CUB FEBRUARY ISSUE 546

CUB ISSUE 546

ISSUE 546 FEBRUARY

LONDON Another London We explore the good, the bad, and the dirty...

ARTS 4 Kate Middleton: A Portrait

Reaction 6 The Rise of the Boutique Book 8 Generation Opera We discuss why one of our oldest art forms is on the decline

FILM 10 Oscars: Head to Head Hit Has violence in 12 Smash films gone too far?

FEATURES

cover and contents photo by Laura Blair

14 15 16 18

HOBBIES: Got The Look? How to be a part-time model HOBBIES: 5 Societies you never knew existed HOBBIES: Going Underground HOBBIES: Confessions of a Pole Dancer There’s more to the sport then night clubs and sex-appeal

20 In Ecstacy or Overrated Do 22 24

Nirvana deserve pride of place on our iPods?

You Can’t Teach an Old Dog New Tricks The Ups and Downs of The Streets

FASHION 26 Man vs Fashion Christopher 28 30 31 32

Lui gives us the lowdown on Men’s Fashion Week Runway Edit: The best of Topman’s S/S 13 Collection An Ode to LCM CUB Creates: DIY Acid Wash Jeans

TRAVEL Destination: Paris

QUPID

34 Couple Six: Rosie Dempsey and Andrew Hughes

TWITTER: @cubmagazine GET INVOLVED: editorcub@gmail.com

“Do one thing every day that scares you.” - Eleanor Roosevelt.

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MUSIC

ANOTHER LONDON...

Neil Gaiman’s novel Neverwhere introduces us to London Below, a London we never knew we lived parallel to.

Bringing to life familiar tube stations, we meet the Black Friars of Blackfriars, realise there’s an Earl at Earl’s Court and learn about the Floating Market, a great night time bazaar held at irregular intervals above places such as Harrods. All forgotten placesboarded up buildings, dark alleyways, closed underground stations- belong to the inhabitants of Neverwhere. If you have a spark of imagination left in you it will make you look a little closer at our city.

That haunting scene in 28 Days Later when Cillian Murphy’s character walks through an empty city is one that you will not forget. Filmed very early one summer morning, you are never likely to see the city this still in your life.

(And let’s hope you don’t because that probably means the worst has happened.)

photos by Laura Blair, starrynight and El Bibliomata

Disney gave us a different view of chimney sweeps in Mary Poppins, whilst also revealig the social hierarchies still present in 20th Century. The film follows the story of a nanny come to look after the children of a banker. London is represented as a doorway to a fantastical world to which your imagination is the key; once unlocked you can go on foxhunts, float with laughter and dance in chorus over the rooftops.

UNSEEN LONDON

If you want to know a little about the grimy underbelly of historical London, then Dickens’ Oliver Twist will give you a taste of what you want. Although the taste left in your mouth is a bitter one, Dickens exposes the extent of child labour, poverty and social injustice of the mid-1800s.

His streets are full of crime and the similarities to modern East London are uncanny.

DESOLATE LONDON

NOSTALGIC LONDON

TWISTED LONDON

Remember Lily Allen’s ‘LDN’ video showing us two different visions of the capital? The Utopia vs. The Dystopia. This month LONDON editor Bryony Orr explores other Londons portraying the good, the bad and the downright dirty....

LONDON Masters student Tom Phelan tells us what a trip out of the East End can offer to the average Queen Mary Student. Could the grass really be greener on the other side of London?

With the tube celebrating a special birthday this year, it seemed only fitting that I should dig out my oyster card and head out west. This I did, and it was Earl’s Court’s Troubadour club that played host for the evening. This well-to-do nightspot enjoys a cosy restaurant above a soulful basement venue, and down the stairs I headed to the monthly musical showcase ‘Jam Sandwich’. For £6, the music was entertaining. Gypsy jazz normally irks me but after a few headliners The General were good fun. An atmosphere of sophistication reigned throughout the evening, affirmed by the chairs-and-tables setup, which I enjoyed, despite my wallet’s continual groan. Also, the unisex toilets are cool – definitely another plus point.

It was then, the day after, that my nightly travels brought me to QM local Cafe 1001. A new initiate, I walked in, impressed by the central stairway and high ceiling, but after my ascent discovered the extent of this confused pretentious mess. Now, my commitment to the traditional sense of ‘café’ might deny a sense of objectivity here, but this is a primitive affair (is this why it’s called 1001?) Beer in PLASTIC CUPS!? Yes, I know it’s also a club, but chatting over a plastic pint is a bit lame really.

My apologies to anyone enamoured by Cafe 1001’s bohemia, but for this Masters student, the Troubadour wins out. Next month… maybe Brewdog?

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EAST VS WEST

photo by Tom Soper

KATE MIDDLETON, CIRCA 2053

Soon she will be Queen Regent. By the time the bastion of her Forties have claimed neck and underarms (a disaster for most women her age) Kate Middleton will have recruited armies to defend against the onslaught of gravity and motion, as her war takes place in the fourth dimension. As space moves through time—and those around her register the mark of her vehicle through such a temporal passage—Kate Middleton will rise early and seek the flat machine that tells her, in effect, that the moon revolves around the earth, around the sun, the sun, the sun, the sun. Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves...

Kate Middleton’s portrait. That’s the task at hand. We shall examine its abhorrent resistance to being. We shall dissect its androidal denial of all things, ‘life.’ Her skin is of a storybook pigs. She is ripe and lush and taut. She gleams like a silver dollar rotating, tossed, on a sunny dare. Yet, she shall eventually retreat further—smooth and unaffected—by way of her portrait into houses of straw, of brick, of stone, of lead, of calcium, of cosmetic surgery, of despotic nil, of time, of escaping time, of escaping time, of escaping time. Portraits defy time. The dollar lands on tails and the tram-

So. Dissolve the Empire of youth into a commonwealth of suggestion. Kate Middleton is Queen Regent, now. The sun still works and she understands the razorbacked hills groved in olive as they form memories; the slop of waves against the side of the yacht is subtle.

Ahead, the island awaits as it has always. On holiday she shall wear a hat. She always wears a hat (versus melanoma). Her hat is silk, her mannerisms are Jackie Kennedy Onassis.

Tortoiseshell. Bangles. By this point, hopefully, the paparazzi will own a post-Soviet satellite. When she trips getting off the skiff in the shallow blue waters, the world will roar with laughter on one side and on the other side it shall pinch and grit it’s collective teeth, as though having just run a marathon. ‘Water,’ the masses will cry, ‘slake our thirst, we are thirsty. Give us water. Water. Water.’ ‘Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves...’

Very far into the future when the oils have set, she shall uproar the media. Westminster Abbey will be a disaster. Flowers will be as flowers have always been. London will weep. In the rain. The suggestion of a carriage will be enough. The vaults of history will open and close. The world will move around the sun, the moon around the earth. The skies will flash occasionally of this phenomenon. The Thames will wind around the Isle of Dogs and out to the sea. London will have a skyline. The bricks will keep getting older.

‘Who is that mummy?’ some kid will say under the Trafalgar pigeon gallery.

‘That’s Kate Middleton,’ Mummy will say, ‘She was the first queen of the twenty-first century.’

‘I want an ice cream.’

‘You’ve just had lunch.’

‘I know, but I want an ice cream.’

Mummy will test the levys of her will against an exasperated sigh and check the time subtly.

END.

words by Nick Kipley

ARTS

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At five AM Kate Middleton realises that the machine on her bathroom wall is designed— like most young women sometimes do—to disfigure her likeness in a cruel backwards suggestion of what the world wishes of her.

The Mirror, as it were, is the surface of the moon. She sees the craters and pockmarks and the dead skin and the patches and, from there, devises strategies as to how to eliminated them through the art of chemical warfare.

Creams. Dyes. Patches, fills. The vehicle of Kate Middleton examines itself upon a surface reflective and imperfect. The vehicle of Kate Middleton realises its imperfections and sets to work. Outside the window, it is Scotland.

Kate Middleton is studying art. She uses the abbreviated word, ‘Uni.’

poline dare must be undertaken, must fail.

Must always fail. Images do not, of time, escape. Images are images. Images rotate slowly in the indecision of the sun forever—neither here nor there. To become an image is to become history. History is untarnishable in this aspect. Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves?

photos by Laura Blair

THE RISE OF THE BOUTIQUE BOOK

However, can e-readers ever be better than a real book? Can the feel of cold metal ever beat the rippling of pages? Can clean plastic packaging ever trump the musky smell of your favourite copy, the tiny marks and split spine it gets as you read? Some will say yes, definitely.

Others will contest this furiously clutching their childhood copy of Alice in Wonderland.

Nevertheless it seemed, for a while at least, that the e-reader was winning. However... now the book companies have bitten back.

Cue the revival of the boutique book, a volume so beautiful that you can’t resist buying it. Bound in a hardback cover and etched with an exquisite line drawing of Moby Dick, the boutique book is something to be proud of holding whilst you squeeze yourself onto the Central Line. Currently Penguin’s Great Loves series is helping lead the boutique revival, with a range of inexpensive, vivid romances to choose from, and not simply your typical fare.

James Baldwin’s Giovanni’s Room, Francoise Sagan’s Bonjour Tristesse and D.H. Lawrence’s Sons and Lovers have all been carefully handpicked and wrapped up in gorgeous, printed covers. Time and effort has been lav-

Or perhaps, for an extra treat, look more upmarket. The Folio Society have just launched their range of Beautiful Books, ‘gifts to last a lifetime’, with a selection of over 400 volumes, all design-centred down to the smallest detail.

Virginia Woolf’s Orlando has been swathed in a deep, crimson print with a gold pattern of trees and leaves spilling its way across the cover. It’s romantic, beautiful and luxurious, like Woolf’s story itself. Does Edward Lear’s Nonsense sound like a bore? Well it looks like a brilliant read when bound in a bright red cover and etched with fairytale creatures. And that’s the great advantage of boutique books: they can help you pick out a novel from the shelf by reflecting what’s inside where a blurb can’t. They ooze style, taste, class, and allow you to own something beautiful and see the pages crinkle a little or absorb the chocolate you’re gorging on whilst reading. A true triumph. These are things that the shiny glass of an iPad can’t achieve, these memories created on the face of the book - not possible via the screen of a tablet.

Maybe I’m just an English student, maybe I’m just a little fussy about these things, maybe one day indeed the printed book will be a rarer sight than the Jabberwocky itself - but hey, at least I’ll have some great copies to cling on to.

END. words by Sean Richardson

ARTS

ished over this collection and whether you buy just one novel or the whole set, these are volumes that your bookcase is yearning to own.

Other publishers have taken a more overt stance on the boutique book, avoiding series and focusing on creating a beautiful, single text. Take Vintage’s new edition of Christopher and his Kind, a gaudy blue seascape overset with two lithe men draped across one another. Forget tasteless erotica, this is the publishing world’s own homoerotic comeback, the cover mimicking Isherwood’s story in style. Or look to Penguin again, with their latest copy of George Orwell’s 1984. Instead of a title we have thick, black lines splashed across the front, a clever twist on the book’s own theme of censorship which screams ‘PICK ME UP– find out what I am.’ These are novels that have seen hard work and craftsmanship put into them and these are novels that you’ll want to buy.

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There has been a slow cultural invasion happening of late; slipping onto the tube, creeping round corners of the library and permeating every lecture hall in the country. In fact it’s happened so slowly, so cunningly, so quietly that most people haven’t had time to react properly, apart from a few cries of ‘Reading is dead!’, ‘Long live the book!’ and ‘Vive la revolution!’ Okay, maybe not the last one, and maybe not with such gusto. But yes, I’m talking about one thing: the dawn of the e-reader.

They come in all shapes, sizes and with a range of silly names: The Kindle, The Nook, The Kobo. Those who have hailed them as the next big step for readers everywhere point out their ease of use, the price of their books compared to ordinary volumes and, of course, the wealth of classic literature one can download for free. Jane Austen’s novels, the works of D.H. Lawrence, a careful selection of Virginia Woolf’s lighter texts, all for nothing. I myself unwrapped a shiny new handheld for Christmas and hurriedly downloaded the Kindle App, slicing away at the tablet’s spare gigabytes with pages and pages of literature, all for free.

GENERATION OPERA

photo by BBC Radio 3

ARTS So a matter of price, and a matter of taste... or a matter of reputation. I do think that the above have influences on why opera isn’t hugely popular with younger people today, but I think the overriding factors lie in the idea of an elitist education, which includes students who are versed in Latin, German, Italian and awareness of classics. This definitely should not be true, given the small translation screens available in many opera houses nowadays, as well as many of the most famous foreign language operas being translated into, and performed in, English. But even if this was the case now, a classical education certainly isn’t necessary.

I say nowadays, but historically the opera was never deemed to be for the elite, as from 1637 there were regularly held public operas.

I recently went to see a new interpretation of Mozart’s Don Giovani at the London Coliseum. The story involves a man posing as many different characters in order to lure women to sleep with him and then leaving them raped, savaged or reeling. Fathers want to kill him, men want to be him and women straddle a line in the middle. He is for all intents and purposes a prolific man-slut. It is comic and ridiculous, with some laugh-out-loud lines.

This performance was translated from Italian to English, in a modern and understandable script, by Jeremy Sams in consultation with Faber Music, linked to more well-known musicians including Kasabian, Marina and the

Diamonds and Muse. This should have made an incredibly famous opera very accessible, yet the age range present didn’t seem to have changed.

In comparison, La Sonnambula by Bellini at the Viennese State Opera House in Austria, presented a huge range of characters. Admittedly, they could all have been tourists coming for a taste of the famous opera house - but why would this not happen in London? Surprisingly, it is also a less accessible opera. The plot goes something like this: man and woman fall in love, woman mysteriously turns up in another man’s bed – both deny all; man goes to get married next day to another woman; turns out woman sleepwalks and is the ghost many people thought they had seen; all is well except for promiscuous and devious other women. Not a funny opera, not a opera where you want to be any of the characters, not an opera where you feel particularly strong about the fate of any of the characters, certainly an opera where you come out believing it is all ridiculous and the male characters terrible. In contrast to Don Giovani, the only thing they have in common is that the male protagonists are chauvinistic pigs.

Opera is not for everyone and it is often not for me. However, neither are many of the music genres popping up today. What I really want to know is why there is such a considerable gap between the much-beloved musical and the pooh-poohed realms of opera present here but not in Austria? If nothing else it is a fantastic opportunity to glam up for a healthy dose of culture! Music lover or a fan of the mythical - and I know you are out there, please don’t dismiss this fantastic art form quite so quickly – try it just once. Madame Butterfly, Don Giovani, Carmen or La Boheme are some of the greatest; have a quick spy of a synopsis, check out some clips on the net, and go and enjoy! END.

words by Lauren Blackburne- Tinker

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Why don’t we go to the opera anymore? Is it perhaps just an elitist version of the musical, or do we simply just not like it? If so, how horribly boring this country has come to be. I say this country, but legitimately it could be many others. However, having visited Austria last year I know that is certainly not the attitude in Vienna. Not only is it not deemed to be elitist, it actively encourages a wide spectrum of people to go and see it. The most expensive tickets at the State Opera House in Vienna are €232 – definitely extortionate! However, the cheapest tickets are €3; granted you have to stand, but few can profess not to afford to fork out €3.

OSCARS: HEAD TO HEAD

photos by Cliff1066 and Dave B

The Academy Awards mark the time of the year when Hollywood’s elite gets to pat themselves on the back by handing out small golden men to each other. It is not news to most of us that the award ceremony is over-the-top, predictable and generic, and the 85th instalment will probably not prove the exception to the rule. Yet, something draws thousand of us back to this annual spectacle every year.

Though the award ceremony tends to turn into a bit of a snooze-fest, one of the most exciting things about the Oscars is the build-up and the anticipation prior to the show. The wait is somewhat tedious, but also exciting.

It is a little bit like Christmas. The warm and fuzzy feeling you get when preparing for the holidays usually exceeds that which we get when Christmas actually arrives.

As predictable as the Awards may be, I can’t help but to feel genuinely happy for some of the recipients. Take Colin Firth when he won for The King’s Speech back in 2011 for example. Mr Darcy himself humbly attempts to explain how he fears that ‘stirrings’ in his upper abdominal area might form into dance moves if they reach his legs. Or the pregnant Natalie Portman’s wonderfully awkward and inappropriate laughter, following her own joke about her husband’s wish to sleep with her. Obviously, most winners are well aware of their position as favourites, but the childlike, indisputable joy that some of them showcase, is something that my heart cannot resist, and is one of my favourite aspects of the show.

However, if you are not into the scene of feeling happy for the winners, take a closer look at the nominees who do not win instead, and frolic in a wide range of strained smiles and mechanical slow-claps. One would think that actors and actresses of this calibre would be able to master the art of the losing-face, but alas, no! Two prime examples are Samuel L. Jackson (1994 for Pulp Fiction) and Bill Murray (2003 for Lost in Translation). While Jackson mouths ‘shit!’ as his name is not called, Murray just sits in silence, looking defeated. Smooth, boys. Smooth…

There is no denying that the award ceremony is a lengthy ordeal, and as someone who is tuning in from overseas, the Sunday night time-slot is problematic. But as exhausting as it is, there is something special about an allnighter dedicated to the Oscars. The challenge to stay awake has indeed been accepted. It is also refreshing to attempt an all-nighter that does not include essay writing. Thus, it also seconds as an effective form of procrastination. And, due to the show’s generic qualities, the Oscars also make an exceptional drinking game. Drink each time the winner thanks the Academy, or their families, or they cry, and you will be one happy, though probably passed out Oscar-camper, come Monday morning.

Most of us love to hate the Academy Awards, and it is my firm belief that if taken with a pinch of salt, the event can be a rather enjoyable one. END. words by Frida Runnkvist

FILM I think it’s fairly obvious I don’t have much insider info on the Oscars. But, there aren’t many better qualified to comment on them than a two-time Best Actor nominee. I turn to Joaquin Phoenix for my balanced expert opinion on the awards: ‘I think it’s total, utter bullshit, and I don’t want to be a part of it. I don’t believe in it. It’s a carrot, but it’s the worst-tasting carrot I’ve ever tasted in my whole life. It’s totally subjective. Pitting people against each other… It’s the stupidest thing in the whole world.’

Ok, so maybe the stupidest thing in the whole world is going a bit far, but I’m not in total disagreement with the man who himself is this year nominated for his turn in The Master. I too think the system of nominating and voting for award winners is, well, bullshit. It’s no secret that the Academy has its favourites and blogs and magazines around this time every year are awash with ‘shock’ snubs and ‘sur-

You were thinking that the Oscars were there to celebrate the best films, right? Well, that’s debateable. Many films which are widely accepted as absolute classics didn’t get a nomination – I’m talking Rear Window, 2001: A Space Odyssey, The Dark Knight, Manhattan and Psycho to name a few. The big studios are always the first to pat themselves on the back, and lobbying has influenced a bunch of the big Oscar decisions. Melissa Leo winning Best Supporting Actress for her role in The Fighter can arguably be traced back to her zealous campaign, featuring a frankly disturbing portrait of her in a fur coat beside a swimming pool. Leo defended her ads, saying ‘this entire awards process to some degree is about pimping yourself out’. And let’s not forget the endgame – Leo won the Oscar, dropping an attention-grabbing F-bomb and staying in the headlines for a few minutes longer.

Despite Awards organisers trying to be a tad more stringent with rules, filmmakers are still insistent on trying to nudge their movies into the lead; in 2010 The Hurt Locker producer Nicholas Chartier was banned from the ceremony for emailing Academy voters urging them not to vote for Avatar. You may remember that it was indeed The Hurt Locker, rather than James Cameron’s CGI blockbuster, that scooped the big gong.

So in essence, the Oscars are a wee bit disingenuous and perhaps don’t always reflect the best films of a year. This would certainly explain the marked lack of foreign and independent films that feature, and perhaps account for the monotonous stream of familiar faces that contort themselves into laughablyfalse sycophantic expressions year-in, yearout. Ok, so this is a bit of a rant… but it’s quite difficult to take the Oscars seriously – in terms of an ‘award’ show, it has lost most of its integrity. And don’t get me started on the goodiebags and that whole ‘who are you wearing?!’ thing. Just don’t. END. words by Kumari Tilakawardane

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prise’ omissions. Sometimes it’s just not that surprising, and intense lobbying and calling in favours among the big production companies frequently makes sure this isn’t a fair contest.

photo by Sir Mildred Pierce

photo by Sir Mildred Pierce

FILM Violence is not an issue which hovers in the film world alone. It has been an issue of contention in video games frequently over the years, especially rise of increasingly realistic graphics. More and more games seem to encourage the idea of killing for pleasure because the aim of the game is the destruction of the enemy. And that’s it.

I, however, find myself thinking that in film it isn’t the same. Games are made almost solely for our entertainment and amusement. Few would argue that there is any intended message or complex narrative to these modern destruction games such as Call of Duty and Grand Theft Auto, but when I watch a film and see violence I am experiencing something much more intricate. It is not an isolated moment but an undeniable part of a whole. Alone it means nothing. Singular acts of violence in games mean nothing. What is important in this moment - this small part - is the way I am made to feel about the violence I am witnessing.

Let’s take for example the recent release of Quentin Tarantino’s Django Unchained, from which this article is clearly inspired. The violence in Tarantino’s films is always somewhat over the top, or so we seem to think. In truth, how many of us know how much blood there is, when one accidentally shoots the guy sitting in the back of one’s car? A few at best.

When recently writing a review of the film I realised how much more I appreciate Tarantino’s brutal interpretation than the latest Bond

films where a death is a simple as a bullet in the chest and not a word more. Multiple times in any Bond movie, I find myself thinking about the collateral damage he is causing and the number of innocent people he is ignorantly killing in his steamrolling quest to vanquish the enemy. There is a hugely tense moment in Django Unchained when Leonardo DiCaprio’s slave-driving character makes two slaves fight to the death. It’s much less bloody than other Tarentino moments, but is nevertheless an insanely tense, bone-crunching, horribly uncomfortable scene. And afterwards I’m not left thinking ‘Oh, that was so cool’ - I’m thinking ‘that was one of the most horrible scenes I’ve ever witnessed’. To me, only the most powerful of film-makers can leave you feeling like that. We are so often fed scenes which are meant to be disgusting and brutal but not all film-makers can really make us squirm. And that’s how we should feel about slavery. We should still be squirming in our seats with the guilt.

To say to ourselves that it is too violent is to take away from what a film attempts to portray. Sometimes scenes are so violent that we don’t want to watch, and that’s certainly our choice, but a film-maker is a weaver. If s/he gives his or her honest interpretation of an event, who are we to say that it’s too violent? It can be certified 18. If we’re not old enough by then to know that violent is disgusting and to not see it in the narratives displayed in front of us, then it is our failing, not that of the person who is trying to show you the light. END.

words by Catherine Bridgeman

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SMASH HIT?

GOT THE LOOK? MILK IT. On any given weekday morning, there is an odd hobby that I may be found taking part in.

What I like to do is go to other parts of London and queue up with similar-looking people in a line that resembles a bizarre, slightly grumpy, family reunion, until the majority of us are told that we don’t have quite the right hair or nose or forehead shape. This is your introduction to the glamourous side of part-time modeling. While the majority of people imagine that once you have signed a contract your life is likely to include a lot of time on private jets filled with the holy trinity of champagne, cocaine, and celebrities, this is sadly a little far removed from how it goes. Instead, it mostly involves queuing outside soulless, rainy warehouses in Camden and relentlessly refreshing Twitter hoping that someone, somewhere will be able to do something vaguely entertaining.

So why do so many people make a habit of it? Like all good addictions, it comes with a reward for the unpleasantness; a delicious nectar that is found on the occasions when you successfully chip through the ego-ruining shell. Specifically, the possibility of being taken in from the cold and temporarily treated as royalty and being given unnecessarily high levels of attention. I promise you this is no exaggeration - for my first shoot it was decided by someone (presumably with five spare people and a genuine fear that I could cause great harm if left to clothe myself) that I needed a five person team to dress me, and so for that entire day I didn’t put on or remove any of my clothes. Was this unnecessary? It’s hard to know, but over time I’ve decided it may have been, particularly as I have somehow managed to dress myself most days since with almost no outside help. On the other hand, when five people are dedicated to dressing you

and you get the other staff who are at a photoshoot and employed to assist you, it’s hard not to think that maybe you’ve discovered a slightly higher quality of life. Also, photos of yourself taken by high quality cameras and with carefully chosen clothes accompanying hair and makeup done by professional teams and finished with an all important lick of Photoshop - tend to be quite flattering.

Part time modeling, therefore, has the occasional peaks to break the monotonous queuing and tweeting. Would I recommend it?

Sure, but not for too long; if you’re good at it (and have a large slice of luck) you end up genuinely believing that it’s necessary to have an army of staff to do things for you, and if you’re bad (or happen to not look ‘now’ or whatever the decision makers have decided is ‘right’, or do fit the category but some clone of yours met them five minutes before you) then you end up riddled with insecurities. This highlights probably the most important point, and the one which I would keenly encourage you to take from this article: people who are models became models because someone decided they had ‘the look’. It’s assumed that this means Brad Pitt or Kiera Knightley lookalikes - it doesn’t. The majority of working models don’t look anything like models (if you’ve met me you can probably testify to that), but instead happened to have the right hair or body or eyes or any other factor which they have absolutely no control over, but had it at the right moment. So if you want to go for it, go for it. If you have the current look, you could be taking advantage of it right now, and if you haven’t got the current look: get queuing outside those warehouses until they see you and declare that the new look has arrived. END.

words by James Deacon photo by Bryan Chan

POKER SOCIETY Hello James Bond, we’ve found your new private members club. The society provides regular games where players can socialise over a few hands of cards. The group do not promote gambling, but aim to provide a venue for poker enthusiasts at QMUL. Make mine a Martini please, you know the rest.

Zut alors, ooh la la, here’s your place to appreciate all things French in London.

Expect it to be full of French, Swiss and Belgians, but at least you’ve found somewhere where it’s socially acceptable to eat an entire Camembert in one sitting.

KNIT-A-SOC Not just for your Granny, but for you too!

The Queen Mary Knitting and Crochet society welcome knitters and crocheters of all levels of experience, providing a place to swap tips, learn new styles as well as supporting charities such as Knit For Peace. Definitely something to bring out at the family reunions.

WINE APPRECIATION SOCIETY wineappreciationsociety@qmsu.org

FEATURES

FRANCOPHONE SOCIETY

No, not your new place to get sloshed on a week night, but a group for people who want to appreciate the science and art to be found in a glass of wine. Shocking?

Not really, the group description makes it sound as if they go off on trips to chateaus and vineyards all the time, and if that’s the case, who wouldn’t want a few more holidays in the sun per year?

photo by Hundreds ‘n’ thousands

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The newly formed group for people who love cake! The idea is that people bring in things they’ve baked and then swap so everyone can try something new. Ready made for any fan of The Great British Bake Off, here’s your chance to swap recipes with other students, and possibly even raise money for charity in the process. Yummy!

knit-a-soc@qmsu.org

search qmul poker society on facebook

bakingsociety@qmsu.org

THE BAKING SOCIETY

francophonesociety@qmsu.org

FIVE SOCIETIES YOU NEVER KNEW ABOUT...

HOBBIES: volunteering.

GOING UNDERGROUND If you’re anything like me (aka, at University), you will be familiar with the concept of voluntary work. Our UCAS forms were full of it, our CVs cry out for it, and you know that recruiters will be on the lookout for it. So how on earth to make it fun? How can volunteering become something you want to get out of bed for as opposed to dreading the days you’ve promised to give?

I solved this problem by approaching my favourite museum in London – the Imperial War Museum. I knew I would miss my favourite bolt-hole of London a lot this year (the main Lambeth museum is currently shut for a massive refurbishment, set to re-open fully to mark the hundred year anniversary of the start of the Great War), so offering my services as a volunteer at a different site seemed to be a good idea.

However, volunteering at a museum is no easy matter. Not wanting to put anyone off (because the end results are truly worth it), but if you are going to apply to a museum, be prepared to wait until they have openings available, as many operate on a seasonal hiring basis. Don’t apply for something unless you have an un-embarrassing or non-existent criminal record – working around important historical objects, security checks are a requirement. Finally, if people aren’t your favourite things in the world, maybe think about a different new way to spend your time, as standing around, pointing out where the toilets are will become a major part of your day.

Yet the standing around part when people tell you their stories is actually fascinating (if slightly painful when not wearing the correct/

flat footwear). My own volunteering with the IWM has lead me to the Churchill War Rooms, where I carry the nifty title of ‘Interaction Volunteer’, and subsequently get to pull out a nice grey box of toys for the visitors to play with.

One of these is a typewriter; a fully functioning, letter bashing, darn heavy typewriter. But it is so much fun, and so addictive; I kid you not, every single adult and child who walks past it is entranced. The children require a tutorial to understand how to use it, but the adults (especially ladies of a certain age...) are thrilled to discover something that was such an integral part of their youth.

Many ladies come out with tales of secretarial courses, shorthand and terrible wrist aches at having to type away for hours as commercial secretaries. Fathers tell their young sons about how in their own youth the typewriter was a favourite toy of theirs, gifted in bemusement by their Grandmother. American children have to be forcibly dragged away from it, one New Yorker in particular kicking and screaming as he wanted one of his own.

As a volunteer, I form part of the experience for all visitors, providing them with help or just someone to talk about their memories to. In return I get to experience moments like the ones above, teach people something they didn’t know before, and improve my own people skills – as well as getting to see a completely different side of an internationally famous underground war time bunker. Volunteering means different things to different people, but mine has allowed me to expand upon a hobby and interest, as well as hopefully impress the future recruiter of my dream job. END.

words by Lauren Cantillon

photo by Peter Roberts

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FEATURES

CONFESSIONS OF A POLE DANCER I wasn’t one of the gym-bunnies at school. I hated P.E lessons, sports teams in particular, because my obvious inabilities when it came to anything physical made me feel useless and embarrassed. Pole fitness, however, was one of the best health decisions I have ever made.

It takes a very personal approach to exercise as you’re on your own – you set your own goals – and as your core and upper body strength builds up, you can push yourself further with moves and aerial work. It lengthens and tones muscles in a very effective way, akin perhaps to Hatha Yoga or rock climbing, and of course the dance element also means a massive boost in body confidence. photo by UCL PhotoSoc

Yet I sometimes feel embarrassed telling people I pole dance to keep fit. Why? Other than my previous boyfriends and my unusually liberal mother, reactions to my decision to start classes after college at the age of 17 were mixed to say the least. These ranged from the predictable puns from male friends - ‘you can dance on my pole for free if you like…’ yawn - to raised eyebrows and condescending remarks from my female friends (‘pole dancing? Really? I suppose at least you could try and make some of the money with it once you get to Uni and you’re broke…’). My dad just laughed at me. He probably thought I was joking. Pole dance and fitness seems to have an indelible stigma of sleazy sex and stripping attached. People seem incapable of understanding that pole dance classes are completely unrelated to sex at all. Many people ask whether we have to perform in heels or lingerie when I tell them about the classes and don’t seem to grasp that I do it for fitness and fun, and not for sexual attention.

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A few misconceptions about Pole Dancing...

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‘Only stripper-WAG types want to pole dance’ Wrong. The openly religious Beyoncé has spoken about the benefits of pole fitness and her positive experiences with it. Eva Longoria and Britney Spears also pole dance, and even Kate Moss is a fan (if you’ve seen the White Stripes’ video for I Just Don’t Know What To Do With Myself, you’ll know what I mean.) The classes are always filled with lots of different types of people, from teenage girls to septuagenarians (yes, really) who just want to find a way of keeping fit and having fun.

‘Pole Fitness must be sexualised because only women want to do it’ Wrong again. More and more men are taking to the pole because of the amazing strengthening and toning benefits it produces, and vertical gymnastics using a pole have been a staple of Chinese male circus acts since the 12th century. In India, ‘Mallakhamb’ pole fitness was widely used to train wrestlers, increasing flexibility, strength and stamina. You may have seen free runners performing the ‘flag’ today (a move in which the gymnast holds his/her body out from the pole at a 90 degree angle).

This move originated in these forms of pole fitness. However, ladies - if you’re worried about having to learn in mixed classes, don’t worry; many places offer female-only classes.

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‘In Pole Dance classes, all the women wear hotpants, 6 inch heels, and skimpy tops’ Erm, also wrong. Having bare legs and arms in pole fitness helps from a practical point of view (more bare skin = more grip on the pole and less chances of falling off), but most girls turn up in gym shorts or rolled up trackie bottoms and a vest with bare feet.

‘There’s no skill involved, it’s mostly just grinding, back arching and over-zealous hair flicking’ Not so. Many of the best pole dancers were previously world-class gymnasts. The strength and flexibility required for more advanced moves or more prolonged aerial work are considerable, and many dancers take more of a ballet or gymnastic approach than a stylized ‘sexy’ one.

If I’ve managed to persuade you how awesome pole dance is, then great. There are a few places in London that offer classes (although many of these are quite pricey due to its rising popularity). Rock n Roll Pole (based in Hornsey, Crouch End and Camden) offer a free taster session if you fancy seeing what it’s like. Little hint though, when you go to your first class, avoid using any moisturiser or body words by Mary Bateman

HOBBIES: fitness.

Why Nirvana are worthy of praise. First things first, Kurt Cobain was a bit of a tool. I understand he died young, and was a tragic victim of fame’s destructive power, but he was a heroin addict, his first sexual act took involved gaining advantage of a ‘half retarded’ (Guardian) girl, and he loved Courtney Love. Ultimately, however, you’d be hard pressed to find another band with such an expansionary influence on teenage listeners.

Oftentimes it is Nirvana who open the door to an appreciation of the late 80s-early 90s dirty rock that ousted the big hair and big titties of the glam era away from every single advert and television station. Arguably, many of the lesser-known bands of a similar ilk - The Pixies, Mudhoney, Sonic Youth - are superior to Nirvana musically. But every movement needs a posterboy; just as Elvis was by no means the most talented man of the skiffly-r&b of the 50s, so Kurt, Dave and Krist were the scruffy goldenboys of grunge. And yet, scratching and sniffing beneath the teen spirit are some darkly brutal songs.

The entirety of Incesticide is up there with some of the filthiest post-punk acts, all body parts and feedback and catchy, scratchy bass.

Dig around further and there are more examples of Kurt’s enchanting voice and Dave’s snappy drums. Sappy and Do Reh Mi from the unreleased collection Sliver are pertinent soundtracks of a more complex angst.

Though a tool, our Cobbers wrote some marvelous, innovative songs. And the force of Nirvana’s impact (probably overhyped and overemphasised ever since) at least inspired, and continues to inspire, many a teenage lass and lad to turn away from Kylie, Rihanna and One Direction and hopefully recognise, through the shambles that is tabloid fame, much of modern music’s perverse love for shite unoriginality. To all the detractors of Nirvana, who will argue that they are not musically accomplished and not even that rebellious, ask which bands they listened to on the road to their current taste in obscure ‘ElectronicaRekjavik’; the fourteen year old in all of us still thanks Nirvana. END. words by Tom Phelan

photos by Polly Herzeleid Valo and Paul Flynn

IN ECSTASY OR OVERATED?

CUB Music takes a closer look at whether Nirvana are worthy of being the iPod staple of every angsty teen from here to Seattle...

Many a fifteen year-old boy has been cajoled into hailing Kurt Cobain as a hero, by friends or by the music press. His scrappy approach to guitar-playing (and songwriting) apparently revolutionised a stagnant rock scene occupied by posy leather-glad hair rockers.

The fact that the scene beforehand showcased much greater musical skill has been rather forgotten, and Nirvana’s complacency is heralded as an aspect of their wide appeal.

Take ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ and ‘Welcome to the Jungle’ for instance. The latter is infinitely cleverer. Pitted against the expert playing and musicality of G’n’R, Nirvana look like kids flailing about on a basketball court. It was classic rock that Kurt riled against, but what did he intend to replace it with? Garbled guitar lines and juvenile songs! Oh and this was labelled grunge.

The thing is though, grunge does not just mean Nirvana. It means Seattle. It means 1992.

Yes, Cobain’s lot were a main proponent, but their unfathomable pedestal is somewhat illdeserved. Alice In Chains offered an arguably much darker sound that added heavy metal and acoustic leanings to the grunge mix, and comparing the two bands’ MTV unplugged sessions, Layne Stayley’s performance is mesmerising, whereas Cobain seems to sulk.

Anyone who’s heard the harrowing Nutshell (high-five me later) is not the same afterwards. Sadly for Nirvana, their set highlight is a cover of ‘Lake of Fire’ by the Meat Puppets.

The Chains’ sound still resonates with the 23year old brain, after the withdrawal of teen testosterone (yeah, I know, what am I doing writing for a student mag... heard it before).

Maybe Nirvana, much like Kurt’s tragic departure, were not meant to accompany the listener into adulthood, and maybe that’s a beautiful thing, but I can’t help feel a little short-changed. We might equate this to the Stone Roses or My Bloody Valentine, who both released two albums, but never really cemented themselves as a band. If things had been different, the Seattle band might have made their ‘In Rainbows’ by now, and the term ‘Foo Fighters’ would still be associated with World War Two UFO sightings. But such postulating is useless. All we have is Nirvana’s overrated legacy. END. words by Sam Stensland

YOU CAN’T TEACH AN OLD DOG NEW TRICKS

If we didn’t know already, it’s crystal clear now: the music industry no longer relies on high street sales. Last month the once staple music haven, HMV, entered administration putting over four thousand jobs at risk due to untenable financial losses. It joins old foes in Virgin Mega Stores and Zavvi on an evergrowing list of high street brands which have fallen victim to the digital era.

Back in 2002 the ol’ dog floated on the stock market at a value of £1bn. Believing it was untouchable, HMV opted against online investment with the managing director believing that ‘downloadable music is just a fad and people will always want the atmosphere and experience of a music store’. Fast-forward a decade and you’ll be hard-pressed finding anyone purchasing records in HMV. The internet has made us lazy. Why leave the house when it’s just one click away?

The expansion of digitally downloading music through the likes of iTunes and Amazon, coupled with the streaming capabilities provided

by Spotify, YouTube and Grooveshark; and of course not forgetting our friends at isoHunt and uTorrent, have all contributed to the destruction of HMV and it’s likely other high street brands will follow.

The demise of HMV has other consequences other than the obvious loss of jobs – a viewpoint advocated by BBC 6 Music DJ, Steve Lamacq: ‘I think the real concern is what happens to the crossover artists - the ones who were new bands, being sold in independent record stores, who moved up a level. Stuff that people have never heard of that turns up at the Brits, or records that get nominated for the Mercury. Where will you find those records?

Where are you going to break those artists that come from outside the mainstream and cross into the mainstream? It’s a huge gap between the indies and the supermarkets - and that’s the gap HMV fills.’

This is a legitimate concern and one can only hope that it doesn’t further entrench the position held by mainstream artists such as Will.i.am, Rihanna and Calvin Harris as well as flavour-of-the-month acts like the disastrously-named-and-sounding Bingo Players.

The loss of HMV could also result in a greater reliance on the blogosphere for new music which will ultimately lead to more hype artists (Azealia Banks et al.) and that’s no good.

According to industry boffs, it is likely we will see HMV survive in some capacity with perhaps a downsizing from 239 stores to a 40-store network. Every dog has its day but for Nipper - the glory days are officially over.

MUSIC DJ Fresh: ‘I don’t buy CDs anymore but you sort of associate British high streets with an HMV, it’s a focal point, and even when they sell computer games and all kinds of other things apart from music, and it’s just like a sort of culture. A British culture story HMV.’ Professor Green: ‘HMV bankrupt. We may as well just give up on any medium that involves hard copy and get on with it. #sadtimes.’

Mary Portas: ‘HMV was a brilliant business that was a great part of our high streets. So sad to see this one go.’

Andrew Harrison, Q magazine editor: ‘I also think it’s worth recognising all we’ve heard in recent months about large multi-nationals not pay-

ing their tax - well, HMV was a good corporate citizen. People complained that its CDs were expensive - well perhaps it’s because it paid its tax. We can’t have our cake and eat it.’

Chemical Brothers’ Ed Simons: ‘When telling us our mid-week chart position our manager always said ‘but the HMV figures aren’t in yet’ #hmvmemories.’

Ellie Goulding: ‘I’m really sad about HMV. Say what you want about it, but I’m genuinely sad.’

Emeli Sande: ‘I used to work at Virgin Megastores and I love a CD shop. You can see everything, you can feel it. I would definitely miss it.

I hope we can keep it alive.’ END. words by Ryan Ramgobin

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photo by Leo Reynolds

REACTIONS TO HMV CRUMBLING UNDER DIGITAL PRESSURE...

NOT ADDICTED:

photo by Jahalstein

THE UPPERS AND DOWNERS OF THE STREETS

‘ASBO drinkers just don't dig my art and my flair’, we hear on 'Memento Mori' from the third album The Hardest Way to Make an Easy Living, which, on the whole, is a passionate reflection on the difficulties of being a famous musician. That Skinner tackles the issue head-on has to be admired, but this album inhabits a weird space in comparison to the first two, and suffers musically in consequence. It's almost as if, now that Skinner had established himself as a big-name, with guaranteed festival dates and recognition, he felt the need to borrow and comment on the music industry. One of the hits of this third album, 'Never Went to Church', seems to have as its backing tune a fusion of ‘No Woman no Cry’ and ‘Let it Be’. Skinner is tapping into musical heritage, using these well-known chords to set the mood for his song. The song also makes a statement, relating religion to alcohol and describing both as 'the European Narcotics’. The difference between his statements here and those made on, say, Original Pirate Material's 'The Irony of It All' is that the earlier sociopolitical arguments are far, far more tonguein-cheek. Joints are rolled, within the confines of the living-room, in front of Gran-Turismo on the hardest setting. We are invited – in the early albums - to position ourselves on the sofa next to Skinner, not to think about life by a voice which exists solely in the studio.

MUSIC Paradoxically, as Skinner takes himself more seriously, we, the listeners, take him less seriously. Part of this comes from the voice Skinner uses in the latter albums. The beats behind some of the songs are full of the same potent moodswings of the first two, but he tries to sing rather than to say. Skinner is not, and never has been, a singer. Skinner has said, and will continue to say, things of very good sense. In a couple of interviews with The Guardian, Skinner talks, with some honesty, about the psychological issues which have permeated through his career. He bats away suggestions of drugs overtaking his life, citing fun as the only consequence; after all, geezers need excitement. But these are not the raving boasts of a cocky student, who 'believes in the rock, man' but the down to earth appraisal of a man who has seen hard times, and who has worked hard at his art.

Perhaps I’m being a bit dismissive of the later works, but, for me, they just don’t have the same impact, lyrically or musically. Nothing from the last three albums evokes the same response as the rising strings on ‘Turn the Page’. Yes, I recognise the isolation in ‘A Blip on a Screen’, perhaps people will even listen to his last album in years to come as a comment on the loneliness of comments and hashtags, but the less said about the cover of Elton John’s ‘Your Song’, the better. So many of the later songs feel unnecessary or gimicky. Compare these to the conceptual brilliance of A Grand Don’t Come For Free. Even the poorer songs on this album are deliberately jarring because they add meaning to the narrative Skinner wants to create. There is a freedom, a wild abandon to the first two albums which somehow works alongside the poignancy.

Maybe youth is the reason, or, as Skinner kind of acknowledges, the fame taints the productions. Whatever the reason for the latter musical muddiness of The Streets, Original Pirate Material, acclaimed ‘Album of The Decade’ is words by Sam Stensland

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It was supposed to be so easy, but it turned out not to be quite so simple as finding a grand stuffed behind a television. The songs of The Streets tell stories, some of them the pill-popping ramblings of a lager lout, others the chipfuelled rages of a lager lout, but all tainted with no small hint of sadness, despair, and the inevitable collapse of relationships which rely so much on booze and drugs. A change occurs from the innovation of his first two albums so that Skinner's writing moves from depicting relatable real- life happenings to musing about consciousness and fame. Question is, is this shift all a bit 'Joey-Barton' – the conte plations of an angsty lad trying to inflate his fan-base, or is the latter musical path of Skinner's career the route of flawed genius?

photos by Christopher Lui and Fenn O’Meally

MAN VS FASHION...

photos by Christopher Lui and Fenn O’Meally

FASHION 14th June 2012, a monumental date for men’s fashion. Not the day when Ryan Gosling showed off his immaculate self at a glamorous Hollywood party, but the launch of London Collections: Men. Put simply, the day that the greatest array of global menswear designers gathered to showcase men’s fashion in one of the greatest cities in the world. Our city, London. In the past, the concept of men’s fashion week seemed laughable, impossible even, but why? Why shouldn’t it be celebrated? London is the fashion capital of the world and the epicentre of menswear.

Of late womenswear designers have started to see how men can be sartorially experimental, beginning to develop their own menswear collections. Brit golden boys Jonathan Saunders and Christopher Kane were among the many talents showcasing their wares at Autumn Winter 2013’s LC:M, with Tom Ford and Alexander McQueen choosing London over Milan, a testament to the city’s seduction.

The world suffers an unpleasant taboo concerning men talking about, or sharing an interest in fashion. Sport in recent years has been highlighted as the staple component of the ‘traditional’ man, playing a major role in turning sports and fashion into happy bedfellows. The internet and football have joined hands to take fashion into a wider spread of homes than ever before.

While men are more reluctant to discuss fashion, the backing of sporting heroes including David Beckham and Bradley Wiggins have done much to strengthen the industry. ‘s reputation. ‘Did you see what David Beckham was wearing?’ might not be the first thing you hear on entering the pub, but a grounding in manliness is important for the modern development of menswear in public discussion.

When clothes are brought to life on a public figure of admiration, suddenly the trends become relatable and real.

Unsurprisingly, the internet has played an instrumental role in gaining men’s attention to fashion. One man might ask another where his watch is from, but asking the origin of a pair of trousers seems uncommon. With the ever-expanding street style community and online retailers such as Mr. Porter (www.mrporter.com), those interested can seek sartorial comfort in their own homes.

I was lucky enough to attend a few shows and presentations at LC:M this season; wonderful colour, beautiful patterns and fabulous prints have all been introduced to the men’s market.

Patrick Grant at Etautz showed exploding tartan and checks while Agi & Sam presented exciting, vibrant prints; Christopher Kane stepped up a notch with his famous Frankenstein prints making their place in menswear.

London combines Savile Row’s elegant tailoring with the most innovative design in the world. Menswear is on the rise and rise, so it’s about time we took note. Buckle up, it’s going to be a long ride. END.

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Christopher Lui dives into men’s fashion week and tells us why it is fast becoming the most exciting event of the fashion world...

RUNWAY MEETS HIGH STREET Fashion Editor Sarah Harrison takes us from Catwalk - to - Campus and Graduation with three menswear looks from Topman's S/S 13 collection...

Styling, Hair, Make-Up and Photography: Sarah Harrison, Photography Assistant: Tyler Overton, Image Retoucher: Sarah Holliday, Model: Daniel Meyer

AN ODE TO LC:M For most British menswear designers, January 9th provided the final opportunity to showcase the breadth of pure talent that shaped their Autumn/Winter 2013 collections. From the ‘stylishly tailored swimwear’ of ORLEBAR BROWN on 7th, to the clean-cut silhouettes of Christopher Shannon on 8th, the industry saw what seemed to be one of the most successfully dynamic assortment of menswear collections yet.

But behold, there’s more! Oh no LC:M (London Collections: Men) didn’t stop there; three days of menswear fashion was simply not enough for such a wealth of creative flair.

From 7th to 16th January, nine stylistically diverse designers contributed to Covent Garden’s exclusive Seven Dials Presents pop-up store. Bobby Abley, formerly of Alexander McQueen, Alex Mattsson, Matthew Miller and Martine Rose were just a few of the designer names that occupied utterances on 35 Neal Street throughout early January. Both their past and present collections were up for grabs and it was only a matter of several coaxing barters before the forward thinking fashion pack devoured entire collections.

From first glance it was easy to see why one would want elongate the LC:M hype for another week. Each collection seemed to define an epitome of distinct style balanced against the memories of each designer’s past. Even with the most experienced eye, only would a

thorough study grant adequate appreciation for each collection’s detail. Martine Rose’s innovative use of fabrics, combined with her refined attention to detail has established her trademark style that the fashion world has come to adore. In her AW11 collection, Rose revealed some of her most fascinatingly technical pieces yet, where the fusion of recycled wool mulch sculpted the frame of floor length coats and cropped jumpers. A playful yet practical blend for the cold winter months, that allowed the unique combination of insulation, texture and colour to be intertwined. Whilst much of Rose’s inspiration was driven from her lust for texture, Bobby Abley’s vision for his SS13 collection delved back into his love for cheery cartoon inspired prints. The Seven Dials Present pop-up store featured the candy coloured garments adorned with crystals and the all-important Abley mascot bear.

And what about this season’s most vital piece?

The much loved knitwear. Its in very good, and endowed, hands. Omar Kashoura’s presence in the store came in the form of both his AW12 and SS13 collections, where the combination of light and heavy knits provided the classic buyer with an assortment of ways as how to layer up and keep warm. For SS13 Kashoura brought chunky cable knits, tactile herringbone blazers and finely tailored trousers to the fashion table, whilst maintaining his signature style of effortless chic.

So if you missed out on any LC:M events, I’m not going to lie, it was a remarkably talented season for menswear, showcasing a range of the most essential looks and revealing some of the hottest new designers you’ll want to get to grips with! But if you’re quick there are a few stray collections still lingering in the depths of their designer’s showrooms. Check out the LC:M website, at www.londoncollections. co.uk/mens, for more information. END.

words by Fenn O’Meally photo by Sarah Harrison

FASHION

CUB CREATES

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Too many pairs of unwanted jeans? Fashion Editor Sarah Harrison shows us how to transform them into the latest S/S ‘13 acid wash trend...

WHAT YOU WILL NEED: - Jeans (I used a pair which had already been bleached as I wanted to increase the acid wash look) - Bleach (I used Sainsbury’s own) - Hair bands

STEP 1: Ensure the jean pockets are empty and begin to tie up the sections of the jean which you want to dye. TIP: grouping the jean together to make pleats creates fantastic lines around the leg.

STEP 3: STEP 2: Fill your sink/bath with enough bleach to cover Leave jeans submerged for 45 minutes, then remove and wash with cool water. Leave to dry. the area of the jeans you want to bleach.

BY SARAH HARRISON

photo by Eleanor Doughty

destination:

PARIS

Paris has many sights to offer, providing a great foundation for any short trips across the Channel. The proximity of many of these, combined with our desire to save money on travel, provided the basis for a lengthy but interesting self-guided walking tour. This took us from our hostel, to the Bastille Monument, down to the Notre Dame, onto the Pont Notre Dame Bridge, into the Louvre and to the Arc de Triomphe. Numerous tourist-filled creperies, vintage shops and beret shops were also visited on the way. The Louvre and the Notre Dame both offered free entry, and the fact that we didn’t really have a set path when walking around the Louvre (apart from stopping off at the Mona Lisa) meant that any interesting art we discovered was a bonus. You could spend days walking around the Louvre and still not have seen everything. We also managed to fit in visits to the Pére Lachaise Cemetery, the Eiffel Tower and Montmartre. The Pére Lachaise is home to literary heroes such as Oscar Wilde (whose tomb is now protected by glass casing due to vandalism), musicians Jim Morrison and Edith Piaf, and is purported to be the worlds most visited cemetery. Montmartre provides an incredible view of Paris and a visit here was a great way to end our trip, despite the pain induced by climbing up the many stairs.

One thing money can’t buy (in a short space of time) is the invaluable skill of speaking French. The language barrier was all too apparent during short interactions, in which we quickly learnt that the Bastille prison no longer exists, the concept of ‘cheese pie’ can easily

TRAVEL be misconstrued, ‘tampon’ doesn’t translate directly, and fare jumping can easily be mistaken as Metro etiquette. The French generally seem to have quite a bad reputation in terms of manners, however, if you do decide to give French speaking a stab, Parisians generally seemed to appreciate it much more than attempts to speak slowly in English. What I can safely say is, GCSE French did me no good whatsoever as I was never in search of la piscine or le bibliotheque.

Parisian nightlife is not something that is easy to do on the cheap. We were recommended a club called Showcase, which turned out to be the French answer to Fabric. The confusion about how to find it was the most difficult part of the night, but on arrival it was just as expensive, provided just as good music, but was not as big (and you could get phone signal).

The €15 cover was money well spent however surprisingly we could find no French Dixie Chicken equivalent on the way home.

Paris can be as cheap or as expensive as you make it. The abundance of bread served with every meal is enough to keep any carb-quaffer happy. Likewise the inexpensive, good quality wine surpasses anything you might pick up on a trip to Budgens. If you have a certain degree of broken French the locals are usually more than happy to help with any navigational issues, and the DLR-esque Metro is – dare I say it – more reliable than the London Underground. There are a great variety of cultural landmarks within walking distance of each other for the thrifty traveller and the slightly uncomfortable megabus trip is cheaper than many national rail train journeys within England. Even if we did spend more than we were supposed to I would revert back to the lyrics of Edith Piaf herself, ‘Non! Je ne regrette rien.’END. words by Lucy Harley-Mckeown

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When imagining a trip to Paris, first thoughts often turn to culture, luxury, and expense.

This, however, was not how our trip to Paris began. We started our trip in Victoria Coach Station in the early hours of the morning. A £25 return ticket seemed like too good an opportunity to pass by when we booked in November. However, the reality of a nine-hour coach and ferry ride each way wasn’t quite as glamorous. Sleeping on the floor of the ferry was a low point, yet the decision to forgo an extra night of expense in a hostel seemed like a good decision at the time (even though our hostel was pretty cost effective due to off peak rates.)

Qupid had to work this week so didn’t actually get to meet our gentleman, but if his answers are anything to go by he’s the strong silent type. Or maybe he was just too busy to fill his answers with the typical ‘banter’ that his rugby-lad-kin are famed for. For poor Rosie’s sake lets hope that he was more entertaining on the date, but seeing the high scores all round it seems like our sporty match was a win!

QUPID

QUPID

COUPLE 6: ROSIE DEMPSEY & ANDREW HUGHES

‘Blonde and cute as a button, a literary genius with banter to match... and a cracking arse!’- Emma Prowse ‘A welsh lad with a big heart... and massive guns!’- James Bulman

Did you dress up, or keep it casual?

R: Just went for a standard shirt and jeans with heel boots because I’m quite small. Didn’t want him to think he’d bagged a midget.

A: I dressed up a bit but it was still casual, I wasn’t wearing a suit.

Best parts of the date?

R: Listening to his Welsh accent! And the wine.

A: Just getting to know my date better. …and worst?

R: There weren’t any bad parts to it. It was surprisingly enjoyable!

A: When the waitress asked if I was expecting someone else or if I just wanted to order for myself.

What did you choose to eat?

R: I stupidly chose the fajitas which you had to make yourself – WORST DATE FOOD EVER – so after throwing sour cream up the walls and getting peppers in my hair I opted for the more sensible and ladylike option of Eton Mess for dessert.

A: I had marinated chicken for mains and sticky toffee pudding for desert.

What did you talk about?

R: We had a few mutual sporting interests so we talked about those. We also talked about family, friends, how we’d both had pretty sub-standard fresher’s weeks and how the people in QM halls were weird. That was fun.

A: University mostly, but a lot of different topics came up.

Any awkward moments?

R: The awkward part where you want to read the menu to get the most from your free meal experience but you also have to try and hold a conversation too so as not to look rude. I couldn’t quite deal with this which is why I picked the foolish makeyour-own fajita option. Massive error. But apart from that we didn’t really stop talking so it wasn’t awkward at all.

A: No the conversation flowed quite well but the bottle of wine did help with that.

Any sexual tension?

R: After he witnessed my caveman-like eating tendencies sex was probably the last thing on his mind.

A: No, not really.

Out of ten?

R: We joked about agreeing to give each other a 10 but I’m scared he’s not going to do that so for want of not embarrassing myself I’m going to go for a 9!

Awkward if he’s put 10…

A: 10.

photo by Edward Clibbens

Ding ding ding! Game, set and MATCH!

CUB 546.35

Were you nervous?

R: Not particularly! I was more excited about the prospect of having free food and wine.

A: Yes.

EDITORIAL TEAM THOSE WHO HELPED PUT THIS ISSUE TOGETHER

EDITOR IN CHIEF: Anna Matheson SUB EDITORS: Emma Shone, Alice Harry, Jemima Chamberlain-Adams, Jessica Anne Ormrod, Kashmira Gander & Eleanor Doughty PHOTOGRAPHY EDITORS: Laura Blair & Eleanor Doughty LONDON EDITORS: Bryony Hannah Orr & Lizzie Howis FEATURES EDITORS: Lauren Cantillon & James Deacon MUSIC EDITORS: Edward Clibbens & Ryan Ramgobin ARTS EDITORS: Millie Jefferies & Phoenix Alexander FASHION EDITORS: Lucinda Turner & Sarah Harrison FILM EDITORS: Harry Foster & Catherine Bridgman TRAVEL EDITORS: Megan Morrison - Sloan & Tom Wyke QUPID EDITOR: Rosemara Mather-Lupton

photo by Laura Blair