Brace Yourself, Winter is Still Here

It's the end of March.

That means it's that exciting time for the first notes of warm weather,

 Budding flowers, sunshine spells, trips to the park...

But it seems that either Spring didn't get the memo

Or Mother Nature is going to have to file a missing season report.

I am sat in my room with a heater inches away from my feet.

It's warm inside, but it comes at a hefty price!

Back at uni, where basic heating is an extravagant luxury

We looked like eskimos, wrapped up in coats and ugg boots indoors,

Puffing out breaths into empty space to give the impression of an invisible cigar.

Spring where are you?!

Is this more evidence of that globalwarmingcrisis that people keep going on about?

Worryingly I'm hearing news that this may be the start of a future with only two seasons:

Freezing cold and a scorching summer.

What's more is that prolonged winter is making everything unattractive.

Trees are bare, the sky is forever an uninspiring foggy grey,

My skin is going from pale to paler. 

Making the best of the looong winter blues:

1. The best part of winter is Christmas, right? Well sadly it's too late for acquiring presents but eating some good December grub or watching holiday movies again could trick you into reclaiming the Christmas spirit and prolonging the 'most wonderful time of the year'.

2. Watch The Day After Tomorrow - you'll feel warmer by comparison.

3. Been struggling with a small fridge? Well now you can feel free to stock up on as many of your favourite foods and drinks as you want, and keep them nicely refrigerated on your window ledge.

4. Perfect excuse to cuddle up to someone for warmth ;)

5. Done right, jumpers and knitwear can be great style accessories that also serve to hide all likely weight-gain from tip no. 1.

Shetland ponies workin' it!

The Paperboy

Today I went to see The Paperboy. It wasn't my choice, but after hearing a couple of good reviews my company had decided that we should go see it, having fancied a change from the traditional churn of Hollywood blockbusters.

I was unaware of the film as I hadn't seen any adverts for it - and it seemed that most people hadn't either (or were choosing to ignore it), for the UK release date was only two weeks ago and already Empire cinema in Leicester square were placing us in their smallest screening room: a virtual attic with only 4 rows of seats. After watching the film, we weren't really surprised.

Shot in a cinéma vérité style, the plot of this film noir is as every bit grainy as the camera's picture quality. Based on a 1995 novel by American author Pete Dexter and directed by Lee Daniels, it stars Nicole Kidman as a 'blonde barbie doll', a deadly John Cusack, and Zac Efron and Matthew McConaughey as brothers, all living in a sweltering 1960s Florida. Despite the lack of publicity I'd seen, the film's cast alone should be bound to catch some attention I thought. However it may be the names alone that can hold on to said attention, at least for me, as the film is very slow-paced and it took patience in between the momentary Southern 'charms' and black humour to keep me sustained (not to mention I was unequipped with neither popcorn nor drink). 

Ward Jansen (McConaughey) and his uptight associate Yardley Acheman (David Oyelowo) are newspaper researchers investigating the case of Hillary van Wetter (Cusack), a prisoner on death row for the murder of a local asshole sheriff. From the start I'm not sure why exactly they're helping him, Wetter himself seems like an entirely disagreeable man perfectly capable of the murder, but I guess Acherman and Jansen are just trying to make a name for themselves in the printing press. Kidman plays Wetter's paramore Miss Charlotte Bless, a woman whose girlish manners do nothing to disguise her wild and unashamed sexuality. This is unleashed most fervently in the notable prison-visitation scene, a sort of humorous porno in which the camera boldly dives into Kidman's crotch as Bless aids Wetter and herself live up to his name, whilst neither the idle cast members nor the cinema audience know quite where to look.

I don't wish to give away too many annoying spoilers, so as a general summary the film overall just feels as though it takes place in an incessant pool of slow slime. The tedious and undesirable accumulation of full body sweat, everyday racism, rough sex, misogyny, urination, blood and guts, makes the filthy swamp itself appear as probably the purest aspect of the whole film's landscape. It simply makes you want to take a bath in all things clean, good and wholesome. 

Having dished the dirt though, I would say that Nicole Kidman does give a very sensual and skilled performance of her character which could be worth the watch. As does Macy Gray. The Paperboy also warmly invites its viewers to partake in the sexual objectification of the gorgeous Kidman and bulked-up Zac Efron (whose constant stripping to bare tighty-whites could be confused with a Calvin Klein ad). So there's a positive if you're into that kinda thing..

Big Eat Treatin'

So last week my mother and I decided to treat ourselves to YO!Sushi!'s Super Sumo Sunday deal.

An all-you-can-eat buffet meal for £19.50.

Here's an informed guide to making the most of your experience:

1. First of all, make sure you get there early. Or at least, not at a time when most other people will be eating. There will be a queue. 

2. The sushi comes round on a rotating belt. You want to be sitting as close as possible to the chefs - where the belt starts, which comes with the added pleasure of seeing the food made. You do not want to be at the end of the belt, where all the best pieces have gone and you're left with everyone's lonely rejects. Though if you haven't been successful with step 1, it will be blind luck where you're sitting. 

3. Keep an eye on the belt. If you see a dish you like but already have a lot on your plate, evaluate its worth to you. You may not see it again. 

4. Don't eat too much rice. It will fill you up. Think tactical, soldier.

5. Be wary of other customers. Sitting next to a larger than life family of four? Pay attention to what they're eyeing on the belt. If a dish that you both seem to like is approaching and you're side by side or behind them in the belt queue, make loud declarations about how you're getting that dish so as to tell them to back off, or just casually stretch your arm out and nab it for yourself. Take no prisoners. 

6. See anything in packaging ('snackpacks'), such as chilli rice crackers or wasabi peas? Grab 'em and stash 'em. Warning: you may later choke on the peas.

7. Don't panic. It's alright to grab the plate quickly but there's nothing sadder or more embarrassing then a spilled over plate on the belt, your sushi inadequacy shamefully revolving round like dirty laundry for all to see.

8. Dishes marked with a grey or yellow band are not included in the buffet deal. Avoid at all costs. 

9. Don't expect the best dishes. They probably won't be coming, or if you want them you should try specially requesting it. We experienced a severe sushimi draught, which was uncompensated by the abundance of soy beans. 

10. Greed is a sin. Don't take more than you can handle or you will be punished for it later. YO!Sushi! charges you extra if you've left too much food behind. My fate by the end involved woefully force-feeding myself spoonfuls of unwanted rice.

11. Time is of the essence.You only have one hour to eat. No room for idle chit-chat, make your toilet trip before the meal. It's not even a guideline - the server will come round at the exact time that your session ends like an invigilator, and then it will be chopsticks down. 

12. Just don't go with your mother. 

13. Sushi is an acquired taste. If you find it difficult to find friends to go with you, aiming for a competition angle with the buffet can encourage people to take part. The record for the most dishes consumed by one person is 33. To put that into context, my mum and I managed about 28 between us.

Whale there's no point in leaving any dishes for salmon else

14. Go back in time. The policy used to be that you receive two hours instead of one, which would leave more room for eating and digesting. Plus, a record from just last year stated that the price used to be cheaper than £19.50.

15. Despite the negativism, yes the food is good. But unless you're craving sushi, it's not really worth it. There are plenty of other Asian cuisine buffets that will have more on offer for less of the cost and stress. E.g. today my mother and I went to The Real China, a buffet with a decent selection and quality of dishes for just over £11, no time restrictions.

Dessert selection @ The Real China

Chocolate Ganache Cake @ Yo!Sushi

Looking for Likes

A Facebook friend of mine recently made this status update:

"Haven't been getting a lot of "likes" on my photos recently. Maybe I should try the following douchebag options to increase the likes:

1. Travel to Africa, get a photo with some smiling black kids and post it on facebook
2. Find a cute animal and take a photo with it and hope people comment with "awww oh my god, that' sooooo cute"
3. Go for the nature shot where I am looking into the distance as the sun is setting, pretending to be in deep thought, while all I am really thinking is how many "likes" I am going to get.
4. Get a new born baby and pretend to have excellent father skills to trigger the "awww I want to marry him" response from girls.
Any other suggestions for vomiting and cringe-worthy photos?"

This is funny, because let's be honest, it's pretty true. I'm fairly sure this status was made ironically though, because the author seems to be guilty of such common crimes as these. As am I. This is an age where moments are measured by how many likes it could get on Facebook. I know it's bad but I just can't help it.

There is an unspoken rulebook on Facebook.
Amongst the codes against duckfaces and dodgy photoshopping,

 if I'm missing someone and want to show it, want to get someone to like me, or just want to encourage other people to like my stuff, then I must be all 

but when someone's not my best friend and they like all of my Facebook content

You can see that some people really care about this stuff though. I mean really. 

I can pardon most Facebook forms of vanity, but these are the ones who message you with

"Heyyy can you like my photo please xox"

Or the ones who will change their photo every few hours just to maximise their publicity on the news feed. And similarly, repeatedly tag themselves in the same photo.

It's okay I've been to Specsavers, you still look like a female Gary Barlow.

A recent article from The Independent states that 

Trawling through your own Facebook pictures could be good for your mental health

Well then, it's good to know I've been improving my mental health! Though while I agree that I enjoy taking photos and looking through them as a sort of diary and reminder of good moments (or obscure drunken ones), I don't think it's all that innocent. A lot of the time people post pictures of what they're up to just as proof that they haven't been sitting alone at home all week in a tracksuit with a tub of ice cream and a few too many cats. Or at least, because otherwise it seems like

So, something that comes as a refreshment from the entrapment of Facebook popularity is an article from CreativeBloq about a 

new photo-sharing app

It describes an anti-Facebook and Instagram revolution provided by digital design agency ustwo, with their new app Rando that 'defies social norms'. It shares images at random, focusing on admiring photography rather than the number of likes. Will it be a success? I don't know, I'm wary of an idea that could enable me to be sent holiday pictures from an unfamiliar obese American family. Yet, overall I think it's a positive thing and I give it the thumbs up seal of approval:

 

Chasing Chelsea

So a few weeks ago, my uni announced that one of the boys from Made in Chelsea was coming to town for a night. This invoked mix reactions amongst my peers, 

from the Steve Buscemi

to Jennifer Lawrence

Not wanting to jeopardise our cool by doing a full out Lawrence, my friend and I were like

...and bought ourselves VIP tickets.

For those of you unfamiliar (which will include most males), Made in Chelsea is a 'reality tv' (yeah right) style drama following the lives of a group of twenty-somethings from London with lots of money, vanity, and little social awareness. Sounds good right..? 

Well it's definitely a guilty pleasure of mine, just a short moment taken out of every week to look at those more fortunate than you and scoff at their champagne and spa lifestyles.

So of the wealth of cast members, Jamie Laing was said to be visiting - this guy: 

But instead, we got these guys (Andy, Spencer, and randomer):

which made no difference to be honest. 

The whole night up to their entrance had been spent in anticipation; when were they coming, would we get to see them, would we end up chatting to them and instantly become best friends and get onto the next show and end up rich and famous for real... 

Y'know, those kind of realistic dreams.

Like this, but less cute.

                                                                                       Well I was to be fairly disappointed. Not only was I not asked to be on the show but I had to endure an intense bloodbath within the VIP section as pushy guys and girls armoured with 7 inch designer stilettos fought viciously to get to the front for the essential photos, or if you were lucky enough, some fangirl touching.

MOVEBITCHGETOUTTHEWAY

In the scrum, I ended up losing my passport, keys and purse (F*CK!) and had to resort to crawling around on the floor like a less suave Indiana Jones, desperately shining my phone torch through the mass of bare legs. I got judgemental looks from those around me. I couldn't find my belongings and so I went back to attempting my way to the front yet again for, by now, a very much deserved photo. Things were still heated in the crowd, and you could see in the eyes of every crazed girl there that all they wanted to do was this. Especially me.

Yet even at the front of the VIP section, the troubles were not over. Now, after having proven your physical strength in battling past pointy elbows and stubborn torsos, there was a test of hotness. This had become Total Wipeout meets pageant show. To get through the final stages, you now had to convince the bouncers and Made in Chelsea management that you were cool and good looking enough to be chosen for more exclusive rewards. For me, standing so close to my goal, this seemed to go like this:

Don't worry Ali, I think you're pretty.

It was the same look I was giving the
bouncers.

                                                                                           So frustrating! I couldn't believe that this kind of unjust selection and gender-based prejudice could take place so unashamedly. I understood now perhaps why earlier on a girl and her supporting diva posse had given me dirty looks once she realised I was wearing the same dress as her. 

Another girl had managed to get into the extra special VIP section and she was wearing our dress.
How dare she! 

It of course meant that it would be even harder for me to get in. Yet low and behold, I eventually managed to sneak through with a group of other girls and what do you know? Spencer and Andy have already left for their own after party.

So there's my first world problem rant. By this time, I remembered that I'd come with a friend. Turned out she'd managed to get photos with them but had in turn lost her keys and been kicked out of the club by a bouncer who'd had prior unrequited affection for her. Together, through some staff harassment we managed to recover our stuff and, emotionally exhausted, made our way towards a taxi. But the night did not end there. 

No, rather than call ourselves a personal taxi and wait in the cold - even colder due to our prioritisation of looking glamorous, we tried to share a taxi with some others outside the club who were also trying to obtain one. We managed to find a car by pretending to be someone else, and we got in, all of us confused by how we'd ended up together. My friend and I soon learned that we'd entered into a car with some of the Made in Chelsea entourage. What!

The randomer (shown in a previous picture) and two other guys were on their way to the hotel where the cast members were staying ...and it seemed like we were coming with them. We arrived at some grand hotel not too far from the club. "Are you coming with us?", the guys asked indifferently. Well, a) the taxi driver had to take another call and wasn't letting us stay in the cab anyway, and b) the possibilty of a private night in with some much sought after and wealthy men?! Hell yes! "Yeah guess so."
The Randomer walked up to the porter's desk, "Hello, I'm coming to see my brother, Spencer. Could you direct me to his room please." The old porter looked up from his desk at the five of us. "NO. There is no way that all of you are coming into this hotel now! It's against policy. And it's 3am!" This sparked a long protest between the guys and the porter, who for his age had some admirable gut and firmness. Perhaps he'd fought in a war. My friend and I stood there all the while amused and bewildered. Then came the awkward moment when the porter rang up Spencer saying his brother was in the lobby, could he come down, only to hear that apparently Spencer's brother was dead. How embarassing, the Randomer looked very much alive.
"Right, his brother's dead, get out!!!" He wouldn't even let us stand in the lobby.

 But the Randomer wasn't giving up. I'm still not sure how he was connected to the Made in Chelsea cast exactly, but he did know them somehow. He kept insisting, and the porter started making another phone call - this time though the Randomer had given up adhering to any rules and just ran up the hotel stairs. Ohh shit haha we all thought, as we watched him dash for glory.
"I'm going to fetch the police now", the porter stated, "So you'd better leave."
For me this signaled a quick exit, but for the others this obviously meant that it was a good idea to also climb up the stairs. My friend ran past me, and not wanting to be left alone to face any police, I followed her in a blind panic. However our questionable decision was short-lived as us girls were abruptly stopped in our tracks by the second assisting porter. We bashfully burst into nervous laughter, and luckily for us the young guy seemed to share our sense of humour. He escorted us to some seats where we promised him we'd call ourselves a taxi home. After a few minutes though the old man returned, "What are you doing here! I told you to leave!" He refused our retorts about being permitted to wait there obediently and sent us outside, where we were reunited with two of the guys.They'd obviously not had any luck either but were still waiting outside hopefully. "Hey, I paid for the taxi earlier, do you girls have any money?" What a gentleman! Our taxi arrived and my friend and I hopped in, away from the debacle that was our night.

"How can we explain this..?"
"Let's just say, shit went down. That sums it all."

* Season 5 is coming soon! *

Hello again!

Hi, this is the editor speaking.

Thank you to anyone who's been watching this blog, and apologies for my absence!

So I've just decided to revisit my site and...

So I'm thinking about a complete re-designing of this page, with (hopefully)

more of my thoughts

more creative arts stuff

less of the cheese 

Might take some time, but I hope you're excited!

xxx