Replica Magazine Issue IV

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REPLICA MAGAZINE Issue IV Trouble-Making

I

Trouble Making?

This summer, whilst the Tate Modern was exhibiting a major street art exhibition, five young graffiti artists, part of the DPM crew, were being sentenced to a total 93 months imprisonment. The news reports painted a picture of the men as reckless vandals and some even went as far as to make them sound terrifying: "They would often be masked and conducted almost military style operations”. The British Transport Police conducted a two year investigation in order to convict the whole crew with maximum sentences and send out a very loud message, warning others not to partake in similar activities.

Unfortunately the message, however

loud, is not clear. Art institutions and critics cannot celebrate artists such as Banksy whilst the law destroys the lives of young men in an attempt to demonstrate its power. The crew have now been asked by the prison staff to paint a bus as part of their work whilst they are inside. The authorities are confused; do they see DPM as artists or convicts? Whether you appreciate street art or profoundly disagree with it, it is clear to all that Andrew, Ziggy, Slav, Paul and Mathew do not belong in jail.

This magazine is a compilation of articles, artwork, photos and other bits and pieces sent in by its readers. Anyone can contribute:

Replica Magazine Global Tat Productions

contributions@replicamag.co.uk Try to keep articles under 800 words. The next issue is out on 15 th January. All submissions must be received by 7 th January to be considered for inclusion.

Cover: Imogen Bliss imogen.bliss@live.com Left: ‘Collector ’ by Zo Jones www.doodlebeasts.com

www.myspace.com/supportdpm Rosie Allen- Jones, Editor

Chief Custodian Thomas Foxley thebrains@replicamag.co.uk Editor Rosie Allen-Jones editor@replicamag.co.uk Illustrations Anna Chilton doodles@replicamag.co.uk www.replicamag.co.uk

I

Trouble Making?

This summer, whilst the Tate Modern was exhibiting a major street art exhibition, five young graffiti artists, part of the DPM crew, were being sentenced to a total 93 months imprisonment. The news reports painted a picture of the men as reckless vandals and some even went as far as to make them sound terrifying: "They would often be masked and conducted almost military style operations”. The British Transport Police conducted a two year investigation in order to convict the whole crew with maximum sentences and send out a very loud message, warning others not to partake in similar activities.

Unfortunately the message, however

loud, is not clear. Art institutions and critics cannot celebrate artists such as Banksy whilst the law destroys the lives of young men in an attempt to demonstrate its power. The crew have now been asked by the prison staff to paint a bus as part of their work whilst they are inside. The authorities are confused; do they see DPM as artists or convicts? Whether you appreciate street art or profoundly disagree with it, it is clear to all that Andrew, Ziggy, Slav, Paul and Mathew do not belong in jail.

This magazine is a compilation of articles, artwork, photos and other bits and pieces sent in by its readers. Anyone can contribute:

Replica Magazine Global Tat Productions

contributions@replicamag.co.uk Try to keep articles under 800 words. The next issue is out on 15 th January. All submissions must be received by 7 th January to be considered for inclusion.

Cover: Imogen Bliss imogen.bliss@live.com Left: ‘Collector ’ by Zo Jones www.doodlebeasts.com

www.myspace.com/supportdpm Rosie Allen- Jones, Editor

Chief Custodian Thomas Foxley thebrains@replicamag.co.uk Editor Rosie Allen-Jones editor@replicamag.co.uk Illustrations Anna Chilton doodles@replicamag.co.uk www.replicamag.co.uk

III NEXT ISSUE’S THEME: DEADLY SIN

NAUGHTY ARTICLES AND ARTWORK TO MATCH DEADLINE 07/01/09

Table of Contents Winners of the Credit Crunch by Rich McCulloch Rich tells us why economic crisis is not all bad news

IV

Replica Shorts A small collection of some of the little gems we get sent

VI

Animal Testing is Wrong by Zhane No animals were harmed in the writing of this article

XI

Letter to Mr. Brown by Stuart Lyons Economics, economics, economics

XII

Interview With a Dead Fish by Steven Windle Yes, it is exactly what it sounds like

XV

West Papua: the Pacific’s Forgotten Tragedy by Nikol Danielle Gow Human rights crimes are ongoing in Indonesia

XX

Paul and Nadar: Willing to Die for the Throw-Away Vote by Travis Wainman A different look at the American presidential elections

XXII

Replica Gallery The finest art and photography from around the country

XXIV

If You Go Down to Redchurch Street Today… by Natasha Hoare …You’re in for a big surprise. Natasha discovers street art

XXXVIII

Chick Toi-Lit by Rich McCulloch Investigative journalism at its finest. Female-toilet graffiti is the subject

XXXX

Knock, knock. Who’s There? Cancer by Patrick Ebbutt Patrick tells us how a brain tumor has changed his life

XXXXIV

A Personal Account of the Easy Star All-Stars by Paulie Niskos (Reggae) / (Pink Floyd +Radiohead) = Fun

XXXXVIII

Untitled by Louisa Michel Poem

XXXXXII

III NEXT ISSUE’S THEME: DEADLY SIN

NAUGHTY ARTICLES AND ARTWORK TO MATCH DEADLINE 07/01/09

Table of Contents Winners of the Credit Crunch by Rich McCulloch Rich tells us why economic crisis is not all bad news

IV

Replica Shorts A small collection of some of the little gems we get sent

VI

Animal Testing is Wrong by Zhane No animals were harmed in the writing of this article

XI

Letter to Mr. Brown by Stuart Lyons Economics, economics, economics

XII

Interview With a Dead Fish by Steven Windle Yes, it is exactly what it sounds like

XV

West Papua: the Pacific’s Forgotten Tragedy by Nikol Danielle Gow Human rights crimes are ongoing in Indonesia

XX

Paul and Nadar: Willing to Die for the Throw-Away Vote by Travis Wainman A different look at the American presidential elections

XXII

Replica Gallery The finest art and photography from around the country

XXIV

If You Go Down to Redchurch Street Today… by Natasha Hoare …You’re in for a big surprise. Natasha discovers street art

XXXVIII

Chick Toi-Lit by Rich McCulloch Investigative journalism at its finest. Female-toilet graffiti is the subject

XXXX

Knock, knock. Who’s There? Cancer by Patrick Ebbutt Patrick tells us how a brain tumor has changed his life

XXXXIV

A Personal Account of the Easy Star All-Stars by Paulie Niskos (Reggae) / (Pink Floyd +Radiohead) = Fun

XXXXVIII

Untitled by Louisa Michel Poem

XXXXXII

IV

V Winners of the Credit Crunch Rich McCulloch tells us why the credit crunch is not bad news for allall in spider diagram format. Oh yes.

Bankers No longer the boring people at partiessuddenly everyone wants to know about subprime mortgages and hedge-funds. They’re still tossers though.

Jamie Oliver Although no one can afford to eat at his restaurant anymore, his healthy living campaign has been given a helping hand: 43% of people are going to the pub less, people are exercising more and vitamin-rich foods such as bananas and oranges have seen their prices slashed in a supermarket price war.

Socialists ”We told you so.”

“Marx was right.”

Just ignore them, they’ll go away.

Gordon Brown 62% of people believe he has handled the crisis well. That means old Brownie has managed to build his reputation on the economy not once but twice.

Who’d bet against him riding the recovery wave for the hat-trick?

Winners

The NHS Rising utility bills are killing off the cashcash guzzling pensioners early, freeing up needed funds.

Young People Cheaper houses? Great savings offers? Isn’t this what we always wanted?

Take-Aways a Boomin’ Dominoes Pizza report an 18% rise in business. People are too skint to eat out but are still too lazy to cook.

Vegetarians The cost of meat is rising, the cost of veg in dropping.

Environmentalists With the prices of petrol and heating bills on the rise and people chosing local treasures such as Pontin’s and Butlin’s over foreign travel, people are finally starting to look after Mother Earth. Who says ‘money makes the world go round’?

Charity There has been a 7.4% rise in business for charity shops.

CONGRATULATIONS RICH, YOU ARE THIS ISSUE’S PRIZE WINNER! REGARDING YOUR PRIZE...

UNFORTUNATELY DUE TO FINANCIAL DIFFICULTIES WE CAN NOT AFFORD TO SPLASH OUT ON A PRIZE THIS ISSUE. UNLUCKY FOR SOME, HMMM? Photo by Dominic Alves http://www.flickr.com/people/64097751@N00

IV

V Winners of the Credit Crunch Rich McCulloch tells us why the credit crunch is not bad news for allall in spider diagram format. Oh yes.

Bankers No longer the boring people at partiessuddenly everyone wants to know about subprime mortgages and hedge-funds. They’re still tossers though.

Jamie Oliver Although no one can afford to eat at his restaurant anymore, his healthy living campaign has been given a helping hand: 43% of people are going to the pub less, people are exercising more and vitamin-rich foods such as bananas and oranges have seen their prices slashed in a supermarket price war.

Socialists ”We told you so.”

“Marx was right.”

Just ignore them, they’ll go away.

Gordon Brown 62% of people believe he has handled the crisis well. That means old Brownie has managed to build his reputation on the economy not once but twice.

Who’d bet against him riding the recovery wave for the hat-trick?

Winners

The NHS Rising utility bills are killing off the cashcash guzzling pensioners early, freeing up needed funds.

Young People Cheaper houses? Great savings offers? Isn’t this what we always wanted?

Take-Aways a Boomin’ Dominoes Pizza report an 18% rise in business. People are too skint to eat out but are still too lazy to cook.

Vegetarians The cost of meat is rising, the cost of veg in dropping.

Environmentalists With the prices of petrol and heating bills on the rise and people chosing local treasures such as Pontin’s and Butlin’s over foreign travel, people are finally starting to look after Mother Earth. Who says ‘money makes the world go round’?

Charity There has been a 7.4% rise in business for charity shops.

CONGRATULATIONS RICH, YOU ARE THIS ISSUE’S PRIZE WINNER! REGARDING YOUR PRIZE...

UNFORTUNATELY DUE TO FINANCIAL DIFFICULTIES WE CAN NOT AFFORD TO SPLASH OUT ON A PRIZE THIS ISSUE. UNLUCKY FOR SOME, HMMM? Photo by Dominic Alves http://www.flickr.com/people/64097751@N00

VI

VII My All Time Top 10 Troublemakers 1.

2.

3.

Dear Replica,

state (Arkansas).

Below are some weird laws I • In England it is illegal to be drunk stumbled across whilst browsing the on licensed premises (i.e. in a pub internet for pornography late at or bar). night. Thought you might appreciate • It is illegal for two adult men to a quick insight into what a craaaazy have sex in the same house as a world we live in… third person.

• It is illegal for a Member of Henry Oodwink Parliament to enter the House of Commons wearing a full suit of • It is illegal to die in the Houses of armour.

Parliament.

• In Singapore oral sex is illegal • In France it's illegal to name a pig unless it is used as a form of foreplay.

Napoleon.

• In Korea traffic police are required • It is an act of treason to place a to report all bribes that they receive postage stamp bearing the British from motorists. monarch upside down.

• In Ohio, it is against state law to get a fish drunk.

• In the UK, a pregnant woman can Dear Replica, legally relieve herself anywhere she Attached is a selection of poetry wants – even, if she so requests, in a from my fridge. It was created by policeman’s helmet. all the members of my household.

• In the city of York, it is legal to Collective poetry. Get it?! I thought murder a Scotsman within the you might appreciate it. ancient city walls, but only if he is Yours Truly, carrying a bow and arrow (excluding Sundays).

James Johnson • In London, it is illegal to flag down a taxi if you have the plague.

PTO for James’ poems • Until last year it was illegal to sell sex toys in the state of Texas.

• In Arkansas it is illegal to Artwork by Anna Chilton mispronounce the name of the www.annachilton.co.uk

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

The kid from the ‘Talk To Frank’ advert - if ever a child deserved a beating...

Barry and Paul Chuckle - the scallywags!

The Jolly Green Giant - stirring up sweet corn related trouble for children everywhere.

Heather Mills - at least McCartney can afford to lose a bit of cash.

Robbie Williams - "Oooo I'm so unhappy with all my wealth, women and fame!" And he won't join the other lovely Take That boys to be reunited like one big happy, homosexual family.

Scooby Doo (and those pesky kids) - a talking dog (and a merry band of geeks) that grass you up for minor crimes, you would never see it coming.

Nick Leeson - doesn't mind a punt, sure. When you’re bringing down banks, you've probably taken it a bit far.

Josef Fritzel - pretty rare bastard

- not only is he a pretty twisted mofo, he has spawned a new breed of dubious banter where people tell you they're going to ‘go Fritzel’ on you if you irritate them.

9. God - if The Almighty really is responsible (directly or indirectly) for everything that happens in this world then he really is having a right laugh economic crises, terrorism, unemployment and another series of X-factor.

10. King of the troublemakers Chuck Norris - Chuck Norris destroyed the periodic table because the only element Chuck Norris believes in is the element of surprise - that man just attracts mayhem everywhere he goes.

Hope this entertains you a bit anyway. Much love, Ken Dogg xx

Dear Replica, ………

I found this whilst browsing through Wikipedia and I just had to share it. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trial_by_combat.

Priceless. John

“In December 2002, a 60-year-old mechanic named Leon …………………………..Humphreys was fined £25 for failing to notify the Driver and Vehicle Licensing Agency that he had removed his Suzuki motorcycle from road usage. He refused to pay and claimed that he had the right, under medieval law, to choose a trial by combat with a "champion" nominated by the DVLA. This claim was denied by a court of magistrates in Bury St Edmunds, and he was further fined.”

VI

VII My All Time Top 10 Troublemakers 1.

2.

3.

Dear Replica,

state (Arkansas).

Below are some weird laws I • In England it is illegal to be drunk stumbled across whilst browsing the on licensed premises (i.e. in a pub internet for pornography late at or bar). night. Thought you might appreciate • It is illegal for two adult men to a quick insight into what a craaaazy have sex in the same house as a world we live in… third person.

• It is illegal for a Member of Henry Oodwink Parliament to enter the House of Commons wearing a full suit of • It is illegal to die in the Houses of armour.

Parliament.

• In Singapore oral sex is illegal • In France it's illegal to name a pig unless it is used as a form of foreplay.

Napoleon.

• In Korea traffic police are required • It is an act of treason to place a to report all bribes that they receive postage stamp bearing the British from motorists. monarch upside down.

• In Ohio, it is against state law to get a fish drunk.

• In the UK, a pregnant woman can Dear Replica, legally relieve herself anywhere she Attached is a selection of poetry wants – even, if she so requests, in a from my fridge. It was created by policeman’s helmet. all the members of my household.

• In the city of York, it is legal to Collective poetry. Get it?! I thought murder a Scotsman within the you might appreciate it. ancient city walls, but only if he is Yours Truly, carrying a bow and arrow (excluding Sundays).

James Johnson • In London, it is illegal to flag down a taxi if you have the plague.

PTO for James’ poems • Until last year it was illegal to sell sex toys in the state of Texas.

• In Arkansas it is illegal to Artwork by Anna Chilton mispronounce the name of the www.annachilton.co.uk

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

The kid from the ‘Talk To Frank’ advert - if ever a child deserved a beating...

Barry and Paul Chuckle - the scallywags!

The Jolly Green Giant - stirring up sweet corn related trouble for children everywhere.

Heather Mills - at least McCartney can afford to lose a bit of cash.

Robbie Williams - "Oooo I'm so unhappy with all my wealth, women and fame!" And he won't join the other lovely Take That boys to be reunited like one big happy, homosexual family.

Scooby Doo (and those pesky kids) - a talking dog (and a merry band of geeks) that grass you up for minor crimes, you would never see it coming.

Nick Leeson - doesn't mind a punt, sure. When you’re bringing down banks, you've probably taken it a bit far.

Josef Fritzel - pretty rare bastard

- not only is he a pretty twisted mofo, he has spawned a new breed of dubious banter where people tell you they're going to ‘go Fritzel’ on you if you irritate them.

9. God - if The Almighty really is responsible (directly or indirectly) for everything that happens in this world then he really is having a right laugh economic crises, terrorism, unemployment and another series of X-factor.

10. King of the troublemakers Chuck Norris - Chuck Norris destroyed the periodic table because the only element Chuck Norris believes in is the element of surprise - that man just attracts mayhem everywhere he goes.

Hope this entertains you a bit anyway. Much love, Ken Dogg xx

Dear Replica, ………

I found this whilst browsing through Wikipedia and I just had to share it. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trial_by_combat.

Priceless. John

“In December 2002, a 60-year-old mechanic named Leon …………………………..Humphreys was fined £25 for failing to notify the Driver and Vehicle Licensing Agency that he had removed his Suzuki motorcycle from road usage. He refused to pay and claimed that he had the right, under medieval law, to choose a trial by combat with a "champion" nominated by the DVLA. This claim was denied by a court of magistrates in Bury St Edmunds, and he was further fined.”

XI Animal Testing is Wrong

by Zhane Replica’s youngest contributor, aged 14, argues against testing on animals Have you ever stopped to think about the process your perfume or toiletries have been through before they were allowed access into shops, before later being in your home? Well, I’ll tell you. Some perfumes, toiletries and a range of other things have been tested on poor, defenceless animals. It’s just cruel and incredibly unfair.

Beagles are mostly used in animal testing as they’re trusting and obedient, that shows us once again taking advantage of an animal’s good characteristics.

Altogether animal testing is completely wrong and there is a way that you can help to make things better and maybe even one day rule animal testing out altogether and that is to check the back of all items purchased and make sure We’re the ones who need toiletries, they’re NOT animal tested. perfumes and make-up so why should animals be tested for what we’re going to Also It’s quite pointless using animals as use in the future? Just because animals they give us the wrong answers, think don’t have voices we seem to think we about how different animals bodies are can make them do anything because they from ours and we’re trying to extract won’t have anything to say back. Well information from them to help us. How we’re wrong- animals have feelings and alike are you and a rabbit? Exactly. this is their world just as much as it is ours. Animals can’t speak so it should be Thank you for taking the time to read this our responsibility to speak for them and and I hope I’ve managed to change your not take advantage of them. mind on animal testing.

Around 65,000 primates are used for animal testing each year in the United States and Europe

XI Animal Testing is Wrong

by Zhane Replica’s youngest contributor, aged 14, argues against testing on animals Have you ever stopped to think about the process your perfume or toiletries have been through before they were allowed access into shops, before later being in your home? Well, I’ll tell you. Some perfumes, toiletries and a range of other things have been tested on poor, defenceless animals. It’s just cruel and incredibly unfair.

Beagles are mostly used in animal testing as they’re trusting and obedient, that shows us once again taking advantage of an animal’s good characteristics.

Altogether animal testing is completely wrong and there is a way that you can help to make things better and maybe even one day rule animal testing out altogether and that is to check the back of all items purchased and make sure We’re the ones who need toiletries, they’re NOT animal tested. perfumes and make-up so why should animals be tested for what we’re going to Also It’s quite pointless using animals as use in the future? Just because animals they give us the wrong answers, think don’t have voices we seem to think we about how different animals bodies are can make them do anything because they from ours and we’re trying to extract won’t have anything to say back. Well information from them to help us. How we’re wrong- animals have feelings and alike are you and a rabbit? Exactly. this is their world just as much as it is ours. Animals can’t speak so it should be Thank you for taking the time to read this our responsibility to speak for them and and I hope I’ve managed to change your not take advantage of them. mind on animal testing.

Around 65,000 primates are used for animal testing each year in the United States and Europe

XII

XIII Letter To Mr. Brown

“This his is an article about current economics. It is funny, although you might have to work in the city or in politics to get some som of the jokes. If you don’t find it funny it may be because it’s very dry, or you could just be fucking idiots.” - Stuart Lyons Over the weekend I took the time out to attend the AGM for the historic company that is Corporation UK. I rarely mix business and pleasure but hard economic times have forced me to work Saturdays.

While ex-CEO Blair was fortuitously missing, having pulled off perhaps the greatest corporate abandon ship ever, exCFO and current interim CEO Brown gave an historic performance at describing a fiction in the face of overwhelming economic reality.

slinging, Armani wearing, FRAT boy wanker-bankers, really cunting up their sums and ruining the party for the rest of us.”

All analysts present, myself included were unsettled by the return of ex-board member, current EU operations manager of UK Corp, Peter ‘Boomerang’ Madleson to a permanent position on the board. As we currently understand it he was in high level meetings with Russian Oligarch and self-styled oil behemoth Oleg Derispaska.

Judgment of Mr. Mandleson cannot be questioned; he has impeccable taste for the finer things in life (see insert).

3.) And my personal favourite: The greed of the private citizen (myself included), who held the ridiculous notion that a society in which a Lobster Thermidore pre cooked and freshly caught could be brought for the paltry sum of £9.99 was a realistic and sustainable situation.

2.) To quote another: “A central government and regulator with their heads so far up their own arses that no one realised that lending 115% of the value of a property to a jobless pleb, with no assets (and incredibly no job!) was a sure fire route to finical meltdown.”

Peter Mandelson owns a ‘Party Yacht’, not unlike the one above (not that similar either) failed to take responsibility for the 7 years of ‘as lose as a clown’s pocket’ monetary policies, which have seen us leverage to an average £16,990 each.

CFO Brown’s stewardship of the accounts of Corporation UK has left all us shareholders a little worse for wear.

Despite the cryptic accounting of the books of UK Corp it appears that under his steady hand, government debt has risen to an astronomical £654,105,000,000. As shareholders we have all been geared up to the tune of £10,700.

By this analyst’s back-of-the-envelope calculations, per capita standing debt now stands at the incredible sum of £27,690.

Of course public debt is rising but this is inline with management’s return to Keynesian expansionist policies. To quote CEO Brown “Come on people! You have to spend money to make money!”

While references to ‘relaxed’ financing were made in CFO’s Brown statement he

Of course my rough figures of national debt may well be a few thousand but this

analyst concurs with UK Corps policy of “What’s a few pounds between friends!

Now we can all have a stake in each other!” Besides, Comrade Brown personally filled me with confidence by assuring that “the Ship of State will go sailing on”.

As I wolfed down moze bouches and canapés all at the expense of Corp UK, I had the pleasure of mixing with others in my profession. Responsibility for the present sorry state of UK Corp has been pinned down to 3 succinct factors: 1.) To quote one analyst: “A bunch of gun

Despite these three smoking guns as I did the rounds I could not but help detect the overtones of bitterness amongst analysts and shareholders directed towards Premier Brown. Like all good analysts we had reread previous years annual reports and one really could not help but notice the past years corporate mantra: “I have ended the years of Boom and Bust”.

To be honest the current situation does feel a bit like a kick in the teeth. Still, one must admire the ambition of present management.

XII

XIII Letter To Mr. Brown

“This his is an article about current economics. It is funny, although you might have to work in the city or in politics to get some som of the jokes. If you don’t find it funny it may be because it’s very dry, or you could just be fucking idiots.” - Stuart Lyons Over the weekend I took the time out to attend the AGM for the historic company that is Corporation UK. I rarely mix business and pleasure but hard economic times have forced me to work Saturdays.

While ex-CEO Blair was fortuitously missing, having pulled off perhaps the greatest corporate abandon ship ever, exCFO and current interim CEO Brown gave an historic performance at describing a fiction in the face of overwhelming economic reality.

slinging, Armani wearing, FRAT boy wanker-bankers, really cunting up their sums and ruining the party for the rest of us.”

All analysts present, myself included were unsettled by the return of ex-board member, current EU operations manager of UK Corp, Peter ‘Boomerang’ Madleson to a permanent position on the board. As we currently understand it he was in high level meetings with Russian Oligarch and self-styled oil behemoth Oleg Derispaska.

Judgment of Mr. Mandleson cannot be questioned; he has impeccable taste for the finer things in life (see insert).

3.) And my personal favourite: The greed of the private citizen (myself included), who held the ridiculous notion that a society in which a Lobster Thermidore pre cooked and freshly caught could be brought for the paltry sum of £9.99 was a realistic and sustainable situation.

2.) To quote another: “A central government and regulator with their heads so far up their own arses that no one realised that lending 115% of the value of a property to a jobless pleb, with no assets (and incredibly no job!) was a sure fire route to finical meltdown.”

Peter Mandelson owns a ‘Party Yacht’, not unlike the one above (not that similar either) failed to take responsibility for the 7 years of ‘as lose as a clown’s pocket’ monetary policies, which have seen us leverage to an average £16,990 each.

CFO Brown’s stewardship of the accounts of Corporation UK has left all us shareholders a little worse for wear.

Despite the cryptic accounting of the books of UK Corp it appears that under his steady hand, government debt has risen to an astronomical £654,105,000,000. As shareholders we have all been geared up to the tune of £10,700.

By this analyst’s back-of-the-envelope calculations, per capita standing debt now stands at the incredible sum of £27,690.

Of course public debt is rising but this is inline with management’s return to Keynesian expansionist policies. To quote CEO Brown “Come on people! You have to spend money to make money!”

While references to ‘relaxed’ financing were made in CFO’s Brown statement he

Of course my rough figures of national debt may well be a few thousand but this

analyst concurs with UK Corps policy of “What’s a few pounds between friends!

Now we can all have a stake in each other!” Besides, Comrade Brown personally filled me with confidence by assuring that “the Ship of State will go sailing on”.

As I wolfed down moze bouches and canapés all at the expense of Corp UK, I had the pleasure of mixing with others in my profession. Responsibility for the present sorry state of UK Corp has been pinned down to 3 succinct factors: 1.) To quote one analyst: “A bunch of gun

Despite these three smoking guns as I did the rounds I could not but help detect the overtones of bitterness amongst analysts and shareholders directed towards Premier Brown. Like all good analysts we had reread previous years annual reports and one really could not help but notice the past years corporate mantra: “I have ended the years of Boom and Bust”.

To be honest the current situation does feel a bit like a kick in the teeth. Still, one must admire the ambition of present management.

XV Interview With a Dead Fish We get sent some weird stuff… by Steven Windle So, fish, I really like the sexy photo ‘Eeeeegh’ shoot, are you happy with the pictures?

‘Eugh’ OK, well what about the affair with David Beckham? Do you feel bad for I hear you are launching a come-back nearly breaking up a family? tour, what have you got planned?

‘Blegh’ No remorse, eh? What would you say to Sounds good. So, you just got out of Posh if you saw her in the street? rehab, how does it feel to be out again?

‘Blegh’ ‘Wrauhhh’ I see. You say you’ve cleaned up your Do you not think you should have been act, but I can smell vinegar on your more honest about your cocaine breath… addiction?

‘Cough-’

XV Interview With a Dead Fish We get sent some weird stuff… by Steven Windle So, fish, I really like the sexy photo ‘Eeeeegh’ shoot, are you happy with the pictures?

‘Eugh’ OK, well what about the affair with David Beckham? Do you feel bad for I hear you are launching a come-back nearly breaking up a family? tour, what have you got planned?

‘Blegh’ No remorse, eh? What would you say to Sounds good. So, you just got out of Posh if you saw her in the street? rehab, how does it feel to be out again?

‘Blegh’ ‘Wrauhhh’ I see. You say you’ve cleaned up your Do you not think you should have been act, but I can smell vinegar on your more honest about your cocaine breath… addiction?

‘Cough-’

XVI Have you simply substituted one habit for another?

‘Eeeeeeeeeeeeeek’

coupled with high oil prices and global inflation lead to the bankruptcy of wellestablished commercial and investment banks. As far as blame is concerned, the Hmmm. Anyway, how have you been main problem is the constant need for affected by the credit crunch? I hear you expansion and growth in the market- this nearly lost your house. is just not possible on a planet with finite ‘Plugh’ resources. Personally, however, I blame the bankers, for undermining the stability What do you make of the current of the financial markets.’ economic crisis? Who do you blame?

‘Well, the initial problems were caused by You don’t know what you’re talking the American subprime mortgage crisis. about, do you fish?

Contracted liquidity of global credit ‘No. Sorry.’

Above: In the bin, where he came from Left: Fish loves being wrapped in

newspaper. Here you can see him snuggled up inside a copy of The Times

XVI Have you simply substituted one habit for another?

‘Eeeeeeeeeeeeeek’

coupled with high oil prices and global inflation lead to the bankruptcy of wellestablished commercial and investment banks. As far as blame is concerned, the Hmmm. Anyway, how have you been main problem is the constant need for affected by the credit crunch? I hear you expansion and growth in the market- this nearly lost your house. is just not possible on a planet with finite ‘Plugh’ resources. Personally, however, I blame the bankers, for undermining the stability What do you make of the current of the financial markets.’ economic crisis? Who do you blame?

‘Well, the initial problems were caused by You don’t know what you’re talking the American subprime mortgage crisis. about, do you fish?

Contracted liquidity of global credit ‘No. Sorry.’

Above: In the bin, where he came from Left: Fish loves being wrapped in

newspaper. Here you can see him snuggled up inside a copy of The Times

For more information and forthcoming tour dates please visit www.iamabigsmellyfish.com

Photos by Steven Windle

For more information and forthcoming tour dates please visit www.iamabigsmellyfish.com

Photos by Steven Windle

XX

XXI West Papua: The Pacific’s Forgotten Tragedy

Nikol Danielle Gow raises awareness for a country in need Have you ever met a West Papuan?

Probably not. Well, I have. I had the pleasure of meeting the only West Papuan man in England – Mr. Benny Wenda.

Unfortunately the context within which I met him was hardly a happy one. Mr. Wenda stood before us, desperation in his eyes, with a single plea – Freedom for his people.

West Papua has been under Indonesian occupation since 1963. An estimated 100,000 native West-Papuans have died at the hands of their neo-colonialist rulers.

Mr. Wenda escaped from a prison in West Papua where he was tortured and threatened with death. He was granted asylum in the UK and set up the Free West Papua campaign in 2004. Now he travels around this land of the free, raising awareness and inspiring action.

Most people are not familiar with the

country of West Papua which is a major hindrance to the West Papuan cause. The ecological paradise is found on the world’s second largest island, New Guinea. Its closest neighbours are Australia and Indonesia. In 1895 the Dutch, British and Germans divided New Guinea into three pieces. As the Dutch prepared to grant independence to West Papua in the 1960’s, the Indonesians threatened to invade and eventually took control via the fallacious “Act of ‘Free’ Choice.”

Just 1000 people were allowed to vote, each of them coerced into selecting Indonesian rule, with a gun pointed to their heads. After the referendum the human rights abuses escalated. West Papuans have had to endure 43 years of discrimination, intimidation, torture, violence and killings which have culminated in what has been labelled as genocide in the 21 st century.

West Papua

The penalty for raising the flag of an independent West Papua (right) is 10 to 15 years in jail As Mr. Wenda recalls his chilling past tears well up in his eyes. He describes how military men would round women up, ask them to wash and then rape them in front of the entire tribe. His uncle was tied to a stake and forced to look at the sun for several hours before being buried alive.

When he was a child the Indonesians bombed his village. His tribe was forced to flee into the jungle where many died of malaria.

Not only does the illegal occupation of West Papua make a mockery out of international law, it also raises a myriad of environmental and ecological concerns.

The island is almost entirely covered by virgin rainforest, boasting a unique array of flora and fauna. Western companies such as Rio Tinto (which runs the world’s largest gold and copper mine in West Papua) and BP are stripping the island of its natural resources and destroying its biodiversity. The murderous regime is effectively being bolstered by Western and Chinese greed for West Papua’s wealth of resources, which include timber, gas, copper and gold.

The display of all West Papuan symbols has been banned and the penalty for

raising the flag of an independent West Papua is 10 - 15 years in jail. Such was the fate of Filep Karma and Yusak Pakage (a student), who were arrested for this ‘offence’ in 2004 and who have officially been recognised by Amnesty as prisoners of conscience. Amnesty International does not itself support independence for West Papua as it is not a political organization, but it supports the right of people to be able to express their legitimately held political views.

They say that ignorance is bliss, but not if you are the object of such ignorance.

Indonesia has been causing untold sorrow to a community of people that the world knows nothing about. West Papua has been ignored for too long and it is high time that its oppressors are held to account.

If you would like to get involved with the Free West Papua Campaign, please visit: www.freewestpapua.org Alternatively, tell others about the West Papuan plight, so that this island does not forever remain the Pacific’s forgotten tragedy.

XX

XXI West Papua: The Pacific’s Forgotten Tragedy

Nikol Danielle Gow raises awareness for a country in need Have you ever met a West Papuan?

Probably not. Well, I have. I had the pleasure of meeting the only West Papuan man in England – Mr. Benny Wenda.

Unfortunately the context within which I met him was hardly a happy one. Mr. Wenda stood before us, desperation in his eyes, with a single plea – Freedom for his people.

West Papua has been under Indonesian occupation since 1963. An estimated 100,000 native West-Papuans have died at the hands of their neo-colonialist rulers.

Mr. Wenda escaped from a prison in West Papua where he was tortured and threatened with death. He was granted asylum in the UK and set up the Free West Papua campaign in 2004. Now he travels around this land of the free, raising awareness and inspiring action.

Most people are not familiar with the

country of West Papua which is a major hindrance to the West Papuan cause. The ecological paradise is found on the world’s second largest island, New Guinea. Its closest neighbours are Australia and Indonesia. In 1895 the Dutch, British and Germans divided New Guinea into three pieces. As the Dutch prepared to grant independence to West Papua in the 1960’s, the Indonesians threatened to invade and eventually took control via the fallacious “Act of ‘Free’ Choice.”

Just 1000 people were allowed to vote, each of them coerced into selecting Indonesian rule, with a gun pointed to their heads. After the referendum the human rights abuses escalated. West Papuans have had to endure 43 years of discrimination, intimidation, torture, violence and killings which have culminated in what has been labelled as genocide in the 21 st century.

West Papua

The penalty for raising the flag of an independent West Papua (right) is 10 to 15 years in jail As Mr. Wenda recalls his chilling past tears well up in his eyes. He describes how military men would round women up, ask them to wash and then rape them in front of the entire tribe. His uncle was tied to a stake and forced to look at the sun for several hours before being buried alive.

When he was a child the Indonesians bombed his village. His tribe was forced to flee into the jungle where many died of malaria.

Not only does the illegal occupation of West Papua make a mockery out of international law, it also raises a myriad of environmental and ecological concerns.

The island is almost entirely covered by virgin rainforest, boasting a unique array of flora and fauna. Western companies such as Rio Tinto (which runs the world’s largest gold and copper mine in West Papua) and BP are stripping the island of its natural resources and destroying its biodiversity. The murderous regime is effectively being bolstered by Western and Chinese greed for West Papua’s wealth of resources, which include timber, gas, copper and gold.

The display of all West Papuan symbols has been banned and the penalty for

raising the flag of an independent West Papua is 10 - 15 years in jail. Such was the fate of Filep Karma and Yusak Pakage (a student), who were arrested for this ‘offence’ in 2004 and who have officially been recognised by Amnesty as prisoners of conscience. Amnesty International does not itself support independence for West Papua as it is not a political organization, but it supports the right of people to be able to express their legitimately held political views.

They say that ignorance is bliss, but not if you are the object of such ignorance.

Indonesia has been causing untold sorrow to a community of people that the world knows nothing about. West Papua has been ignored for too long and it is high time that its oppressors are held to account.

If you would like to get involved with the Free West Papua Campaign, please visit: www.freewestpapua.org Alternatively, tell others about the West Papuan plight, so that this island does not forever remain the Pacific’s forgotten tragedy.

XXII

XXIII Paul and Nader: Willing to Die for the Throw-Away Throw Vote Travis Wainman talks about the recent Presidential Elections (before they happened).

Ron Paul was a republican candidate, Ralph Nadar was running as an independent candidate.

In a recent campaign advertisement, Republican write-in candidate Ron Paul officially challenged Ralph Nader to a duel, demanding the satisfaction that “only a man-on-man death match can bring”.

When pressed to explain his motivation for issuing the challenge, Paul stated "there can be only one” and proceeded to mimic the Green Party candidate’s decapitation, absorbing Nader ’s powers amidst lightning effects.

Paul requested to have former candidate Ross Perot act as master of ceremonies.

Ned Bender, Nader's political advisor, took issue with this request arguing that "seeking the services of an old elfishlooking Republican vote thief would give Paul an unfair advantage.“ Later that day Nader opted for pistols at dawn by the clock tower through a message in which he stated "Get ready to buckle up and feel the G's!“ According to reports, in the 2000 and 2004 elections Nader carried 184% and 143% of the popular vote respectively.

The appendix however notes that "these are very rough estimates, since the accuracy of the counting was compromised when the new episode of The Biggest Loser came on T.V, ironically enough.”

"It's not fair! His votes were supposed to be for me! Forrr meeeee! I blame global warming" said Al Gore following his loss in 2000.

"Obama and McCain are f*****n N00bz.

Ron Paul pWnz ALL!" said one of the founders of the political activist guild “Paladins of the Paulvolution”.

This election Nadar's spoiler status is in jeopardy. Ron Paul has gained a large following by using a grassroots movement which has taken hold over the internet, particularly in the World of Warcraft.

He and the other members of his clan have pledged to spam people with similar catch phrases and also intend to fulfill their voter responsibility by asking their moms to vote for Paul.

Paul's advisor, Bob Law, had this to say: "If he kills or seriously injures Nader, our poll numbers are going to go through the roof. We're talking five, maybe ten percent. Look at Aaron Burr. Killing Hamilton was the best thing he'd ever done. It solidified his legacy as a total badass and we're hoping for the same success.“ Law added: "God forbid Paul gets killed.

But if he does, his death will make him a martyr. People love martyrs. Look at Jesus and Ghandi and all those guys.

Overall I couldn't think of a better career move than murdering a political opponent in cold-blood.“ Law mentioned the new slogan they've adapted in case of such circumstances: "Are you willing to let Ron Paul die in vain? McCain's practically dead. What's the difference? Vote Paul '08.“ The New York Times could not be reached for comment, claiming to be busy covering the "real election“.

Furthermore they stated “We will resort to legal action if you keep calling this number ”.

THE LIES PRINTED HERE ARE THE RESPONSIBILITY OF TRAVIS WAINMANNEITHER REPLICA MAGAZINE NOR GLOBAL TAT PRODUCTIONS MAY BE HELD ACCOUNTABLE FOR THIS BOLLOCKS.

XXII

XXIII Paul and Nader: Willing to Die for the Throw-Away Throw Vote Travis Wainman talks about the recent Presidential Elections (before they happened).

Ron Paul was a republican candidate, Ralph Nadar was running as an independent candidate.

In a recent campaign advertisement, Republican write-in candidate Ron Paul officially challenged Ralph Nader to a duel, demanding the satisfaction that “only a man-on-man death match can bring”.

When pressed to explain his motivation for issuing the challenge, Paul stated "there can be only one” and proceeded to mimic the Green Party candidate’s decapitation, absorbing Nader ’s powers amidst lightning effects.

Paul requested to have former candidate Ross Perot act as master of ceremonies.

Ned Bender, Nader's political advisor, took issue with this request arguing that "seeking the services of an old elfishlooking Republican vote thief would give Paul an unfair advantage.“ Later that day Nader opted for pistols at dawn by the clock tower through a message in which he stated "Get ready to buckle up and feel the G's!“ According to reports, in the 2000 and 2004 elections Nader carried 184% and 143% of the popular vote respectively.

The appendix however notes that "these are very rough estimates, since the accuracy of the counting was compromised when the new episode of The Biggest Loser came on T.V, ironically enough.”

"It's not fair! His votes were supposed to be for me! Forrr meeeee! I blame global warming" said Al Gore following his loss in 2000.

"Obama and McCain are f*****n N00bz.

Ron Paul pWnz ALL!" said one of the founders of the political activist guild “Paladins of the Paulvolution”.

This election Nadar's spoiler status is in jeopardy. Ron Paul has gained a large following by using a grassroots movement which has taken hold over the internet, particularly in the World of Warcraft.

He and the other members of his clan have pledged to spam people with similar catch phrases and also intend to fulfill their voter responsibility by asking their moms to vote for Paul.

Paul's advisor, Bob Law, had this to say: "If he kills or seriously injures Nader, our poll numbers are going to go through the roof. We're talking five, maybe ten percent. Look at Aaron Burr. Killing Hamilton was the best thing he'd ever done. It solidified his legacy as a total badass and we're hoping for the same success.“ Law added: "God forbid Paul gets killed.

But if he does, his death will make him a martyr. People love martyrs. Look at Jesus and Ghandi and all those guys.

Overall I couldn't think of a better career move than murdering a political opponent in cold-blood.“ Law mentioned the new slogan they've adapted in case of such circumstances: "Are you willing to let Ron Paul die in vain? McCain's practically dead. What's the difference? Vote Paul '08.“ The New York Times could not be reached for comment, claiming to be busy covering the "real election“.

Furthermore they stated “We will resort to legal action if you keep calling this number ”.

THE LIES PRINTED HERE ARE THE RESPONSIBILITY OF TRAVIS WAINMANNEITHER REPLICA MAGAZINE NOR GLOBAL TAT PRODUCTIONS MAY BE HELD ACCOUNTABLE FOR THIS BOLLOCKS.

REPLICA GALLERY Welcome art lovers and pretentious arseholes.

This is the Replica Art Gallery.

Left: ‘Kidney’ by James Page

REPLICA GALLERY Welcome art lovers and pretentious arseholes.

This is the Replica Art Gallery.

Left: ‘Kidney’ by James Page

Amanda Moss Amanda is an artist and director of Corsica Studios, a not-for-profit independent arts organisation in London. www.corsicastudios.com

Amanda Moss Amanda is an artist and director of Corsica Studios, a not-for-profit independent arts organisation in London. www.corsicastudios.com

Imogen Bliss Imogen lives in London and takes photographs as a hobby. Imogen is beautiful and lovely. imogen.bliss@live.com

Imogen Bliss Imogen lives in London and takes photographs as a hobby. Imogen is beautiful and lovely. imogen.bliss@live.com

James Page Above right: ‘Heart, boxed’ Below right: ‘Skulls, boxed’ James is a freelance artist based in Brixton.

“I have tried to reconsider and reconstruct the way in which we draw inspiration from nature but unconsciously contaminate everything we touch or use with humanistic emotions.“ “My work looks at the tensions that occur between the natural and the man-made but in turn endeavours to express this through the means of natural processes.“ www.jamespage.net

James Page Above right: ‘Heart, boxed’ Below right: ‘Skulls, boxed’ James is a freelance artist based in Brixton.

“I have tried to reconsider and reconstruct the way in which we draw inspiration from nature but unconsciously contaminate everything we touch or use with humanistic emotions.“ “My work looks at the tensions that occur between the natural and the man-made but in turn endeavours to express this through the means of natural processes.“ www.jamespage.net

James Belgrave James is a student at Leeds University who takes photographs as a hobby. The photos shown are from a recent tour of South America and Cuba. jamesbelgrave@hotmail.com

James Belgrave James is a student at Leeds University who takes photographs as a hobby. The photos shown are from a recent tour of South America and Cuba. jamesbelgrave@hotmail.com

Lucy Brown "Lucy is 18 studying at Hills Road Sixth Form College in Cambridge. She photographs bands, friends, models and the general public to try and capture some sort of hidden beauty in each of her subjects. She hopes to go to London College of Fashion or Central St Martins to continue studying "

www.blackharlet.deviantart.com

Lucy Brown "Lucy is 18 studying at Hills Road Sixth Form College in Cambridge. She photographs bands, friends, models and the general public to try and capture some sort of hidden beauty in each of her subjects. She hopes to go to London College of Fashion or Central St Martins to continue studying "

www.blackharlet.deviantart.com

54 Five four is an artist who lives and works in central London.

Five four paints onto small block canvases in oil, acrylic, aerosol, ink, heavy varnish, the odd bit of deodorant and anything else that might be lying about at the time.

Five four leaves street pieces everywhere and anywhere they can be seen and taken. www.545454.co.uk

Photos by Natasha Hoare. Natasha has also written an article about 54 on the following page.

54 Five four is an artist who lives and works in central London.

Five four paints onto small block canvases in oil, acrylic, aerosol, ink, heavy varnish, the odd bit of deodorant and anything else that might be lying about at the time.

Five four leaves street pieces everywhere and anywhere they can be seen and taken. www.545454.co.uk

Photos by Natasha Hoare. Natasha has also written an article about 54 on the following page.

XXXVIII If You Go Down to Redchurch Street Today… Natasha Hoare discovers street art

XXXIX

redeveloped building. Even Nissan can’t keep up with the accelerated gentrification of East London.

Is anyone else tired of street art? It was all good back in the day when a pithy Banksy would raise a smile as you stumbled out of a back-end pub in Brixton. Or a defaced sign would subvert an authoritarian message into a revealing one. But then the art world got hold of it. Suddenly stencils were being stripped off the walls and put up in galleries; much beard stroking and intellectual masturbation ensued. Next the Daily Mail, the Daily bloody Mail, mounts an

expose of Banksy, discovering that he’s just a nice middle class boy from the West Country - surely a relief for their readers who could go back to their breakfast safe in the knowledge that another counter-cultural hero had been neutralised. Equally horrifying is Nissan’s bid to seduce us into buying a Micra by producing a street art map of London.

Satisfyingly I spotted a grey haired, sandal-and-socked biddy peering back and forth from the said item to a

All this in mind, when I stumbled across a canvas fixed to some scaffolding in Shoreditch I was ready to be scathing, ready to brush it off as another lame stunt by an artist wanting to cash in on the street art craze. But as I continued my amble through the area I started to look differently at my surroundings.

Suddenly the street was no longer a predestined path leading me inexorably towards Tesco. I ambled over to more scaffolded buildings, walked round the various boxes that litter the streets containing mysterious municipal items, scoured piss stained corners of alleys and loitered around dead end streets. When I came upon a black shoe box propped up against a building I couldn’t help but look

inside – luckily no dead cats. In a café doorway I spotted another foul mouthed canvas, ‘METRO TWAT’.

Giggling manically I ran past some bemused builders to grab it. As I stumbled over another and another my mind began to spin with greed. ‘Shit, maybe these will be worth something one day. I could be a millionaire. I could start my own gallery. I could pack in my job and move to the Bahamas.’ It was imperative to find more and more of these impasto inscriptions - ‘DNA’, ‘WEALTH MYTH’, ‘FISTY COPS’. Finally, 5 mini canvases in hand I returned to work, adrenaline

pumping, eyes twitching to different corners of the street, heavy breathing and clutching little neon canvases to myself as tough someone was going to jump me for them.

Once the dust had settled I realised I’d been had. These guys had artfully manipulated me, forcing me to run through the streets of Shoreditch – I’m not someone who exercises more than running for a bus. They had brought on bouts of hysterical calculations as to how to distribute my soon to be wealth. I’d become an art collector, and I didn’t like it. Good on em! www.545454.co.uk

XXXVIII If You Go Down to Redchurch Street Today… Natasha Hoare discovers street art

XXXIX

redeveloped building. Even Nissan can’t keep up with the accelerated gentrification of East London.

Is anyone else tired of street art? It was all good back in the day when a pithy Banksy would raise a smile as you stumbled out of a back-end pub in Brixton. Or a defaced sign would subvert an authoritarian message into a revealing one. But then the art world got hold of it. Suddenly stencils were being stripped off the walls and put up in galleries; much beard stroking and intellectual masturbation ensued. Next the Daily Mail, the Daily bloody Mail, mounts an

expose of Banksy, discovering that he’s just a nice middle class boy from the West Country - surely a relief for their readers who could go back to their breakfast safe in the knowledge that another counter-cultural hero had been neutralised. Equally horrifying is Nissan’s bid to seduce us into buying a Micra by producing a street art map of London.

Satisfyingly I spotted a grey haired, sandal-and-socked biddy peering back and forth from the said item to a

All this in mind, when I stumbled across a canvas fixed to some scaffolding in Shoreditch I was ready to be scathing, ready to brush it off as another lame stunt by an artist wanting to cash in on the street art craze. But as I continued my amble through the area I started to look differently at my surroundings.

Suddenly the street was no longer a predestined path leading me inexorably towards Tesco. I ambled over to more scaffolded buildings, walked round the various boxes that litter the streets containing mysterious municipal items, scoured piss stained corners of alleys and loitered around dead end streets. When I came upon a black shoe box propped up against a building I couldn’t help but look

inside – luckily no dead cats. In a café doorway I spotted another foul mouthed canvas, ‘METRO TWAT’.

Giggling manically I ran past some bemused builders to grab it. As I stumbled over another and another my mind began to spin with greed. ‘Shit, maybe these will be worth something one day. I could be a millionaire. I could start my own gallery. I could pack in my job and move to the Bahamas.’ It was imperative to find more and more of these impasto inscriptions - ‘DNA’, ‘WEALTH MYTH’, ‘FISTY COPS’. Finally, 5 mini canvases in hand I returned to work, adrenaline

pumping, eyes twitching to different corners of the street, heavy breathing and clutching little neon canvases to myself as tough someone was going to jump me for them.

Once the dust had settled I realised I’d been had. These guys had artfully manipulated me, forcing me to run through the streets of Shoreditch – I’m not someone who exercises more than running for a bus. They had brought on bouts of hysterical calculations as to how to distribute my soon to be wealth. I’d become an art collector, and I didn’t like it. Good on em! www.545454.co.uk

XXXX

XXXXI object of deprecation? In my cubicle, for example, one bloke had written ‘If you iz reading this den your mum iz gay’ and sadly enough, I’m failing to suppress a chuckle even now as I type. Do they have ‘rate your poo’ tables, with the accompanying diagrams, such as the one I am now obediently filling in? ‘One day’ I promise, with unnecessary grandeur ‘maybe not today maybe not tomorrow, but some day I will answer these burning questions that have surely plagued mankind since the dawn of civilization’.

Chick Toi-lit Rich McCulloch Investigates Female Toilet Graffiti

It was during one such ‘revision break’ that I had a sudden, intuitive insight into the essential meaning of my life, or, as some might call it: an epiphany. Now, for those of you who don’t know, prolonged revision does strange things to a person’s brain function. Especially mine. Before

‘the incident’ previous procrastinations have included the 2005 road trip to Marseille and the infamous attempt to start a ‘moustache revolution’ in January 2007. What I’m getting at is that what in normal circumstances may seem an ephemeral or puerile thought, forgotten as quickly as it is conjured, may during revision time transform into the most intriguing thought you’ve ever had. That’s my official excuse should this article ever be used against me as evidence at any future point in my life.

As I cast my mind back, I remember the time vividly. I was immersed in an especially competitive set of toilet tennis (when someone writes ‘look left’ on your right and ‘look right’ on your left) when a thought suddenly struck me: what if Level 13 girl, the saucy minx, was doing exactly the same thing as me right now? What if she was sat on the closed seat of a library toilet reading the inscriptions the cubical walls had to offer? I allowed my mind to wander and, for reasons I still don’t really understand, I promised myself aloud, that I would make it my mission in life to find out two things: first, does a female version of toilet literature (or toi-lit) exist and second, what does female toi-lit (or chick toi-lit) consist of? Do they draw vaginas?

Or turn anything that even closely resembles a vagina into a vagina, as men seem compelled to do with penises? Do they profess their allegiance to netball teams? Do they feel the impulse to berate the reader with derogatory Mum comments, or are Dads the preferred

Artwork by Anna Chilton www.annachilton.co.uk

Anyone who has tried to do any work on Level 13, in the Edward Boyle Library at the University of Leeds, will know where I’m coming from. You’re in the library quietly reading, minding your own business, maybe doing a bit of research for an essay or, as in my case on that fateful day in May 2007, revising for an exam. Your eyes are thirsty for words and your brain eager to learn when suddenly, out of nowhere and without warning an attractive member of the opposite sex saunters into your periphery. In normal circumstances such an occurrence would merit a glance and little else. But in revision time your reason is distorted.

Your eyes are the first to betray your noble intentions and, instantly forgetting the previous night’s promise of renewed academic application, your brain is quick to follow. ‘God damn you Level 13 girl’, you say to yourself, ‘can’t you see I just want to read about the effects of the Norman Conquest on English culture in peace?’ But alas, your pleadings fall on deaf ears; its no use, you can’t fight it. If you’re anything like me your imagination conjures a full pornographic future life story of you and the object of your desires which can only result in one outcome: ‘revision break’.

Later that day I nervously waited in the vicinity of the ladies toilets at about 11:50pm and after careful deliberation and deep ethical soul searching I turned around and left the library. I guess my morals must have got the best of me and I decided that it would be entirely inappropriate to embark on my mission alone. That’s just sick isn’t it? If I did conduct my investigation on my own I would probably end up on the sex offenders list. No, I thought, for this mission I’ll need a wing-man: a Goose for my Maverick. Luckily I have a friend I can always count on in such situations. For the sake of the protection of his identity, I’ll refer to him, henceforth, as ‘Simon’. I can always count on Simon to help me in such situations - mainly because revision or anything resembling work is, for him, the equivalent of fire to Shere Khan in the Jungle Book. He bloody hates it. It’s like oil and water - they just don’t mix. So any kind of distraction, no mater how demented or puerile, is always welcome.

After meticulous planning and preparation (we made a D.I.Y. ‘out of order ’ sign, put it on the door, and waited for twenty

XXXX

XXXXI object of deprecation? In my cubicle, for example, one bloke had written ‘If you iz reading this den your mum iz gay’ and sadly enough, I’m failing to suppress a chuckle even now as I type. Do they have ‘rate your poo’ tables, with the accompanying diagrams, such as the one I am now obediently filling in? ‘One day’ I promise, with unnecessary grandeur ‘maybe not today maybe not tomorrow, but some day I will answer these burning questions that have surely plagued mankind since the dawn of civilization’.

Chick Toi-lit Rich McCulloch Investigates Female Toilet Graffiti

It was during one such ‘revision break’ that I had a sudden, intuitive insight into the essential meaning of my life, or, as some might call it: an epiphany. Now, for those of you who don’t know, prolonged revision does strange things to a person’s brain function. Especially mine. Before

‘the incident’ previous procrastinations have included the 2005 road trip to Marseille and the infamous attempt to start a ‘moustache revolution’ in January 2007. What I’m getting at is that what in normal circumstances may seem an ephemeral or puerile thought, forgotten as quickly as it is conjured, may during revision time transform into the most intriguing thought you’ve ever had. That’s my official excuse should this article ever be used against me as evidence at any future point in my life.

As I cast my mind back, I remember the time vividly. I was immersed in an especially competitive set of toilet tennis (when someone writes ‘look left’ on your right and ‘look right’ on your left) when a thought suddenly struck me: what if Level 13 girl, the saucy minx, was doing exactly the same thing as me right now? What if she was sat on the closed seat of a library toilet reading the inscriptions the cubical walls had to offer? I allowed my mind to wander and, for reasons I still don’t really understand, I promised myself aloud, that I would make it my mission in life to find out two things: first, does a female version of toilet literature (or toi-lit) exist and second, what does female toi-lit (or chick toi-lit) consist of? Do they draw vaginas?

Or turn anything that even closely resembles a vagina into a vagina, as men seem compelled to do with penises? Do they profess their allegiance to netball teams? Do they feel the impulse to berate the reader with derogatory Mum comments, or are Dads the preferred

Artwork by Anna Chilton www.annachilton.co.uk

Anyone who has tried to do any work on Level 13, in the Edward Boyle Library at the University of Leeds, will know where I’m coming from. You’re in the library quietly reading, minding your own business, maybe doing a bit of research for an essay or, as in my case on that fateful day in May 2007, revising for an exam. Your eyes are thirsty for words and your brain eager to learn when suddenly, out of nowhere and without warning an attractive member of the opposite sex saunters into your periphery. In normal circumstances such an occurrence would merit a glance and little else. But in revision time your reason is distorted.

Your eyes are the first to betray your noble intentions and, instantly forgetting the previous night’s promise of renewed academic application, your brain is quick to follow. ‘God damn you Level 13 girl’, you say to yourself, ‘can’t you see I just want to read about the effects of the Norman Conquest on English culture in peace?’ But alas, your pleadings fall on deaf ears; its no use, you can’t fight it. If you’re anything like me your imagination conjures a full pornographic future life story of you and the object of your desires which can only result in one outcome: ‘revision break’.

Later that day I nervously waited in the vicinity of the ladies toilets at about 11:50pm and after careful deliberation and deep ethical soul searching I turned around and left the library. I guess my morals must have got the best of me and I decided that it would be entirely inappropriate to embark on my mission alone. That’s just sick isn’t it? If I did conduct my investigation on my own I would probably end up on the sex offenders list. No, I thought, for this mission I’ll need a wing-man: a Goose for my Maverick. Luckily I have a friend I can always count on in such situations. For the sake of the protection of his identity, I’ll refer to him, henceforth, as ‘Simon’. I can always count on Simon to help me in such situations - mainly because revision or anything resembling work is, for him, the equivalent of fire to Shere Khan in the Jungle Book. He bloody hates it. It’s like oil and water - they just don’t mix. So any kind of distraction, no mater how demented or puerile, is always welcome.

After meticulous planning and preparation (we made a D.I.Y. ‘out of order ’ sign, put it on the door, and waited for twenty

XXXXII minutes) I stood outside the ladies toilet with a nagging anxiety in my heart. Is this right? Surely anyone with even the faintest grasp of decency would reconsider and retreat to the safety of convention. After more soul searching and deep consideration of the ethical implications I concluded that only some kind of deranged caveman with the most rudimentary grasp of morality would even consider such a gross effrontery.

Possession of anything more then a 10 bag of ethical integrity would dictate that such a mission would be unthinkable.

The first thing I noticed upon entrance into the ladies was the smell, or rather lack of it. The absence of that all so familiar smell of inaccurate piss and stale skid marks was eerie and gave the place a rather sterile feel. Kind of like at the dentist or what I imagine an alien abduction to smell like. I double-checked that I was alone and then, fighting my paranoia, checked a couple more times, and then once more just in case. Now certain that I was indeed on my own and upon checking with my trusted accomplice that the coast was clear, my pulse thankfully decreased. However, anxiety once again gripped my heart as I slowly approached one of the cubicles and considered the possible ramifications of what I was about to find. What will I see?

What will I read? Will my idealistic conception of femininity be crushed forever? Will the realisation that girls are as perverted and disgusting as men mean I’ll have to resort to bestiality?

The answer to most of these questions was a merciful no. Upon poking my head into the abyss it was not the disgusting

XXXXIII septic tank that my imagination had cruelly depicted for me. Quite the contrary! My conjuring of a filthy cesspit, smelling of a mixture of dinosaur toe-jam and post-hibernation morning breath was not what I found before me. Rather, it was my reflection looking back at me. The polish from the immaculate white tiles decorating the walls must have been as fresh as the aroma that seduced my unsuspecting nostrils. I dropped to my knees and openly wept with amazement at the paradise I saw before me. Do my eyes deceive me? Is this not the porcelain throne of God ?!

I then had a strange few moments regarding myself in the third person: it wasn’t an impressive sight let me tell you.

After this brief but intense moment of self reflection I stood up, pulled myself together and, remembering the task at hand, inspected the back of the door with renewed vigour. Nothing. I checked cubicle number two but again the walls, door, and tissue dispenser were uncontaminated. The third cubical was equally disappointing. With considerable despondency I inspected the final cubical.

With a heavy sigh I turned back and pondered my exit when, suddenly, disaster struck. My soul felt a flutter of genuine terror as I heard a female conversation trickling towards the door outside. Wait, I thought, no need to panic.

I had my trusted friend Simon, equipped with the cunning of a mongoose, standing guard for me outside. Surely he would warn me of any impending approach or, at the very least, buy me some time.

Predictably, however, without warning, the door started to creak open. Consumed

with panic I dived back into cubicle four.

Nothing can describe the feeling of shame that consumed me while I lay there on the floor of the ladies toilets.

This is not how your mother raised you, I thought to myself, as two ladies entered the cubicles either side of me, still chatting away. Neither of them aware that between the two of them, there I was sat on the floor, gently rocking to and fro with my figures in my ears, praying for the sound of urine.

As I sat there silently cursing Simon’s bones something magical and yes, I’ll say it, beautiful happened: a vision of hope greeted my glazed eyes. Alas, I thought, could it be? My pupils dilated and my lips quivered with the beginnings of a smile as I peered closer, and yes! Graffiti! A very, very pale relic of graffiti. But graffiti nonetheless. Upon closer inspection I could see many more such illegible hieroglyphics of times past. Now I’m no toilet wall expert but by my reckoning, the wall before me had been scrubbed clean. Very recently in fact; it was practically still wet! This could mean one thing and one thing only: ‘There she blows’ – I had found my white whale; a pale white whale granted, but a white whale nonetheless.

I considered the ramifications of my discovery: Chick-toi-lit exists. After suppressing the notion that a network of spies must have sabotaged my investigation I convinced myself that I had merely conducted my mission at the wrong time. With renewed enthusiasm I peeled myself from the curiously sticky floor. A plan was quickly formulating in my head: more research is definitely

needed. After waiting for the unknowing girls to vacate the room I practically bounced my way out of the door.

Once outside I discovered that ‘for a laugh’, bloody Simon had taken down the ‘out of order ’ sign. As I’m sure you’ll agree his attempt to ‘shit me up’ as he put it, is about as funny as a kitten death camp. Luckily for him, I was too euphoric for retribution –especially since it was his ill-conceived actions that led to my discovery. A kick in the balls will do for now, I said to myself, perhaps followed by a spade full of gravel in his cereal when we get back.

On the way home the conversation was dominated by not too farfetched comparisons between me and various film heroes of yore: Indiana Jones, the bloke from Star Wars, even James Bond was briefly mentioned if I remember correctly. That very night I dreamt I was Little Foot from the Land Before Time: I know in my heart the Great Valley exists, I’ve found a couple of tree stars, I just need to find it.

XXXXII minutes) I stood outside the ladies toilet with a nagging anxiety in my heart. Is this right? Surely anyone with even the faintest grasp of decency would reconsider and retreat to the safety of convention. After more soul searching and deep consideration of the ethical implications I concluded that only some kind of deranged caveman with the most rudimentary grasp of morality would even consider such a gross effrontery.

Possession of anything more then a 10 bag of ethical integrity would dictate that such a mission would be unthinkable.

The first thing I noticed upon entrance into the ladies was the smell, or rather lack of it. The absence of that all so familiar smell of inaccurate piss and stale skid marks was eerie and gave the place a rather sterile feel. Kind of like at the dentist or what I imagine an alien abduction to smell like. I double-checked that I was alone and then, fighting my paranoia, checked a couple more times, and then once more just in case. Now certain that I was indeed on my own and upon checking with my trusted accomplice that the coast was clear, my pulse thankfully decreased. However, anxiety once again gripped my heart as I slowly approached one of the cubicles and considered the possible ramifications of what I was about to find. What will I see?

What will I read? Will my idealistic conception of femininity be crushed forever? Will the realisation that girls are as perverted and disgusting as men mean I’ll have to resort to bestiality?

The answer to most of these questions was a merciful no. Upon poking my head into the abyss it was not the disgusting

XXXXIII septic tank that my imagination had cruelly depicted for me. Quite the contrary! My conjuring of a filthy cesspit, smelling of a mixture of dinosaur toe-jam and post-hibernation morning breath was not what I found before me. Rather, it was my reflection looking back at me. The polish from the immaculate white tiles decorating the walls must have been as fresh as the aroma that seduced my unsuspecting nostrils. I dropped to my knees and openly wept with amazement at the paradise I saw before me. Do my eyes deceive me? Is this not the porcelain throne of God ?!

I then had a strange few moments regarding myself in the third person: it wasn’t an impressive sight let me tell you.

After this brief but intense moment of self reflection I stood up, pulled myself together and, remembering the task at hand, inspected the back of the door with renewed vigour. Nothing. I checked cubicle number two but again the walls, door, and tissue dispenser were uncontaminated. The third cubical was equally disappointing. With considerable despondency I inspected the final cubical.

With a heavy sigh I turned back and pondered my exit when, suddenly, disaster struck. My soul felt a flutter of genuine terror as I heard a female conversation trickling towards the door outside. Wait, I thought, no need to panic.

I had my trusted friend Simon, equipped with the cunning of a mongoose, standing guard for me outside. Surely he would warn me of any impending approach or, at the very least, buy me some time.

Predictably, however, without warning, the door started to creak open. Consumed

with panic I dived back into cubicle four.

Nothing can describe the feeling of shame that consumed me while I lay there on the floor of the ladies toilets.

This is not how your mother raised you, I thought to myself, as two ladies entered the cubicles either side of me, still chatting away. Neither of them aware that between the two of them, there I was sat on the floor, gently rocking to and fro with my figures in my ears, praying for the sound of urine.

As I sat there silently cursing Simon’s bones something magical and yes, I’ll say it, beautiful happened: a vision of hope greeted my glazed eyes. Alas, I thought, could it be? My pupils dilated and my lips quivered with the beginnings of a smile as I peered closer, and yes! Graffiti! A very, very pale relic of graffiti. But graffiti nonetheless. Upon closer inspection I could see many more such illegible hieroglyphics of times past. Now I’m no toilet wall expert but by my reckoning, the wall before me had been scrubbed clean. Very recently in fact; it was practically still wet! This could mean one thing and one thing only: ‘There she blows’ – I had found my white whale; a pale white whale granted, but a white whale nonetheless.

I considered the ramifications of my discovery: Chick-toi-lit exists. After suppressing the notion that a network of spies must have sabotaged my investigation I convinced myself that I had merely conducted my mission at the wrong time. With renewed enthusiasm I peeled myself from the curiously sticky floor. A plan was quickly formulating in my head: more research is definitely

needed. After waiting for the unknowing girls to vacate the room I practically bounced my way out of the door.

Once outside I discovered that ‘for a laugh’, bloody Simon had taken down the ‘out of order ’ sign. As I’m sure you’ll agree his attempt to ‘shit me up’ as he put it, is about as funny as a kitten death camp. Luckily for him, I was too euphoric for retribution –especially since it was his ill-conceived actions that led to my discovery. A kick in the balls will do for now, I said to myself, perhaps followed by a spade full of gravel in his cereal when we get back.

On the way home the conversation was dominated by not too farfetched comparisons between me and various film heroes of yore: Indiana Jones, the bloke from Star Wars, even James Bond was briefly mentioned if I remember correctly. That very night I dreamt I was Little Foot from the Land Before Time: I know in my heart the Great Valley exists, I’ve found a couple of tree stars, I just need to find it.

XXXXIV

XXXXV

Knock, Knock. Who’s There? Cancer.

Not the sort of thing you should joke about, really. Patrick Ebbutt “We’ve got the test results back and it’s a grade 3 anaplastic astrocytoma”. These are almost certainly the most important words anyone has ever said to me. But at the time they meant as much to me as they probably do to you reading this now.

No-one in the medical profession has ever said the words “you’ve got cancer ” or “you’ve got a brain tumour ” to me.

Maybe that’s NHS policy, I don’t know, but it all means the same thing. Your life is going to massively change from here on in.

In October 2006 I was just getting settled in my new house in Headingley with my new housemates, when I started getting headaches.

Not morning-after-Tequila type headaches, I’m not sure you can believe this, but they were much worse.

The Student Medical Practice told me it was nothing serious and to go away and buy some ibuprofen. Thanks. Having double vision, severe headaches, barely being able to walk in a straight line is not ‘nothing serious’ at all, and anyone who knew me around the time knew that wasn’t the case.

Getting cancer at any time is far from ideal, to say the least. But given the choice I’d have taken it later in life rather than at the age of twenty. I had to miss a year of uni, spend twelve months undergoing chemotherapy, lose massive patches of hair, put on loads of weight (due to steroids) and generally do very little for a year.

Not only that, but I discovered the gaping hole in the supposed safety net of the benefit system, that I’m sure I wasn’t the first to almost fall through. When on temporary leave from uni you’re no longer able to claim your student loan because you’re not physically attending. Which is fair enough really. Until you find out that for the first six months of being ill you’re not allowed to claim benefits either, even if, as in my case, they agree you’re not well enough to work. This is because you’re classed as ‘attending’ uni, despite this not physically being the case. Why the Department of Work and Pensions (DWP) has a different definition of attending to the rest of the world I’ll never know. Even the head of the tribunal I went to said that the situation was ridiculous, but in law there was nothing she could do about it. Not one person I spoke to at the DWP could see the logic in the situation, but none of them could do anything about it. To be able to claim benefits you need to either abandon your course or wait six months. The first one I just didn’t see as an option, so I went with the second one. Even then I really struggled. I had to ring up every day to hassle them while they claimed they hadn’t received the documents which I had receipts for. Eventually they just sent me a cheque for £1400. No letter with it, just a cheque. I’m sure that cheque would never have arrived if I hadn’t kept on hassling them. Luckily for me I had my parents to fall back on. I moved back in with them and lived rent free and was

fine. But how are students who don’t have that option meant to cope? I’m sure I can’t be the first one to find this hole in the system. If you don’t have parents to take you in are you just supposed to abandon your course and hope for the best? Or just live on the streets?

Having said that, my local education authority, who pay the Disabled Students’ Allowance was much more supportive. I now have a shiny new laptop, printer, laptop stand (?) and an allowance for ink and paper amongst other things. There are also other benefits. As I had my driving licence revoked after my operation I get a free bus pass which covers the whole of the country until 2013. Every cloud...

The most incredible thing that happened to me, (“more incredible than a bus pass?!” I hear you cry) was when the football team I support, Aston Villa, found out that I couldn’t make it to games because of my weak immune system caused by the chemotherapy.

Their response was not just a ‘get well soon’ message. General Charles Krulak, director at the club, rang me at home to see how I was and if there was anything he could do for me. I told him the problems I had with being in crowded places and said it would be good to get to see at least one game over Christmas. Within ten minutes he had rung me back and offered me a free hospitality box for the rest of the season.

For some of the games I was put in the players’ box with all those not playing. I’ll never forget the sight of the director, a former head of the US Marines, pushing Lloyd Samuel out the way asking him

“where’s Paddy” as if he was a nobody.

They asked me to keep all this out of the local press. “We haven’t done this for publicity, we’ve done it because you’re one of us”. The first time I got there they had a shirt signed by the whole team waiting in the box for me. For once in my life I was lost for words.

Don’t get the wrong idea though, I would trade all of this instantly to not have had cancer. Unless there’s some advancement in medical science in my life time, that tumour ’s there for life. It doesn’t have cancer surrounding the core anymore but it could come back at any time. It’s not a nice thing to have on your mind (quite literally). I wouldn’t like to go through any of it again. Having an operation with a 95% survival rate seems pretty high. But when you think about it - and luckily I didn’t at the time - that means one in twenty people who have that operation don’t wake up. I’m really glad I was so drugged up and so ill at the time they told me this that it didn’t really sink in.

Believe it or not quite a lot of humour can come out of having cancer. Some of the responses from my friends when I told them I was in hospital with a brain tumour were fantastic, they really helped keep my spirits up. The best one was probably from my mate who lives in Sweden who replied to my email with simply “Patrick that’s terrible... I never knew you had a brain”. That was so much better than the messages of sympathy. Others included a text which ended “ps. Don’t put this too close to your head as that’s what probably caused it in the first place” whilst another told me after my operation that Richard

XXXXIV

XXXXV

Knock, Knock. Who’s There? Cancer.

Not the sort of thing you should joke about, really. Patrick Ebbutt “We’ve got the test results back and it’s a grade 3 anaplastic astrocytoma”. These are almost certainly the most important words anyone has ever said to me. But at the time they meant as much to me as they probably do to you reading this now.

No-one in the medical profession has ever said the words “you’ve got cancer ” or “you’ve got a brain tumour ” to me.

Maybe that’s NHS policy, I don’t know, but it all means the same thing. Your life is going to massively change from here on in.

In October 2006 I was just getting settled in my new house in Headingley with my new housemates, when I started getting headaches.

Not morning-after-Tequila type headaches, I’m not sure you can believe this, but they were much worse.

The Student Medical Practice told me it was nothing serious and to go away and buy some ibuprofen. Thanks. Having double vision, severe headaches, barely being able to walk in a straight line is not ‘nothing serious’ at all, and anyone who knew me around the time knew that wasn’t the case.

Getting cancer at any time is far from ideal, to say the least. But given the choice I’d have taken it later in life rather than at the age of twenty. I had to miss a year of uni, spend twelve months undergoing chemotherapy, lose massive patches of hair, put on loads of weight (due to steroids) and generally do very little for a year.

Not only that, but I discovered the gaping hole in the supposed safety net of the benefit system, that I’m sure I wasn’t the first to almost fall through. When on temporary leave from uni you’re no longer able to claim your student loan because you’re not physically attending. Which is fair enough really. Until you find out that for the first six months of being ill you’re not allowed to claim benefits either, even if, as in my case, they agree you’re not well enough to work. This is because you’re classed as ‘attending’ uni, despite this not physically being the case. Why the Department of Work and Pensions (DWP) has a different definition of attending to the rest of the world I’ll never know. Even the head of the tribunal I went to said that the situation was ridiculous, but in law there was nothing she could do about it. Not one person I spoke to at the DWP could see the logic in the situation, but none of them could do anything about it. To be able to claim benefits you need to either abandon your course or wait six months. The first one I just didn’t see as an option, so I went with the second one. Even then I really struggled. I had to ring up every day to hassle them while they claimed they hadn’t received the documents which I had receipts for. Eventually they just sent me a cheque for £1400. No letter with it, just a cheque. I’m sure that cheque would never have arrived if I hadn’t kept on hassling them. Luckily for me I had my parents to fall back on. I moved back in with them and lived rent free and was

fine. But how are students who don’t have that option meant to cope? I’m sure I can’t be the first one to find this hole in the system. If you don’t have parents to take you in are you just supposed to abandon your course and hope for the best? Or just live on the streets?

Having said that, my local education authority, who pay the Disabled Students’ Allowance was much more supportive. I now have a shiny new laptop, printer, laptop stand (?) and an allowance for ink and paper amongst other things. There are also other benefits. As I had my driving licence revoked after my operation I get a free bus pass which covers the whole of the country until 2013. Every cloud...

The most incredible thing that happened to me, (“more incredible than a bus pass?!” I hear you cry) was when the football team I support, Aston Villa, found out that I couldn’t make it to games because of my weak immune system caused by the chemotherapy.

Their response was not just a ‘get well soon’ message. General Charles Krulak, director at the club, rang me at home to see how I was and if there was anything he could do for me. I told him the problems I had with being in crowded places and said it would be good to get to see at least one game over Christmas. Within ten minutes he had rung me back and offered me a free hospitality box for the rest of the season.

For some of the games I was put in the players’ box with all those not playing. I’ll never forget the sight of the director, a former head of the US Marines, pushing Lloyd Samuel out the way asking him

“where’s Paddy” as if he was a nobody.

They asked me to keep all this out of the local press. “We haven’t done this for publicity, we’ve done it because you’re one of us”. The first time I got there they had a shirt signed by the whole team waiting in the box for me. For once in my life I was lost for words.

Don’t get the wrong idea though, I would trade all of this instantly to not have had cancer. Unless there’s some advancement in medical science in my life time, that tumour ’s there for life. It doesn’t have cancer surrounding the core anymore but it could come back at any time. It’s not a nice thing to have on your mind (quite literally). I wouldn’t like to go through any of it again. Having an operation with a 95% survival rate seems pretty high. But when you think about it - and luckily I didn’t at the time - that means one in twenty people who have that operation don’t wake up. I’m really glad I was so drugged up and so ill at the time they told me this that it didn’t really sink in.

Believe it or not quite a lot of humour can come out of having cancer. Some of the responses from my friends when I told them I was in hospital with a brain tumour were fantastic, they really helped keep my spirits up. The best one was probably from my mate who lives in Sweden who replied to my email with simply “Patrick that’s terrible... I never knew you had a brain”. That was so much better than the messages of sympathy. Others included a text which ended “ps. Don’t put this too close to your head as that’s what probably caused it in the first place” whilst another told me after my operation that Richard

XXXXVI Hammond’s agent had been on the phone and that brain operations were all the rage now and he’d like to sign me up.

Then finally, after I’d had a clear scan, one which said “This is the worst news I’ve had all week” and another which said “This just proves you were faking it all along”.

I was determined to make the most of the opportunity to make people feel awkward.

Nothing cuts someone down quicker than giving the answer “it’s because I’ve got cancer ”. Unless it’s the bouncers in Skyrack who thought I might be lying about why I was wearing a hat, and made me take it off to prove it. Or a girl in the Terrace Bar on my 21st birthday who tried to steal the bowler hat I was wearing. I managed to hold it onto my head as she made a grab for it. “Ah go on let me wear it.”

“I’m wearing it because I have cancer ”.

The look on her face was brilliant apparently.

I think an apology is also in order to the members of the Christian Union who came to ask me if they could talk to me about God one day. We talked for a while and then at the end they asked if I had any questions. So I asked them “if God loves everyone why have I got cancer?”

Silence. Colour drains from their faces. I guess they’d not been asked this one before. After a long pause the first one gave an answer I have quite a lot of respect for looking back on it. She said “I don’t know”. The other one, however, said “God has many different ways of showing his love”. I’m sorry? What? It’s a bizarre way to show love if you ask me.

Dear Patrick, here, have cancer, love God.

XXXXVII Two main factors related to the illness and treatment affected my life at uni. The first of these would be the way it affected my memory. My memory from before the illness is fine, but my short term memory is a shadow of its former self, though improving slowly. I was in the library and spotted a book called “Strategies to improve your short term memory”. So I picked it up, went off to do my work in the cluster, left the library and then realised I’d forgotten to take it out. This short term memory problem means that new things don’t go into the long term memory easily as they’ve got to go through the short term to get there. Most of the time these problems just amuse my friends and annoy me but when it comes to exam time they become far more serious. My department have been very helpful in general, they granted me extra time in exams too, but they refused to adjust my marks as they didn’t feel that my memory had inhibited me in my exams. Despite the fact that most of my exam results were around ten marks lower than my coursework ones. Surely there’s nothing more vital for exams than your memory?

They justified their decision by saying that I’d actually done better than in first year anyway. Well surely nobody does better in first year than second year do they?

The second factor would be the effects chemo had on me. The NHS almost didn’t fund my chemotherapy as it was ‘only’ a grade 3 tumour (on a scale of 1 to 4, with 4 being the worst) and I almost had to make do with stopping after radiotherapy.

But as they took such a small biopsy they couldn’t be sure it was not grade 4, so

What a brave chap... Patrick shows off his scar they agreed to fund it, but only because I’m young. It seems weird to have to fight to put a poison through your body that does so many horrible things to you. As a lazy student I enjoy my lie-ins as much as the next man. But during my twelve months of chemo I could sleep twelve hours a night, sometimes more. Then there was the weakened immune system.

Nights out for me were limited to the odd night at a fairly empty pub. Not that I could drink spirits anyway. This made me realise how much we as students spend on alcohol, suddenly the student loan went so much further.

It’s been tough, but I wouldn’t describe it as a battle. There’s really very little you

can do other than sit back and wait for the incredible treatments to do their job. I’ve not been brave, I hate the word brave.

Someone who throws them self in front of a bus to save someone else is brave.

People say I’ve coped with it well, better than they would have done. But do you ever hear a cancer patient being described as coping with it badly? I never have. As Jenni Murray said, in the best description I’ve read of how I feel about this whole thing: “You’re not being brave, you’re just coping with the unavoidable in the best way you can”.

That sums it up perfectly for me.

XXXXVI Hammond’s agent had been on the phone and that brain operations were all the rage now and he’d like to sign me up.

Then finally, after I’d had a clear scan, one which said “This is the worst news I’ve had all week” and another which said “This just proves you were faking it all along”.

I was determined to make the most of the opportunity to make people feel awkward.

Nothing cuts someone down quicker than giving the answer “it’s because I’ve got cancer ”. Unless it’s the bouncers in Skyrack who thought I might be lying about why I was wearing a hat, and made me take it off to prove it. Or a girl in the Terrace Bar on my 21st birthday who tried to steal the bowler hat I was wearing. I managed to hold it onto my head as she made a grab for it. “Ah go on let me wear it.”

“I’m wearing it because I have cancer ”.

The look on her face was brilliant apparently.

I think an apology is also in order to the members of the Christian Union who came to ask me if they could talk to me about God one day. We talked for a while and then at the end they asked if I had any questions. So I asked them “if God loves everyone why have I got cancer?”

Silence. Colour drains from their faces. I guess they’d not been asked this one before. After a long pause the first one gave an answer I have quite a lot of respect for looking back on it. She said “I don’t know”. The other one, however, said “God has many different ways of showing his love”. I’m sorry? What? It’s a bizarre way to show love if you ask me.

Dear Patrick, here, have cancer, love God.

XXXXVII Two main factors related to the illness and treatment affected my life at uni. The first of these would be the way it affected my memory. My memory from before the illness is fine, but my short term memory is a shadow of its former self, though improving slowly. I was in the library and spotted a book called “Strategies to improve your short term memory”. So I picked it up, went off to do my work in the cluster, left the library and then realised I’d forgotten to take it out. This short term memory problem means that new things don’t go into the long term memory easily as they’ve got to go through the short term to get there. Most of the time these problems just amuse my friends and annoy me but when it comes to exam time they become far more serious. My department have been very helpful in general, they granted me extra time in exams too, but they refused to adjust my marks as they didn’t feel that my memory had inhibited me in my exams. Despite the fact that most of my exam results were around ten marks lower than my coursework ones. Surely there’s nothing more vital for exams than your memory?

They justified their decision by saying that I’d actually done better than in first year anyway. Well surely nobody does better in first year than second year do they?

The second factor would be the effects chemo had on me. The NHS almost didn’t fund my chemotherapy as it was ‘only’ a grade 3 tumour (on a scale of 1 to 4, with 4 being the worst) and I almost had to make do with stopping after radiotherapy.

But as they took such a small biopsy they couldn’t be sure it was not grade 4, so

What a brave chap... Patrick shows off his scar they agreed to fund it, but only because I’m young. It seems weird to have to fight to put a poison through your body that does so many horrible things to you. As a lazy student I enjoy my lie-ins as much as the next man. But during my twelve months of chemo I could sleep twelve hours a night, sometimes more. Then there was the weakened immune system.

Nights out for me were limited to the odd night at a fairly empty pub. Not that I could drink spirits anyway. This made me realise how much we as students spend on alcohol, suddenly the student loan went so much further.

It’s been tough, but I wouldn’t describe it as a battle. There’s really very little you

can do other than sit back and wait for the incredible treatments to do their job. I’ve not been brave, I hate the word brave.

Someone who throws them self in front of a bus to save someone else is brave.

People say I’ve coped with it well, better than they would have done. But do you ever hear a cancer patient being described as coping with it badly? I never have. As Jenni Murray said, in the best description I’ve read of how I feel about this whole thing: “You’re not being brave, you’re just coping with the unavoidable in the best way you can”.

That sums it up perfectly for me.

XXXXX

UNCLE WETLEGS

CHEER UP YOU BASTARDS

Dear Uncle Wetlegs, what’s wrong with the banking system? I don’t understand why people are loosing money…

Yours Sincerely, Frederick Ictitious I hate banks. I’m aware that this is a popular attitude at the moment and I’m not sorry I can’t be more original because it has to be ranted. I know there’s a myriad of factors why we’re in this credit crunch / recession / global meltdown / apocalypse. Yes globalisation is a factor everything has to be bigger and better quicker and easier whilst still being affordable and if you don’t like it you’re obsolete. I could easily go on a rant about how technologies are cutting us off from each other and ease of travel is destroying the planet but I like the idea of globalisation and I like most of the new technologies and services it has pioneered. For instance online shopping

Do you have any problems?

Let Uncle Wetlegs know: www.replicamag.co.uk/index _unclewetlegs.htm Go on, entertain him.

A new brighter kind of street art from the artists

Bortusk Leer and Five Four.

can be a lifesaver, especially when you have a sister in Oz. Telephone banking is a blast but I’m not so sure that the ability to obtain a mortgage of £200,000 or so without having to see anyone from the bank was such a great idea. And come on, who accepts a mortgage they blatantly can’t repay? “Gee I don’t know how to guarantee payment Sir, pinky swear on it?”

The fact of the matter is that the buck stops at the institution which exists solely to safeguard your money, you know the one that you put your money into when you want to be sensible with it. No matter how great the need to expand, ‘keep up with the times’ and of course earn that well deserved bonus, banks need to remember that their no.1 priority is to look after the money they were given and not f**king charge us for being overdrawn after they’ve just got £50bn out of us! My advice? Invest all your money in bird seed (ref Mary Poppins).

BRICK LANE GALLERY 5/2/09 www.thebricklanegallery.com

XXXXX

UNCLE WETLEGS

CHEER UP YOU BASTARDS

Dear Uncle Wetlegs, what’s wrong with the banking system? I don’t understand why people are loosing money…

Yours Sincerely, Frederick Ictitious I hate banks. I’m aware that this is a popular attitude at the moment and I’m not sorry I can’t be more original because it has to be ranted. I know there’s a myriad of factors why we’re in this credit crunch / recession / global meltdown / apocalypse. Yes globalisation is a factor everything has to be bigger and better quicker and easier whilst still being affordable and if you don’t like it you’re obsolete. I could easily go on a rant about how technologies are cutting us off from each other and ease of travel is destroying the planet but I like the idea of globalisation and I like most of the new technologies and services it has pioneered. For instance online shopping

Do you have any problems?

Let Uncle Wetlegs know: www.replicamag.co.uk/index _unclewetlegs.htm Go on, entertain him.

A new brighter kind of street art from the artists

Bortusk Leer and Five Four.

can be a lifesaver, especially when you have a sister in Oz. Telephone banking is a blast but I’m not so sure that the ability to obtain a mortgage of £200,000 or so without having to see anyone from the bank was such a great idea. And come on, who accepts a mortgage they blatantly can’t repay? “Gee I don’t know how to guarantee payment Sir, pinky swear on it?”

The fact of the matter is that the buck stops at the institution which exists solely to safeguard your money, you know the one that you put your money into when you want to be sensible with it. No matter how great the need to expand, ‘keep up with the times’ and of course earn that well deserved bonus, banks need to remember that their no.1 priority is to look after the money they were given and not f**king charge us for being overdrawn after they’ve just got £50bn out of us! My advice? Invest all your money in bird seed (ref Mary Poppins).

BRICK LANE GALLERY 5/2/09 www.thebricklanegallery.com

XXXXVIII

XXXXIX

(Reggae) / (Pink Floyd + Radiohead) = FUN… A Personal Account of the “Easy Star All-Stars” Paulie Niskos Just to set the record straight, I have never written for a magazine before and beautiful creative language is not my thing (as demonstrated by the title of this review). However, last night I had one of the greatest gig experiences of my life. I dedicate this review to Ben (from The Maze).

Who are the “Easy Star All-Stars”?

The Easy Star All-Stars are a reggae band renowned for covering two classic albums in a reggae/dub style. Their first release was an interpretation of Pink Floyd’s iconic The Dark Side of the Moon entitled The Dub Side of the Moon and the second was Radiodread, a song-bysong cover of Radiohead’s OK Computer.

Naturally, being a die-hard fan of both Radiohead and Pink Floyd and also loving reggae, I purchased both of these albums out of mere curiosity… Is it possible to convert these albums into reggae without destroying them? The answer to that is “yes”. Dub Side of the Moon and Radiodread stick thoroughly to the dub genre whilst complimenting the original recordings.

On one of the coldest nights we have had this year, I get very excited as I walk through the streets of Nottingham on my way to the gig. I ask myself the following: how do they perform the sounds in their

albums? What does the band look like?

What kind of fan base do they have? A reggae fan base? Or a Radiohead/Pink Floyd fan base?

I rush to the The Maze (the venue) to find that it’s sold out and that they’re not selling tickets at the door. I’m pissed off at this point as my body temperature is dropping steadily. Our only hope for entering The Maze relies on someone having spare tickets. I joke to my friend Miriam that this is the first time in my life that I actually want to buy tickets from a tout. An hour goes by and we freeze.

Ben lets us into The Maze…

A miracle happens: the owner of the venue, Ben, sees how desperate we are and allows us to purchase tickets at the door. What an unusual act of kindness!

We enter to catch the remains of the supporting act. The Maze is a really sweet intimate venue and I strongly recommend you check it out if you’re ever in Nottingham. With a maximum capacity of only 230 people, the stage is neatly placed in the corner with the rear of the room ona higher platform. Most importantly, the sound system is perfectly arranged so that each frequency is crystal clear. The crowd that night was composed of people from all age groups and backgrounds.

It’s 11pm and the band finally arrive…

The New York / Jamaican band arrive on the small stage. They announce the release of their new album compiled of songs they wrote themselves.

The opening rocksteady-style song immediately brings the eager crowd together. Then, the bassist announces “Airbag!” 230 of us go nuts and all sing “I am born again…” The coldness of the outdoors was now a distant memory. The yardie MC provided the band with a unique energy and got the crowd bouncing at his command. They went on to play a mixture of songs from Radiodread, Dub-Side and their own material. The opening riff to ‘Money’ was a definite crowd pleaser. The MC bellowing “money will make a good man bad…” along with his comedic dancing was sick. Also charming, were the brass players (sax and trombone), who provided a lovely quirkiness. ‘Let Down’, normally very dreary, was played as an upbeat happy song.

band. Their song writing styles were extremely varied from lively ska to grimy dub. It’s not often you find that all the musicians in the band are extremely talented. Songs such as ‘No Bow’ were just pure fun. After an hour of playing, they left the stage. I genuinely thought the gig was over as I knew the venue closed at midnight. Soon after, three of them re-arrived confirming they had been given permission to play for longer (possibly thanks to Ben, again). Then they played a fifteen-minute instrumental version of ‘Airbag’ (known as ‘An Airbag Saved My Dub’). The bassist suggested the lack of need for crazy trombone parts in their music and got the crowd swaying to his steady play.

Completely chilled dub. It was half twelve now but the band announced that they had time for one more song.

Immediately they played the opening of the famous song, ‘Karma Police’. And f*ck me, did that rock. For a minute there, I lost myself…

Despite being known for their covers, I believe that the Easy Star All-Stars will establish themselves as a genuine reggae

Listen to them here:

Above: The Easy Star All-Stars

www.last.fm/music/Easy+Star+All-Stars

Photo by Loni Efron

XXXXVIII

XXXXIX

(Reggae) / (Pink Floyd + Radiohead) = FUN… A Personal Account of the “Easy Star All-Stars” Paulie Niskos Just to set the record straight, I have never written for a magazine before and beautiful creative language is not my thing (as demonstrated by the title of this review). However, last night I had one of the greatest gig experiences of my life. I dedicate this review to Ben (from The Maze).

Who are the “Easy Star All-Stars”?

The Easy Star All-Stars are a reggae band renowned for covering two classic albums in a reggae/dub style. Their first release was an interpretation of Pink Floyd’s iconic The Dark Side of the Moon entitled The Dub Side of the Moon and the second was Radiodread, a song-bysong cover of Radiohead’s OK Computer.

Naturally, being a die-hard fan of both Radiohead and Pink Floyd and also loving reggae, I purchased both of these albums out of mere curiosity… Is it possible to convert these albums into reggae without destroying them? The answer to that is “yes”. Dub Side of the Moon and Radiodread stick thoroughly to the dub genre whilst complimenting the original recordings.

On one of the coldest nights we have had this year, I get very excited as I walk through the streets of Nottingham on my way to the gig. I ask myself the following: how do they perform the sounds in their

albums? What does the band look like?

What kind of fan base do they have? A reggae fan base? Or a Radiohead/Pink Floyd fan base?

I rush to the The Maze (the venue) to find that it’s sold out and that they’re not selling tickets at the door. I’m pissed off at this point as my body temperature is dropping steadily. Our only hope for entering The Maze relies on someone having spare tickets. I joke to my friend Miriam that this is the first time in my life that I actually want to buy tickets from a tout. An hour goes by and we freeze.

Ben lets us into The Maze…

A miracle happens: the owner of the venue, Ben, sees how desperate we are and allows us to purchase tickets at the door. What an unusual act of kindness!

We enter to catch the remains of the supporting act. The Maze is a really sweet intimate venue and I strongly recommend you check it out if you’re ever in Nottingham. With a maximum capacity of only 230 people, the stage is neatly placed in the corner with the rear of the room ona higher platform. Most importantly, the sound system is perfectly arranged so that each frequency is crystal clear. The crowd that night was composed of people from all age groups and backgrounds.

It’s 11pm and the band finally arrive…

The New York / Jamaican band arrive on the small stage. They announce the release of their new album compiled of songs they wrote themselves.

The opening rocksteady-style song immediately brings the eager crowd together. Then, the bassist announces “Airbag!” 230 of us go nuts and all sing “I am born again…” The coldness of the outdoors was now a distant memory. The yardie MC provided the band with a unique energy and got the crowd bouncing at his command. They went on to play a mixture of songs from Radiodread, Dub-Side and their own material. The opening riff to ‘Money’ was a definite crowd pleaser. The MC bellowing “money will make a good man bad…” along with his comedic dancing was sick. Also charming, were the brass players (sax and trombone), who provided a lovely quirkiness. ‘Let Down’, normally very dreary, was played as an upbeat happy song.

band. Their song writing styles were extremely varied from lively ska to grimy dub. It’s not often you find that all the musicians in the band are extremely talented. Songs such as ‘No Bow’ were just pure fun. After an hour of playing, they left the stage. I genuinely thought the gig was over as I knew the venue closed at midnight. Soon after, three of them re-arrived confirming they had been given permission to play for longer (possibly thanks to Ben, again). Then they played a fifteen-minute instrumental version of ‘Airbag’ (known as ‘An Airbag Saved My Dub’). The bassist suggested the lack of need for crazy trombone parts in their music and got the crowd swaying to his steady play.

Completely chilled dub. It was half twelve now but the band announced that they had time for one more song.

Immediately they played the opening of the famous song, ‘Karma Police’. And f*ck me, did that rock. For a minute there, I lost myself…

Despite being known for their covers, I believe that the Easy Star All-Stars will establish themselves as a genuine reggae

Listen to them here:

Above: The Easy Star All-Stars

www.last.fm/music/Easy+Star+All-Stars

Photo by Loni Efron

XXXXXII WE NEED CONTRIBUTORS

Untitled Louisa Michel I cannot say anymore what made him tick over.

He knew that she knew and I inked the lines.

We’d gone on as always.

He said too much she said too little but we three, we didn’t care about words.

“REPLICA NEEDS

YOU” Get off your arse and do something. Air your opinions. Get published. Start a riot (just make sure you tell us about it).

REPLICA MAGAZINE Combating apathy and boredom Nationwide. www.replicamag.co.uk

XXXXXII WE NEED CONTRIBUTORS

Untitled Louisa Michel I cannot say anymore what made him tick over.

He knew that she knew and I inked the lines.

We’d gone on as always.

He said too much she said too little but we three, we didn’t care about words.

“REPLICA NEEDS

YOU” Get off your arse and do something. Air your opinions. Get published. Start a riot (just make sure you tell us about it).

REPLICA MAGAZINE Combating apathy and boredom Nationwide. www.replicamag.co.uk

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO CONTRIBUTED TO THIS ISSUE

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO CONTRIBUTED TO THIS ISSUE

End.