Don’t get me wrong, in no way do I take the form of one of those self-righteous, upper class students who think that quite frankly their opinion is of the highest regard because they’re a student of a prestigious university - blah blah blah. No, but I do think the way students can be treated is degrading and unfair.

Earlier this year, UKIP councillor David Silvester made headlines with his comment on a local radio station that recent floods in the UK were the result of God’s wrath at the passing of the same sex marriage bill. Whilst the general response to this outburst has been one of bewilderment, with journalists labelling his outburst as ‘bizarre’, it is nonetheless disturbing that this comment was made by an elected official at all. 

Fred Phelps is dying. Although this may be a name that you do not, or did not until recently, know, it is a topic that you will almost certainly have an opinion on. Nathan Phelps, the estranged son of Fred, when announcing that he had heard of the nearing death of his father, asserted that he was ‘not sure how [he felt] about this’. He’s not the only one.

I walked into the cinema with completely mixed expectations. Having heard this film was fantastic and that it was up for Oscars - coupled with such a star-studded cast and Scorsese directing - it just screamed Hollywood Blockbuster.

 

Having painfully waded through the entirety of American Hustle the previous evening, what I knew to be Oscars hype was swiftly becoming something of a joke. Apart from a wonderfully hilarious Jennifer Lawrence and Christian Bale’s mesmerizingly entertaining 70s comb-over, all I could think about was how sore my bum was getting on the seat. Yet, a highly different experience greeted me as I sat down to watch 12 Years a Slave. For nothing could have prepared me for what was to become an emotionally raw and stirring - yet visually exquisite - masterpiece. If you haven’t taken the time to see it already, then I am hoping that in this short time, I will be able to convince you.

Rugby fans all over the world are currently quaking with excitement as they count down the hours to the start of the Six Nations. Along with any major sporting tournament, this brings with it the usual surge in patriotic feeling. Fans everywhere will be filling pubs, belting out their country’s national anthem and clinging to the hope that this year will be the one. Grown men will shout, cheer and even cry for their country. Patriotic feeling will be overflowing from the rugby world.

It’s perplexing to hear people say, in defence of drone warfare, that drones are ‘state of the art’, precise and effective. This is a bit like saying, ‘alright, fine, a drone is a murder weapon, but it’s the latest in murder weapons, the most en vogue.’ The controversial dimension to this issue arises less from the mechanical efficiency of drones and more from the inevitable question raised by their use: what gives us the right to commit murder?

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