FREE Edition 15 | April - May 2017 Your Student Mag
This Edition Of Mustard and Milk Oh Lorde Harry Styles' Hair Banging Biscuit Reviews
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Edition 15 | March - May 2017 Head Editor Caitlin Tait Editor Rubina Chitrakar Communications Editor Bridget Kerry Graphic Designer Rachael Sharman Contributors Kurt Miegel, Lisa Vuong, Charlotte Martin, Chloe Coats, Annabel Bowles, Lucas Shaw, Elise Prestia, Jarrad Hurley, Marlise Minnaar, Connor Reidy, Sash Corowa, Mark Vawser, Tabitha Lawless, Elycia Yiing Tyng Lee, Madison Griffiths, Nicole O’Rielley, Ben Neale, Frank. D. French, Sarah Sturm, Jordan Steed, Victoria Biffin, Jono Ling, Piper Denholm. We apologise for publishing the incorrect names alongside two pieces in edition 14. 'Vacancy' was written by Gemma Itropico and 'The Girl in the Cafe' was written by Christina Gibson
Cover Image Ben Neale Printer Newstyle Design & Production Consultant Georgie Smith & Aaron Harvey The views expressed in this magazine are not necessarily representative of the views of USASA or the editors. contact@versemag.com.au www.versemag.com.au
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Original Cover Image by Ben Neale
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Verse Magazine is brought to you by Edition 15 2017
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Editor’s Letter Head Editor | Caitlin Tait
Looking over what pieces we’d chosen for this edition, it became clear that there was an overarching theme in all the work: love. Love of significant others, travelling to new countries and sticking out like a sore thumb, love of learning, love of adventure, and love of self – just to name a few. Love (of any kind) is thrilling, making you feel like electricity is running through your veins. It allows you to pursue exciting things and gives you the courage to leave your pride aside and jump headfirst into whatever lay in front of you. Someone special reminded me recently that when trying something new, it’s okay to ‘stumble, stumble again, and stumble some more.’ Stumbling allows us to create great things – and all in the name of love.
Until next time –
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Contents Edition 15 | April - May 2017
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02 Editor’s Letter 04 Older, Slower, Stronger, Smarter. 06 Of Mustard and Milk 08 The Gradient of Love 10 Oh Lorde 12 A Mix For: Feeling the Most 14 Ben's Mountain Escape 18 Fear of Blue
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20 My Persian Rugs 24 Trilateral Damage 26 In[ter]view: Jemma Boyd 30 Harry Styles' Hair 33 Five 34 Imag[in]e: Ben Neale 46 Vox: Student Voice 49 USASA President Report
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50 April/May Calendar 52 Pocketwatch 55 How Do I Know 56 Culture Clash 60 Banging Biscuit Reviews 62 Hororscopes
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OLDER, SLOWER, SMARTER, STRONGER. Kanye, Imma let you finish … but you might want to flip those lyrics around Words by Kurt Miegel | Images by Lisa Vuong It’s just about a year to the day since I sent my first article into Verse Magazine which the good people making up the editing team at the time saw fit to include in the next edition. It began by saying that I was glad to have made it through my first week which I found consisted almost entirely of icebreaker get to know you sessions and the usual welcome to the next chapter of your life spiel. It’s still online if you want to read on further. And now another first week concludes. Except this one bears little resemblance to the former. This time I gave little thought to every detail of what I wore. I realise I didn’t need to lug all my textbooks around every day. I arrived on time rather than 20 minutes early and casually greeted people I know (and those I don’t) without fretting over whether I’ll fit in or not. So how did I get here? What marks such a difference between the me of March 2016 and the me currently pounding these words into the keyboard? I wish I could give all the first years, or freshman for the people who call Trump their president (sorry, can’t have an article without getting that all-important reference), a set of rules or tips to go from step 1 to whatever step I’m at now. Sure, there are plenty of articles out there that
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will give you 20 things to know about studying at UniSA or 10 great things to do at Magill Campus, but it’s all stuff that you’re already doing or know. Come on, you’re smart people. That’s why you’re at uni. So what knowledge can Papa Miegel pass on to you? Well firstly I would say embrace being old. I know that some of you may not have even turned 18 yet but now that you are at uni, embrace being an adult. That doesn’t mean being boring, it just means accepting that you can and should make mature decisions and do mature things. You’re no longer old kids, you’re young adults. And there is a difference. Secondly, as you get into the groove of uni don’t be afraid to do things slower. Taking a bit of extra time to do your referencing along the way or planning out an essay before you write it. This may seem to take longer but I guarantee it will save you in the long run and prevent as much rushing to meet deadlines. Next, work smarter not harder. Having seven quality references is far better than having 20 average ones. There is no point killing yourself over one little sentence if the other 100 aren’t very good. Be smart with how you work, such as a bit of planning and making sure you know what you’re doing, and you’ll find things starting to fall into place. Finally, enjoy life! Uni isn’t school, there is a heap of time where you aren’t actually in a classroom. If you can avoid having to work too much and fitting in heaps of other important things, go for it. Enjoy an hour here and there of doing not much and simply letting your body and mind relax. So there you go, hopefully some useful information that keeps you enrolled with our fabulous university a little bit longer. And you know I’ve got to be right now, cause I can’t get much wronger.
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Of Mustard and Milk Words by Connor Reidy | Images by Sash Corowa
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After a full year out of high school and questioning the significance of a B.A. in performing arts, I figured an income was needed. I roamed the plains of retail and hospitality in hopes I would find an entrance into the workforce. After months of searching, I was finally called into a supermarket and was given my first job: ten hours a week, stacking shelves from close to midnight. I imagined myself as Björk in Dancer in the Dark, seamlessly slipping into a musical number whenever any physical labour seemed too difficult. I was wrong. It was hard work. I was forced to lug around heavy cartons of groceries, drag palettes down aisles and stack shelves taller than me. Instead of Björk’s musical fantasy, I felt like I was working in a John Steinbeck novel. I don’t mean having the looks of James Dean to combat the American Dream, I mean slaving for hours surrounded by burly men, slaves to a fragile masculinity and search for purpose. In fact, it felt a lot like I had joined the cast from Of Mice and Men. The most consistent night filler of the store was also the slowest of wit which I later discovered was from the joint before work. He was ordered to train me. He prepared for each shift by flicking his multiple rat tails over his wide shoulders and cracking the knuckles of his Andre the Giant sized hands. A co-worker, named (for the sake of this metaphor) Slim, did most of the speaking for him. Although, Slim had not been in the store for long, he had already gained the respect of everyone on night duty.
We all reported to Carl. To exercise this power he would shrik away from his duties for long periods of time and slip out for a smoke with the woman on service simply given the moniker of “the bird from check out.” The clinically white lights that flooded the store often caught his badge. If you got too close to him, not only would you be hit with his stench, the reflected light from his name badge would blind your eyes. His badge was a shinier gold than the others to mark his fifteen years stacking shelves. This was the only recognition for his efforts. That and a limp before age thirty. My father picked me up after my first shift, the air conditioner running to cool my sweat-soaked suit shirt and pants. I was exhausted. He huffed and tore off his tie, dumping it over his shoulder in the back seat, “Count your lucky stars.” My father had been made redundant the same day I received my job. His position was passed on to a younger, more enthusiastic worker. Thirty five years of a stable job in the lighting industry disappeared after a sixty second meeting in an office that was no longer his. I sat there watching my father searching to find his next move. As I sat there I felt I had taken my father’s position in the workforce and soon he would have to go out into the workforce follow the process his teenage son had just accomplished. He felt humiliated. Youth trumps experience. I became the breadwinner, with an income of $14.95 an hour.
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The Gradient of Love Words by Elycia Yiing Tyng Lee | Image by Madison Griffiths
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I once loved autumn's red When my heart was hanging by a thread You twirled it around your fingers And your memories they still linger
I once loved ocean's blue Every crashing wave reminds me of you When my feet leave footprints on sand The breeze against my palm is the touch of your hand
I once loved summer's yellow When we first greeted each other hello And you asked me out for a cup of tea I hated small talk but you were great company
I once loved cherry blossom pink We'd make paper boats and watch them sink Run under swirling petals that fill the morning air Six pm sharp, hollow tree, be there or be square
I once loved spring time green We were both youthful vibrant teens Barefoot walking on spiky wet grass But now it feels like we're stepping on glass
I once loved sunset beige When I'd try to tear out page after page Of all the mistakes that I have made But no matter what I do they don't seem to fade
I once loved winter's white Bravely step forward and take flight These were things that I loved and have to let go When the sun comes up, it melts the snow
But now I love ashes grey For even at my worst, you never walked away Even when I couldn't force a smile You tell me to hang in there for just a little while
And even more do I love, charcoal black You are the missing piece I once lack Even in darkness you are my light I've never seen anyone shine this bright
So I will love each colour of you Even orange and purple too For every hue holds a special meaning Your colour gradient is never ending
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Words by Annabel Bowles | Images by Lucas Shaw
Lorde is back, officially grown out of her teens, and celebrating - as always. And she gets the green light. I challenge you to find someone who owned their adolescence like Lorde did. To many of us similar in age, she was an icon in those awkward years spent dabbling in side fringes and blue eyeshadow. Someone who could perfectly articulate those painful and confusing emotions that came with high school flings, toxic friendships, and personal growth. A strangely precocious teen who seemed to stand on top of the shitpile that was adolescence, while the rest of us drowned in it. Her debut album, Pure Heroine, was a dark pop opus centred on love, loneliness and naivety, and Ella Yelich-O'Connor relished in it.
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“All my life I’ve been obsessed with adolescence, drunk on it. Even when I was little, I knew that teenagers sparkled … Since 13 I’ve spent my life building this giant teenage museum, mausoleum maybe, dutifully wolfishly writing every moment down, and repeating it all back like folklore.” Well, now she’s 20, and like most of us, her adolescent days are over. After her silence in the past few years, I seriously thought that Lorde’s legacy may have forever remained as a white teethed teen. To be honest, I’d almost completely forgotten about her until the internet exploded with her essay-length Facebook post on her 20th birthday, which told of the looming album. “Writing Pure Heroine was my way of enshrining our teenage glory, putting it up in lights forever so that part of me never dies, and this record – well, this one is about what comes next.” After that post in November, the curly-haired Kiwi has been teasing her fans with many promises and a trail of vague, cryptic hints, leaving us all wondering and waiting. For a progressive artist like Lorde, the release of her comeback single was likely to be unconventional and unexpected, but the treasure hunt arranged in Auckland really blew all predictions out of the park. Fans found a beach doused in green light, a smoking car, and song lyrics on the face on light boxes. Two days later, Green Light dropped.
'...A strangely precocious teen who seemed to stand on top of the shit-pile that was adolescence, while the rest of us drowned in it.’ She’s back, and bolder than ever. Lorde’s comeback single was released earlier this month after what seemed like an eternity of Lorde teendom. Green Light is a boppy single made for belting out and thrashing around the room to. It’s a punchy, raw song that captures the aftermath of breakup, and being wonderfully lost in the process. It’s about embracing the freedom and the chance to rebuild yourself, which I think is a pretty darn fantastic perspective in a world that often romanticises messy breakups and loneliness. Green Light is almost completely different to her Pure Heroine style, which shouldn’t have surprised me but did. She possesses a kickass confidence whilst baring all her vulnerabilities. A ferocious and buzzing energy has thrown her back into the forefront of the pop music scene. Her looming album, Melodrama, signifies her endeavour into the mysterious and dreaded twenties; a path many of us are stumbling down. Will Lorde dominate adulthood in similar teen-queen fashion? Green Light suggests yes. Something that was just as exciting as the new song, was the sneaky “I will definitely, definitely be coming Down Under quite a bit sooner than people think” line Lorde dropped in a recent Triple J interview. Splendour alarm bells are ringing in my head (!!!). “The party is about to start. I am about to show you the new world.” Oh Lorde, we are ready and waiting to dance with you.
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A MIX FOR: FEELING THE MOST Words and illustration by Caitlin Tait | Background Image by Elise Prestia
Songs celebrating good, fantastic, and sorrow.
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Search @VerseMag on Spotify to Feel the Most
Searching For A Feeling – Thirdstory Frustrated – R.LUM.R Easily – Bruno Major What You Don’t Do (Tom Misch Remix) – Lianne La Havas Green Light – Lorde Loves The Jobs You Hate – HONNE quit – LANY forever – Lewis Watson Think About You – LÉON Love On The Brain – Rihanna Love to Watch You Leave – Abby Diamond Hold On – SBTRKT feat. Sampha Meanswear – The 1975 Lying Together - Interlude – FKJ Saved – Khalid
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Words by Jarrad Hurley | Images by Marlise Minnaar
Ben’s adventure of exploring the wild with his family takes an unexpected turn, and becomes a memory he'll never forget.
The Bulkley Valley in British Columbia, Canada is a place of transcendent beauty locked in a permanent ice age. But hidden beneath its scenic magic is wildness, evident not only by the ferocity of its animal predators, but by the brutally swift turns of Mother Nature, as CanadianAustralian Ben Klazinga came to learn. The year was 2000. The morning was cold but the sky was clear. Ben was six years old. His father, Jim, a hiking aficionado, proposed that the family spend the day hiking the Hudson Bay Mountain, situated near a small British Columbian town called Smithers, an area popular with hikers and skiers. Weather forecasts for the afternoon raised the possibility of a mild shower, but this was no deterrent to the young family, long accustomed to the nature of the area. “We were surrounded by mountains,” Ben says. “We would hike them pretty much for the sake of it.” “It was a regular thing.” So, with his sisters Irene, 2, and Naomi, 1, harnessed snugly to their parents, and the three boys, Micah, 4, Josh, 8, and Ben following on foot, the family set forth in the spirit of discovery, unknowing of the dangers that lay ahead. “Walking these mountains is usually pretty safe, even for kids,” Ben says. “Where the mountain begins and ends is kind of subjective because they have a very gradual gradient. It is not steep at all.
“It is only once you’re near the top that you appreciate just how high you really are!” The long trip to the summit was highlighted by serene weather; an exquisite panoramic view; filling up their water bottles from the pure, untouched springs; and spotting a mountain goat from a distance. “Micah and I waved at the goat. We found his lack of response simply rude!” They were closing in on the summit as noon fell. As rewarding as the journey had already been, the memento the family prized was to sign the guest book waiting for them at the very top. “It signifies that we finished the journey. We conquered the mountain.” ... Mother Nature had other plans. The summit was difficult to access, and would take some skilful climbing to reach. “Dad climbed up to sign the book while we the rest of us waited on a saddle a few metres below.” The wind began to pick up, blowing Ben’s hat off his head and into the distance. “I remember hoping we’d find it at the bottom. But we’d soon have other things to worry about.” Before a single name could be signed, things took a horrifying turn.
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“I looked up at my dad and saw behind him a rolling mass of death - a massive storm.” The storm cloud had now enveloped them, battering them with gale force winds, lightning, hail, and rain. Huddled together, Ben’s mother and siblings called out to his father. They had to make a move. The situation was suddenly desperate. “It (the storm) was like death incarnate; an angry, black, harbinger of doom hell-bent on sending us all tumbling to early, frozen graves.” Arm-in-arm, shivering in the cold, and braving constant attack from above, the family cautiously paced down the mountain. Ben’s parents, most concerned with the welfare of his infant sisters, wrapped them up in their jackets. They soon happened upon a semicircle of rocks where a campfire had been held, and a solitary tree, providing them respite from the elements. But then, things got a lot worse. “Micah and I passed out from the cold.” Unlike his sisters, Ben and Micah did not have the baby fat to insulate them. The storm began to subside, but the situation had never been so dire for the two boys. “My parents began to pray.”
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Like an answer from above, two snowboarders appeared. They were ready and willing to help. In fact, one of them had an appropriate name for the situation: “His name was John Help!” They wrapped the boys up in their jackets and helped the family down the mountain to safety. Ben and Micah, surrounded by fretting family members, awoke in a hospital. The parents, hoping for a sign that Ben was okay, watched him as he struggled to wake. Then, they got the sign they were hoping for... “The nurse asked me if she could borrow my arm,” Ben says. “I said, ‘Okay. So long as you put it back in the socket when you’re done with it’” The family was relieved. Ben had retained his sense of humour. They knew he, and his brother, Micah, were fine. They may not have reached the peak, but they conquered the Hudson Bay Mountain. Ben, now 22 years of age and an Australian citizen, still hikes with his family. Their brush with catastrophe has not quelled their love for nature, and has only strengthened their love for each other.
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Words by Mark Vawser | Image by Tabitha Lawless
Success comes​with certain risks but if it drives​you to the edge, would you take it?
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Knowledge is my ocean, a turmoil of ever shifting ideas and ideals that engulf me. Academics are the fish breathing the ocean in isolation. Some are predators ravenously devouring each other to climb one more rung up the food chain. I swim on the outskirts watching the dominant figures feed on the humpbacked carcase of discovery. I want a taste. I want notoriety, validation and all the meat that comes with it. Anything but this blue obscurity in which I find myself adrift, nothing but an observer. I see myself in their black eyes, cold and calculating, assessing every risk and reward. The great white shark is a solitary creature. Only coming together in great numbers to feed on whale carcases before separating into abject solitary. This though is rare. Dozens of mature great white sharks all gathering in this particular spot; why? That is what I had to find out. No sign of a food source nearby. No sign of being driven here by environmental causes or human intervention. I had to know. The waves lapped against my ankles, chilling them, encompassing them, acclimatising them, only to abandon them to the unforgiving air. I’d been standing there for minutes, but it feels like hours on the boundary between life and death. One obstacle remains, one foolish, ignorant, and brave obstacle. He stands before me with his arms spread wide to barricade my entry – like that would stop me – rubbery walls of absolute certainty that I should not enter the water. “It’s too dangerous Brynie!” he bellows for the umpteenth time. “The beach has been locked down, everybody has evacuated. Don’t throw your life away for a piece of paper and a title!” said the man with papers and titles. Dr Flynn MacTavish, the world’s foremost shark biologist telling me not to take risks. The irony was almost too much. It was no accident that he was waiting for me
dressed in the exact same diving gear. He knew what I intended because he intended it himself. “You can’t stop me Flynn, I can decide if it’s worth the risk. All I need is an hour to view this breeding phenomenon and I will have enough data to complete my PhD. You made your name by taking the exact same risks!” I replied struggling to restrain the emotion in my voice. “This event is extremely hard to locate and I will not miss my opportunity to witness it firsthand. I may never have this chance again!” I said in my most forceful tone in an attempt to sound authoritative. I probably just came off childish… Flynn did that to me. “You may give up more than a hand if you persist in this.” Flynn replied at once. He had his reasons, I just didn’t accept them. Just because he had the misfortune of being attacked by a shark didn’t mean that I would. It wasn’t even a great white that savaged him, it was a bull shark. His left leg was starting to shake, the conspicuous absence of a calf muscle was beginning to take its toll. All I had to do is sidestep left and he would topple. The wind was picking up, a storm was charging in. I had to hurry or I would lose my opportunity. “If you go, I follow” Flynn said suddenly. That bastard, how dare he! I could not be responsible for his safety, to risk my own life was one thing but to risk another… No. He won. I turned pulling my sunken feet out of the drenched sand with a squelch. Encircling his shaking torso I aided him in pulling his left leg out of the sand. “Thank you” he murmured in obvious relief as we embraced. His skin warm even through the layers of rubber. Tomorrow. I’ll go tomorrow.
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Y
ERSIAN
UGS Words by Nicole O’Rielley | Images by Elise Prestia
Musician and UniSA student Nicole O’Rielley discusses how growing out her body hair led to a deeper acceptance of self and freedom. My lady-fur is the Puratap of social encounters. Accepting, open, loving people see the Persian rugs I store under my arms as I place my hands onto my head – my pose of comfort for some reason that’s beyond me – and that’s all there is: a moment of seeing. Because these people don’t give a fuck about what I’m doing with my body. They pass through the Puratap. I feel at ease. But these filters do their job. Some conversations are dotted with tension as I watch their eyes continuously flick back to my underarms. They eye them as if they’re a junkie kicking up a fuss on the street: you want to keep an eye on them, but you dare not look too long in case they turn on you. And I can hear the rebuttal starting up: people are looking because it’s strange, different, they’re not used to it. But let me ask you, if a person cannot come to peace with a simple patch of hair how can you trust in them to accept all the other strange and different things about you? Like my anxiety with people. My anxiety that manifests in so many different ways. Sometimes it’s silence. Sometimes it’s sending all my guards to defend the borders. Other times it’s animated bluntness, or nervous laughter, or babbling without breaks. It’s ripping up a piece of paper into a million squares of confetti as we
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talk so I can keep myself grounded. It’s walking into the room with a darkness that everyone can sense. It’s saying ‘I don’t know’ when I bloody well do know. It’s running so fucking late because I woke up with a passionate hate towards myself. I am highly in-tune with this roller coaster. They’ve made a fortune out of me, continuously riding for the past 21 years. The hardest part, however, isn’t the whiplash my emotional state is inflicting upon me, it’s the eternal fear that people won’t like me because of this quirk of mine. I am your lucky-dip friend. So I ask myself: if a person cannot come to peace with a simple patch of hair, how can I trust them to accept all the other strange and different things about me? The answer is I cannot. My experiment of growing out my underarm hair has seemingly coincided with an improvement in regards to my generally dismal self-esteem and my anxiety. For the sake of me not writing until I shadow a Game of Thrones novel (I did mention my tendency to babble), let me just get into the two sources of happiness my underarm hair has given me.
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The body and mind is connected. When I feel less apologetic about my body, I feel less apologetic about me. The hair came in stages. It gathered momentum when I was house sitting for my cousin a while back. I was a bit of a sad sack during that time. I was spending a lot of time alone. I stopped shaving and I didn’t care. I saw close friends in my prematurely hairy stage but I found that when I went to attend a more public event, a night out on the town, I reminded myself that I needed to shave. Needed. To. Shave. Needed… What a fucked up thing to think. I began to question myself and I didn’t have to dig that deep to conclude I didn’t shave for me, I shaved for society. Lately I’ve found myself to be more social. I’m doing things my anxiety once prevented me from doing. I’m going to events by myself. I’m floating around rather than staying safely inside my bubble. I’m hanging out one-on-one with new friends (which is massive in my world: a world where I normally have to know someone for an upwards of six months before I’ll be able to tackle the ‘dinner date’). And of course this is all subconscious. But now that I’m allowing myself to analyse my behaviour I really think it’s to do with the rebellion I’m hosting underneath my arms. Because if self-conscious Nicole can grow her own socially-shunned rug, selfconscious Nicole can go out and experience new people – even when the roller coaster is in motion. Committing to something ‘unattractive’ challenged me to reevaluate beauty. I’m a size 6. Quite often I struggle to find clothes that even fit me properly without swamping my frame. But those facts didn’t matter to my mind. In my mind I was
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fat. I saw fat. I saw flaws. I always needed to be thinner. Even when people were saying I looked unwell; I felt too big. When my boyfriend at the time said he thought I looked better when I had some more meat on my bones, I was certain he was lying to me, that it was some sick ploy to make me fat so he had a reason to leave me for a more beautiful girl (even though that’s completely unrealistic, that’s how fucked up and consuming my obsession with fat on my own body is). I’m not claiming to be saved. Such a toxic relationship is hard to dissolve and I’m sure it will always be a part of me in some minute way, but yesterday I did something worth celebrating. I weighed myself. I weighed myself and I didn’t get upset. I didn’t get upset even though I’m 4 kilos heavier than my ‘ideal weight.’ And I stood before the mirror in my underwear and felt fucking baben. I mean, yeah, I’m still on earth, I don’t feel perfect. I’m quite aware year six girls wear a bigger cup size than me and I see men on the street with more curvaceous hips than me. But when you hit the streets in a strappy top absolutely owning your armpit hair, your other body parts that don’t match the societal ideal of the female form become less important to you. Whether or not I keep this hair forevermore is redundant. What matters here is that I took control. Rather than saying to myself ‘my body, my choice’ while I continued to shave every time I showered because HEAVEN FORBID ANYONE KNOW THAT I DESCENDED FROM AN APE AND I HAVE HAIR ON MY BODY – I just threw my overly self-aware self in the deep-end. And aside from the fact that I feel a bit more sweaty and find I need to apply deodorant more often, me and my hair are feeling empowered exploring female taboo.
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Words by Charlotte Martin | Images by Chloe Coats
My lungs expand Taking in the heat My heart in chest Not on sleeve If I were you And she was me You’d understand And make me leave Now, in hindsight All your jest Should have triggered My heart in chest
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In[ter]view Verse Mag’s Regular Graduate Interview Words conducted by Bridget Kerry | Images by Calamity Productions
With a Bachelor of Media Arts under her belt, Jemma Boyd is a trained vocalist with a background in musical theatre and cabaret. She is currently the composer and lyricist for Adelaide’s Calamity Productions, having both composed and performed in their recent production The House with No Name at the Adelaide Fringe Festival.
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You’ve just finished your season of The House with No Name at the Fringe Festival and having witnessed its previous success, what’s the reaction been like? The reaction was pretty positive. I think we’re getting the laughs at the points where we’re supposed to be having laughs so I think everyone is getting where we’re going with it. It’s been going pretty well. You’re not only a performer in the production but the lyricist and composer of all the music in it. How does it feel to see your work performed and receiving such a reaction? It’s always good especially in the funny parts of songs, the comedy element getting through to the audience, that’s really good. A con of it is I have to listen to my own words over and over and over, but it’s the same with Josh, the writer [of The House with Name]. We’ve heard it all a million times so getting the audience in is really good because it reminds you why you write [the songs] and that they are actually funny. So what inspired you to pursue this direction in theatre and composing? My family is pretty musical. My dad’s a songwriter as well. My grandma is a singer. My mum plays trumpet. I also really like music that has characters and plots so musical theatre I’m right into. And anything like concept albums and stuff like that. I actually like to think of The House with No Name a bit of a concept album because it has a plot and similar characters, all that kind of stuff. You have a Bachelor of Media Arts, how did studying media arts help you in pursuing this direction? We started our Calamity Productions group because we felt there weren’t enough theatre aspects in the media arts degree. The degree itself helped a lot because we got to speak to the people like Justin and Peter, who were our tutors for drama based subjects. They really helped because they were so supportive of what we were trying to do. They weren’t worried that we weren’t doing like a straight play or a traditional drama or anything like that. They gave us really good feedback and just helped us so much. Like our set [for The House with No Name], we got sandbags from them. We’re still using them up. Even after we finished our degree, we’re still coming to them for advice.
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So they gave a bit more direction? Yeah and just to have someone to say yes you’re doing the right thing by getting out there. Your degree is supposed to get you to do stuff afterwards and continue on with the arts which is really hard to do after you’ve finished your degree. So UniSA helped us a lot. We were rehearsing in the theatre before we did the first run of [The House with No Name] at Magill, so that was really cool. Did this and your previous involvement in other productions help to cement your love for theatre? For sure. [The rest of Calamity Productions are] going to hate me for saying this because they’re all film majors but I personally think that theatre is so much more of an adrenaline rush. You get instant gratification because you say something and you get the audience response. I think [theatre’s] really exciting at the moment, especially musical theatre and musical comedy. Shows like ‘Book of Mormon’ at the moment are going off. It’s good to make your own. Where does your creativity come from when composing, what inspires you? I do a lot of improvising because I’m not musically trained. I know a little bit of guitar and piano but a lot of what I do is just experimenting and just seeing what sounds good. [The House with No Name] in particular, only one song that was planned from the get go, as in it’s going to be this genre and it’s going to be exactly like this. And that was my song because I was going to be singing it! Everything else was a lot of experimenting and getting feedback from Josh, the director. I was also working with my dad because he helped with the composition of songs [in The House with No Name] because he’s more musically trained than I am. So what’s next, any goals you or Calamity Productions are working towards? I think we’ll probably do another Fringe show next year. We’re also looking to do lots of film stuff. I personally would like to do some other recordings, I’ve got lots of my own songs that I want to try and get out there. But we’ve got stupid ideas for whatever comes next. So hopefully get there for the next Fringe and maybe we can try and tour. So that’s it at the moment. Hopefully we can tour, that’d be really cool.
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Words by Caitlin Tait | Images by Rachael Sharman
Verse Head Editor Caitlin weaves music, growing up and Harry Styles into a poignant narrative
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I've had many love affairs in my life. All with notably older men. David Bowie, Mick Jagger, Robbie Williams, George Michael – just to name a few. These men were brought into my life by my father, and sometimes by my older sister. Bowie and Jagger have made almost as much of an impact on my life as my two music-enthused family members. Brooke and I danced to Rock DJ in her kitchen, at parties, and we screamed along when we saw Robbie in concert. Similarly, Dad and I have spent hours listening to Jagger in car rides singing along to Wild Horses. Musicians became just as important to me as the music they made.
At age nine, I would wait ten minutes for the dial-up Internet to load one photo at a time of Bowie, and sit in awe. This happened with all the men I mentioned previously. They were gorgeous. Their outfits were so cool, the way they moved around stages and sang was effortless… and their hair. Their hair was always perfect. Their hair always defined them. In hindsight, it’s pretty cool that I was never shocked by Bowie’s jumpsuits or Jagger’s dance moves, and that speaks volumes of my upbringing. Self-expression has always been encouraged by my dad, whether it be wearing a pink shirt and Doc Martens to work (I wish this was me), or crying just because you need to. Having only sisters, Dad was my only male influence, even after I started school. Any ideas of what a man ‘should’ and ‘shouldn’t be’ didn’t exist. I never thought pop music was my thing. Four years ago, my friend lent me One Direction’s ‘Take Me Home’ album. Until then, Jagger was the coolest and the hottest. But my first Google search (3G and all) solidified that Harry Styles was it. Obviously he’s gorgeous, but he became a symbol of all things I loved. Styles was (is) an eclectic mix; wearing gold boots and hats at the most bizarre of times, tripping and falling on stage, dancing terribly, publicly crying, showing support for #HeForShe and LGBTQI+ movements, and expressing a general love for life. And his hair. It seems that this facet of dreamy musicians never changes. It still defines them. There are similarities between the men I loved in my childhood from afar (like Bowie and Jagger), and those who have influenced me IRL (like my dad and high school art teacher). They all test ideas about what ‘masculinity’ is or is not. These men are sensitive, expressive, passionate, and unapologetic about it. They are glaringly multifaceted – in the best way. As I noted, Styles’ hair defined him. And it started to define me, too.
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Kiss You was the song that won me over in 2013. Harry’s hair was a messy, curly mop at that point. It seemed he was growing it out. And I was growing up. I was finishing my gap year and still didn’t have any idea about what I wanted to do. I was a mess. 2014 led to a classier, more ‘grown up’ ‘do for him. At some point this year, I became a functioning university student and became as much of an adult as I could at age 20. I came to terms with my sexuality. I learnt about feminism. Styles and I also had a very similar hair-length this year. I put it down to fate. There was longer, perfectly curled hair in 2015. All of a sudden Styles wasn’t just a boy, but a young man covered in tattoos. He was wearing Gucci and outrageous suits and I… was not. But I stopped questioning the degree I was in and the path I was on. I got my first tattoos. I also fell in love with a girl. Just as life changing as Gucci, I’m sure. 2016 was a mix of extra-long and a sudden haircut. A huge haircut. For both of us. It was physical proof of growth. We both ventured down new paths, trying new things. I started to put on my metaphorical gold boots each day. I stopped apologising for taking up space, and I started to take my art seriously. Harry Styles is a poster boy for many reasons. Yes, he's pretty (so bloody pretty) and very chic. However, he is proof there is no shame in being sensitive or wearing floral shirts with only half the buttons done up, or wearing nail polish – regardless of gender. I love how the men around me (or existing in other places with no idea that I exist) have shaped me. I am grateful for them being bold in self-expression and challenging gender and questioning what it means to be a man. I thank Harry Styles, his hair, and I look forward to many more years of growing together.
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‘Until then, Jagger was the coolest and the hottest. But my first Google search (3G and all) solidified that Harry Styles was it.’
five
Words by Frank. D. French | Images by Sarah Sturm
It took 5 Dates until we became a couple. 4 Fights until I knew you were the one. In 3 Years I popped the question. But then us 2 Became just 1
The photography of Ben Neale
Imag[in]e Verse Mag’s Regular Student Art & Design feature Words conducted by Rachael Sharman | Images by Ben Neale
Visual Communication second year student, Ben Neale, uses the lense to capture the ordinary, making it extrodinary.
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I can’t help but notice your genuine interest with the city of Adelaide. What is it that you most like to capture through your lense? My photography is so integrated with my day to day life that I mostly shoot the places that I’m already in, so that’s made Adelaide my prime subject since I moved over here in early 2016 to study. I made a small run magazine about the city in 2015 when I was just visiting, it was my first print foray and paved the way for many zines since (I made a zine a month for all of 2015 and 2016, it was nuts). The things I like to capture are nice looking and simple, that or I connect with the message the subject conveys. I go for bright colours, keeping it minimal and clear geometry. My graphic design influence can be clearly seen in my photos. I like to capture the beautiful simple compositions in seemingly plain normal places. How do you stumble across such wonders? I explore a ton. Before I moved I had run my hometown of Canberra into the ground, zooming around the city, exploring the suburbs, I saw more of the city in one year than I had in my eighteen previous years living there. Mostly because I was out of school and had time to kill. I’m all about speed, getting places fast, getting shots fast, I hate to waste time, I like to spend it wisely.
With so much on your plate, how do you find balance within your busy lifestyle? I always bite off more than I can chew and hope the stress gets me over the line. My time right now is devoted to full time uni, casual hospitality work, part time graphic design and web work, personal photography and developing my own personal brand. Sleep fits in there somewhere. I only do it all because I love it, the passion keeps me going. That and cold brew coffee. Travel is so evidently a big, exciting thing for you, where to next? Hopefully getting to another continent very soon! My most recent trip was to New Zealand and I shot like eleven rolls of film in two weeks (Plus a few thousand digital shots). New places and new surroundings absolutely pique my photography interest, from place to place there are so many different visual languages in the manmade infrastructure and in the natural surrounds. Out of curiosity, how many cameras do you own? At last count, 18 cameras. 13 of those shoot film and a few are purely there to look pretty. Shorter answer: too many. My daily camera setup is a big old Canon 6D, usually with a 17-40mm because the wide looks so good on video, and my trusty Nikon Litetouch AF point and shoot in my pocket.
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Photography is an expensive business, is it all worth it?
What’s your current focus?
I should have gotten into pet rock making because pipe cleaners and bobble eyes are way bloody cheaper than camera gear. I’ve come from shooting with my parent’s cheap digital camera to shooting with professional gear, it’s expensive and makes ridiculously high quality images which is fantastic on a professional shoot. It has its drawbacks though, my friends know that I constantly have a big canon camera hanging off my wrist, just in case the right shot appears in front of me. That gets heavy and leads to me opting to leave it at home more and more. I’m trying to minimize my gear now so there are zero barriers between me and shooting. Large heavy gear makes it harder to bring a good camera with you every day to uni, I just bought a camera that I think is the perfect mix of pocketable daily camera and professional level quality. Any Sony rx100 shooters out there with tips for me? Hit me up on insta.
My current focus is furthering my design work, building a personal brand, getting my website up to scratch (bneale.com) and working up some kind of audience on Instagram. Feel free to come take a look @ben_neale
What has been one of the hardest challenges you’ve faced? My hardest challenge in my creative life is defining a clear style and motifs in my work. It became achingly clear when selecting photos for this piece, my subject matter, styles and cameras vary hugely. I’m just going to keep doing what I want with my photography while building my Instagram and my personal brand.
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Check out more of Ben's work, including his Zine, SHOOT, featured on page 38, at hi@bneale.com
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PIERO $119
SEATA $229
CALLING ALL STUDENTS TILLEA $399
20% OFF FOR ONE MONTH ONLY* IN-STORE ONLY
AMERRA $249
TED BAKER ADELAIDE 77-91 RUNDLE MALL 08 7226 8229 # M I S S I O N I M PE C C A B L E Students can receive 20% off all Ted Baker full price merchandise with any valid student I.D card from Monday 10th April – Sunday 7th May. To redeem the discount please show a valid student card at the point of sale. Discount is not available on gift vouchers. Usual store return policies apply. Ted Baker reserves the right to not accept I.D. that we deem to have been tampered with, duplicated, damaged or otherwise affected by fraud. Ted Baker reserves the right to terminate the discount without notice.
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V
X: Student Voice
UniSA students share their inner thoughts and feelings as the uni year steps up a gear and kicks into action. Words & Photos by Rubina Chitrakar and Bridget Kerry
Lachlan Rennie Bachelor of Human Resources Can you think of one instance when you’ve felt an immense emotion of any kind? Winning my first AFL football game final. I felt extreme happiness, I was over the moon.
Jesse Mason-Intini First year undergraduate student Can you think of one instance when you’ve felt an immense emotion of any kind? When I got accepted at uni I was pretty happy. It was like a stepping stone in life and it gave me something to look forward to. What inspires you? My grandpa inspires me. He worked hard all his life and later went into Flinders uni at the age of 60 and graduated with a law degree. That has been a big inspiration for me.
Raissa Bacon Bachelor of Communication Design What inspires you? I think for me it’s culture and different ways of thinking that inspire me.
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Izabella Arcuri Bachelor of Communication Design Can you think of one instance when you’ve felt an immense emotion of any kind? Last year at the One Direction concert, it was excitement and joy together. I was overwhelmed. My sister was crying and was so happy and we were so in the moment. What inspires you? Friends. They encourage you to do things, motivate and support you.
Kim Nguyen Bachelor of Communication Design Can you think of one instance when you’ve felt an immense emotion of any kind? I don’t know if this counts but getting drunk is one instance. When you get drunk you feel a kind of a euphoria. What inspires you? For me it’s a bunch of things: music, food, studying…they inspire me to create.
Jessica Javelin Diploma of Business Can you think of one instance when you’ve felt an immense emotion of any kind? Yes, when my best friend got a new puppy, I was so happy. It was so cute and loving. We were so full of emotion!
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Cherie Kruege Foundation Studies Can you think of one instance when you’ve felt an immense emotion of any kind? Oh, the first day of uni! I was so anxious!. What inspires you? I guess my partner inspires me to become a better person by willing to get involved and help me out in things.
Ryan Buiatti Bachelor of Commerce and Accounting Can you think of one instance when you’ve felt an immense emotion of any kind? When I got elected as a house captain in school last year, I was quite excited. It was a big moment for me.
Scott Averay Foundation Studies Can you think of one instance when you’ve felt an immense emotion of any kind? Meeting my partner. It made me feel special. What inspires you? Determination, wanting to succeed, doing good at university, getting into a better field of work, more money.
Katrin Horsey Bachelor of Accounting Can you think of one instance when you’ve felt an immense emotion of any kind? A few years ago, my dad was in the hospital with pancreatitis and when I found out about that I was extremely sad and worried. He’s okay now.
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A word from your
USASA Student President February and March have been exciting months for USASA. We had a fabulous time meeting all the new students during O-Week and letting them know about the services we provide such as second-hand textbooks at USASA counters, advocacy for students wanting to appeal a final grade or who might be facing preclusion, our Brekky Bar on Wednesdays and Thursdays, and our brilliant student clubs! Let me start by letting you know that your City West representatives will be holding Student Catch-ups in the City West Student Lounge Meeting Room next to the USASA Counter from 1pm to 2pm on the last Thursday of every month to hear your feedback! We’ve also been marching for free education and more funding for welfare, with the National Union of Students, and held a protest on the 22nd of March. In February, I attended the first Academic Board meeting for the year (Academic Board is the main university body that decides changes to degrees, courses, and subjects) and learned about the university’s new initiative “UniSA Online”. This program is set to be launched in 2018 and is a separate program from internal and external student offerings. It is built for a new student cohort that includes mature-age students, part-time students, or those who are not moving straight from high school to university.
It will offer courses completely online, with two subjects a term. The USASA Student Board will be making a submission in response to the program and if you’d like to submit any feedback regarding the program, feel free to contact me so I can pass it along to the university. Along with Post-Graduate representative Louise Kyriaki, I also sit on University Council, which means that USASA has a direct connection to senior management of the university, and can ensure that student voices reach the highest level. I am also currently working with Nadia Rajic of UniSA Well-Being unit in ensuring that UniSA is a safe and respectful place for all students. We are reviewing the UniSA sexual harassment policies through a well-being working group – we have met with a representative of Yarrow Place, who is going to be working with us in implementing training sessions for staff and students around responding to sexual assault and harassment, consent training, and domestic violence workshops. If this is something you are interested in and want to get involved, please contact me. With saying that, I wish everyone the best in their studies, and hope that if you’re a new student you’ve started to settle in well – and USASA is always here to help! – Kayla
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Background Images by Emma-Lucy Cuppleditch
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Pocket Watch Words by Frank D. French | Images by Jordan Steed
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Curious. That was the thought Jason Evans had as he looked at the rather large pocket watch he held in his hands. “To my eldest grandson, I leave my most valued possession. My pocket watch. In hopes he no longer wastes his time. The slacker.” At least, that was what the rather dull man who read his grandfather’s will had told them. It annoyed him a little that his grandfather had called him a slacker but he shrugged it off. In retrospect, he was a little. Jason knew he was not the most motivated of people, and often spent his days up on the hillside, laying on the grass and napping in the afternoon sun. But the past few weeks, he hadn’t had that luxury. The world started looking so bleak ever since his grandfather died. The man was Jason’s hero after all. As a child, he’d spend almost every other day at his grandparents’ place, listening to all his grandpa’s wild fantasies and tall tales. The comment that his auntie had made to him at what he now realized would be his grandfather’s last birthday, was something that constantly resurfaced in his mind.
"He calls you his Sun. The only light to his whole Universe.”
“Out of all his grandkids,” she had said, “You’re the only one that he ever really sings praises about. She said extravagantly at the end, waving her arms about in quite a theatrical motion. “But of course, he’d never tell you that openly. He’s a manly man after all.” The woman with long chestnut hair put a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “So, don’t slack off OK. He wants to see you make something of yourself. You’re nineteen now. You just need to try a little harder. You can do it.” She’d told him as she took off to re-join the rest of the family. Jason bit his lip in frustration, recounting the memory. “Tch, don’t they know I’m trying,” he said to the darkness of his room as he sat up from his bed, the watch, gently held in his right hand. Jason held the watch over by his window to catch the light from the street lamp by their
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front yard. The watch was gold, and a host to multiple black spots, flaunting its age. The clock face itself was delicately intricate in its design. It was if one had stepped into an aged old garden. With the numbers being the different attractions in the garden and the twisting hands of the clock, as the guides that led those who looked to said places. He flipped the pocket watch over and noticed that there was a slight crack. He remembered his grandfather saying that it was a battle scar that it received after travelling to the DarkAges. A thought popped into his head. “I wonder if his stories were actually true.” He said to himself. “Now listen,” he remembered his grandfather saying. “If you ever find yourself in possession of this watch and choose to jump back in time, press the button next to the one at the top that opens the lid. You’ll need to picture a certain event in history very clearly in your head if you want to make the jump successful before you do, otherwise god knows what will happen.” Jason’s thumb rested on top of the second button that was present on the watch. He was ignorant of its real function, as his only knowledge of the watch came from his grandfather and he only ever insisted it was the button that allowed him to time travel, and he never let anyone else get close enough to ever touch it.
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But it no longer belonged to him. It was Jason’s now. He shrugged. What was the worst that could happen? It was just a button after all and he no longer believed in such childish fantasies. He thought back to the last thing his grandfather had mentioned about time travelling. “A moment in history huh?” he thought aloud. The memory of the party he talked with his auntie replayed in his head. “That’ll do I guess.” He pressed the button and the moment that he did, he felt a force pull his whole body into motion. It felt as though he was being sucked down a whirlpool. But just as quick as that feeling appeared, it disappeared just as fast. What took his breath away however was not the rush that he had just felt, but where he currently found himself. He stood in the same scene he had envisioned and the familiar hand that rested on his shoulder, there was no mistaking it. He had gone back. “So, don’t slack off OK. He wants to see you make something of yourself. You’re nineteen now. You just need to try a little harder. You can do it.” Jason smirked. Time-travel. What a wondrous thing. “I won’t auntie, don’t worry.” He said. “But I’m still young. I’ve still got all the time in the world.”
Words by Piper Denholm | Images by Chloe Coats
How do I know There’s something special about mornings with you; Ones that will never be the same How do I know Sleeping at the end of the day seems pointless; Because time does not stop for us How do I know That your touch is the only one for me; As it raises my eyebrows and flutters in my chest How do I know That I will love you forever How will I know?
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Words by Victoria Biffin | Images by Jono Ling
Victoria tells us about her experiences in Japan—including a Kath & Kim-esque train passenger and Melbournian sushi-eaters… even if it came with a cultural faux pas or two of her own. Despite the inconceivably large cities and masses of people, I found Japan a serene place to visit. Japanese people form perfect queues to step lightly onto silent bullet trains. Their neatly rolled sushi is served in compartmentalised bamboo lunch boxes. And, in certain places, Japanese people enjoy soaking naked in natural hot springs with strangers. However, one thing interrupted my reverie time and time again—fellow Aussie tourists behaving like absolute dorks.
scream along to the Triple J countdown in the cafeteria of a Kyoto hostel on Australia Day. And yes we’re allowed to have preferences, but in an authentic Japanese sushi bar it was difficult not to judge the girls from Melbourne who (in blunt English) repeatedly demanded plain cucumber rolls with “absolutely no wasabi”. So by the time we overheard two Australians choose Starbucks over the local blend, I was feeling pretty smug.
In a country that posts public signs discouraging everything from phone calls to excessive keyboard noise, it’s no surprise that the stereotypically loud, crass Australian would draw attention.
And yet, the very next day I caught myself singing Christmas carols at the top of my lungs—absolutely disturbing pedestrians wandering the quiet streets.
I was, however, surprised to hear an Aussie accent screech “Shaaaaaaron” across a silent train carriage.
It was almost an unconscious action. Maybe my crude Australian conditioning. But the polite whispers and light footsteps of the Japanese people brought on a kind of suffocating feeling.
And this real-life adaption of Kath and Kim only continued when the sleazy Kel Knight type to my left unabashedly declared his preference for ‘Asian girls’. (His Japanese host—a young businesswoman—was visibly uncomfortable.) To be fair, with my gaudy Kathmandu gear and shonky Japanese phrases, I’m sure I made many a cultural faux pas. But it’s one thing to forget to remove your shoes upon entering a guesthouse, and quite another to drunkenly
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You know—like the silence that settles over church pews and makes you want to giggle, or yell swear words. It was inexplicably silly. Like the actions of every other Aussie I had wasted energy looking down on. (Although I think the perve on the train would be considered slimy on every continent). Overall, I’d like to think that our dorkiness is more of an amusement to the Japanese people than a bother.
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‘...it’s one thing to forget to remove your shoes upon entering a guesthouse, and quite another to drunkenly scream along to the Triple J countdown in the cafeteria of a Kyoto hostel on Australia Day. ‘
For instance, locals got the privilege of watching their mere infants ski past me on the children’s slope. I barely managed a wobble. And there is no doubt in my mind that we were mercilessly teased by the waiter who watched us detonate the clams we were supposed to be gently grilling—or by the pottery master who watched on as our clumsy hands struggled to create anything even resembling crockery. I know for certain that one Japanese man was utterly amused by my partner’s pale skin turning a bright shade of red in his first-ever hot spring soak. How? Because he physically pointed and laughed. And that needs no translation.
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SUBMISSIONS! Give us what you’ve got. Any topic. Any Style. We want it! Send your writing or artwork to contact@versemag.com.au Edition 15 2017
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Words by Bridget Kerry | Images by Rachael Sharman
Short, sweet biccy reviews for the bored and hungry.
Arnott’s Tim Tams
Arnott’s Scotch Finger
Arnott’s Wagon Wheel
Tim Tams are the true essence of Australian cuisine. So much so I would even go as to say it’s ‘UnAustralian’ if you don’t crush a packet of these on an evening binge. A chocolate crème centre sandwiched by two crumbly chocolate biscuits coated in a layer of, what’s that? More mouthwatering chocolate. I’m salivating just thinking about it. But don’t you dare stray from the original recipe, that my friend is dangerous territory (except you Caramel Tim Tams, you can join the party anytime).
This is the ultimate dunking biscuit to go with your hot drink of choice (and yes that drink will always be Milo). A classic buttery shortbread biscuit that snaps in two to make your dunking experience that little bit more special. However, the biscuit’s crumbly nature can prove problematic at times when you’re left with soggy remains in your carefully prepped evening drink. But this is a minor downfall when compared to the satisfying texture the crumbliness gives the Scotch Finger.
Wagon Wheels are a bloody meal in themselves. Definitely not your ‘Sunday arvo cuppa tea’ biscuit that’s for sure but you still can’t fault this goddamn tasty invention. The Wagon Wheel isn’t just oozing with nostalgia but oozes a sticky marshmallow and raspberry jam filling between two crispy shortbread biscuits coated in glossy milk chocolate. I mean dieting isn’t natural anyway okay.
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Arnott’s TeeVee Snacks
Oreo
Arnott’s Iced VoVo
EVERY class party in grade five whacked a box of these bad boys out. And for good reason too, they are so darn moreish. But I’ve got to say, there is a shameful amount of biscuits in one box. Not sure how mums across Australia got away with providing one measly box for class parties for so long when a box will last you one episode on Netflix at most. Besides that, TeeVee Snacks are a bloody cracking biccy that combines crunchiness with melt in your mouth chocolaty goodness. Malt sticks are the preferred variation.
A delicious miracle in food chemistry, these are the ultimate comfort food. That being said I wouldn’t mind more crème in my chocolate biscuit sandwiches. More crème nearly always equates to a far superior biscuit. Plus you get way more enjoyment out of the twist, lick, dunk regime (BTW great marketing with that Oreo, love your stuff). 10/10 would shamelessly eat another packet again.
There is a reason why good ol’ Kevin Rudd referred to the Iced VoVo in his election victory speech, and that’s because they’re a bloody winner. Definitely one for the sweet toothed, the biscuit keeps the ‘My Little Pony’ design alive with its vivid pink and fairy dust like coating. It’s got jam, it’s got icing, and it’s got coconut that makes you cough a little when you inhale too quickly. Definitely one for your midnight snack itinerary.
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How nice it is to welcome the presence of education and learning once again. Let us guide you in your studies this semester.
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Words and Images by Rachael Sharman
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