Emily Dennis editor@wessexscene.co.uk
Sam Pearson deputy-editor@wessexscene.co.uk
HEAD OF DESIGN Ren Neoh design@wessexscene.co.uk
ONLINE & MARKETING MANAGER James Huford publicity@wessexscene.co.uk
Elizabeth Sorrell features@wessexscene.co.uk
Ellie Griffiths opinion@wessexscene.co.uk
Hector Hemingway-McGhee politics@wessexscene.co.uk
Jack Davies science@wessexscene.co.uk
Daisy Gazzard lifestyle@wessexscene.co.uk
TRAVEL EDITOR
Hannah Griffiths travel@wessexscene.co.uk
Mitul Mistry sport@wessexscene.co.uk
Alyssa-Caroline Burnette pause@wessexscene.co.uk
First off, I would just like to say thank you to our readers. It is often really hard to put yourself out there, especially as a writer who often shares their most personal thing: their voice. If there were not anybody to read these pages and enjoy our illustrations, many hours of work would all be for nothing. So, I thank you for being here for at least a moment.
This year, we have celebrated lots of special moments. We printed five other magazines! They are all available online so if you want your Wessex Scene fix, then peruse our ‘Firsts’, Space, Celebrations, Neurodiversity and Disability, and Milestones magazines. We also helped host the first ever SUSU MediaCon, and visited SPANC in Sheffield, where we were shortlisted for Best Magazine Design. Our Design team, AKA Ren Neoh, has done an amazing job this year, and I have been absolutely thrilled to bits with every single stunning edition. I look forward to seeing what next year will hold for Wessex Scene.
Since our first magazine was all about firsts, I thought it would be fitting to have our last magazines all about… lasts. When speaking to my friend Phoebe about lasts, she seemed confused, and then blasted out this message that I’d like to share with you now:
“The last film I watched was Cars. Cars is one of the most beautiful films in the world. It shows how fame, money, popularity and attention gets you absolutely nowhere if you have zero team, friendships, family and meaningful relationships in your life. Happiness will not last if you do not have beautiful people surrounding you. I truly aspire to surround myself with people like Sir Tow Mater and to always show happiness and love to others, just like Sir Tow Mater <3”
Sam Pegg Rachel ManthorpeThe complete randomness and irrelevance of that message really sums up why I love Wessex Scene. It is an open book. You can do whatever you want! It’s an entire printed magazine that is entirely run by students, voluntarily, and it is always amazing what some people can come up with. I think at a time in our lives where everything has to fit a certain objective and creative expression is stunted, it’s nice to have the freedom to just let go. During my time as Editor, I really wanted to let people do what they like and just have fun! Hopefully that ethos will have a lasting impact.
Usually there is a summary of some of the articles you’ll be able to find within this magazine, but this time I thought I would leave it up to you. Be warned, however, that there is a lot of heart amongst these pages. There is just something about the vision of the end that makes people get deep. Brace yourself, us writers are an emotional bunch (though I can assure you it’s not all doom and gloom).
Thank you for all the fun, and for all the people who let me convince them to get involved with Wessex Scene. She is a beauty and I wish we had more time together.
Disclaimer: The opinions expressed within this magazine belong to each author alone - Wessex Scene is a neutral publication which aims to publish views from across the student body. To respond with an opposing opinion, please contact opinion@ wessexscene.co.uk or join our Opinion Writers’ Group.
WATERS design@wessexscene.co.uk
RALPH
online-manager@wessexscene.co.uk
SCOTT-MUNDEN events@wessexscene.co.uk
SUB-EDITORS
LAURA ELLiSON, GEMMA MCBAiN, KATiE PHiLLiPS
FEATURES EDITOR
PEGG features@wessexscene.co.uk
OPINION EDITOR
BURNETTE opinion@wessexscene.co.uk
EDITOR
jOOLS O’ROURKE politics@wessexscene.co.uk
& TECH EDITOR
GRAHAM science@wessexscene.co.uk
THOMAS lifestyle@wessexscene.co.uk
EDITOR
EAST travel@wessexscene.co.uk
GRiFFiTHS sport@wessexscene.co.uk
HUFORD pause@wessexscene.co.uk
& INVESTIGATIONS
KAUR, PHiLiP BENNETT, KATiE LEWiS news/investigations@wessexscene.co.uk
LIFE AFTER TOXIC FRIENDSHIPS 12 MODULES THAT HAD A LASTING IMPRESSION 14
WHEN THE END IS A NEW BEGINNING: LEAVING AN ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP 16
HOW TO AVOID GREENWASHING YOUR WARDROBE 21 CAN FAST FASHION JUST END ALREADY? 22
STORY OF
LIVERPOOL
The last time I saw you
I thought I’d see you again. It wasn’t an active thought More an assumption
A given fact. Now I can only see the past you, forever.
Strange to think it was at another funeral. You were there for him when the world ended
You were going to be everything Good dreams don’t last. Good people don’t last either.
You weren’t always in my thoughts I must admit
But now you can never leave them. That’s how this ends, I suppose. Your smiles, hugs, and laughs in a hole
the last time we said goodbye, I didn’t know it then. I didn’t know you would die soon, I didn’t really comprehend what death was, all I knew was I was giving my Grandad Pops a hug goodbye before travelling back home in a gruelling three-hour car journey.
That day, I didn’t realise how lucky I was to see you. Looking back, it’s a shame at how unremarkable it was. We arrived after travelling in the car, no doubt me and my older brother bickering to the pass the time and occasionally silenced by dad’s angry glare in the rear view mirror. Mum would ask us what we thought was going to be for dinner and we could always guarantee a roast with boiled mint potatoes, peas and an assortment of dishes kept warm in ceramic pots as the plates were heated in the oven (“be careful, they’ll burn you if you touch them”). When we arrived there was always the proverbial kiss from Mama, and a hug from Pops, and even then that hug was short, quick, and efficient. In and out, true to the military days of when you were younger.
The rest of the day was as I always expected. The catchup on school (“what’s 7 times 5 times 3” - testing my “mental numeracy” as you would call it), being told how much I had grown, my parents recounting stories of all the times I was the devil incarnate; all the time you simply sat in your chair and listened. Even as the family competed to have themselves heard, shouting down your eardrums because you were a “little” deaf, you were stoic in that chair, listening (or not listening) with the occasional grunt. You weren’t a man of many words, and while I certainly sometimes quaked in my boots from fear of disappointing you, there are memories I’ll treasure fondly.
There’s the time when you tried to win a race on my PSP, pla ying as Crash Bandicoot
in Crash Tag Team Racing, falling epically behind before pausing the game and passing it on to me to win. I remember walking my aunt’s and uncle’s dog with you and feeling the blood circulation to my feet cut off when you tied the shoelaces a bit too tightly. I remember turning for help while trying to solve Sudoku puzzles. Yet the simplest and best memory was always sitting by your feet watching gameshows like Deal or No Deal or even Strictly Come Dancing. It was the only time I ever really watched TV that wasn’t films or children’s cartoons - a legacy Mama still continues you’ll be glad to know, although now it’s Tipping Point, The Chase, and Pointless.
So our relatively simple day came to an end, and as always I gave you a hug goodbye and headed home with the family. There was nothing more than that because as I said, I just didn’t comprehend that this could and would be the last time I said goodbye.
You died of Septicaemia. Mum came in one night and told me you had a month to live... you would actually die a couple of hours later. Any chance of an in-person goodbye was starved from me and so that night I laid in bed and I spoke to you, a bit like I am now. I don’t know whether you can hear, but that doesn’t matter. I never got to say a proper goodbye, but I never thought I needed one because I still talk to you as if you were here right now.
WORDS BY SAM PEGG IMAGE BY EMILY RALPHThe world always spins. Things change, but you weather your way through it. It’s on this course that you find things to fill up your time. Maybe it’s getting to know people. Maybe it’s attaching yourself to places or becoming part of a scene. Maybe it’s running headfirst into a brick wall. In my case, I took up student media - very much all three at once.
I joined SURGEtv as a starry-eyed fresher three years ago. In that time, I’ve had a blast and it’s definitely the best thing I’ve done at uni. I’ve grown so much from doing it, and finally learnt that I can be happy with my true self.
A lot of that learning and socialising happened in a tiny little office in the basement of the SUSU building. The “studio”. It was deep underground, with no windows or natural light. Almost completely isolated from the rest of SUSU, let alone the world, and with no phone signal whatsoever.
I still remember the first time I came down there. It was cold, it was stuffy. The only light was one of those long, sterile halogen ones that you make feel like you’re in a hospital. The room was a hoarder’s paradise, with seats squeezed in between tons of storage. And for some reason, a leaky sink precariously placed next to the station’s most expensive kit.
But most importantly, there was a whiteboard. Full to the brim with the dumb things people say.
“Have good taste, then you won’t catch chlamydia” “Go on then, show me his penis”
“Anya is single” (Anya is, incidentally, still single.)
Honestly, that board sold me on the very concept of TV in a heartbeat. Not only was it all fantastic advice for life, it showed me instantly that there was a community here. The space lived and breathed. It wasn’t just a place to make videos; it was a community. If they could make a place as
oppressive as this feel homely, it must be bloody great. And I loved my time at TV. I stuck in and ended up on that whiteboard in no time at all.
Though, unfortunately, my best contribution was “I’m sure this virus will blow over”.
COVID really ended the studio vibes. Sure, the office still existed in the COVID years, but it wasn’t a space where you could hang out anymore. I am part of that last cohort who remembers the days of the old office. In September, it’ll just be me left that really remembers those times.
In many ways, our new office makes a lot more sense. It’s the biggest space we’ve ever had, it’s the nicest, most up to date. It’s also the easiest space to get to - come and visit us, we’re lonely. But you can’t help but reminisce.
But to me, thinking about being “the last” is just one gloomy way of looking at it all. Sure, I will be the last person to have known the old office properly still kicking about. But, on the other hand, I’m the first Station Manager in the new space.
All lasts have a first attached. Life is a constant series of ends and starts, and to me it’s about making the best of the new ones. It’s scary, but it’s going to keep moving, and you should move with it.
I went down to the old office about three hours ago, just for curiosity’s sake. Today it’s just activity storage, same furniture but the soul has long been sucked out.
In other news, Surge has just bought a brand new whiteboard.
WORDS BY BYRON LEWIS
WORDS BY ALYSSA-CAROLINE BURNETTE IMAGE BY FLOSSY WATERS
When I was 21, I moved from North Carolina to England. It was my way of writing my last letter to a town that had never written to me. I had never much felt like I belonged anywhere, least of all the town in which my parents made their home. At 21, I was annoyed with everything about America, awash with a serious case of “the grass is greener in England,” and determined to forge my own adventure overseas.
But at 25, it’s a little different.
Today, I have what my younger self wanted; I built a life in a new country and I now have a family of my own. But after being so desperate to get away from home, to do things my way rather than my mum’s way, somewhere along the line, time and distance changed my mind. These days, I call my mum every day, often for multiple hours at a time. I haven’t wanted to go back to the US but I knew I missed my mum. And yet I was completely unprepared for what it would be like to see her again after being away for so long.
Missing your mum is one thing but missing your mum when you’re ill is a whole new level. It’s that vulnerable, “Mum please make it better!” feeling that takes you straight back to your childhood. And I’ve never felt more vulnerable— or literally needed my mum more— than when I went blind and had to fly back to the US. And when I stepped off the plane and my mum took charge, I felt a sense of complete peace. Over the next few days, my mum sorted everything for me; she got me the medical care I needed and helped me navigate the world while I was blind.
But, as much as those practical things helped, those 3 weeks I spent with her were about so much more. Once the pain wore off, my visit in the US allowed me to simply spend time with my mum, to discover— as an adult woman myself— how much fun it is to be her friend. Away from the constraints of time differences, conflicting schedules, and WiFi that never works, we could laugh together, uninterrupted; gone were the WiFi glitches that forever had someone laughing at a joke 2 minutes too late or yelling, “I can’t hear you!” in the middle of telling a story.
By being in the same country and in the same house, we got to experience life together instead of telling each other
stories after the fact. We got to experience the very best side of female friendship— the kind where each person actively makes the other feel special, where each goes out of her way to say, “You matter to me!” We treated each other to lunches at our favorite restaurants, binged episodes of our favorite shows, and simply thrived on the vibe we created together. Without the pressures of my real life back in England, I could forget about being a researcher, a writer, a cat mum, and just be.
That might sound simple, but after being diagnosed with autism, OCD, and ADHD at the age of 24, it’s rare that I feel free to simply exist. It’s even more rare for me to feel comfortable being my authentic self around people I love, to know that I can exist as a neurodivergent person and feel understood rather than judged, even around my own family. Growing up with undiagnosed mental illness creates a host of challenges, especially when those around you struggle to understand your behavior and have no diagnosed explanation. Unsurprisingly, that can cause a great deal of tension and misunderstandings for parents and children alike; it certainly did with me and my mum.
But as we enjoyed each other’s company during this visit, my mum created opportunities to show me that she understood and accepted me for exactly who I am. She offered apologies I would never have asked for and showed me that she had been reading and learning about the conditions that make me who I am. And, in doing so, she gave me an incredible gift that every person with a mental health condition longs for: the ability to feel safe and seen by the people you love most.
When my mum dropped me off at the airport, we took a goodbye selfie together that left both of us crying behind our sunglasses. As the camera clicked, I realised that this was it: this would be the last time I saw my mum for a while. This goodbye marked the fact that I was leaving her for a life oceans away, a life that didn’t have her in it. That this would be the last time we shared stories over lunch in person. And that goodbye was enough to break my heart.
So, Mum, if you’re reading this, please know that I love you more than I ever have before, that it was harder to leave than you can know, and that, for my future, I want a life that doesn’t involve saying such painful goodbyes to you.
The bags are all packed; we’re ready to go. All our worldly possessions have been distilled into this: a dozen plastic totes on a fake-hardwood floor. These packed boxes are the culmination of months of longing and planning; they embody the end of one chapter and the blank page beginning of a new one. With the exception of these boxes, the flat is now bare, devoid of any trace of us. If it weren’t for the boxes, you would never know we used to live here. But as I look ahead to the future, I think we will still remember.
For months now, I have been desperate to get out of here. I have come to hate everything about this flat, from the innumerable inconveniences to the hot water that never works to the WiFi that goes out more often than I do. For months now, I have whispered, “I’m going to get us out of here”; this mantra has been a prayer, a resolution, and a goal to work towards every day. But as much as I’m desperate to get out of here, as much as I can’t wait to move, I have to admit that there’s a tiny part of me that will miss our first apartment— or, at least, I will miss what it stood for.
When my cats and I arrived in Southampton in August 2021, this apartment was the sum of all our hopes and dreams. It embodied our vision for the future, our determination to make Southampton our home. This apartment was the one place that said “yes” to us amidst a sea of “no”s. That “yes” counted for a lot when we were back in the US and desperate, when every door in sight was being slammed in
our faces. So, as much as I’ve come to hate it now, I want to remember that there was a time that this apartment represented hope.
If I’m honest, there’s a lot to be said for the memories that were formed within these walls. This space is designed to be temporal— a blank, utilitarian dwelling that resists any tenant’s attempts to make it their own; this unit could be rented out tomorrow with no hint of us left behind. In spite of all that, I think we worked hard to make this little space our own. Together, we filled these walls with sunshine and laughter— and, most importantly, with memories. This is where my British cats became part of our family and where they grew from tiny unwanted balls of fluff to strong, confident individuals with their own unique personalities.
This is where my American cats and I found our feet, where we built a life for ourselves in a new land. It’s where Liv was missing for 8 torturous days, but it’s also where my family and I received an incredible outpouring of support from the people of Southampton. This apartment has been the site of joyful evenings in with friends and days where I sobbed on the phone with my mum. These walls saw our first Christmas as a family, a day made all the more special by being our first Christmas in a new country. The view from our windows has featured so prominently in our Instagram stories that people as near as the next street over and as far as oceans away have come to recognise those windows as ours.
In this respect, I feel as though the time we spent
here and the memories made within these walls are part of something bigger than ourselves. They belong to people outside of me and my family because those people helped to form the memories I will carry away from this place. I think that’s why it’s bittersweet, saying goodbye to this place. Although we have evolved beyond this structure, outgrew the space and the people we were when we moved in, it feels like more than saying goodbye to an apartment. We’re only moving across town; we will keep the same friends, the same favourite places. Everything I loved about our lives in Southampton beyond this apartment will remain the same.
Yet, it feels like the end of an era rather than the end of a tenancy. It’s a time to say goodbye to our former selves— to the bad habits that hold us back, to the beliefs that no longer serve us, to the experiences we want to leave behind. Somehow, all of that feels bigger and scarier when it takes place in your adopted country rather than the one in which you were born. Coming here in the first place was such an adventure that it feels surreal to think of taking on another enormous change. I want to leave; I’m ready to move on, to pursue bigger, better things for myself and my family. But that doesn’t make the change any less weird.
So, when we move a few miles and a whole world away, I like to think that some small part of me will remember this time with a degree of fondness. I hope I look back on our former selves and our lives here with compassion, with empathy for who we were then, what we accomplished, and who we have become. I hope that, in time, my resentment towards this place will fade and that I’ll smile in passing when I think, “We used to live here.”
Friendship really can be the dealbreaker in a young person’s life. Much like your family, your job, and your health, friendships can be the difference between wasted youth and fond memories. You really can’t underestimate the power of the people with whom you surround yourself. It’s a cliché but your friends can become just as important (if not more important) than any other aspect of life as a teenager and young adult. What makes friendship stand out is the unusual amount of control we have over our friendships without even realising it.
You can see exactly how someone might find themselves stuck in a career they don’t enjoy or having a family that doesn’t understand them. Your health is not always in your hands and trying to force romantic connection for the sake of it is as degrading as it is futile. But I found that at our age, friendships have that extra bit of wiggle room that can be the starting point to turning everything around. The right friends can motivate you in every other facet of life; they can make you want to be better; they may want to be better because of you in return. However, that same
transformative quality can work against if surrounded by the wrong people.
I was a bit of a recluse as a child and didn’t have many friends. I was well into secondary school when I finally started to get a taste of the connection and understanding that I had always seen but never felt. My head was always in a book and I much preferred talking to other adults than other children. But the time was coming for me to reach out to people my own age, by which point I was socially out of my depth. I was about 12 when my first proper friends came about and from year 8 to year 11, I had my own little group. My inner 9-year-old couldn’t believe that I could hold down a single friendship, let alone several! But on a monthly basis, I felt like this dream that had come true was on the brink of crumbling before my eyes.
Friendships are naturally tumultuous when you’re young. As you find out more about who you are, you’ll suddenly find yourself clashing with people that you’ve known for years. Shifting priorities and general lack of impulse control often causes a rift in age-old friendships. I started to feel that rift almost as soon as my GCSEs were over. Not only because most of our friendships are based on proximity and convenience but because I realised that the love we had was conditional. Those conditions mostly revolved around how threatened we felt around boys and taking the ‘next step’ in our education. That promise of connection and confidence amongst each other was broken too often and I realised upon meeting new people at sixth form that something needed to change.
From ages 16 to 20, I lost at least one friend every year for one reason or another. And we’re not talking about casual drifting apart, but a definitive conflict that led to an explicit break in the relationship. I started to wonder if there was something wrong with me. Am I unfair to my friends? Do I have unrealistic expectations for the people around me? Do I expect too much from people and cut them off the second they don’t serve me? Maybe I was too harsh with my boundaries and or too precious over how I wanted to be treated and couldn’t hold down friendships in the long term.
I would see people posting about their decades-long friendships, those people who had been best friends since they were in primary school. I saw those people who literally didn’t know a life without each other and I desperately wanted to feel that stability in a friend. I felt like I was the only one who didn’t have those perfect relationships that seem to be forged by destiny itself. Only recently have I realised that that magical feeling of old friendship is already approaching. While I worried over
the longevity of the relationships with the people I lost, I forgot about the people I was still so close with throughout all those conflicts. As self-explanatory as it may seem, it takes a long time to build long-term friendships.
Upon looking at my friendships now which have settled into deep understandings between one another, I am still blown away by how fortunate I am. Sometimes I am still astounded by the level of candour I can express within my circle without judgement, something I couldn’t do before. I am still blown away by the lack of ego in my friendships that push me to be the best I can be without worrying about how it might make someone else feel threatened. I can only hope that I have made others feel that way in return. I spent so long worrying about all the people who made me feel inadequate, unappreciated, and used that I needed reminding of the people who are still in my life that made me feel valued, loved, and recognised.
As young as I was when I started meeting my true friends, I still sometimes feel like I’m late to the game. But it really is quality over quantity when it comes to the people you surround yourself with. Rather than catastrophising over the relationships that have gone wrong over the years, I’ve found it best to remember the people that made all the good times so great and the all the bad times worth it.
Wessex Scene asked some third-year students to look back and tell us all about their favourite (or least favourite) module - use this information how you see fit.
We have all heard that we are fucked because of climate change, however it is nice to know the exact science quantifying our lack of hope. This module left a nihilistic impression of the coming global crisis that is hard to shake off. Where you may hear about climate on the news as new records for heatwaves and more typhoons, I now see it as the coming catastrophe I now have been fully awakened to. Science. Paleoclimate Change demonstrates how present global warming is unprecedented compared to any other event in history.
Douglas Bryson (MSci Oceanography)The title says it all really. Sex. A truly fascinating subject, and one that will always leave you tittering in the corner of a classroom. This module comes to you from the genius brain of Fiona Woollard who is literally a certified Sex God and one of the top Philosophers in the field, so you know you’re getting a good deal. The content is incredibly interesting and the assignments are actually fun, and you get the additional bonus of being able to whip out fun acronyms in the bedroom (PIVWMO - ‘Penis in Vagina with Male Orgasm’ is not necessarily sex everyone!). I have only heard great things from other students about this module, and it was the highest grade I got, so you can take it from me that it is quality learning.
Emily Dennis (BA Philosophy and English)Among Marine Biology and Oceanography students, the stress of writing the ‘Plymouth Report’ is transferred from year to successive year every December like COVID in Jesters. But this awareness of the Report’s horror in no way prepares you for that absolute carnage that is trying to write a 3,000-word report using sketchy data you collect while hungover or seasick, with lecturers whose help often leads to more questions, and openly contradicts itself. After causing several breakdowns (one VERY public) and many all-nighters recreating graphs for the 74th time, this module left me with the impression that scientific report writing is hell, and definitely not for me.
Led by the phenomenal Jakub Boguszak and Alice Hunt, Shakespeare Then & Now is not your typical English module. Taking one of England’s most beloved playwrights, the module aims to look at not only how Shakespeare’s works were perceived at the time of their conception, but also how we perceive them now. From studying theatre practises, problematic themes to questions like ‘has Shakespeare aged well?’ and understanding the critical discourse around the texts, Shakespeare Then & Now wasn’t the same old study of Shakespeare we were all subjected to in GCSE or A-level. Jakub and Alice breathe the worlds of Shakespeare, their passion palpable in every lecture, and the module acts as foundation to your own interests in Shakespearean literature. It’s a module that allowed you to explore your own interpretations, whether that be its unique first essay (a commentary on how you would direct a Shakespearean scene) to its truly expansive and challenging second critical essay. Everything about the module is conceived to allow students to demonstrate everything they have learnt, and by far its greatest achievement was distilling a newfound appreciation in the world of Shakespeare.
WORDS BY ALYSSA-CAROLINE BURNETTE IMAGE BY EMILY RALPH
Ialways thought one of us would die before I left her. Either she would kill herself (as she consistently threatened), kill me, or— in my worst nightmares— both. Every one of these possibilities struck me as the most realistic outcome— so much so that I never had any concrete plans to leave her.
If you’re like most people, I imagine that reading that opening paragraph has left you with one question on the tip of your tongue. It’s the question everyone has asked me since I opened up about my experience with abuse in July 2020: why did you stay? That’s what everyone wants to know, isn’t it?
I’ve never known how to answer that question and now, after 2 years of no contact with my abuser, I’ve given up trying to formulate an answer that will make people understand. So, instead, I’ll simply ask you to imagine a reality so horrific that it blotted out my concept of a future and robbed me of the ability to protect myself. So, with that in mind, here’s what you need to know about my story:
• My abuser and I were together, on and off, for 5 years • I was 18 when the abuse began
You should also know that I didn’t have a script for the final phone call I made to my abuser on that sticky July afternoon. I didn’t even know that would be our last phone call. When I look back on that moment— the phone call that ultimately saved my life— I want to remember it as being cathartic. I want to imagine it like the breakthrough moment in a movie— the scene where hope swells in the heart of the viewer as you realise that, against all odds, the good guy is going to win.
But, in reality, it didn’t happen like that.
There was no argument, no emotional goodbye, no moment where I told her any of the things I would later write.
There was nothing about that phone call that would leave her with the explicit assertion, “What you did to me was abuse.”
In fact, I think the most overt thing I said was, “I feel like… maybe… I have PTSD. And I think maybe it’s because of you. …if that’s okay.”
Ultimately, thanks to that phone call, my relationship with my abuser ended in much the same way as it began: softly, slowly, with no indication of what was yet to come. The
moment I left her came about in the middle of an ordinary conversation; one minute, we were talking about what she was currently binging on TV and the next, I realised for the very first time that the sound of her voice made me physically ill. The next realization crashed on top of that one like a wave: I never want to hear her voice ever again. “I think my circumstances have changed.” I can still feel the wobble in my voice when I said it. “I can’t pay your Netflix or your bills anymore. I feel like… maybe… I have PTSD.” And then I said goodbye and asked my mum to delete and block her number from every electronic device I owned.
When I look back on that moment, it’s nothing like I want it to be. And I would love to re-write that memory, to pretend I said something bold and powerful, to imagine I said something that hurt her even a fraction as much as she hurt me. I would love to imagine an alternate ending in which I wring an apology out of her or she begs me to stay. But that isn’t how it happened. And that’s why, when reflecting on the theme of finality, I wanted to write about this experience.
Because the sad reality is that we don’t always get the closure we need or deserve.
Our last moments with people, our climactic experiences don’t always feel the way they should. And, sometimes, we can feel as haunted by that lack of closure as we do by our experiences.
My abuser has never apologised for anything she did to me. I never got to look her in the eye— or even assert myself through the phone— and tell her exactly how I suffered because of what she did. And, later, I was indeed diagnosed with PTSD as a direct result of my relationship with her. But after two years of no contact, I’ve decided that’s okay. Because, as much as I wanted that dramatic final moment, as much as I craved that closure, I’ve decided that last phone call is so insignificant compared to everything that came after.
In the end, that final moment with her was exactly that: an ending. It was turning the last page and closing the book on the most horrific chapter in my life. That ending was necessary not because of the moment itself but because of the future it facilitated. Without that final moment— as imperfect as it was— I would never have turned a new page or started the story of my life without her.
I spent a long time grieving for what should have been, who I wanted her to be, and even what I wanted for that final moment. But, in the end, I’m thankful for that imperfect goodbye and every other unexpected final moment that has opened the door for a new and brighter future.
With experts hailing the fatal effect of social media on modern society, Elon Musk makes it his calling to step in and save us from the monster unleashed by social media tycoons: the Twitter algorithm. Can the need for an algorithm be fulfilled without the dangerous side effects that curse wider society?
Since the creation of Twitter in 2006, users have been allured by the platform’s method of projecting short thoughts, routine updates, and queries to a group of followers. The added discovery of the potential to go ‘viral’, granting users a brief period of internet fame when their tweet resonated with the masses, further increased the app’s appeal. Early bare bones iterations of Twitter were this simple, with particularly insightful tweets organically generating interest and being retweeted for the world to relate. Sensing the appeal of their platform, Twitter execs decided to amplify these properties, creating the infamous Twitter algorithm, a positive feedback loop that would extend the reach of potentially viral tweets by feeding users popular tweets that they were expected to relate to. Unfortunately, as anyone familiar with electronics will know: Positive feedback almost invariably breeds instability. Unwittingly, they would succeed in creating a dangerous mechanism for the segregation of society into conflicting idealist factions, whilst simultaneously giving the extremists of these groups the tools to recruit a disproportionate multitude to their causes.
Soon, the idea of an average Twitter user would become obsolete. Such a user would gradually be filtered by the algorithm, presented with tweets from like-minded groups from which misinformation would be indistinguishable from truth. The algorithm would transform such users into the prey of fanatical opportunists, helping segregate them and feeding them with appropriate content to secure their kinship with outspoken manipulators. The result:
In 2022, public influence has shifted from longstanding institutions, instead being granted to groups with little concern for the verity of the information they share. The danger of such a situation is evident in the increasingly distorted perception of government and science, and the resulting mistrust of them.
Twitter’s answer was to attempt to muzzle users, to filter untruths before the algorithm injected them into their targets and restore the platform to its intended innocence. A simple task, right? Wrong. Suddenly, one of the biggest platforms for self-expression was attempting to limit freedom of speech. Moral questions plagued their attempts, fed by constant criticism as they violated a basic human right. Consequent failure ensured the persistence of misinformation, leaving Twitter as the enduring danger to society it has evolved to become.
Enter Elon Musk. In Spring of 2022, the controversial Twitter addict started the process of acquiring the platform with plans to restore free speech and bring balance to the chaos. So how will he do it? What radical new approach will he employ to achieve what has been previously unattainable? To put it simply: He’s going after the algorithm.
Musk’s perception of Twitter as ‘the de-facto town square’ provides insight into his plans for the platform. Where Twitter may be the town square for the internet to share thoughts and ideas, the key problem with the analogy is the algorithm. Disregarding the restriction of free speech, the algorithm is the key difference between the unstably amplified nature of Twitter and the organic dissemination of information that a town square scenario represents. The solution is not to limit the input to the system, but rather to remove the system’s instability. Musk, advising users that they are
‘being manipulated by the algorithm in ways [they] don’t realise’, hinted his plan when urging users to change their Twitter settings. Changing the timeline to a chronological format, he insisted, as opposed to that generated by the algorithm, would ‘fix’ their Twitter feed.
Upon changing to the chronological option, the differences are evident, and so too the desire for an algorithm in the first place. With the absence of suggested tweets to occupy a user’s feed, the timeline immediately becomes less populous. The feed transforms from an endless scrolling experience into a finite series of updates, limited when confronted with older, previously seen tweets.
While the efficacy in combatting unnatural spread of misinformation is likely achieved, the side effect is to deaden the addictive appeal of the app. This presents a problem. If the plan is to remove the algorithm altogether, will the apps popularity suffer? By neutralising the threat involved with Twitter, will an opening be made for a new platform to take its place? Here lies the real challenge that Twitter’s new management faces. Any attempt to reduce the gain on the feedback loop generating the app’s appeal could jeopardise its whole success.
The only way to prevent the app’s obsolescence while simultaneously achieving the new management’s goals is to develop a new algorithm: One that can help provide users with interesting content without the instability that this can easily feed. If such a system can be devised, Twitter could pave the way for a new, well-informed era of social media, potentially quelling the dysfunction that propagates into western politics. Typical Elon Musk, the goal is a new dawn in human history, a solution to a core societal issue plaguing the 21st century: social media’s silver bullet. It remains to be seen whether this is even possible, or if it will forever remain a mythical solution to an unstoppable force…
WORDS BY JACK DAVIES IMAGE BY JING WUand Michael Collins (yes, there was a third man part of the Apollo 11 mission) made it to the moon, history wasn’t just made, but America beat Russia. Mars was too far, Venus and Mercury too unviable, space felt conquered and America had set a new precedent for what was achievable.
Yet this precedent came at a cost. The Planetary Society reports that the Apollo programme cost NASA $28 billion ($280 billion when adjusted to 2020’s inflation). A battle of egos was a battle of money and with very little reason for visiting the moon other than an arrogant display of power, NASA found it harder and harder to justify trips to the moon. Apollo wasn’t faultless either, the potential disaster of the Apollo 13 mission made NASA re-evaluate how necessary trips to the moon were becoming. Plus, after beating Russia, who abandoned their lunar space programme shortly after the success of Apollo 11 and the disaster of the Soviet N1 rocket, Apollo existed merely under the guise of research - a justification that would only stretch so far.
Eugene Cernan isn’t a name on the tips of tongues like Buzz Aldwin or Neil Armstrong. He isn’t remembered like Yuri Gagarin or the dog Laika, and his presence feels less ubiquitous with space than words like ‘Apollo’ or ‘Sputnik’, and yet Cernan was a significant figure in visiting the moon. In fact, he was so significant that he would end up being the last man on the moon in 1972, and no country since has launched a successful attempt to land on it since... but why?
Going back to 1969, tensions between America and Russia are still high during the Cold War period, and the race to the moon was on. Russia had successfully launched the first living creature into space in 1957, the sad story of Laika the dog’s eventual suicide mission, and would follow it with Yuri Gagarin as the first man in space in 1961. Two of the biggest powers of the world were locked in battle, albeit an egotistical one, and the moon was set as the destination of the stars. When Aldwin, Armstrong
While NASA managed to successfully land six Apollo missions that were manned, it was Eugene Cernan’s Apollo 17 that would be the last time anyone would step onto the moon. NASA could no longer justify spending billions of dollars on a space programme that existed in a liminal state of being aimless. After 1965 saw a drop in the amount of funding NASA was securing, the be-all and end-all were finally reached, and the importance and emphasis on new discoveries shifted.
The moon was no longer a mystery to us. While its dark side was often fantasied about as the inspiration for countless science-fiction novels, the moon provided none of the necessary materials we needed nor did it have the mysteries that justified countless visits. Instead, NASA switched focus to new horizons that mirrored the rest of the world. What is beyond our solar system? What don’t we know about Mars? Is there life in space? All these questions need time and money to solve, and the moon for one thing, didn’t have the answers we needed.
WORDS BY SAM PEGG IMAGE BY ROWAN YARDLEYSustainability. Ethical. Vegan. Slow fashion. Organic. Today’s buzzwords get slapped on our clothes labels by brands trying to capitalise on our modern sensibilities, we want to save the world, and we’ve been told that we can do that by changing our shopping habits: buy less, buy better.
In reaction, several high street brands have created ‘ethical’ lines, think PrimarkCares; Asos: Responsible Edit; Boohoo: For the Future; H&M: conscious collection; Mango: Committed; Zara: Join Life. These lines seem positive on the surface, but in reality, are just as damaging as their regular lines (none have more than 3/5 on GoodonYou in any of their 3 categories). You might be thinking then, perhaps you should use a sustainable brand to fill out your summer holiday shopping wants? Good examples might be TRAID, iSecondthat, Gather&see, we are Tala, Lucy and Yak.
Unfortunately, these brands are often more expensive and too small to be successful alternatives to their fast fashion counterparts, so really, what can we do to make our wardrobes ethical without bankrupting ourselves and staying somewhat on-trend?
Investing in good quality basics (think French capsule wardrobe) should be your first port of call. Black, white and grey tees, blue jeans and black trousers are timeless pieces that you’ll be able to use for years, look for flattering cuts for your body type and think about spending a little bit more than you usually would on these sorts of clothes, it will really elevate your outfits.
Learn how to take care of your clothes before you cut out that pesky label. Making sure that you know what temperature and how best to dry your clothes will make them last longer, which is not only going to help the environment but also save you some money too. (pro-tip: invest in a delicate bag for your underwear and wash at 30 degrees C max).
Avoid fad trends. In an age of social media, fast-moving trends are inevitable, but that doesn’t mean you have to
buy into every single one. Try to avoid impulse buying; sleep on it before you spend and you’ll also save yourself some money too.
Know your measurements and find a tailor. Seriously, knowing your exact sizes will help you when you’re shopping to find clothes that actually fit you, and having a tailor/seamstress that you trust will give you an option to make that pair of trousers you really like a part of your wardrobe.
Don’t binge shop. A Shein or Asos haul might be fun but did you know that the majority of clothes sent back to online stores get sent straight to landfills? Buy what you think you’re going to keep: know your size, your body type and what colours suit you best.
Invest in a needle and thread. Try not to picture your nan’s biscuit tin that isn’t a biscuit tin and think instead about that little bag of spare buttons that comes with your clothes. Ever sewn one on yourself? Learn how to, it’ll save you begging your nan to fix that shirt for you before your grad job interview.
Sustainable fashion doesn’t just have to be a brand you can’t afford, in reality, it’s simple: make the clothes you own last and, when in doubt, donate don’t bin.
WORDS BY ABBY WOODMAN IMAGE BY PRISCILLA DU PREEZ via Unsplash
fast Fashion has become the bane of modern ethical sensibilities; it’s damaging to the environment, workers and our bodies, yet it shows few signs of slowing down any time soon. What was once an effort of high street brands to translate catwalk designs to the rail has been flipped on its head, with fast fashion brands producing lines faster than fashion houses.
LA-based brand Fashion Nova, described by their CEO as ‘Ultra-Fast Fashion’, churns out between 600-900 new products every week. We know before we buy them that nothing this cheap can be good quality, yet we buy it anyway, so why does Fast-Fashion have such a vice grip on our shopping habits, and can this ever really end?
The Fashion Industry produces the third largest amount of global pollution, including 5% of the world’s greenhouse gases (according to the Climate Council), and a third of ocean microplastics (which have recently been discovered in human blood for the first time). This pollution comes from every stage of a garment’s life cycle: there is a reliance on synthetic fibres such as Polyester and Nylon, which use up approximately 342 million barrels of oil every year.
So, let’s switch back to Cotton, you say?
Well, Cotton is just as bad, requiring several tonnes of freshwater, chemical pesticides and fertilisers, (a single pair of denim jeans costs 1,800 gallons of water.) Then there’s the actual process of making and transporting, and all this before it ends up being one of 10,000 other pieces of clothing which end up in landfill every five minutes.
Global Fashion Agenda has estimated that the number of clothes dumped in landfills by 2030 will rise from 92 million tonnes to 134 million tonnes per year. In addition to this, 93% of fashion brands are still not paying a living wage despite capitalising on fad trends, cheap products and their workers’ lives. Overall, it is clear that these Fast Fashion brands are damaging at every stage of production. The fashion industry is killing us, yet we continue to embrace our executioner with blind hope and credit cards at the ready.
Making your wardrobe sustainable is a hot topic, countless articles are giving you the same advice about donating your clothes, buying second-hand and buying from sustainable brands. But unfortunately, these options aren’t that realistic. Charities have become so overwhelmed with donations thanks to fad trends that clothing donations have rocketed to 700,000 tonnes in the UK alone, a huge percentage of this still ends up in landfills (according to Oxfam, approximately 13 million items of clothing every week).
Buying second-hand is good in theory but often disappointing. It takes a lot of time and slogging through already outdated Shein tops is quite disheartening, also, the quality of some of the products is not okay. (I swear if I have to soak another top in baking soda and vinegar to get rid of the tobacco smell...) Second-hand market places such as Depop and Vinted have become somewhat of a centre for fake designer garms and the ‘Depop Girlie’ who will try and sell you their little brother’s Gap Tee from 2008 for £35.
Good alternatives are TRAID and iSecondthat, but a consistent downfall is limited choices and the simple fact that in some ways you’re still contributing to fast fashion, as these brands couldn’t exist if it weren’t for the fast turnover of the industry. Sustainable brands then? Well, to burst that bubble… Most of these brands have to charge more than the average person can afford in order to cover the true costs of production and employment, many fail due to the high costs and dominance of fast fashion brands, and those which do survive only manage to do so on the back of a personality, think WeAreTala and Grace Beverley. What will Tala’s longevity be once Beverley has ceased to be the current woman of the moment?
But regardless, each of these efforts has good intentions, and individual sustainability is not, on the whole, a bad thing to engage in, but is placing the blame on the consumer fair? No, of course not, just like taking a 10-minute cold shower will not save the planet, neither will one person boycotting Zara.
A Fast Fashion free world would see better quality garments, a return to make and mend culture, a focus on small and local businesses rather than global outsourcing, fewer large fashion companies and fewer influencers promoting a fashion haul culture to their followers. Idyllic, isn’t it?
Unfortunately, as demonstrated by recent efforts to call for accountability in the fashion industry, fast fashion has become so ingrained in our global landscape that the only way this could improve, let alone end, is through drastic legislation. The Face recommends Governmental Reforms and Eco-tariffs, although considering how companies still avoid paying their workers fairly, you have to doubt the likelihood of this making any sort of effective change. Non-profit organisations such as Fashion Revolution and Re/Make have started to challenge the lack of Government legislation concerning the pollution of the industry; however, it is an unfortunate fact that the change needed is unlikely to happen until something disastrous occurs on a global scale.
WORDS BY ABBY WOODMAN IMAGE BY IZZY BUCKWALD
WORDS BY JACK PHILPOTT IMAGES BY ELLIE
This is the story of eleven friends punting their way through Sicily trying to climb some pretty rocks and eating even prettier food.
After a full day of travelling, we landed in Palermo and crawled towards arrivals to pick up the hire cars just before midnight. After dodging the inevitable up-sale attempts and signing away our first-born children in the case that a car came back with even a suggestion of a scratch, we were on the road. The Italian driving experience is the ultimate trial by fire for anyone who hasn’t driven on the other side of the road in a foreign country. For instance, there used to be a national system in Italy where drivers lose priority once on a roundabout which has been updated in most parts. However, this does mean the occasional driver will pull out in front of you as if you don’t existalmost making you die. Luckily, there’s one thing you can always be certain of, a mk1 Fiat Panda will appear from thin air and find a gap to overtake you on a skinny B road doing approximately twice the speed of sound come rain or shine.
Italy treated us to extremely high-quality sport climbing for the whole trip, so good in-fact that three of us forgot that we had to drink water to survive as humans. Day one saw Ludo get heatstroke, me on day two and then Felix every other day. Drink more water people! Every crag (place where you climb) we visited was full of interesting and engaging routes at all difficulties which is a very rare find in England. Living in Southampton on the south coast, our go-to place for sport climbing is Portland which features limestone that produces razor-sharp edges. Not only is it hard-wearing on your skin, it can start to feel very samey especially if you’re not making an effort to vary the crags you visit. Although Italy is also full of limestone, the rock style within a crag felt far more varied and each route gave a unique experience.
Right: Let’s just say Ludo’s only keen on candids. L to R: Josie, Ludo, Amber, Nicki, Tom-A, Felix, Jon, Me, Tom-1.
Although it’s easy to become dehydrated, we certainly didn’t forget to eat! Each night two people (of the eleven that went) would pair up to cook a big family meal for everyone. Honestly, I was dubious of this plan knowing the culinary history of some of my friends (we all know the cereal burning kind). But it turns out that pairing them
with those (slightly) less likely to give you life threatening food poisoning was plenty sufficient and made for an epic time at dinner every night. Everyone pulled through and provided their own lovely unique meal each night, the most memorable of which being the day we made pizzas in a real Italian pizza oven in the Airbnb’s kitchen. I must now build one someday.
My trip came to a close by sleepwalking through Stansted arrivals and being met with a beautiful sign held by my favourite taxi driver that displayed a lesser known nickname of mine. Big cheers to Ellie for fully organising it and to everyone that came and made it a sick lil trip. Also I don’t actually like sport climbing.
Left: Seconds before a spider landed on Ludo (left of photo) and for a moment we became the most obnoxious tourists this small town had ever seen.
When Divock Origi signed for Liverpool in July 2014, expectations were somewhat high. Coming off an impressive debut campaign for Belgium at the 2014 World Cup, Liverpool cashed in on a future star. Fast forward to 2022, the term ‘future star’ simply does not define Divock Origi. Instead, ‘Liverpool legend’ is more of a fitting tribute.
To many football fans, Divock Origi and Liverpool seemed to be an incompatible relationship. Plagued by injuries combined with an unsuccessful initial loan move back to Lille in 2014, Origi took his time adapting to the Liverpool style of play. In fact, the arrival of Jurgen Klopp played a striking role in Origi’s development at the club. A dash of ‘heavy metal’ football allowed Origi’s Liverpool career to take off, though this would not be until the 2018/19 season.
All it took was one moment. One simple error.
02 December 2018. Deep into stoppage time, Liverpool still at deadlock against bitter rivals Everton. A halfchance for Van Dijk squandered with the ball seemingly struck into the heavens. Yet, Van Dijk’s effort dropped rapidly onto the bar. Everton keeper Pickford hopelessly misjudging the ball. Suddenly heartache turned into hope as the ball bounced back onto the pitch. Who was there to reign as Liverpool’s saviour? Divock Origi. Heading into the empty net, Anfield erupted…
As a Liverpool fan, I never expected the 2018/19 season to go the way that it did. On the verge of defeat at the hands of Messi’s Barcelona in the Champions League semi-final, Liverpool seemed void of hope.
07 May 2019. This was the day I truly felt a connection with Liverpool. A rollercoaster of emotions. The day that Divock Origi turned from ‘cult hero’ into ‘Liverpool legend’. With no Salah or Firmino, Klopp selected Origi to lead the line. It was a gamble that became a blessing. Origi netted quickly to get Liverpool on the front foot. A 3-0 deficit to overturn, Liverpool showed shades of Istanbul 2005 as they managed to bring the tie back to 3-3. Anfield was rocking. One more goal to get Liverpool into their second consecutive Champions League Final.
The ball went out of play for a corner kick, the ball boy quickly threw the ball to Trent Alexander-Arnold who, facing the Kop End, created the cheekiest assist in modern football. “Corner Taken Quickly, Origi”. Origi calmly slotted the ball into the roof of the net, Barcelona completely asleep. As the final whistle blew, I remember jumping up and down with joy; I’m sure I woke my neighbours up.
Rival fans will question how a ‘bench player’ can be deserving of a statue outside the fortress of Anfield. Origi has built a special place inside Liverpool fans’ hearts.
Netting in Liverpool’s classic 4-3 triumph over Borussia Dortmund in 2016; scoring the vital goal to ensure Liverpool defeated Spurs for European glory in 2019; crucial goals against Arsenal in the Carabao Cup; against Wolves in the 2021/22 season; against AC Milan in the Champions League, where the Reds became the first English side to win all their group games in the competition. Arguably the most impressive statistic, Origi has netted six times against Everton - understandable why some Everton fans have nightmares over Origi’s presence at Liverpool.
24 April 2022. Origi was there, bringing home the 3 points against arch-rivals Everton. Anfield lifted as the crowds celebrated; jubilation with a message: ‘Thank you, Origi’. With Origi potentially heading to AC Milan in the summer, the 2-0 win over Everton on 24 April may have been Origi’s Anfield swansong. I only have this to say about the man who turned from ‘future star’ to ‘Liverpool legend’:
Time to build Divock Origi a statue outside Anfield.
It is hard to say goodbye sometimes.
Within these pages we have many writers sharing something of themselves with you, reader, in the hope that it will help them come to terms with something difficult. It is often hard to stare at a last and know that things will work out afterwards. Just know that it always gets easier once you let yourself talk about it. We, at Wessex Scene, will always be around to listen.
This edition is dedicated to Kyle Bolton, whose smile and laughter will last in the hearts of all those he met.
15th March 1998 - 10th April 2022
