- Paralympics: Less or More Important than the Olympics?Written by Frances ClarkeControversy has hit the post offices of Britain as the Paralympics’ Gold-Medallists are told that they must share a stamp, rather than have individual ones like those of the Olympics’…Be the first to comment! Read more...
- Promises, Promises: Why 3D Cinema is NOT the Second ComingWritten by Samantha HamesFor a long time, I’ve been harbouring a secret. A great big, dirty secret. Now I used to think that maybe this secret was not such a big deal. I’d…Be the first to comment! Read more...
- 60 Years: Let’s Have Some BeersWritten by Jenny PinderAs we celebrate the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee, marking her 60 years on the throne with various celebrations, we’ve all seen the union jack bunting, the tea sets, balloons and…Be the first to comment! Read more...
- Masturbation Maximus: The Minimizer of MusclesWritten by Saul McArthurIt’s a cold evening. You’ve just finished a hard-night session at the gym. Collectively you’ve lifted more weight than forty Mini Coopers over that last three hours. You’ve worked hard.…1 comment Read more...
- Tax dodgers? How much does your average Joe care? Very little it seems. Written by Joanna Bateson-HillI don’t care what people say, we’ve got it pretty sweet in the UK. Ok, things aren’t perfect but we’ve got free health care, police, education and a social welfare…Be the first to comment! Read more...
- By Amy Kilvington
Over the past few years, various social events have presented the primped and preened members of the male species: the metrosexuals. I’ve been aware of the phenomenon for some time, but was never in a rush to formulate my own opinion. I was conscious, but not anxious. I’d seen them around, donning their low-cut tops and bleached hairstyles, but despite their extravagance I’d never spared much thought about metrosexual men.
- By Amy Kilvington
It hit me like a bolt of lightning. There I was, tootling on home in my little blue car, easing the frustrations of the A1079 with the joyful tunes of Capital FM. I was singing along, as you do, imagining myself as a multi-platinum selling rock star, and ignoring the fact that I was out of time, out of tune, and have no observable singing talent whatsoever. But I powered on through, and then I realised.
Music turns us into arseholes.
So we’ve all heard the horror stories. The young girl meets up with the cute boy she’s been talking to on Myspace, and he turns out to be a 60-year-old man. The teenager starts dating the lad she met online, only to find he’s already got a string of girlfriends (and is actually a girl in disguise… weird). The college boy is wowed by the blonde bombshell that’s showing an interest on Facebook, and then discovers his love interest is actually an overweight, middle-aged mother of two. The media regularly makes us aware of the dangerous consequences of internet dating, with people being abused, imprisoned, and sometimes murdered. The obvious problem is that you have no clue who is actually on the other side of the screen. People can say whatever they want, and be whoever they want, and you’re none the wiser. Often internet dating can be damaging; people are misled and exploited, left confused and humiliated with bruised egos and broken hearts. But let’s not focus too much on the serious side of it; the TV and newspapers manage it sufficiently.
a person who is studying at a
university or other place of
According to the Oxford English Dictionary, a student is someone who studies. It’s kind of obvious. It’s the title we all adopt when we move to university, furthering our education and broadening our horizons, all the while excited by the fact that we can now introduce yourselves as ‘students’. But now, with grateful thanks to the wayward individuals of Student’s Past, it’s no longer just a simple title. It’s a valid excuse.
- By Amy Kilvington
When you’re approaching the end of your undergraduate degree, you have several options. You apply for an MA, or opt for graduate schemes, or travel the world in the hope of self discovery. You might be one of the irritatingly organised few, smug with the assurance of a position at the company of your dreams. The most likely situation, however, is to join the masses of hospitality or retail, where you’ll skivvy for six pounds an hour while you decide what you want to do ‘when you’re older’. These are the typical situations: further education, money making, or life experience. Being the conventional individual that I am, I chose the Masters. My housemate Jo is doing the same. Other friends are travelling and applying for undergraduate jobs, continuing to live the student life while they ponder their options. And there are a lot of options. Too many to choose from, really. But I also have a friend whose options are limited. Her path has been decided. She’s not going to be an academic or a traveller or a skivvy. She’s going to be a mum.