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The world of fashion has always been one of controversy. From the size zero phenomena, to the various drugs scandals that have blighted so many of its top models, it has always been a place which has courted newspaper columns and scandal. Now the industry has been rocked by yet another somewhat disturbing allegation: racism.
On the 26th June 2013, Michael Eavis was kind enough to let 130,000 drunk people have a big party in his back garden. I was fortunate enough to attend said party, more affectionately known as Glastonbury and needless to say it didn’t disappoint. In fact I couldn’t of had a better time if I won the 84 million pound roll over, bought several small islands in the Philippines and drank 40 magnums of Moet Champagne.
Summer is here. That means most of us will, at some point, be soaring off to various locations around the globe with the promise of warmer climates, cheaper cigarettes and the aim of turning our skin a lovely terracotta colour. When we pack our shorts, flip flops and floaty little dresses, we all presume that we’ll have no problem finding our way around and conversing with the locals - because they will obviously speak English. None of us ever consider learning the native tongue ourselves.
Over the weekend, pictures have emerged of Britain’s favourite curvy chef Nigella Lawson, and her art mogul husband Charles Saatchi having what the latter describes as a ‘playful tiff’. This ‘tiff’ consists of him placing his hands round her neck on four different occasions, as well as tweaking her quite roughly on the nose. Suzanna Moore from the Guardian managed to hit the nail on the head when it came to the great debate over the pictures with the words ‘if it's a 'playful tiff', what does a serious one look like?'
In approximately 10 days time the greatest festival in the world, also known, as Glastonbury will take place. There will be much drinking, eating, listening, dancing, smoking and shouting at one another when trying to put up ones tent.Read More
Glastonbury stands as the kingpin of British festivals which by and large and seen as a hallmark of The Great British Summer. Indeed there seems that there’s nothing we all enjoy more than travelling to the countryside, listening to a good tune or fifteen whilst we roll around in mud, a bit like alcoholic musical pigs.
However all this fun and laughter comes at a cost. A literal one. Because whichever way you look at it, festivals cost an effing bomb. Take Reading and Leeds festivals for example. There was once a simpler time when a ticket would cost a mere £120. Although there wasn’t much to do after all the music had stopped, hence all the toilet smashing, you were still guaranteed to see three pretty top class acts for less than 50 quid each. Bargain.
Now the majority of festivals are charging approximately 200 pounds for entry, not to mention, travel, costumes outfits, food , alcohol, cigarettes and don’t forget all the money you’ll need to buy an extravagant headdress at four in the morning because you thought it would make you look absolutely fabulous.
For festivals like Bestival or Glastonbury, 200 bob ain’t too shabby. You can get down to Worthy farm on the Wednesday and leave on the Monday, whilst exploring a harem of wonders that make you feel like your on LSD, essentially making it a mini holiday. However when your paying that much for a smaller festival is it really worth it?
I’m not trying to state that Glastonbury is the only festival worth going to. Each festival has it’s individual merits, and which ever one you choose, your likely to need about 18 hours sleep, a cure for a sore throat and a liver transplant. I’m just suggesting that at the extortionate amount that festivals charge to camp on their hallowed grounds one should proceed with caution, not throw oneself at any festival that crosses ones path like some of brazen hussy looking for a good time.
The summer is finally here. Hip- Hip Horay! Let us throw off the shackles of education and houses with no central heating or running hot water and rejoice in the delights of the seven deadly sins
Pretty self explanatory and a sin I would try blame on the weather, . All that flesh on display and the warm weather to play tricks on your senses, those balmy summer evening filled with too much Malibu and a hidden dark corner. Unfortunately, the weather in Britain doesn’t allow this sort of behavior or dress code so as it turns out, we’re all just a bunch of horny perverts.
Gone are the days of creating a edible meal out a half empty tub of tomato paste and a tin of chickpeas. Rejoice in the glory of the full fridge that you didn’t have to pay for and all it’s fatty delights! More Ben and Jerry’s please, and perhaps an extra slice of cake, not forgetting the cheesecake
Overindulgence on the above may result in fear, self-loathing, stomach ache, nausea, the need to vomit everywhere, and dread of not fitting into holiday clothes. Still their might be a bit more room for just one more slice of cake…..
4. Sloth .
You wake up, you roll over, you feel all warm and content, you look at your phone/watch. It is 2’o clock in the afternoon. This is fine. Leisurely you walk downstairs and make breakfast/brunch/lunch. After deciding that the art of walking down the stairs requires far too much activity for one day you retire to the living room
It’s one of the sad truths of returning home for summer. After appreciating all the cooked meals and the fact you don’t have to pay for anything you realize that it’s your parents house and therefore their rules and the temptation to shout ‘ I DON’T HAVE TO DO THIS AT UNIVERSITY’ may fall out of your mouth. But try and avoid that at all costs. Nobody likes a cliché.
It’s the day we’ve all been waiting for. RESULTS! The classic ‘what did you get?’ ‘No tell me what you got?’ normally ensues followed by an awkward silence when you realize your friend got a much higher mark by doing very little work whilst you nearly suffered a nervous break down. Unfortunately there is no consolation and you just have to accept that life isn’t fair. The best thing to do in these situations is to smile warmly and congratulate the other person whilst you imagine stapling things to their smug little head.
Or the need to swallow it when it comes to getting a job. Let’s face it, none of want to serve £40 of wine to yummy mummies whilst you try and find a high chair for their darling little Archie for minimum wage. But one day the shoe will be on the other foot and you too can shout at the bar staff all you want because your decaf, low fat, extra soy latte was 30 degrees instead of the 40 degrees you asked for. Also minimum wage has gone up. Huzzah! Well, sort of.
Facebook, Twitter, Skype, Text Message, Face Time, Email and now SnapChat. The wealth of social media that engulfs us is growing ever greater. Means of communicating with one another are becoming more creative and more complex in style and method. But what happens if we just want to be left alone for a little bit?
Last week, Tuslia Contostavlos or to those of you that don’t know her; that girl from N Dubz and the X-Factor who is bare hard, was arrested after the she was caught offering to buy coke for a Sun Newspaper reporter.
On the 4th June 1913 Emily Davidson threw herself in front of the King’s Horse as a statement of protest to women not having the right to vote in Britain. She died as a result. In the past 100 years much has legally and culturally changed for women’s equality and rights. But how far has it really come? Did our freedom fighting Suffragettes enable women of 2013 to stand shoulder to shoulder to men? Or are women still chained to the shackles of stereotypes and prejudice that have haunted them for the past millennia?
In the wake of the Woolwich tragedy there has been an unsurprising backlash against the Islamic community. Also unsurprisingly, the English Defense League, The British National Party and their insidious leader, Nick “Racist Darth Vader” Griffin, are mainly fronting it.