter the perception, target audience, and connotations of the "based on real life" genre.
Picture it now: you're a thrillseeker. A daredevil. You're independent. Not only have you joined the national rescue service [just to get that extra adrenaline rush], but you mountain bike, hike, and scale mountains just to pass time. But suddenly it goes horribly wrong. One minute, you're reciting song lyrics by Phish, then, out of nowhere, it feels like fate has suddenly plucked your number out of the hat. You're trapped in the middle of a canyon; a dense, gargantuan boulder pinning down your right arm so you've got no choice but to make some giant sacrifices to survive. Welcome to the life of Aron Ralston.
127 Hours [Which, thankfully, is actually only 97 minutes], shows Ralston's [James Franco] dilemma. Montages from his childhood, hopes for his future, and regrets from the past all combine to impact on the dilemma of his situation. The only things he can see are the dense mounds of rock that surround him, the only thing he can hear is the caw of the ravens that circle above his head, and the only thing he can feel are the glossy-bodied, multi-legged insects that crawl and squirm their way around his body.
There's no-one that he can call for help, he doesn't have a mobile phone, and no-one knows where he is. So while his hand is being crushed to the point of being blue by a giant rock, all he can do is record a video diary, and pray that, if he dies, someone will find it, and alert one of his relatives. Franco puts in a sterling performance, capturing every moment and emotion of Ralston perfectly; his acting topped off and complimented amazingly by several montages placed in by the directors, which may seem strange at first, but make perfect sense when examined psychologically.
But how far would you go? Some of you would probably just give up after calling for help. Others would probably just pray for a miracle. Aron Ralston, however, [and remember: this is a true story], went that extra mile.
In the most shocking piece of cinema for quite a while, after several days of being stuck, James Franco re-enacts what Ralston had to do in 2003: self amputate in order to get out alive. I'll state it now: this scene is not for the weak stomached, or those with a bit of a dodgy ticker [though, those of you with an interest in medicine and anatomy may not be so badly affected- my girlfriend seemed to even stop blinking throughout the montage]. The scene, which, I believe, was relentlessly worked on by medical professionals for the purposes of accuracy, isn't your bog-standard amputation scene. Not only is Ralston's arm pinned down, but you hear the sounds of his bone snapping; you feel the piercing pain of cutting through the nerve. But why does he do this?
...You'll have to see to find out!
In summary, this is a fantastic movie. If you don't want to go for the 'real-life' factor, you most certainly go for the emotional tension throughout the movie, and the audience tension within the amputation scene. Brilliant cinematography by Danny Boyle, and an outstanding [almost-]one man show by James Franco.
Rating: 8/10.

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