Sixth Sense Spring Edition 2016

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S Made by students For students

Spring Edition 2016

C Top Trumps

A Sinking Rose

Kendrick Lamar

Interview with Justin Moorhouse Music Review

A Fall from Grace Peter Crouch – The Unsung Hero Marriage

Poetry

Cigarettes Interview with

Which comic book should you be reading?

Peter Tatchell Humanity’s Army

So why should women vote?

The Craziest Season?

STFC Transfers

Travel Writing

INTERVIEW WITH PETER TATCHELL

BY BRONWEN JONES

“I DON’T WANT THE BIGOTS TO GET THE BETTER OF ME” - Peter Tatchell 1963 was a different world. A world where lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) rights were nonexistent - it was a world where inequality was accepted as the norm and many people’s true sexual orientation was hidden.

At the age of eleven, the LGBT activist Peter Tatchell recalls seeing footage of the aftermath of the bombing of a black church in Birmingham, Alabama, USA, which resulted in the death of four young girls. This prompted his lifelong anti-racism stance.

It was not until the age of 17, when Tatchell realised that he was gay, that he began to campaign for LGBT rights.

In an interview conducted by myself, Peter Tatchell stated that at the time of his coming out (1969) there were no openly gay figures, that religious organisations railed against LGBT people, that there was massive legal discrimination between straight and gay people and that the media was uniformly hostile.

"It was a very difficult, hostile and threatening environment."

LGBT activism in those days was much more difficult, he stated. With people being openly homophobic Tatchell was (and still is) forced to deal with hate mail, death threats and violent attacks on his person, leading to a very

difficult 30 years. It has caused both fiscal and mental damage to him. However, being a stubborn man, Tatchell has always been determined to see equal rights between LGBT people and straight people.

"I don't want the bigots to get the better of me so I carry on."

This is not to say that there was no support for the LGBT movement, but very much from a minority - according to Tatchell it was impossible to get debates in parliament about LGBT issues due to "MPs thinking of gay people as disgusting."

A humble man, he believes that his suffering is nothing compared to the suffering of human rights activists in countries such as Nigeria, Iran, Russia or Saudi Arabia, where people are jailed, tortured and even killed.

This perspective is one that helps him cope with the difficulties he has faced.

"The cause is bigger than any one incident, which will of course pass.

Ghastly as any LGBT attacks are they are a sign of not just prejudice but of weakness, ignorance and failure. Those people don't know any better."

Taking inspiration from Martin Luther King's approach to protesting, Tatchell does not believe in violent methods. However, he did

say that under extreme circumstances, where the avenues for peaceful democratic change (for example in Nazi Germany or under ISIS rule in Syria) are not possible, he reluctantly supports people taking up arms in selfdefence.

"It is not desirable but is the lesser of two evils."

When posed with the question of could he, would he do anything differently, he stated "Broadly speaking, if I had to start all over again I would do much the same thing.

Obviously now I am a bit wiser and could do things a bit more professionally than in the early days but the basic principles of trying to work within the system and if that doesn't work challenging from outside - that’s a proven tactic by the black civil rights movement in America, and by the suffragettes in Britain. " For Tatchell, the turning point in the very long battle for LGBT rights, that for him has spanned nearly 50 years, was the legalization of same sex marriage. He described this as "The icing on the cake of a very long struggle." He views it as the last major discrimination to be repealed, and even though it is not for marriage equality, it is close.

"It signalled Britain as finally growing up and recognised that LGBT have a place at the

table as equal citizens who are valued and respected.�

Yet Tatchell argues that there are still some discrimination issues that need to be addressed; for instance, the fact that one third of LGBT people have been victims of hate crime and half of all young children in schools are subjected at some point to homophobic bullying.

"That needs to change - I always encourage schools to set up gay-straight alliances where LGBT and straight kids can work together to challenge prejudice. In schools where those alliances exist anti-LGBT prejudice goes way, way down."

Finally, I end this article with a message from Peter Tatchell to all lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people "My message to victims of anti-LGBT hate crime is this - it is terrible what they have suffered and the person who did this is utterly wrong, but at the end of the day we have to rise above the bigots - they are on the declining side of history - they are an ever declining minority - you will triumph in the end."

INTERVIEW WITH JUSTIN MOORHOUSE

BY ALEX SIMPSON

or a comedian like Justin Moorhouse, towns like Shrewsbury are important – they make up a large part of tours, and are perfect for presenting new routines to new audiences. For Moorhouse, Shrewsbury itself is idyllic. He says of the town: “I love it here. I like the calmness and the fact there’s lots going on - there seems to be a great community spirit too.” For any proud Salopian, this is what we want to hear, and it is also nice to hear his praise of the Theatre Severn, often criticised as a venue. He describes it as “a lovely venue” with “great staff too, which always helps”.

F

2015 saw the Phoenix Nights star release his first stand up DVD, simply on the back of “Someone (Universal) asked me!” He revealed that Universal were, to use a cliché, ‘running the show’, as “That’s what they do - it’s difficult enough writing the jokes and then performing them”. The filming of the DVD itself, which took place in Salford, put “a ton of pressure” on him, as “you know this is going to be judged and enjoyed obviously!”

The comedy scene itself is an ever-changing beast, with the variety of media options providing plenty of opportunities to promote the comedian. With Moorhouse having this multimedia experience, featuring on Live at the Apollo in 2014 and starring in Phoenix Nights, whilst also having presented on Key 103, he sees TV as a great opportunity, as “it can get you into people’s living rooms - but there’s also radio and podcasting, more and more comedians are creating their own online content”.

The mention of podcasting brings the conversation onto his own, ‘About 30 minutes

never more than 45’. The podcast, which “just seemed to evolve organically”, documents his travels around the country. Justin aims to broadcast more regularly than he has managed so far, encouraging a wider audience; it is a recommended download for anyone who wants to laugh.

In 2016, it is safe to say that Moorhouse will continue to be busy, “carrying on doing more stand up - I’ve got a new show to write for the Edinburgh festival - then take it on tour”, whilst also heading down under “to Melbourne for the Comedy Festival there in March”. Despite this busy schedule, his motivation to perform has not waned, as “it’s the best job in the world - I love it”. Despite him being a big name in the comedy scene, he still does not believe there is a stable job in comedy. Despite knowing the UK comedy scene extremely well, there is “Not one area” that is best for comedy, although he did add on that “Shrewsbury is pretty good though”.

Personally, Moorhouse is an avid follower of Manchester United, describing their season so far as “Terrible, woeful, inadequate - lacking any form of fun”, which, by anyone’s standing, is a damning verdict of the season.

Coincidently, this interview took place around the time Shrewsbury got drawn against Man United in the FA Cup, about which he said: “I expect us to beat Shrewsbury - obviously - but this has banana skin written all over it - I’ve got a good mate who’s a big Shrewsbury fan - he’s

told me that he’s quietly confident…..” He is also a fan of cricket, having been appointed as ‘Laughter Consultant’ at Lancashire County Cricket Club, a move which made him feel “proud” as “I love cricket and Lancashire are an amazing bunch of people”.

For more information, visit Justin’s website: http://www.justinmoorhouse.com/ or follow him on twitter @justinmoorhouse

TOP TRUMPS MATT EDWARDS

D

onald Trump may cause your heart to sink as you lose hope for humanity, he may lead you to despair or turn to religion as the seven horsemen of the apocalypse stand on by. Yet he needn’t fill your heart with utter dread, we have had Trumps before and we will undoubtedly have them again.

In order to understand what I mean by this we must understand what Trump actually is.

Whilst his campaign is as legitimate as any other he does not propose policy, Trump merely brain-farts popularism. Whether this is targeted at innocent Muslims, women or disabled journalists it achieves one purpose.

Trump’s words may anger the majority but they appeal to a significant minority, that minority is the registered republicans. Whist polls seem to indicate 35% support for Trump, in reality is less terrifying as it’s 35% of maybe 5% of US population. The US may be more politically extreme than Britain, but they’re not that bad just yet.

Trump’s controversy plays a purpose too.

Whilst shocking and horrifying most audiences, calls for blocks on Muslims, the invasion of Syria and shutdown of the internet play into Trump’s hand. These proposals do not horrify those who will vote Trump, whilst guaranteeing him media coverage due to the controversy of his points. The more

outrageous the Trump, the more free coverage the Trump gets.

The blind support for Trump does say something about a significant chunk of registered republicans however. When polled in December 41% of Trump supporters wished to bomb Agrabah, which as the Disney fans will know is the fictional kingdom from Aladdin. These are the same people who believe that more guns will somehow reduce gun-crime. Trump has also filed for bankruptcy four times, yet 57% of these people deem him the best person to handle the economy.

Hypocrisy is one of Trump’s fortes too. His ‘defence of the constitution’ would be entirely derailed by his ban of Muslims (violation of the first and fifth amendments), shutdown of the Internet (again first amendment) and opposition of birth-right citizenship (fourteenth amendment) to name but a few.

The question about what the international community should do about Trump is on the other hand a controversial issue in itself. After almost 580,000 people signed a petition to ban Trump from the UK, Parliament is to

debate the proposal. This proposal will almost certainly be struck down for one main reason.

The UK considers itself a liberal democracy and as such, banning things is not in good nature. The British way of dealing with Trump is not to silence and bury but to criticise and mock, tearing into Trump and his toupee is almost becoming a national pastime.

Although the likelihood of Trump becoming US president is smaller than his mind, there is one important factor we must rememberTrump’s campaign is like his hair: laughable, horrifying and yet unbelievably real.

CIGARETTES

BY TABITHA PURSLOW

I

t’s hard to believe nowadays that many people still smoke.

During the First World War smoking tobacco was thought to be

Picture of two lungs, on the rightone healthy, and the one on the left is what a lung becomes due to the consequences of a life- long smoking habit.

beneficial to one’s health, but years later, after time for scientists and medical professionals to analyse the longterm effects of smoking, it was discovered that smoking leads to cancer and several chronic diseases. When the discovery and research was concluded the majority of the British public smoked. Now currently in 2016, only around 21% of England smokes, 24% in Northern Ireland, 23% in Wales and 24% in Scotland. While these figures are still high, it is a huge improvement: fewer and fewer people are smoking, clearly seeing the advantages of this.

And yet, still over 20% of the UK population smoke. That, I think, is dreadful. Yes, it may be people’s personal choice, which it is. By smoking, they are only damaging themselves, however, 50% of fumes released in a public

space are taken in by the people around the smoker, and not the smoker him/herself. So actually, smoking is damaging others! At school, it is common to get “ don’t do drugs, kids” life lesson, but figures would suggest that those who smoke were always going to smoke if they were exposed to it at a young age whether it was socially acceptable or not.

Even so, by smoking it is other people’s health which is being destroyed. If a pregnant mother smokes it is very likely the child will have breathing difficulties throughout his/her life, merely because of its mother’s habits. Is that fair on a child? No it is not fair. That is why smoking should stop. We could educate smokers on why it is bad, and why they may regret it. But this may be unsuccessful as many people who smoke are so addicted it is a habit that is difficult to break. What we should really do is crack down on the government.

Cigarettes carry the highest amount of VAT, resulting in significant amounts of money for the Government from every smoker in the country. Yet while the Government takes a large payout from addicted individuals, the NHS spends over £2.5 billion a year on caring for patients who have medical difficulties due to their life-long smoking habits, and the money for the health comes from the Government which holds taxes on Cigarettes.

So as easy as it is to blame the average smoker, it is really the United Kingdom Government who you should point your finger at. They are making the big bucks which are simply processed in a revolving circle; smokers’ health being paid for by buying cigarettes, money which goes directly to the NHS. The government caring for them before they die from the money they spend on cigarettes which contribute to their early deaths.

It’s a vicious circle, isn’t it?

Resources: http://www.ash.org.uk/files/documents/ASH_93.pdf http://www.bma.org.uk/working-forchange/improving-and-protectinghealth/tobacco/smoking-statistics

CAPTAIN AMERICA’S BOYFRIEND

BY ELLA KIERA BITHELL

It is 1943 Germany is spread before me Against her, tiny we stand Combats, Khakis Hand in hand.

Home offers safety to what limited degree?

Let's separate, you know we should, Or die together, in the Berlin mud.

The end of the war Flag emblazoned home shore A future hazed with uncertainty For America carries its own currency of persecuted community.

This land of the free Won't support you or me Those we save would See the flag run red with our blood Kill man or kiss me.

Which is the worse illegality?

Our existence must be futile If we are not fertile

Who cares how many lives we've saved This path of sin we willingly paved.

My shield cannot quite withstand Public opinion's mighty hand They'll see me cut down, to blame.

I'll die a hero, not in shame.

A sword, a word, a gun Will catch me mid-run or Slip unnoticed from a plane Let me bathe in this metal rain Live free in the place of our birth Exist quietly on this earth Rise again from our misspent blood My darling.

My sweetheart.

If only we could

ARACHNIA

BY ELLA KIERA BITHELL

Step into my soft spun web An oxygenated flow and ebb Surrounded by silken sheets I'll muffle out your low slung bleats I have more legs than lives I've taken More eyes than blameless souls I've shaken I sit alone and weave all day Officially, anyway.

Eight caresses, a smile so sweet I'll drink you down until you sleep Your hollow husk I will display The black widow hunts for another day.

SO WHY SHOULD WOMEN VOTE?

BY HAZEL ROGERS

A

while ago, on a Friday evening, the night that my boyfriend generally comes to stay, my family’s Belgian friends visited. I shall admit that I was somewhat sceptical about their arrival; I was in that frame of mind whereupon the only thing of worth in one’s life is putting on pyjamas and cuddling up in front of an episode of Pingu, and this was exactly what I couldn’t do. Anyhow, they arrived at around half past 10 and, naturally, we carried on exactly where we had left off two years before. Kissing, talking, laughing, listening. I was beginning to be rather happy about my decision to remain conscious.

That is, until, sat down in the living room, all 10 of us, we began talking education, food, garbage, and politics.

Anyhow; within the conversation came the vote.

My mother, having been born in France and still retaining a French passport, cannot vote in the national election despite having lived here very near 30 years. Richard, my father’s old school friend now living in Belgium with his daughters, has exactly the same dilemma.

This meant that women who were householders and over the age of 30 could vote in national elections.

The Act also ensured that all men over the age of 21, regardless of property ownership, social standing and marital status, could vote as well.

The move towards women’s suffrage started around 1897, when Millicent Fawcett founded The National Union of Women’s Suffrage.

Fawcett relied on the use of logical argument and patient pacifism to gain women the right to vote. Only in 1905 did the now-dubbed (by The Daily Mail, no less) Suffragettes begin to move towards less peaceful means to implement their right; Christabel Pankhurst and Annie Kenney shouted and waved banners at two supposedly liberal politicians (Winston Churchill and Sir Edward Grey) after they had refused to acknowledge whether or not women should be allowed the vote.

They were consequently arrested.

‘I can’t be bothered.’

The Suffragettes, whilst still refuting the violence they believed would cause men to doubt their capability to rationally use the vote, began to use more extreme means when they realised their plea was being ignored.

Churches of England were burnt down (the Churches were unsurprisingly against suffrage), vandalism occurred in London and throughout the rest of the country, verbal and sometimes physical (fire bombs, etc) harassment of politicians took place, and during a short period many Suffragettes even chained themselves to the bars of Buckingham Palace in protest.

The Representation of People Act became law in February 1918, just over 107 years ago.

Many female protesters were arrested.

Hunger strikes became commonplace. The

So when his 22 year old daughter, a medical student, stated that she had ‘never voted’ I felt not merely a twinge of resentment. I imagined the letter I had received this year for my voting registration being cast aside into the paper recycling, and I felt anger. Of course, one must be civil. But I felt myself boiling. I calmly requested a reason for her choice not to exercise her human rights.

Cat and Mouse Act between the authorities and the Suffragettes began to play out; a Suffragette would go into prison, go on hunger strike – become increasingly frail, weak, and close to death - and then be released at her weakest. If a starved Suffragette happened to die out of prison, well, that was inconsequential to the government.

axes NHS treatments, cuts benefits, healthcare, when our government overspends, when our government privatises our health services?

Women renounced their families and endured rough and callous treatment at the hands of the sexist political system.

Women should vote because they have gained this statutory right through years of protest and oppression.

87 years ago, women over the age of 21 were given the vote in the Equal Franchise Act of 1928.

Women should vote because they are just as intellectually capable of doing so as men.

87 years ago.

Women should vote so their daughters have a better chance of gender equality in the future.

The proximity of this act to the modern day I find completely overwhelming.

My grandmother was 84 when she died. Only 3 years before her birth was she granted a (still relatively meagre) voice in politics.

In Saudi Arabia and Vatican City, women are still not permitted to vote. Bhutan gave its women the right to vote in 2008. In Yemen, women are only considered to count as half a witness in court; hence they must be supported by a man’s testimony. In Ecuador, abortion is illegal. In Saudi Arabia and Morocco, female rape victims can be charged with crimes including punishment for leaving the house without a male, and for being alone with an unrelated man, but also for the unintentional pregnancy afterwards. In Saudi Arabia, women cannot drive.

So why should women vote?

Does one have a right, if one does not participate in one’s country’s national decisions, to complain when our government

These are universal issues that refer to both men and women.

Women should vote because many women still cannot vote.

I don’t think it is a joke. I don’t believe it is something one should take calmly, one should ignore, one should scoff at. I often think fortune is underrated. Granted, women still have an extensive path of change remaining in order to grant them complete social and cultural equality to the male sex; pay gaps linger ridiculously in the most conspicuously well-paid roles, sexism occurs within both the workplace and the playground, and in 2003 9 out of 10 rape victims were women. But to ignore the fight and verve of our ancestors in favour of a lazy, ignorant attitude to societal change, frankly, disgusts me.

So there I was, sat in the living room on the arm of the corner sofa, sucking a spoon that I had coated with viscous, sickly sweet and aromatic honey.

I looked at the girl who had told me she had never voted. I smiled. I didn’t say anything.

I couldn’t be bothered.

MARRIAGE IS A THREE RING CIRCUS: ENGAGEMENT RING, WEDDING RING, AND SUFFERING

BY CHARLIE BOWDLER

M

arriage. To me it always seemed pretty absurd, pointless and nonsensical. I don’t think I’d ever sign a form committing myself to one person for life. That’s as stupid as getting “Darren <3” tattooed on your wrist when six months later he runs off with a Thai lady and they have lovely little kiddies together. I mean, the thought of it is sweet but it seems fairly impractical. Like, say one day you decide you don’t love them anymore. Be it the way they eat loudly in front of the television rather than conversing with you or how they always finish first in bed. Whatever it may be, I don’t think it’s worth the hardship of divorce or losing a big wad of cash.

Even at age 11 the idea of marriage was bizarre to me. I didn’t have fantasies about boys or girls that I liked. I dreamed of going on adventures across the globe and trekking through jungles and being a hero. I love the thought of people liking me. I love the thought of people thinking I’m kind, or clever, or unique. I love the idea of helping the entire world. I had big goals and huge ambitions. I didn’t fancy settling down in a little cottage with some guy I have lukewarm feelings for. I wanted to travel and see the world- to experience the beauty and culture of mother earth. I was never meant to settle.

Marriage seemed an idea so far from what I wanted that I decided I’d never consider it,

even if I found someone who wasn’t entirely repulsive.

When I was about 11, my Uncle N and Auntie E married. Their wedding was rather small and tacky (they won’t mind me making this comment as they frequently admit it themselves). We settled in a caravan site in Cornwall, around 5 minutes from the church where the wedding was to take place. Now, I know you don’t know my family, but let me give you a tiny insight into the kind of people they are. To meet a Bowdler man on a Friday night in The Grove would be unfortunate, particularly if you are male and even more so if you are supporting an opposing football team. Don’t get me wrong, I love them all to bits and they’d go to the end of the earth for me, but they can be a little over the top. You can imagine the type: tall; bit of a beer belly; a little brash; always making bad jokes and so on. So the nights prior to the wedding they spent a fair amount of time drinking and being generally rowdy, but happy nonetheless. I remember my mum telling her boyfriend that he was a lightweight as he threw up the 13 pints he’d consumed. I swiftly returned to the main reception of the site to Google ‘lightweight definition’. All in all everybody had a great time at the local pub and spirits were high. On the way back we all had fish and chips. I left the fish, it didn’t look quite right to me; sort of runny and kind of gross smelling.

The big day arrived and I was somewhat rudely awoken by my hung-over mother who was rushing to try and get me and my younger sister Maisy ready. Maisy was just 8 at the time; her misleading angelic face had everyone wrapped round her little finger.

Mum forced us into our tight, itchy dresses and boy did we kick up a fuss. There were lots of tears and hair pulling and taking off the dresses and being forced back into them.

When we finally looked presentable, with hairbands and jewellery neatly in place, we set off for the ceremony.

My memory is hazy, but I have a fairly clear vision of the events as we walked down the aisle. As bridesmaids, Maisy and I walked very carefully to impress everyone. Aunty E looked a spectacle. She had a long, elegant, white dress which draped on the floor and had sparkles all over. The long sleeves made her arms look slender and her beautifully done nails had teeny tiny diamonds stuck on them.

I was in awe.

She and Uncle N said their vows and I thought maybe marriage isn’t such a horrible thing.

Maybe one day I will feel so strongly about someone that I want to marry them. And be with them forever. At the precise moment I

had this wonderful epiphany, Maisy proceeded to projectile vomit all over the floor.

It wasn’t just a little bit. This was the kind of sick that made everybody else within a ten mile radius want to throw up too. The smell was the worst. The stench of fish lingered in the air and I heard my mum swear under her breath. Perhaps the chippy for dinner wasn’t such a fab idea… I’ve never seen a priest look so mortified.

The rest of the day was spent with majority of the guest list vomiting hideously; an evening you probably wouldn’t call pleasant. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a bride cry on her wedding day with her shoes covered in vomit, but it isn’t a sight that makes you relate the words happy and married.

Marriage. It’s not worth the effort, not worth the money and not worth the hassle. There’s so much potential for it to go wrong. Do you really want to put yourself through all that?

Avoid it. Why be tied down when you can be free? Go explore; see the world! Do literally anything else, because what’s one of the worst mistakes you can make in life?

Getting bloody married.

HUMANITY’S ARMY

BY LUCY O’HAGAN

“You don’t even like this song!”

Adalynn called out over the harmony of drumming and guitar strings being strummed, her hair swaying as she began to shuffle her feet to the music despite her slight confusion. The streaming of disco

lights were spinning in circles over the grass and running up the walls. Linwood’s lips parted, ready to speak, but the words faltered in his throat as the instruments clashed heavily, the vibrations reverberating across the stage. In response to his

hesitation, the music simmered down.

Someone turned down the volume.

“But you do,” he looked over to her, a small smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

Adalynn furrowed her brows for the briefest moment. She glanced to him, then returned her eyes to the silhouettes on stage, their shadows flickering and wavering on the floor as the lighting darted around. Whilst her body seemed at one with the music; she was twisting and swerving her hips and arms in sync with the rhythm, Linwood stood still, his hands occasionally rubbing against the side of his joggers.

“I thought we had a system,” Adalynn began, “and it was your turn to pick today. Are you expecting me to return the favour?” She quirked a brow, still attentive to the stage.

Her voice melted into the music, becoming another melody to the song. “Or are you just showing off your Adalynn knowledge?” She looked over to him with a smirk. He only shrugged in reply.

Then, just as if they had cut to another scene of a film, the rocky music snapped into silence and the strobe lights blinked away.

The two were now submerged in a crowd.

Adalynn was still dancing when they were dropped into the middle of a group of people, so she quickly halted, stumbling over her feet in shock.

“Thank God there were only about a thousand people around to see that.” She huffed a strand of hair away that was stuck to her lip, her coffee brown eyes surveying the room. All the other people in the stark bare hall were looking around in confusion, apprehension, fear. Echoes of words reflected off the white washed walls, all asking the same question: what the hell was going on? Linwood’s posture was straighter than usual, proving he was alert and on edge.

“Welcome!”

The voice sliced through the swarming panic like a blade and the demands for answers stopped short. Linwood’s hand brushed against Adalynn’s arm to get her attention, making sure she was listening to the woman peering at the audience. Her jaw set in response, her lips becoming even thinner as they pressed tightly together.

“We ask that you do not question the following procedure you will take part in, only embrace it.” She had a strong voice and stare; Adalynn could see the glint in her eyes even from across the hall.

“You have all been chosen.”

The air seemed to thin, the tension a taut string fraying, ready to snap. Breaths numbed in their lungs and clung to their lips.

“You will be conveyed to a building, where you will find weapons.” That set everyone in motion. A flurry of sound ripped through the previously submissive crowd. Linwood’s eyes flickered between everyone, wide and frantic, whilst Adalynn remained focused on the woman in a military uniform. It was only then, when he was scanning the panicked crowd, that Linwood noticed the strips of colour everyone had wrapped around their torsos. Either orange or green. He looked down to see orange.

“It will be a test, not a massacre,” she assured, although it wasn’t much of a comfort with her imposing stare. “It will be a simulation, just like the ones you use for recreational purposes.” Adalynn’s mind flashed back to where she and Linwood had just been, in her happy place. They were almost always in a simulation when Linwood was around. Most people were these days, unless you were someone who was paid to control the simulations.

“You will fight against your opponents, orange versus green, until we have a winning team. The individuals who show tactical and physical strength, along with a skill in

weaponry, will be offered a place in our army.” The speaker stepped off her platform, and after regarding the silent audience with her chin high and brows raised, she smiled; a smile that implied amused pride.

“I assure you, no one will be harmed. It is a simulation, and you will return to reality after your activity with none of the sustained injuries you receive in this.” And with that, everything disappeared.

The first thing Adalynn noticed was the thickness of the air. It was dense with dust.

Her nose crinkled as it tickled her nose and the stale smell clogged her senses. Slowly, hesitantly, she let her eyelids part and surrender herself to the illusion around her. It was cluttered with furniture, all decorated with intricate patterns and dull colours like mustard yellow or decayed grey. The curtains were closed, but she guessed if she opened them, nothing would be outside. Adalynn turned to see Linwood twitching. He was watching those who it seemed had decided to take the mission in their stride, waiting patiently for something to launch them into movement, apparently reluctant to start playing until they had a reason to. All she could hear were hushed voices.

“Take this.”

“What? That’s a gun!”

“I know. Take it.”

Linwood peered into chestnut drawers to see a knife.

It was a while until anything happened. But eventually there was a bang, a sound that made Linwood’s muscles flinch. A thump followed as a body dropped. Adalynn glanced to her side and saw a girl sprawled on the floor with a deep red hole in her neck. It was only a moment later that the bare skin of her neck rippled like a disturbed puddle and washed over the wound, healing it completely. There was no trace of a bullet ever having pierced her. Then, she dissipated

into the air. After that one shot, everyone seemed to gain encouragement from their peers and suddenly they took the opportunity to let their bullets fly. Linwood yanked Adalynn behind an overturned sofa and covered one ear, his heart hammering unsteadily against his ribs as if gun shots were ricocheting off his bones.

“We’ll stay here until it’s over,” he voiced over the stammering of surrounding chaos.

Adalynn laughed.

“Linwood, c’mon,” she tugged her arm away from his light grasp. “When else are we going to get a chance to raise a little hell like this?”

Her chocolate eyes were drowned in the darkness of the shadow concealing them, but there was a clear shimmer. Linwood hoped it wasn’t actual madness. He knew she liked feeling exhilarated, but would she really take it this far? She must have noticed the stunned awe in his eyes because she exhaled a breathy chuckle.

“It’s a simulation! We’re not hurting anyone,” she spoke as if he was missing something obvious. Deciding she shouldn’t bother wasting any more time convincing him he wasn’t defying his morals, she crawled away from the sanctuary of the couch and raided the place for a weapon. A black handgun was stuffed between two books. She retrieved it, measuring the dense weight in her grasp before racking the slide. Linwood stared at her precise movements for a while, words fumbling in his throat before he sighed, slumping against the back of the sofa.

With bullets whizzing past their ears for the length of the game, the first explosion finally erupted. Adalynn couldn’t tell how far away it was because it seemed to be all around her; it felt like she was in it. The dim lighting overhead cast a blurry mist and everyone was coughing as the putrid smell invaded their nostrils. Linwood’s ears were ringing.

“Could you please be careful?” He hissed to Adalynn who was peering over a table, her gun gripped tightly as she looked for a green target.

“Relax!” She sighed and placed a hand on his arm. It would have been a patronising gesture if she hadn’t truly wanted to calm him. After a determined silence from Linwood, Adalynn bowed her head for a moment, then pushed herself up to stand, flashing Linwood an enigmatic look before beginning to wave her hands around exaggeratedly.

“Hey! Come and get some!” She yelled over the groans and distant cries. Linwood’s breath hitched as she flaunted around, but then he just felt fed up. She crouched back down with a grin plastered on her shadowed face.

“I might as well just shoot myself in the head, it’ll do nothing except send me back to my house. And stop me from joining the army,” she pointed out, “but that isn’t something I’m pursuing anyway,” she shrugged, her eyes blazing in the dark like two eclipses. Without waiting for Linwood’s response she aimed her gun over the table and pulled the trigger.

She hardly jumped.

She wasn’t counting, but Adalynn listened out for the hollow echoes of a weight hitting the floor to indicate whether she was successful in her shot. She wasn’t missing too many targets, she noted to herself with a hint of satisfaction. She should definitely do simulations like this more often. Linwood remained crouched in the same position with his still gaze fixed on the only wall not clouded by figures rushing about. The noise of clashing yells and calls was decreasing in volume by the minute.

“There’s hardly anyone left, Linwood. Join in for a bit!” She glanced back to him and flashed him a crooked grin. When she returned her eyes forward though, the

silhouettes once scattered before her were gone. She only had a moment to narrow her eyes in confusion though because the figures striped with green were soon gushing through the lines of orange and were attacking close range. Someone had fisted her shirt in their grip and heaved her up, then raised a knife, glinting in the flames that were climbing up the curtains. With a swift thrust up her left hand made hard contact with his face, leaving her gun-hand to discharge its contents into his chest. His weapon flew from his hand as he fell backwards. She blasted a second bullet into his chest. The final contestants were throwing punches at each other, perhaps abandoning the ammunition to showcase their physical strength and prove it. A shot was fired close to her, so close that for a moment Adalynn thought it had hit her. But with no following pain, she looked aside and saw him.

“Linwood!” She skidded to her knees and grasped his shoulders and shook him. There was blood pooling under his head. It isn’t real it isn’t real it isn’t real. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited until he was gone. Suddenly she was grasping at air, her nails scraping against her palms instead of Linwood.

Exhaling with relief, she fell back onto the floor and tossed her gun aside, not feeling the will to play anymore. All she could think about was whether it hurt him, whether the bullet felt like fire ripping through his brain.

She shifted guiltily, uncomfortably, on the floor. It’ll be over soon anyway, she thought, waiting, indifferently, for a knife to pierce her or a bullet to hit her. But the next thing she felt was a gush of cold that rinsed the humidity from the air and a sharp stab at her ears when silence emerged.

She felt so thankful she was out that she could scream. She would see Linwood again, probably get a stern look and a brief questioning on whether she thought she was some sort of invincible god for acting so sure of herself, but he would cave in in the end,

giving that small smile and twinkle of the eye that conveyed his not-so-secret admiration of her temerarious streak. She never got that though. Her hand shot to her arm and searched for the sensors that should have been wired to her skin, telling her she was in the real world, but all she felt was goose bumps. She wasn’t home. She was in another simulation.

“Congratulations.” Adalynn recognised the raw voice, full of condescension. “You are all skilled enough to be our next generation of soldiers.” Some of the faces lightened up, as if expecting a reward as well as the placement in the army. “And you will be.”

The tight smile on her face slackened to produce an expression of blatant indifference, and she tilted her head to the side to scrutinise them. Adalynn hauled herself to her feet and looked around for a door or escape, but there was nothing. “You will be representing human kind, and your aim is to defeat the opposition. Your outcome,” her head tipped to the other side, “will determine the future.” Adalynn searched her stone eyes pleadingly. There were so many questions she should be asking, but there was only one that was bothering her: if they were representing humanity, who were they fighting against?

A FALL FROM GRACE

BY LUCY O’HAGAN

I could never have dreamt how it felt. No way would I have been able to imagine such an overwhelming, nightmarish stream of sensations.

Nothing would ever capture the intensity of it.

It wasn’t a physical fall. I didn’t filter through the shroud of clouds and spiral through the air, stars rushing away from me as I plummeted into the foreign land of Earth.

Heaven wasn’t home to me anymore. I couldn’t walk along the rivers of purity anymore. I couldn’t breathe in the innocence of souls anymore. I didn’t fall from heaven, but I awoke in a mist of sin.

The fog of pollution and infirmity and mortality clawed at me, stripped away any vague shred of dignity or divinity I had left. I didn’t fall, but I felt the drop within me; my soul sinking, drowning, in the sea of fatality.

My wings weren’t wrenched from me. They weren’t ripped from my back, leaving my skin scarred with the blood and memory of angelic grace. They disappeared. One moment they were fluttering over my skin, the next I was standing with my feet smothered in dirt, and there was no wound to tell of my once noble status. It was as if I had wandered the Earth for centuries; a human with no ability to fathom the mission I, as an angel, was to complete, or the infinite being I once swore an oath to.

I never fell from grace. I was never an angel. I was born under the sky, looking up to the heavens I had never known, looking down to the home I had never inhabited. A wisp of a tear leaked from my eye as I screamed for the angel, the angel who died for me to live.

That angel wasn’t here anymore. No drip of grace resonated within me, no thought of infinity blessed me. I was a mortal, with freedom crushing me and time cheating me.

A SINKING ROSE

BY HANNAH SEARS

Muted bird calls sounded through the icy water, their mournful laments drifting above the treetops. Their song enchanted those who heard it, the owner of every ear overcome with grief for a rose. The rose was sinking, she couldn’t breathe. Around her stem a tendrilled rope was knotted tightly, stopping her from getting back to the surface. But the rose didn’t feel scared; she didn’t try to get away, even though her thorns were broken and bleeding. The rose was calm. The rose was sleeping. * She was a victim of the war, a daughter of a rebel. Her father had been chosen, gifted the honour of ending the violence with a single swing of an axe. But he needed his rose, he needed her slight frame and agile fingers.

Though how could he ask a child to perform an assassination? The rose now sat with her family. A mother, a father and a younger brother all sat watching her, waiting. Around her were maps, weapons, plans for a new world. Finally, a nod. Albeit a reluctant one, but a nod all the same. The mother smiled, but her eyes betrayed the fear for her cherished rose. The father looked proud, determined, even though he was about to risk his daughter's life. The younger brother was excited, old enough to understand but young enough to think that he was immortal and was destined for victory. But his sister was not immortal, for flowers die easily in the cold winters to come.

An assemblage of weapons were laid out before her. Small knives, guns, ropes, poison.

The choice was hers. She selected a thin knife and a small vial of poison, throwing a questioning glance in her father’s direction. She had chosen correctly.

He smiled at her, drawing her closer to him and showed her the maps, the route she must take marked clearly in blood red ink.

The rose was ready.

The day of the mission came far too soon for Rose, restlessness harbouring her as she went over the route that she would take countless times. Four walls pressed closely against her as she slipped through the air vents with as much stealth as she could manage. She worried her heart would give her away as it thumped loudly against her chest. She fingered the tools in her pocket, checking to see if they were still there. She was still. Listening. A soft snore came from below her, barely audible in her metal cage.

She strained her ears as she removed a loose panel from the vent, feeling it slip slightly between her sweaty fingers and causing her stomach to lurch. She placed it down behind her, wincing at the faint noise it made as it came into contact with the floor, sounding like a gunshot in the silence. Rose dropped down, landing with the grace of a cat, the plushy carpet muting any noise she had made. There he was. Sprawled out regally in front of her on his bed sheets. Her target.

Rose slipped a hand into her pocket, and pulled out the slim knife and the vial of poison. Fingers shaking and her mind whirring, she unplugged the stopper from the bottle and carefully dipped the blade into the

shimmering liquid. She paused, staring at the knife in front of her. The liquid glinted from the moonlight that shone through the open window, contrasting sharply with the dull material wrapped carelessly around the handle. As she looked up her heart jolted.

She saw two black eyes caped in shadow staring back at her. The bottle slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor as his thin lips turned up slightly at the corners into a malicious smile.

“Well, well,” he remarked, “we have been a bad girl.” As her grip tightened on the knife she felt the cold metal of a gun pressed to the back of her neck. Shuddering, she closed her eyes and braced herself, every muscle in her body tense and quivering. Rose heard a dull thud as she dropped the knife and the strong body-odor of the guard who was bounding her wrists together caused her to gag. She found herself wishing for her father, desperately trying to remember the patchy self-defense he had taught her. But it was no use. The guard was twice her size and heavily armed. She would be dead within seconds.

Weeks later, Rose sat, staring at a black, grey wall. It stared back at her, hostility and disgust mingled in its gaze. A hoarse cry sounded from the room: "Set Rose free," it cried, "she is innocent!" But there was no response to her father's lie. Instead, strong, muscled arms embraced our Rose. She felt the hot splash of her father's tears on her

skin. But her eyes still stared blankly ahead.

Then another, colder grip dragged her to her feet, and tied her ankles together with a rope that scratched her skin. It was knotted tightly and she was hauled off, her father following closely behind. It was all her fault. She had failed and the rebels had been caught. What a silly, silly Rose. * The rose was still sinking, being dragged down by heavy weights, deeper and deeper where sunlight was scarce and only the courageous swam. Her bright orange hair had fanned out around her as she drifted, and her arms were stretched out, reaching for her family. Others drifted around her with similar ropes tied to heavy weights, dragging them down to join her. But still Rose did not panic.

She slept on.

Small, feeble beams of sunlight saw Rose laid out on the bed. Crabs scuttled over her pale flesh, now tinged blue with the cold. Her father was the nearest - he lay on the mud beside her, his arms stretched out so their fingertips were almost touching. Almost. Her mother lay some distance away, her eyes tightly shut. And her younger brother was still sinking, his small frame parting the water gradually. Small clouds of silt drifted up from where he hit the ground, settling gently over him and imitating a cocoon to comfort his slumber. The sinking Rose sank no more. The sinking Rose was sleeping.

WHICH COMIC BOOK SHOULD YOU BE READING?

BY EVIE WALKER

1. Which of these TV shows do you watch?

4. What would you like to do for dinner?

A) Game of Thrones

A) A candle-lit dinner for two

B) Adventure Time

B) A picnic in the woods

C) Broad City

C) Retro themed diner

D) Buffy the Vampire Slayer

D) Coffee shop

E) Breaking Bad

E) Barbeque

2. What is your favourite colour?

5. Opinion on superheroes?

A) Gold

A) Ambivalent

B) Green

B) I prefer adventurers

C) Yellow

C) I like them

D) Pink

D) I love them

E) Black

E) I prefer villains

3. Favourite animal?

6. Pick a holiday destination.

A) Dragon

A) Space

B) Fox

B) A summer camp in the woods

C) Cat

C) The big city

D) Bat

D) The hipster part of the big city

E) Dog

E) The desert

7. Choose a shoe.

A)

B)

D)

E)

C)

8. What, in your opinion, makes a good story?

A) Well rounded characters B) Friendship and adventure C) A nice setting D) A new twist on a classic premise E) Interesting (though not necessarily likeable characters Results Mostly As: you should read Saga.

Saga is a science fiction series about a couple from two different sides of a warring galaxy. On the surface it’s a Game of Thrones-meets-Star Wars space opera for the ages, but, more than that, it has real characters with whom the reader is constantly able to empathise with and relate to. Saga is unafraid to create a feeling of humour and levity, which sets it apart and makes it more enjoyable, which is only emphasised by the way in which the plot can constantly subvert the reader’s expectations.

Also try out Silver Surfer and The Wicked + the Divine.

Mostly Bs: you should read Lumberjanes.

Lumberjanes is an all-ages series set in Miss Quinzella Thiskwin Penniquiqul Thistle Crumpet's Camp for Hardcore Lady Types , which, unbeknownst to the scouts is filled with mystical secrets.

The series follows five friends, solving the mysteries of the camp and wise cracking in the process.

From the diverse cast of characters, the excellent writing and the beautiful art, this comic really is something made by women, about women, for everyone.

Also try out Nimona and Ms Marvel.

Mostly Cs: you should read Patsy Walker a.k.a. Hellcat.

Patsy Walker is a 20-something hero, living in New York, trying to figure out her life after a few years of hell. One of the best parts of this comic is the focus on Patsy’s relationships with colleague Jennifer Walters, (She–Hulk), room mate and new super person Ian Soo (Telekian) and childhood frenemy Hedy Wolfe, who is trying to sell the embarrassing teen romance comics Patsy’s deceased mother published about her child’s life.

Also try out The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl and Giant Days.

Mostly Ds: you should read Batgirl.

Starting from Batgirl issue #35, Barbara Gordon moved to Burnside (the Brooklyn of Gotham) and started a new life, getting back to college, making new friends (and some enemies) and learning

how to make it alone. The series’ primary strength is Babs Tarr’s art, which feels modern, engaging and unashamedly cute. Despite a few missteps in the creators’ attempts to keep up with the world, for the most part, this series is a delightfully refreshing take on what can often be a tired genre.

Batgirl is the hero Gotham deserves and needs.

Also try out Black Canary and Spider-Gwen.

Mostly Es: you should read Southern Bastards.

This series tells the story of Earl Tubb, a man with a big stick. As he is forced to return to his home town and take on the self-imposed task of cleaning it up, he seems destined to become the man he spent his life escaping; his father. As only one slightly less bad man in a town full of terrible men, Tubb tries to rid Craw County of corruption and free it from the totalitarian rule of the high school football coach and crime boss Euless Boss, without getting himself killed. Writer Aaron is great at creating a sense of setting and tension in each page. Aided by Latour’s art, this series is the perfect Southern crime.

Also try out Thor and Wytches.

MUSIC REVIEW

BY NATHAN APPS

Album review: Benjamin Clementine - At least for now

From busking on the Paris metro, to performing on big stages all around the world, to even winning a Mercury prize for 2015 Album of the Year it is clear that Benjamin Clementine has bundles of talent up his sleeve, and maybe some more hidden away in his pocket. Throughout this record, Clementine shows that he isn’t afraid to venture into new musical ideas and genres, mixing jazzy, soulful vocals with poetic lyrics and some influences from ‘classical’ music shining through in his many piano lines. The album kicks off with ‘Winston Churchill’s Boy”, this track starts off

with delicate vocals and a slow moving piano line, and is quite reserved at first. But then as the track progresses it blossoms into a denser song, with Clementine adding both strings and percussion, which definitely makes it one of my favourite tracks on this record. In the track ‘Adios’, he takes a completely different approach, making it quite fast and upbeat, with theatrical elements thrown in, as this track is all about Clementine saying Goodbye to his childish ways in the past.

On the other hand, the track “St-ClementineOn-Tea-And-Croissants” is quite minimalistic, with a pounding bass drum underlying Clementine’s vocals. This is, in my opinion, the weakest track on the album as I feel that it is a bit too outlandish for my taste, but that’s just me. As a whole, this album puts across a sound as raw as an uncooked chicken… but I tell you what, uncooked chicken has never tasted so nice!

Rating: 8.5/10 Stand out tracks: -London -The People and I -Cornerstone

Album Review: Jamie xx- In Colour

Released in May of last year, producer Jamie XXâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s first solo album has received widespread appraisal by the music community as a whole and after listening to this album many times, I can say that it is well worth listening to. Jamie XX had been working on this album in his free time, taking a backseat to the band The xx, who he is a part of, (hence the name). In Colour is mostly a collection of tracks that are very reminiscent of the UK rave scene, with some Jamie xx flair thrown in, with some having quite an atmospheric edge to them.

Fan of The xx? Well donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t worry as Jamie's band mates Oliver Sim and Romy make an appearance on this record in the tracks SeeSaw, Stranger in a room and Loud Places.

The album starts off with a bang, with the track Gosh providing a very heavy and crunchy sound, with thumping bass and fragmented vocal samples that'll make your body almost immediately want to burst out into a series of serious shape making. Later on, the track I know there's gonna be (good times) follows a more 'mainstream' R&B structure and sound, with vocalists Young Thug and Popcaan both making appearances.

Thanks to the uplifting vocals, ("good times,

good times"), this track seems like it could make anything better. Your fish has drowned?

No problem, listen to this track and instantly you'll be having a whale of a time.

I think that in this album, the generally shorter and more experimental tracks are where Jamie xx's production skills really shine through. For instance, the track Just Saying is probably one of my favourites. I just love it for its minimalistic style coupled with a real raw and natural sound, which I think is very hard to find in modern music; somehow Jamie manages to create it, all in a measly 1 minute 24 seconds. The one downfall that I found when listening to this album is that although most of the tracks take a huge step away from his previous ventures with The xx, I feel that the track Stranger in a room sounds a bit too much like something you'd hear on one of their albums, which, although to many people probably isn't a bad thing, I would've liked to hear him really step out of his comfort zone even more, and save songs like Stranger in a room for The xx's next album. Overall, I really enjoyed listening to this album, as across all the tracks, Jamie delves into many different styles, making it a very diverse yet beautiful album.

Album Review: Nothing But Thieves (Self-Titled album) Nothing But Thieves are an alternative rock band, started in Essex.

Released in October 2015, it's safe to say I was fairly excited about this album and after releasing a few of the singles off the album earlier in the year, I already knew that it was going to be an absolute cracker, with some cheese thrown on top! And oh boy was I right.

‘Excuse me’ is the first track on the album, delivering a very well rounded sound, with thrashing guitar chords and driving drums; a great choice to begin the album. Vocalist Conor Mason also puts across a stunning performance, as with every other song on the album.

The song ‘Lover please stay’ is a slow moving and emotional track that is bound to make you well up and Mason’s vocals really shine at the forefront of this track as he pours every ounce of emotion in his body into the recording. However, possibly my favourite track on this album is ‘Ban all the music’. This track stands out from the rest, with its angry guitar lines, crashing drums and incredible falsetto vocals that almost make you want to throw that essay out of the window and go turn up the music. And all this from a debut album? This just goes to show how talented Nothing but Thieves are, and I am extremely excited to hear what this band produce next, as I’m sure that it will be Nothing but Brilliant.

My favourite tracks of 2015 Cheer up London- Slaves Cheer up London is a very angry track, with punk elements, that really puts across a very raw and unique sound. On this track, Slaves complain about how people become sucked into the system, with lyrics such as “put another 0 on your pay check, are you done digging your grave yet?”. This song will leave you feeling slightly unsettled, and maybe slightly angry but don’t worry as this is exactly what Slaves want you to feel, as this song is all about people questioning their situations and rising up against them. Personally, I feel that mainly due to this lyrical prowess, Cheer up London is definitely one of my favourite tracks of last year.

Funky Duck- Vulfpeck

Even though Funky Duck is quite a short song, this track is possibly one of the funkiest and interesting tracks that I heard last year. With strong soulful vocals singing about a funky duck, it’s clear that as well as creating some of the freshest sounds around, Vulfpeck also have a strong sense of humour. It’s hard not to like this track. After all, who doesn’t like ducks?

Adventure of a lifetime- Coldplay Although I wasn’t overwhelmed with their latest album A Head full of Dreams, I have to say that Adventure of a Lifetime is just one of those tracks that makes me feel genuinely happy.

With a strong upbeat rhythm and a nice guitar line, this track is very pleasing to the ear. Oh… I almost forgot to mention the fact that in this music video there are singing monkeys. SINGING MONKEYS!

KENDRICK LAMAR - TO PIMP A BUTTERFLY

BY ETHAN GREEN

T

he contrasting purpose and musical direction within TPAB is startling to someone who doesn’t know of Lamar’s adaptability. We were left wondering whether this Compton native would continue to appeal to mainstream tastes with this album, it appeared that this was the case after the release of the first single ‘I’ – a blend of pop, hip hop and soul which charted well and in fact won Lamar two Grammys. However, we were naive to predict that Lamar would stick to his safe zone.

This album possesses heavy connections to the G Funk era of hip hop, which conceived artists such as Snoop Dogg and George Clinton with its meandering yet powerfully groovy bass lines. The majority of the instrumentals on this record swing from heavily bassy, funky and old-school rhythm structures to psychedelic, dreamy and creamy neo-soul.

It’s safe to say that there is not a trendy instrumental in sight here, no ‘Money Trees’

or ‘Swimming Pools’ (Good Kid, m.A.A.d City – 2012).

The instrumental tone on this record shows that Lamar is trying to return to the glory days, yet there is also something modern and innovative about the production. The entire album feels more of an elaborate stage performance than the storytelling feel that came with his debut release. From one song to the next the style flits between smooth, soulful and sexy numbers such as ‘These Walls’ and ‘For Sale’, to hard hitting bass riddled anthems like ‘The Blacker The Berry’ which in particular possesses strong affiliations to 1990’s traditional boom bap.

It’s safe to argue that ‘To Pimp a Butterfly’ isn’t an album for the faint hearted listener, or a fan of the odd mainstream ringtone hit. This album requires serious attention, and serious admiration will follow – it’s hard to love, yet its sheer boldness both instrumentally and lyrically, proves that Kendrick Lamar has just shifted the bar he previously set to another stratosphere.

LAS VEGAS: A TALE OF TWO CITIES

BY WILL MORPHET

Never has a city lived up to its caricature with such dizzying reality as the sprawl of dark towers ahead, trembling in the mirage of the Mojave sun. The distinct shapes of iconic casinos stood haughtily amidst a huge flat expanse of arid dirt. We had already passed through the desert that divides Nevada from Arizona, half a million acres of federallyprotected wasteland with the bleached concrete slopes of the Hoover Dam sat squarely in the middle. Now I could only assume that the cityscape ahead was the long-sought paradise for the many pilgrims now cruising past us on the highway in their enormous Ford pickups. Whatever fun they had planned for their stay on the Las Vegas Strip, I was sure that my family would be well clear of it; the drinking age is 21 and I don’t believe any adolescent would even look at a strip club without being a good few hundred miles away from his mother. However, what tourist families can do, of course, is go giftshopping. With so many different aged shoppers to service, our hotel was definitely having its cake and eating it; Stag night latex breasts hung on display across the aisle from bright pink Vegas themed school pencil cases, all adding to the utter bizarreness of the city.

Checking into the rooms was impossible without having to wander first through the casino game-floor, so that on the way to the sleek and decadent reception area, customers could be enticed by the rows of cheerily coloured and illuminated slot machines; a stark contrast to the listless, often haggard faces of the locals who sat smoking idly in the

daylight-averse casino. The whole floor was thick with an acrid cigarette haze, which prevailed over the scent of whiskey that rose from a scattering of hotel-stamped tumblers.

The cityscape view from the hotel window also added to the strangeness to the setting in its own way. Whilst the looming spire of the Stratosphere Tower claims the best panoramic view of Las Vegas, our bedrooms looked out not onto the glittering sights of the Strip, but instead onto the far more impoverished sprawl of North Las Vegas. The low, expansive grid of concrete suburbs stretched out away from the extravagance of the Strip before thinning out into vast desert.

Seeing the transition from the high-rise attractions to the colourless square residences was the first time I’d considered the fact that some people, mad as they must be, actually lived in the city of Las Vegas – living ordinary lives next door to this oversized, frisky Fun-land.

Motivated by a huge resentment of family holidays, I was determined not to be impressed or to enjoy anything that lay on our road trip, partly out of disdain for having to

leave home for more than a fortnight, but also partly because of a fear of being swept up by it all. When so much mythos is built around a nation, I would have felt foolish if I had suddenly been love-struck by all things American. Obviously, it is pretty stupid to go on holiday purposefully grumpy, it didn’t help that Las Vegas is built for spendthrift pleasure-seekers, and we were a family of bumbling Brits.

Now several days into the routine of driving across deserts, my dad, brother and sister were indifferent enough to agree with my idea of driving down the Strip. That way we could see all the Ocean’s 11 establishing shots both quickly and also away from the hot, malodourous outside air. My mother believed otherwise and insisted we walk as much of the Strip as possible when the day ends and the spinning light orgy begins. It soon seemed that Las Vegas had very much the same atmosphere as New York; the tourists could be told from the locals simply by which ones looked straight ahead and which ones walked with their heads craned skywards in awe. I was surprised by the amount of younger families visiting the city, so much so that I almost lost my concentration on having the least amount of fun in the whole city. Tourists of every ethnicity were enthralled by the palpable buzz of the spectacles. Over there were the Chinese kids having their picture taken with a man whose adipose was straining the joints of

his Ironman outfit, whilst inside the lobby of the Mirage, a Mexican woman shouted at her children who were clambering on the exposed metal breasts of a golden mermaid statute, seemingly pointing towards the blackjack tables with a knowing wink. I respected the whole strip for giving no apologies in how wholeheartedly crazy it was. In the first week of our holiday we had to quickly acclimatise to mania of New York and the impressiveness of the Florida Space Coast, but what those places had in awe and heritage, Las Vegas had in unbridled, head-splitting spectacle.

I’m certainly in no position to the judge the mentality of Las Vegas; the Boulevard isn’t around for people like me, but then again I crossed all the way from coast to shining coast feeling exactly the same -- although the sights and culture of America are truly incredible, it and I weren’t always on the same wavelength.

They have a sincerity that you can feel in the buzz of the city which is extremely admirable, despite the amount of eye-rolling it may receive from straitlaced prudes or tourists who claim they enjoy Las Vegas ironically. It’s definitely worth the experience if you want to see a city that’s every bit as showy as movieVegas, and it’ll be a pretty cheap stay too, unless you have fondness for fruit machines.

However, it remains two-sided city; look past the lights, the shows, the Chanel and Dior outlets, and you see that poverty still lingers on the corner of the millionaires’ playground.

PETER CROUCH – THE UNSUNG HERO

BY ADAM PHILPOTT

W

eighing in at 75kg with a height of 2.01 metres, he is often mocked for his size and apparent lack of footballing technique, dubbed as a substandard ‘beanpole striker’.

However, is this legion of critics justified in doing so?

Imagine a player with more Premier League assists than Cristiano Ronaldo or Paul Scholes, with more Premier League goals than Fernando Torres or Dennis Bergkamp.

Imagine if he had more goals for England than Kevin Keegan, Steven Gerrard or David Beckham, with a goals-per-minute ratio significantly superior to Michael Owen and Gary Lineker and twice as good as Alan Shearer.

You would not imagine that person to be the tallest player in the Premier League, Peter Crouch.

The 35-year-old has 96 Premier League goals to his name; 53 assists, as well as 42 caps for England, in which he has scored 22 goals, culminating to a goal for his country every 99 minutes – a superior ratio to those of current England strikers. Then again, Roy Hodgson could do a better job up front than our current national striking force. So why is Crouch not in the national team? Certainly these impressive facts make one question Hodgson’s disinterest in him.

These statistics do not correlate with Crouch’s stereotype as being a prosaic lanky number nine; but ask any defender who has had to shoulder the burden of marking him and they will tell you the opposite – an elusive,

redoubtable opponent, who’s headed goals are inexorable.

He might not have the mercurialness of Raheem Sterling, the break-neck speed of Juan Cuadrado, the elegance of David Silva or the craft and graft of Cesc Fàbregas; but he has height in abundance, which he is not shy of exploiting.

He is most notably recognised for his towering headers. Who can blame him for effectively utilising his height to his advantage? Yet he does not only score headed goals, despite 47 out of his 96 Premier League goals being scored in this manner. Incidentally, he recently surpassed Alan Shearer to assume the illustrious record of scoring the most headed goals ever in Premier League history.

Now that’s a heady achievement.

However, he is not a one-trick pony.

Remember that spectacular dipping volley he scored against Manchester city, which was awarded goal of the month back in March 2012? You wonder how he managed to shift and coordinate his elongated limbs whilst airborne.

From his infamous robot dance goal celebration to his witty one-liners, he is also an internet sensation to the point where he has been labelled the “funniest man in sport”.

Kevin Hart, watch out, because Crouch is nearing retirement age and a career in comedy wouldn’t be such a funny idea.

Cristiano Ronaldo? Lionel Messi? Pah. Give Peter Crouch the Ballon D’Or 2017.

THE CRAZIEST SEASON?

BY MATTHEW HARTILL

B

y anyone’s admission, this has been a crazy season; if not the most crazy, unexpected, thrilling one of all. In an era in which the Premier League, for so long held aloft as the greatest league in the world, frequently has to face the fact that in particular its prestige on the European stage is on the wane, it has also been a rehabilitative campaign.

Back in August, Leicester City began the season in confident fashion – and well they might have done, following their extraordinary form from the tail-end of the last campaign, a spell in which they took an incredible 22 points from a possible 27 over the final two months of the season. This time around, the team has gone from strength to strength, helped in no small part by an unexpected managerial change.

The troublesome trio – From left, Jamie Vardy, Riyad Mahrez and Shinji Okazaki. Winger Mahrez (centre) was signed for £400,000 and has more than profited for the club with 17 goals and 11 assists so far this season.

Nigel Pearson, often a decisive figure last year, faced problems both on and off the field. In many respects, however, Claudio Ranieri, the

man tasked with replacing Pearson, had a fairly easy job. He tweaked and changed, but these are still, for the most part, players Pearson brought to the club. There is no question, however, over whether they are playing for the new man; indeed, the Italian, often ridiculed during a spell at Chelsea for his poor English and ‘Tinkerman’ team selection reputation, has been a breath of fresh air to a club that was already feeling pretty good about itself given the upturn in its fortunes since this time twelve months ago.

If Leicester were to continue their fine form, however, as they have clearly done so, a change at the top was needed to allow them into the fold. There were signs last year that Manchester United’s fall from grace would continue into this campaign, and their at times turgid football has largely proved this to be the case. Undoubtedly the biggest surprise, however, is the fall of last year’s champions – Chelsea. Imperial for so long last season, they have been a shadow of themselves this time around.

It is not only Chelsea and Manchester United, however, who have paved the way for Leicester and an ever-improving Tottenham team to break into the upper echelons of the league. The indifferent form of Manchester City has turned the big-spending heavyweights into a flimsy replica of their past championship-winning teams. *

Before each season begins, there are teams who surprise you in confounding expectations, (see Leicester, Tottenham), and those who disappoint you, (see Manchester United, Chelsea). Then there are those teams who have been out of the picture for so long that they fail even to register on the radars of the pundits who make the pre-season predictions, (see Liverpool, Arsenal).

Despite the brief highpoints of Brendan Rodgers’ Liverpool reign, the club failed to make the progress that the owners demanded, and players too often flattered to deceive when it mattered. The arrival of charismatic German Jürgen Klopp, however, would suggest that, at the very least, the club will change over the next few years to mould into a playing style that more suits his philosophy.

Whether that change will bring about a return to the big-time for this stagnant giant remains to be seen, however, after a fairly uninspiring start to life at Anfield for Klopp.

It is with Arsene Wenger and Arsenal, however, where the greatest interest currently lies.

Manchester City were inconsistent, Manchester United haunted by failures that have become commonplace over the last few years, and Chelsea were way off the pace by

even October; consequently, the whispers that Arsenal had a chance to step into the void left by their title rivals grew louder, especially when the formbook appeared to back them up.

However, a recent run of 8 points from a possible 18 in the Premier League has seen them once again fall off the pace. This, coupled with an exit to Watford in the FA Cup, a competition which for the past two years Wenger has won, has made it a testing few weeks for the Frenchman.

The fact remains that all of this is hardly surprising. Since they last won the league almost twelve years ago, Arsenal have finished 2nd only once, (the following season).

Arsenal haven’t just failed to win the championship; they’ve barely challenged. For two seasons, Arsene Wenger, a polite, courteous and talented manager, has been able to point to the FA Cup, which finally ended a trophy drought of nine years, as a sign of progress being made. Now even this shield is useless in the face of growing fan discontent.

For almost 20 years, Arsene Wenger has served Arsenal with distinction; however, for only a portion of this time has he broght success to the club. ‘In Arsene we trust’ used to be an admirable mantra chanted by Arsenal fans as backing for their boss; now it looks simply naïve and counter-productive.

The Premier League is a worse place without the experience and knowledge of perhaps this country’s favourite ever Frenchman, but questions should now be asked about whether he really deserves on merit the chance to celebrate two decades in charge come August.

SHREWSBURY TOWN’S JANUARY TRANSFER WINDOW

BY ALEX SIMPSON

For Shrewsbury Town FC, the January transfer window saw an overhaul of the squad that is both impressive and concerning. With 16 dealings occurring, this article will provide my thoughts on all the action: OUT: Liam McAlinden: It came as no surprise that McAlinden was going back to Wolves at the end of his loan spell, with his game time being limited and his attitude suspect. He only managed one goal in his eleven games, which came against Oldham in the JPT, and never really looked threatening in front of goal.

OUT: James Collins: The most surprising move of this window was the departure of seemingly first choice striker, and recent captain, to Northampton on loan for the rest of the season. Of course he is a big earner, and the club want to free up some budget, but as he had played nearly every game this season, I thought he would stay. Personally, I have not rated him at all this season, with his attitude towards other players on the pitch never impressing, as well as his lack of desire to get into the box in his most recent games, and his disregard for some fans during games not doing him any good either.

IN: Jack Grimmer: The popular Scottish Right Back, who was very impressive in his 7 game loan spell last season, has returned on loan from Fulham until the end of the season. He is an impressive player because whilst never shirking away from defensive responsibilities, he is an attacking threat from the wing back

position, with his pace, desire and crossing ability all qualities that have not been seen often from that position this season. He has been a refreshing addition to the side since his arrival, and THAT goal against Sheffield Wednesday was deserved, with his desire to make the lung-bursting run in the final moments of the game refreshing.

IN: Larnell Cole: Cole, who played 19 games in his initial loan spell at the club, has had that loan extended to the end of the season. He has got pace, skill, and can definitely get a goal. He has yet to be consistent so far, but if the 3-5-2 formation is to be used for the rest of the season, a more central role in the midfield could see him flourish if he plays in the expected more attacking role. So far, after his loan was renewed, his form has left him, with the game frequently passing him by, and being frequently bullied off the ball.

IN: Andy Mangan: My favourite player from last season, he is exactly what the club needed this season: a player who is popular with the fans, good in the dressing room, and a goal scorer. He has been fit for nearly a year now, and if he can be a consistent starter, with his pace and finishing ability, he should get the goals to help Shrewsbury stay up. His return began perfectly, with him scoring the only goal as the Town beat Cardiff City 0-1.

OUT: Liam Lawrence: The Captain of the club, who was very impressive last season, seemed to have aged dramatically over the summer, with it seeming his “legs have gone”, to

deploy a football cliché. This season, he has looked solid playing in one off games, but he can’t play any number of games back-to-back, and he has also been exposed badly against pace this season, although this can be said for nearly every player of the squad. As one of the biggest earners at the club, to get rid of him to free up budget seems fair enough, but also, with him not performing at his best, to get him off the books completely can be seen to be a potentially smart move.

club does not have a regular goal scoring striker.

OUT: Tyrone Barnett: The striker brought in for £100,000 last January had glimpses of being the consistent quality striker Shrewsbury need, but his form tailed off towards the end of his time at the club, and did not get game time despite the striking issues. He has gone out on loan to Southend, so there is always the option to recall him, but I get the feeling he has fallen out with the manager and will be gone in the summer.

OUT: Darren McKnight: The young central midfielder was brought in as a player to develop into a first team competitor next season. It appears that his progression was not good enough, as his contract was terminated at the club, and, having made no appearances for the first team all season, it appears that he wasn’t good enough, and they have decided to release him so they could free up some funds in the budget.

IN: Richie Wellens: Brought in on an 18 month contract, which surprised many considering he is 35 years old, he has been signed to play in the “Ryan Woods” role, sitting in front of the defence and control the pace of the game. He had a man of the match performance against Burton Albion, rarely giving the ball away, but against Oldham he looked like he could not cope with the pace of the opposition forwards, and ended up getting subbed off.

IN: James Wallace: The Central midfielder whose career began at Everton had been on loan at Shrewsbury once before, but that spell consisted of just three games in two months, with injury problems and a straight red card in his first match vs. Dagenham and Redbridge halting his game time. He has struggled for game time at his parent club Sheffield United, and since joining the Shrews has been a mixed bag – he was impressive against Barnsley, yet got injured against Southend United.

IN: Kyle Vassell: The Peterborough Striker signed on loan after a spell at Dagenham and Redbridge earlier on in the season. Whilst he has pace and looks reasonably strong, he does not look likely to score many, which is something that meant the move was a surprise, because if Mangan cannot play, the

OUT: Sam Patterson: A fringe player whose 2 appearances came in the Johnstone’s Paint Trophy, he was seemingly sought after by Mellon who was impressed by his effort and attitude, whilst calling him as “good as anyone”. Something must have went wrong, because the right back position has become

OUT: Mark Ellis: Having started the season at Shrewsbury, he was sent out on loan to Carlisle, and it became inevitable that he would move on to them on a permanent basis in January, which duly happened. Whilst he was a competent League Two defender, he did not look comfortable against League One’s pace, yet the flaw can be said for almost every town defender this season.

problematic throughout the season, with Tootle’s form being disastrous, Grandison not looking fit enough to play there, and Dom Smith’s inexperience getting shown up in some games. With the latter two also being centre backs, Mellon must have realised that he was not good enough for league one football. His departure frees up some funds and cuts down the squad size.

OUT: Anthony Gerrard: Steven’s cousin signed for Shrewsbury on a non-contract to get back into football, and became a first team regular after coming off the bench against Bury. He was a solid centre back who looked impressive in some games, but looked seriously poor against pace in his last game vs.

Barnsley. Overall, I would say he will not be missed, as he wasn’t costing the club anything, and also, Dom Smith is likely to be more effective against pace in the back three the town are now looking to play.

IN: Zak Whitbread: Unsurprisingly, he got a contract extension to the end of the season, with his experience and calm head more effective in the centre of a back three. He has been a consistently good performer since he arrived in October, but his issues against pace, which has been a problem for all the defenders this season, is concerning, as he should be experienced enough to be better positioned to deal with that threat.

IN: Elliot Grandin: The former Blackpool and Marseille winger has signed for the club on a deal until the end of the season. He has barely played in recent years, so I do not know how I could judge him, except he sounds like he is going to be a hot and cold player – some games, he will be brilliant, and others he will be poor. He definitely has the ability to help Shrewsbury out of the relegation battle, but it’s a question of consistency and fitness.

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